“You realize if we get caught we’re in some deep shit?” Cade Rodgers said to the men and women standing on the tarmac. Gina Domenico’s shiny jet was parked a few steps away on a private runway in Maryland. The engines were spooled up and the jet was taking on fuel.

Another plane nearby seemed to be going through the preflight checklist as well. Probably some billionaire on his way to a golf match. Cade looked around. This was the kind of private airstrip where rich billionaires and corporate lobbyists flew in and out on a regular basis. The names on the planes were totally recognizable in many cases, though not all.

One of the benefits of this airport was the ability to keep the press out. Kinda important when you were planning an unsanctioned mission to an ally nation that was currently pissed at you for murdering their ambassador.

“Your point?” Navy SEAL Cash “Money” McQuaid asked.

Viking grinned. “We’re just a group of private citizens on a tour, my friend. Gina Domenico groupies along for the ride.”

As if the nearly two dozen muscular men dressed in tactical gear were the equivalent of giggly teenagers fangirling over one of their idols while snapchatting their adventures to their jealous friends back home.

Hawk growled. “Don’t remind me that my wife is going on this trip.”

“She kinda provides legitimacy though, don’t you think?” Cade asked. “American pop star performs surprise concert for Russian fans?”

“Yeah, don’t remind me. I didn’t expect to have to oversee a fucking concert’s security along with a rescue mission.”

“Legitimacy, bro. She’s giving it to us.”

Hawk walked away, grumbling. The source of his headache stood with her friends—the women of HOT, literally HOT operators and the ones married or engaged to operators—and seemed to be talking very seriously about something. Gorgeous group of women, but Cade didn’t make the mistake of thinking any of them were soft. It took a special kind of woman to be with men who did what they did for a living.

He hadn’t managed to find one for himself. Not that he was looking. Life was too good the way it was. He could fuck whomever he wanted whenever he wanted. There was no hanging on the moods and whims of one woman. Not that his teammates didn’t look happy.

Except for Hawk. Hawk looked pretty fucking miserable at the moment. Until Gina turned and their eyes met across the tarmac. His entire body language changed. But was that happiness? Or resignation?

Probably the latter.

“We’re lucky they don’t all insist on going,” Viking said. “My wife would if she weren’t on a mission right now.”

Ivy McGill Erikson was a DEA agent with wicked skills of her own. Cade liked listening to her and her partner tell tales of some of their exploits with drug dealers and other lowlifes. Ace was a good guy and funnier than hell. Cade had been surprised when he learned Ace was gay—but then he figured fuck it, who the hell cared? Not him. Not anymore anyway. He would have growing up, but fortunately the world tended to show a man what was important when he stepped out into it.

“Holy fuck, what’s that?”

Cade turned. A cargo van rolled up and a group of men got out wearing black tactical gear and carrying big duffels full of equipment.

“Hey, kids,” Ian Black said as he strolled up. “Going somewhere?”

“No fucking way,” Iceman growled. He was already pissed as hell, and Black wasn’t helping. Ice was there for support only. He wasn’t allowed to set foot out of the US on a mission like this. It wouldn’t help his father-in-law if they were caught, so he had to stay behind. He was still coming to terms with it and he was grumpy as fuck. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Cade remembered that Ice and Ian Black had once been at each other’s throats when Black appeared to be working for the people who’d tried to kidnap Dr. Grace Campbell. Black had held Ice prisoner and attempted to trade him for Grace. Hadn’t gone well, and Ice didn’t seem disposed to forgive the man anytime soon.

“Always a treat to see you, Sergeant Spencer,” Black said. “How’s the wife?”

Ice took a menacing step toward Black, but Richie was there with a restraining hand on Ice’s shoulder and a word in his ear.

“Cool it, Black,” Richie said.

Black shrugged. “Not my fault. Your boy here jumped first.” He let his gaze slide over the gathering of men, women, and equipment. “Quite a crowd.”

Lieutenant Colonel Bishop—Ghost—strode over. Cade didn’t like the way he was frowning. “Black. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Ian shrugged and nodded toward the other jet preparing for takeoff. “Got a plane to catch.”

Ghost walked away from the group and Ian followed until they were standing out of earshot. The conversation only lasted a few minutes, but it seemed heated. Ian and his men headed for the unmarked jet waiting nearby while Ghost stalked back to HOT.

