“Well, Mac,” the Viking said dryly, “I’d say the lady remembers you.”

Susan reeled back, appalled by what she’d just done. It felt like she’d broken every one of her knuckles, and she shook her hand to ease the sting.

How did he do that to her? One second she was a calm, rational, logical human being. Then Mac Conlon showed up, and the next second she was a certifiable psychotic. One glimpse of the face that had haunted her heart for the past decade and instinct just took over. She’d slugged him before she even knew her arm was moving.

What in the blue blazes was he doing here? Why couldn’t he have just stayed in Washington, D.C., and let the other Blackjacks protect her? If he’d had the good grace to stay away from her for the past ten years, why did he have to go and change his mind now?

Pain radiated from her knuckles, throbbing up her forearm. Seething, she reached for inner serenity. Heck, right now she would settle for reasonably calm. Yoga mantras flitted through her head. She focused on her breathing. She imagined floating on a tranquil ocean. She even counted to ten. Nothing worked.

Mac Conlon. She’d been passionately in lust with him practically from the first moment she laid eyes on his Black Irish good looks, and she’d fallen passionately in love with him in a matter of days after that. He’d remained firmly, stubbornly lodged in her heart ever since. She’d tried everything to get over him, and nothing had worked.

She schooled her voice to calm with only partial success. “Come in, gentlemen.”

A momentary brush of panic stroked her spine as the men piled into her house. It would be okay. These were the good guys. They wouldn’t hurt her. But, oh, did Mac have the capacity to if she didn’t guard her heart!

To fill the awkward silence she asked, “Are you guys hungry?”

Their relieved smiles were answer enough. She led them into the big kitchen that dominated the back of the house. The Viking and the lean one pitched in to help her make a batch of sandwiches and carry them to the long table.

Déjà vu broadsided her. Ten years ago she’d sat around a table with another group of men much like these, planning surveillance on Ferrare with the new digital audio analysis program that had earned a Ph.D. for her. She’d been fresh out of college, and so excited she could bust at the prospect of working with a totally cool Special Forces team. Tonight the adrenaline rush was still there, albeit tempered by the pain of the abrasion under her ear from getting shot last night, and an aching knee to remind her of her naiveté all those years ago.

Mac’s eye was red and starting to swell from where she’d clocked him. A pang of remorse shot through her. She filled two plastic bags with ice and wrapped them in dishtowels. She gave one to him and kept the other for her hand as she sat down at the table.

“Thanks,” he murmured.

She didn’t deign to reply. She dragged her attention to the Viking, who was talking to her.

“I’m Dutch. This is Doc.” He gestured at Omar Sharif. “And this is Howdy.” He pointed at the fair, lean guy. “I gather you’re familiar with Mac.”

Hah. Understatement of the century. She glanced over at him. Mac lounged in his seat, his crossed arms displaying breathtaking biceps muscles, his piercing blue gaze taking in everything. Lord, he was more gorgeous than ever.

Memories of long nights spent working with him in a cramped surveillance van came rushing back. The air had been so electric between them it was a wonder the listening equipment hadn’t melted. Just sitting in the same room with him now made breathing difficult.

Dutch continued imperturbably. “What can you tell us about Ruala?”

Right. The reason Mac had deigned to bring his hot self to her door at long last. Jerk.

She pointedly avoided looking at him as she answered Dutch. “A guy calling himself David Ford showed up at the Fasco Weapons facility yesterday to test fire the RITA rifle. I believe he’s Ramon Ruala, surgically altered. I’ve got surveillance footage of him if you’d like to look at it. It’s the same footage I sent to Colonel Foley today. I can’t think of anybody else more likely to recognize Ruala than the Blackjacks.”

Mac interjected, “We left to come here before it arrived at our Ops center. Can we look at it now, Suzie?”

