Ian Black was playing a dangerous game. But when hadn’t he played a dangerous game? He sat in the hellhole that currently served as his makeshift operational headquarters and dreamed of the day when he could call his own shots without reservation. He was fucking sick of the game he’d been playing for the past several years. He wanted the restraints removed.

He did good things and he did bad things, but he hoped that ultimately the things he did served the greater good. He wasn’t a bad man. He was an opportunistic one.

His satellite phone rang, and he drew in a sharp breath. How many assholes did he have to talk to today? He expected Phoenix this time, but that wasn’t who was on the screen. It was someone he hadn’t anticipated. He recognized the face though.

“Lieutenant Colonel—what can I do for you? Does one of your HOT missions need rescuing again?”

Alex Bishop didn’t even crack a smile. So much for a sense of humor. Well, hell, Mendez didn’t have one either. Par for the course.

“You can tell me what’s going on with Viper.”

“Nope, not happening. How do I know you won’t tattle?”

Bishop’s brows drew down. He glanced up at someone. “Kid, can you pan the camera?”

Ian waited while Billy Blake—yeah, he knew who Kid was—panned the camera around the room. He recognized many of the operators. He didn’t think they were at HOT HQ though. Looked like someone’s house.

Still, he didn’t trust anyone. Not these days. There was too much at stake. Too fucking much. He had too many balls in the air and one of them was bound to crash down and ruin the whole thing at any moment. What was that saying about having too many masters?

Ah, yes. If you serve too many masters, you’ll soon suffer.

“Yeah, so?” he said when Bishop came back on-screen.

“We want to help him. We’re ready and willing to do what we have to in support.”

Ian nearly laughed. “You planning to disobey a direct order and operate when you’ve been stood down? Wow. You guys really love your main man, don’t you?”

He didn’t know what that kind of loyalty was like. Partly his own fault, sure. It was the hand he’d been dealt.

Victoria Royal—now Brandon—was in that room. He’d seen her in the background. He’d once thought she was loyal to him, but he’d learned she had other allegiances. She’d disobeyed his orders, and she’d helped a HOT operator infiltrate his organization. He’d forgiven her—mostly—but he hadn’t forgotten.

“Yeah, we’re running our own mission. And since you’re the one who clued him into the shit going down, we wanted to let you know we’re ready to work.”

“Have you been in contact with him?”

“Not yet. You?”

He could go two ways with this. Answer truthfully and let these guys help or keep his secrets and try to handle John Mendez himself. He already knew that handling the man they called Viper was not going to be a piece of cake.

Help it was.

Ian sighed. He believed them. Believed they would do anything to help Mendez. The SEALs were in that room. He’d helped them out of a bad situation in Akhira a few months ago. He’d also told them he intended to collect on that debt. And then there was the mission in Africa where he’d helped them get to Zain Okonjo not too long ago.

Maybe now was the time to call in those favors.

“Not since yesterday,” he said. “He was in New Orleans. I got word he’d left last night. Haven’t heard from him today, but I expect I will.”

“Is he alone?”

“No. He’s with one of my people.”

Bishop smirked. “You thought he’d chill and wait for your instructions, didn’t you?”

The current of annoyance rolling through him became a flood. He dialed it down before it sparked. “Mendez wait for instructions? Hardly. But it would’ve been nice if he’d cooled it for a few days.”

“He isn’t capable of it.”

“No shit… I’m looking into your missing asset, by the way,” he said. “Nothing yet.”

Bishop looked angry. “Appreciate that. We’ve got nothing over here either.”

“They have to be somewhere,” Ian said. “Probably digital sleight of hand at work. We’ll find them.”

They talked for a few more minutes. When the conversation was over, Ian kicked back on his cot and pulled his cap down over his eyes. He needed to get at least a couple of hours of sleep before his team went after the warlord who’d refused to pay for the last shipment of arms they’d sent him. Cheap-ass motherfucker.

Once that was done, Ian was on a plane back to the US and a meeting with the vice president. He had no idea what the veep wanted, but he didn’t imagine it was good. It never was when DeWitt called.

The sat phone rang again and he sat up, tapping the keys to bring up the video link. Phoenix. The woman on the other side was cool, blond, beautiful, and remote. He knew what she wanted even before she opened her mouth.

“Where is he, Ian?” The corners of her mouth were tight with strain.

“I don’t know,” he told her. It was the truth. If he interpreted the question literally.

She took a drag on her electronic cigarette and then forcefully expelled the vapor. “If he calls you for any reason, I want to know.”

“He won’t call me. He doesn’t even like me.”

“John Mendez doesn’t have to like you to need you for something. If he calls, I want to know.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ian said.

The screen went dark and he lay back on the bed, arm over his face. Fucking hell, this was a shit show—and it was about to get a whole lot worse.

* * *

Kat gripped the arms of the seat and tried not to look like she might throw up. She was too strong and self-assured to throw up, goddammit.

The flight attendant smiled as he handed over her drink—a double shot of vodka with a splash of tonic. She gave him a wan smile in return. Johnny was drinking vodka too, but his was straight. He’d spoken mostly Russian since they’d arrived at the airport. When he did speak English, it was subtly accented—like hers, though her accent was natural while his was not.