“What’s the bastard up to now?” Richie muttered to no one in particular.

“No good, probably,” Viking replied.

When Ghost reached them, Richie asked, “Everything okay?”

“He has intel on Delta Squad. A possible location.”

“Seriously? Did he give coordinates?” Richie asked. “We need to verify them.”

Ghost held out a hand, stopping the onslaught of questions from the group gathering around. “He doesn’t have them. It’s murky intel from one of his sources, but he says they’re in Moscow. He doesn’t know where. He said to check warehouses belonging to Turov.”

“How the fuck do we know he’s telling the truth?”

Ghost looked grim. “Because he also told me the purpose of his mission.”

“Why don’t I like the sound of that?” Viking asked, voicing what they were all thinking.

“You shouldn’t,” Ghost said. “Because he’s on his way to capture Viper.”

* * *

It took about thirty-eight hours to reach Moscow. Snow in the Urals slowed their progress and made them detour. Darkness had fallen when they finally arrived on the outskirts of the city. Kat yawned, her jaw cracking. Sleep and food were pretty much a necessity, though not in that order.

Sex would be nice too, but the past thirty-eight hours had cemented the knowledge that it wasn’t happening ever again. Not with Johnny, anyway. He’d been distant, caught up in his own thoughts. They’d traded driving duties, had stopped for a few breaks and a couple of meals, but mostly they drove without talking. Once she’d had her breakdown over Roman, the conversation had ended soon after.

He’d been lovely during it, holding her hand. And then he’d been angry. She didn’t blame him.

Guilt rode her hard. She wished she had pictures of Roman to show him now, but she left those on a flash drive—and a backup drive in the cloud—at the apartment she rarely visited. Personal photos weren’t the kind of thing you carried when doing the sorts of missions she did. You didn’t want anyone figuring out who you were or where you lived.

And she definitely didn’t want Sergei or Dmitri to find her.

Johnny drove them to a location that Yuri Budayev had arranged for them. It was a small house with a garage for hiding the van. They climbed out, dragging their gear, and went inside. The house was barely the size of a shoebox. There was a combined kitchen and living area, a bathroom, and one bedroom.

Johnny threw his gear into a corner and pulled out the laptop he’d gotten from Yuri. His eyes were bloodshot, but he looked as delicious as ever. He was tall, strong, his muscles bulging as he stripped off the layers he wore until there was nothing but a T-shirt stretching over his chest, dog tags dangling between his pecs.

Kat went over and flipped on the television, searching for a news station. When she found it, she stepped back to watch. The city was gearing up for the visit of the American vice president and vendors rushed to stock commemorative souvenirs. It wasn’t as big a deal as a presidential trip, but it was still big business for Moscow’s citizens. Hence the collectibles.

There was little mention of the ambassador and no mention of an American military team’s involvement. A good thing, probably.

“Shit.”

Kat turned. Johnny sat at the computer with his forehead in his hands. His face was lit by the glow of the screen, and her heart hitched. So handsome. So lonely. She wanted to go to him and press her lips to the tight corners of his mouth, the worry lines on his forehead, before sliding her tongue against his and making him forget for a while. He wouldn’t welcome that kind of comfort from her though. He never would again.

“What’s the matter?”

He slapped the computer closed. “My team is delayed.”

“So we wait,” she said. “The summit isn’t until the day after tomorrow. There’s time to get to Sergei.”

“Yeah.” He blew out a breath.

She knew he hadn’t wanted his people to come to Russia at all, but they’d insisted on it. Which meant he’d figured them into the plan on how to infiltrate Sergei’s home. If they didn’t make it?

Shit was right. They’d be down to two operators—her and Johnny. And that wouldn’t be easy with the increased security Sergei would have put into place for the summit being in Moscow.

“We’ll figure it out,” she said. “We’ll get to him.”

“There’s something else… he has my operators. My missing squad. Ian has intel they’re in Moscow, in one of Turov’s warehouses. But he doesn’t know which one.”

He was on edge, angry, and no doubt feeling helpless. She understood those feelings better than he realized. There were too many directions to go in and not enough time or manpower.

He shoved back from the table and stood. “We have to plan for going after Turov alone.” He yanked the map from his bag and spread it on the table. “Tell me where his security checkpoints are again.”

“He didn’t own this house eight years ago,” she reminded him as she walked over to his side. “But I can guess based on what I know about how he does things.”