Her insides twisted sharply. His mellow voice sent sexy little shivers down her spine. Nobody else before or since him had ever called her Suzie. It caught her off guard. For an instant she was that young girl all over again, fantasizing about a new Special Forces operator who was way out of her league and who, miraculously, returned her interest. She struggled to think past the onslaught of images flashing through her head. His bare chest. The two of them in bed together. Her laughing up at him. The passion in his eyes as he stared down at her--

Mac’s cobalt blue eyes gazed into hers now with all the hypnotic intensity she remembered. And yet there was a dangerous edge to them—to him—that she didn’t remember. Even his voice held a hint of violence. “Where’s the footage?” he prodded politely. “Can I get it for you?”

That’s right. Save the cripple from having to walk anywhere. “I’ll get it,” she snapped.

She pushed herself up painfully from the table. Her knee was swollen like a cantaloupe after last night’s fall. She should have iced it instead of her sore knuckles. Mac’s hand materialized on her elbow and he whisked the chair out from behind her, steadying her until she planted her cane firmly on the floor. She glared at him until his strong, warm hand fell away.

Her cane scorched her palm as she made her way out of the kitchen. She felt Mac’s gaze lock on the hideous thing, and humiliation smoldered like a hot coal in her gut. The last time he’d seen her walk she’d been lithe and graceful, an athletic and whole person.

The sound of her cane’s wide, pivoting triangle tip thudding rhythmically on the stairs was obscene in her ears. Tears burned her eyelids before she made it to the second floor. She stopped in the hallway upstairs—out of sight of Mac—and sagged against the wall.

She rarely felt sorry for herself. That bullet through her knee had been her fault, and being a gimp was a small price to pay for being alive. But every now and then, like now, she bitterly regretted the loss of her ability to move freely. To run. To dance. To be normal, for crying out loud.

She dashed the back of her hand across her eyes. Damn him! Why had Mac come back and opened up all these old wounds? Why couldn’t he have left well enough alone? She bit back the sob rattling in her chest. She would not cry in front of Mac Conlon.

She fetched the flash drive and retraced her steps.

Of course, Mac was waiting at the foot of the stairs for her. He had the gall to have a concerned look on his face. That had better be worry for her safety and not about her being a freaking cripple. Temptation to whack his shins with her cane nearly got the best of her. But she managed to refrain.

As she brushed past him, she couldn’t help suck in a sharp breath at the familiar scent of his cologne. Languid memory washed over her of their unforgettable nights together. His gaze snapped to hers, blue fire flickering hotly in his eyes. Dammit. He remembered, too.

She plugged the drive into a USB port on the side of her high-definition television and hit the play button. All four men leaned forward intently and stared fixedly at the images. And then they got to the part where Ford fired the RITA rifle for the first time and did that finger-rocking thing. Susan jumped as Mac abruptly muttered a foul curse under his breath. Apparently, he recalled the tic, too. Not that she’d doubted her I.D. of the guy for a second.

Mac pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number. The conversation was short. “Mac here, sir. Yup, it’s him. No doubt about it. Roger. Right away.”

He closed the phone and tucked it back in his pocket. “Colonel Foley wants a signed statement from you about how you got the footage on this thumb drive and how you recognized Ruala. Doc and Howdy will fly the statement back to him so he can’t get arrest warrants issued, and then Doc and Howdy will get to work tracking down Ruala. Dutch and I will stay here and keep an eye on you until the situation is contained.”

Susan looked hard at him. “You mean, until you know Ruala can’t come here again and try to kill me.”

If four faces could possibly have gone more stone-like, she didn’t think she’d ever seen them. She declared to all of them, “Don’t even think about holding out on me. I handed you this guy on a silver platter. Heck, I’m the one he shot in the first place and came after last night. Surely I deserve the straight scoop.”

Mac flinched. She hated the sympathy that flashed across his face. But then, she’d had a long time to get touchy about pity. She rubbed her knee out of reflex.

“So here’s the thing, Suzie. We don’t understand why Ruala didn’t just kill you last night. He was in your house, standing over you with a gun in his hand. He’s way too good a shooter not to have killed you if he wanted to. Hell, all he had to do was put a weapon to your head and empty a clip into you.”