He was good at languages. Always had been. Good at so many things. Holy hell, she did not need to go there in her head. She stared at the screen in front of her and started to push buttons. Which movie would she watch? Hmm…

Yet there it was, the mental picture of Johnny with no clothes, his body taut with muscle, his penis erect and all hers. Kat crossed her legs. Damn him for looking so good in her memory. For looking so good now.

He was still taut with muscle, still strong and beautiful. She imagined his penis was as thick and arousing as always.

No. No penis. Stop thinking about it.

“You okay?”

She swung her gaze to him, forced herself to breathe normally. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You look like you might be sick.”

She gritted her teeth. Just because she’d fled Russia eight years ago didn’t mean Sergei would know the instant she crossed the border. Besides, she wasn’t going back as Valentina Rostov or Sasha Garin, the names he would know her under. She was Svetlana today. And she was traveling with Ivan, her boyfriend. If they’d had more time, and the resources, they’d have gotten matching passports and traveled as husband and wife. But this would work.

“I’m fine.”

His brows drew down. “When do you plan to tell me what really happened there?”

A hole opened in her belly. Her heart dropped to the floor. Her mouth wouldn’t work properly. Her jaw simply opened and closed without any sound coming out. It took a long minute for logic to prevail. He hadn’t figured out she was Valentina. He was talking about what had made Kat leave the motherland.

“There is nothing to tell. I was tired of being under Sergei’s thumb. Tired of many things. It was time to live my own life.”

“I’m still surprised you ever worked for a scumbag like Turov.”

She dropped her lashes. “Like I said before, I thought it was an assignment. I was too naïve to realize that once you are in the mafia, they don’t let you go.” Her fingers trembled as she picked up her drink. “I found out the hard way.”

Her brain hurt. Her eyes clouded. She shook the mist away and looked him dead in the eye. How had she managed it for the past twenty-four hours when he reminded her so much of the child she’d lost? She would never know. But she had no choice.

“What did they do to you, Kat?”

His voice was gentle. She hated that. And she loved it too.

“I don’t really want to discuss it. Suffice it to say that if I ever get Dmitri or Sergei in my sights, I won’t miss.”

“Fair enough.” He studied her for a long moment, his eyes burning into hers. “If you’re hiding anything from me, you should tell me before we get any deeper into this.”

She pulled in a breath. “My secrets are my own. You have no right to them.”

They didn’t speak again before the plane charged the runway and lifted into the air. Kat pushed the button to turn her seat pod into a bed. She didn’t know how Johnny had managed to get them first-class seats on the flight to Moscow, but she was glad he did. The pods weren’t long enough for a big man like him, but they were perfect for her. She stretched out and put on a movie, hoping her brain would quiet enough to let her sleep.

It had been a long night on the road and a long day at his makeshift command center and in the airport. She’d only slept in fits and starts. So had he, but he seemed to be better at it than she was. She’d had a shower at the airport and she’d changed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt she kept in her pack.

They’d bought a carry-on suitcase and another change of clothing in the airport shops. He’d had a leather jacket in his pack, and she had a jacket as well. It was enough for now, though they might need something heavier in Russia.

They’d made it onto the plane to Moscow, their passports passing muster with the gate agent. Kat had considered turning back a million times, but each time she’d kept going. She’d stayed by his side even when she’d wanted to run.

It pissed her off that she wanted to run. She was a damned FSB agent—or had been—and she didn’t balk at danger. But Russia. Jesus, Russia. She’d left it behind when Roman died in a car accident at the age of twelve, and she hadn’t been back.

She’d never intended to go back. She still didn’t know, all these years later, if her son’s death had been accidental as it had been reported or if it had been deliberate. A punishment to her for refusing to do the dirty deeds Sergei had wanted her to do. She’d done enough over the years she’d worked for him—suffered enough—but the night he’d told her to kill a poor girl who’d come to beg for her sister’s life… Well, that had been the end of it.

She’d refused. He’d patted her hand and told her it was okay. Then Roman died soon after and her world crashed down. Again. She’d already given up one person she loved—and then Roman was gone too.

It wasn’t right. It consumed her thoughts. Her waking hours were spent questioning everything she’d ever known. That’s when she’d realized the truth: there was no reason to stay. Nothing to stay for. She would escape, and she would never go back to Russia again.

She’d orchestrated her disappearance. The second disappearance of her life, though the first had been ordered by her superiors in Moscow—or so Dmitri had told her at the time.

But when she disappeared again, it was her choice. Her plan. She knew she would be hunted, but she decided she could live with that. She’d gone to work for Ian in order to keep her skills up—as well as her ear to the ground so she could stay a step ahead of the mafia.

She slanted a look at Johnny from beneath her lashes. He had headphones on and was watching a movie. Something with explosions and car chases. Every once in a while he’d snort, and she could tell it was because the movie had gotten something wrong.

She wanted to reach out and put her hand on his arm. Trace her fingers along the smooth muscles there before tugging his head down for a kiss. Would it still be as exciting as so long ago? Would his mouth still have the power to melt her defenses and make her beg for his touch?

Kat turned toward the wall and closed her eyes determinedly. Enough. She would never know—and she didn’t want to know either.

Liar. The word bounced around her brain like a pinball, mocking her until she finally fell into an exhausted sleep.