“Gee. Thanks for that mental image,” she retorted.

Mac shrugged. “You wanted it straight. We’re left asking why he didn’t kill you. And we’re concerned that he may be using you to draw us out.”

Of course, Mac had to go and make this all about him.

“We think it would be prudent to expose as few Blackjacks as possible to any possible trap he may be laying for us.”

“Why aren’t you guys just sticking me in protective custody and getting me out of your way, then?” she asked.

“Two problems with that. If you leave, he’ll be warned that we’re onto him. And second…” Mac sighed heavily. “…there have been some problems with witnesses against Ruala, and his boss, in Federal custody.”

“Problems?” she asked sharply.

“Yeah. They died.”

It was one thing to know that kind of thing happened, but it was another thing entirely to hear it stated as fact. By an expert who knew what he was talking about. She gulped.

Mac continued. “The Blackjacks have no authority to hold witnesses ourselves. If we were to take you into protective custody, we would have to turn you over to the Federal justice system, which our boys have clearly penetrated.”

She asked soberly, “Is Ruala still working for Eduardo Ferrare?”

“Unknown. But it’s a good bet.” Mac’s turbulent gaze locked with hers. He was not a happy camper.

She totally knew the feeling.

So, it took a threat to her life to smoke Mac Conlon out of whatever hole he’d been hiding in all these years, did it? For the millionth time, fury rose up in her gut at him for never coming back. For never fighting to fix their relationship. Never mind that he’d been a complete jackass, or that she’d sent him away from her bed with orders never to darken her doorstep again.

What she really couldn’t forgive was that he’d never even tried.

Although, for ten long years she thought she’d been relieved that he had the decency not to bug her. Apparently not. Apparently, she was actually mad as hell over it. Lord, she was a mess.

She asked reluctantly, “So what are you guys planning to do with me?”

Grim looks passed all around the table.

Mac answered for all of them, “We’re going to find someplace way isolated to hide you until we catch up with Ruala.”

He made apprehending an infamous assassin sound easy. “And just how do you plan to catch up with him?” she asked.

He looked her square in the eye. “Ruala knows you’ve penetrated his new identity. As soon as he’s used you to draw us out, your usefulness to him will be ended. Either he’ll have to kill you, or he’ll have to disappear and build a whole new identity. Which is time consuming and expensive—and if he goes under the knife to change his appearance again, painful. He can’t afford to let you live to potentially testify against him. The good news is, if we stick close to you, he’ll come to us, and we’ll get our shot at him.”

Which made her wholly expendable bait to both Ruala and the Blackjacks. No, thank you very much. She had no desire to be the minnow the barracudas fought over. Worse, it could mean Mac in her life for days or even weeks, until Ruala showed up again.

“I don’t want you here, Mac.” Drat. Her voice wobbled as if she was some scared little girl. She’d be damned if she’d show weakness in front of him!

He looked exasperated. “Susan, I know him better than anyone else on the team.” He added, “We’re here on an official mission. I’m under orders to keep you safe until Ruala is apprehended.”

She started at the little flicker of happiness deep in her gut that he couldn’t leave. What the hell was that about? She hated his guts!

“You’d come here and impose yourself on my life? You, of all people?” she demanded.

Mac sent her a warning look. From the brash, fun-loving guy ten years ago, she would have ignored it. But this man had an air about him that suggested she wouldn’t like it if he picked up the gauntlet she’d just thrown at his feet. Tough. She wasn’t letting Mac Conlon intimidate her.

“We’ve got to stop this guy,” Mac ground out. “Do you have any better idea of how to find and neutralize him?”

She glared at him in impotent anger. It wasn’t as if she had any choice in the matter. And that was what rubbed her fur the wrong way the most.

He leaned forward, glaring back at her. “You give me the name of someone else whom Ruala knows has recognized him, and whom Ruala’s likely to try to kill in the next couple of days, and I’ll get out of your hair.”

The other men shifted, looking uncomfortable. Omar Sharif—Doc—spoke for the first time. “Ma’am, you’ve had a frightening experience, and we don’t want to make matters any worse. We really are trying to help you. Thing is, Mac knows more about Ramon Ruala than any other person on earth except maybe Ruala himself. He’s the best man for the job of protecting you.”

Mac stared at her, his mouth tight and his gaze troubled. This meeting wasn’t easy for him, either. And she’d called the Blackjacks, after all. Still. She should stand her ground. Insist on one of the other men taking Mac’s place here, at her side. Even if Mac was the best choice. All the Blackjacks were highly skilled warriors. Any of them could watch out for her. Right?

But that rebellious butterfly of joy in her belly got a little bigger at the idea of Mac being the one to look out for her and keep her safe. Damned butterflies, anyway.

She sighed. “Fine. You can stay.”

An hour later, though, as she signed her detailed affidavit at the kitchen table that would create a legal trail for the evidence on the flash drive, she wasn’t so sure what she’d gotten herself into. Days or even weeks of sitting across the kitchen table from Mac like this? Living in intimate proximity to the one man who made her heart pound just by looking at him?

She asked Mac, “Now that I’ve turned the flash drive and my statement over to Uncle Sam, is there any chance I can step away from this whole mess from a legal standpoint?”

He frowned. “Not by a long shot. You’ll have to testify against Ruala, assuming he survives being captured.”

Her heart sank.

“Look, Susan. To my knowledge, you’re the only person alive today who has both seen Ruala at close range and been shot by him. Your testimony is going to be important to the government’s case. You can also testify against Eduardo Ferrare. You know what was on the surveillance tapes of Ferrare that were destroyed in the van the night you got shot and it was torched.”

She didn’t like the sound of that at all. “I really don’t want to stand up in plain sight of these guys and testify against them. You and I both know they’ll find a way to take me out.”

Mac leaned forward. “Suzie, even if you back out now, they’ll think you fingered them. The only reason you’re alive right now is because Ruala had a use for you. Frankly, I’m shocked you’re still alive.” He added under his breath, “Thank God.”

Really? He was glad she hadn’t been murdered? That was something, at least.

He continued, “You’ve got nothing to lose by testifying. If you can help Uncle Sam put Ruala away once and for all, then you’ll be safe.”

“What about Ferrare?” she asked.

Mac smiled without humor, the expression of a wolf on the scent of prey. “Ferrare’s got issues of his own to deal with at the moment. We’re hot on his heels. Believe me. You’re not his biggest problem right now.”

She looked around at the other members of the team for confirmation, and they nodded grimly at her. Lord, what a choice. Hide and be hunted forever by a murderer, or agree to testify and be hunted even more aggressively until Ruala landed behind bars…or she died. At least, if she survived and Ruala was caught, she would finally get her life back and be able to stop looking over her shoulder day and night. That was something to look forward to.

“How do you plan to keep me alive until I can testify against this guy?”

She caught Mac’s gaze and held it, whether he liked it or not. The last time she’d asked Mac a big question, he’d dodged it. Failed to tell her that the reason she’d been pulled from the Ferrare case was because The Blackjacks were about to spring an armed ambush on their target and it would be too dangerous for her to be there. Instead, he’d left her with the impression that he was walking away from the case, and so should she. She’d argued that it was career suicide. That it was a disservice to the nation. That the two of them were on the verge of breaking the case wide open, and if he’d just stick with it another day or two, they’d get the wiretap evidence they needed to put away Ferrare. But her pleas had fallen on inexplicably deaf ears.

She’d been outraged. So furious and hurt she’d taken the surveillance van out by herself to listen in on the meeting she knew had to happen any second between Ferrare and the Gavronese rebels who wanted his financial backing in overthrowing their country’s government. And she’d driven smack-dab into the middle of the shoot-out between Ferrare’s men—led by Ruala—and The Blackjacks.

She looked up at the man she’d loved and hated enough to die for that night. His proximity tonight hit her like a high-velocity slug. He’d filled out in all the right places since she’d last seen him, and his cobalt eyes were more breathtaking than ever. His stare shot right through her, leaving her weak and wanting. She gathered her scattered thoughts and tried to slow her breathing.

And now her life rested on his answer to a question. Did she dare trust him to be honest with her this time? To tell her the true risks of testifying against Ruala? Or would he lie to her again?

Mac answered quietly. “We plan to guard you around the clock not only until you testify, but until Ruala’s captured, brought to trial, and locked up for good.”

His sapphire gaze bored into hers. Challenged her to believe him. But something else lurked in his intense expression. A promise—to keep her safe this time. An appeal—to give him another chance, to let him make up for Ruala out-maneuvering and outgunning him and nearly killing her. A plea—to trust him.

Could she do that? She’d trusted him once with her heart and he’d destroyed it. Could she trust Mac Conlon with her life this time around? She sighed in resignation. What choice did she have? “So what do we do first?”

All the men exhaled in relief.

Mac answered briskly. “The first order of business is to get you out of here and tuck you away somewhere safe until you can testify. The next order of business is to bring in a female operative and set her up to look like you. Then we find and arrest Ruala.”

She lifted a skeptical brow. “No offense, but he’s no dummy. He knows exactly what I look like. And he’s managed to avoid you guys for ten years.”

Mac’s dark brows drew together in a heavy frown. He saw where she was going with this, and he didn’t like it. Tough. She was going there whether he liked it or not. “You have to use me. The real me. Not some ringer.”

Mac all but threw himself backward in his chair. “No way. Not a chance!” he declared forcefully.

“Look, Mac. I’m the first to admit I’m scared to death. But I’ll be terrified until this guy’s put away, whether I’m sitting in a bunker staring at the walls or I’m out here helping you catch him. If you don’t use me for bait, it could take you guys months or even years to track down Ruala. He’ll head for the nearest plastic surgeon, completely change his appearance, and invent a new life for himself on the other side of the world. And you’ll be back to square one. You don’t have any choice but to use me to draw him out.” She leaned forward and added urgently, “This is my life we’re talking about. If I can help with this mission, I want to do it. I’d rather take action against Ruala than sit back and wait for him to take action against me.”

Mac glared at her. Nope, he didn’t like the idea of using her as bait at all. Problem was, she was right and he knew it.

She stated matter-of-factly, “You know you need me. I promise I won’t get in the way.”

“That’s what you said the last time,” he bit out.

She stared him down. “I didn’t have all the facts when I got in that van and drove it into the middle of your op.”

He exhaled in frustration. “I’m not here to dredge up old arguments. I’m here to save your life.”

“That’s right. My life. I’d say that gives me the right to participate in saving it.”

“Things have changed, Suzie. You’ve changed. This op will be much more…physical than the last time.”

She said aloud the words he left unspoken. “And I’m a cripple now.”

She blinked at the irritated, narrow-eyed look that comment earned her. His demeanor had a harder edge than she remembered. Like he’d seen a lot of the world since they’d last met.

“Crippled or not,” he replied with thin patience, “it would be extremely dangerous for you to help us apprehend Ruala.”

“Dangerous to whom?” she challenged. “To me or to you?”

His gaze snapped to hers. “I’m not trying to avoid you,” he ground out. “I’m trying to do the right thing, here.”

“Good,” she snapped back. “Then stop being an ass and agree that you need my help to bring Ruala in.”

He reached up with one hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. She recognized the gesture. A sure sign he was hanging on to his temper by a thread.

“Are you willing to bet your life on this op?” he challenged.

She never could refuse a dare. “Of course I am. Besides, my life is already on the line.”

He stared hard at her, measuring the truth of her words. She stared back, throwing down a silent dare of her own. She swore she saw the tiniest moment of pride in her flash through his eyes. Eventually, reluctantly, he nodded.

His gaze slid away but he muttered, “All right. Fine. We use you as bait to land Ruala.”