She bent over the map. She could smell his anger and frustration. She wanted to put a hand on his shoulder and rub some of the tension away. Instead, she focused on the blueprint. “He’ll have guards at the gates. They’ll be checking IDs and quite possibly going through the vehicles. He’ll also station people at the entrances to the house—here and here and here. Inside, he’ll rely on cameras.”

The map showed the location of the cameras, including the control room. She couldn’t imagine how the Tiger had gotten this, but she was glad for it. They wouldn’t go in blind at least, even if they did go in severely undermanned.

“What kind of personal security does he have?”

“When he’s traveling, he has bodyguards. In his house, he prefers everyone to blend into the walls. He doesn’t like being disturbed. He goes to bed at midnight and wakes at seven. He spends an hour in bed with breakfast and coffee, and then he takes a shower and gets dressed. He heads for the office around nine at least three days a week. Tomorrow is Tuesday, so he won’t go in tomorrow—provided he’s still keeping to the same schedule. It could have changed.”

He was watching her with interest. “How do you know his schedule so intimately?”

She forced herself to maintain eye contact though her heart thumped and bile rose in her throat. She hadn’t been Sergei’s mistress for the entire time, but she’d been in his bed often enough to know his routine didn’t vary. “Because I worked for him for ten years.”

He seemed to accept that. “Then it’s best to go after him sometime between midnight and seven. Unfortunately, without HOT to help with a break-in, we’ll have to go during business hours. When does he let people in the gates?”

“Around six, usually. There are deliveries, workmen, that kind of thing.”

“Then we’ll go in the morning if HOT isn’t here before then. We can’t afford to wait.”

Kat rubbed her arms. “Sergei knows we’re here. He sent people after us at the cemetery and the Tiger’s bunker. He’s not sitting there clueless—he’s waiting for us. Guarantee it.”

His eyes glittered. “You can always stay here if you don’t want to go.”

“That’s not what I’m suggesting. But we need backup. HOT, Ian—doesn’t matter who. We need more operators. I say we wait at least twenty-four hours.”

“We don’t have time,” he growled. “He has my men, and he’s got something up his sleeve with the summit. We need time to find out what that is—if we wait too long, we may not be able to stop anything.”

“And if we get ourselves killed, nobody’s going to find out a damned thing!”

His face was stone. “I call the shots on this one. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to go.”

She folded her arms and glared at him. “You aren’t in charge here, Johnny, no matter what you might think. We’re a team—I’m risking my life for you because I won’t let them take you away from me too—not after everything I went through to save you the first time. But you can’t be stupid about this.”

“Careful, solnishko.”

“Or what? You’re going to spank me?” Her breath hitched, damn her. She remembered him spanking her two nights ago—and her blood roared with heat. The burn of his hand on her bare skin, the stinging pleasure that followed. The way her clit ached so much it hurt, the slick wetness of her pussy as he slammed into her body again and again.

Something of what she was thinking must have registered in his brain as well. His jaw tightened and his chest rose and fell a little more rapidly.

“Goddamn you,” he growled.

Wild, reckless heat soared in her soul. He was not immune, no matter how much he wanted to be. “What’s the matter, Johnny? Thinking about fucking me while spanking my ass?”

“Val—Kat.” He closed his eyes as if working on maintaining his iron control. “This gets us nowhere.”

“It makes you hard. Doesn’t it?” It certainly made her wet. Which was insane, because the emotional canyon yawning between them was too vast to ever cross. She could incite him to losing control, to taking her hard and fast and deep, but she could never incite him to love her again.

Yet the love inside her threatened to swallow her up and tear her apart. Because he didn’t return it. Would never return it. She didn’t blame him, but it still hurt. She’d kept such a tight rein on it for the past two days—but now. Holy hell, now.

They were almost to the end of this journey. She had a gut-deep feeling that it was all going wrong. That it was a suicide mission. He wouldn’t survive it—and maybe she wouldn’t either.

She could handle the thought of her death far better than she could handle the idea of Johnny Mendez dying in Moscow after all these years. She’d left him here twenty-one years ago to save his life. Now? He couldn’t fucking die. She wouldn’t allow it. She’d sacrificed too much to let that happen.

“It doesn’t matter what it makes me,” he said. Growled really. “Because it doesn’t change anything. I could strip you naked and lose myself in you—but I can’t forgive you. Is that what you really want?”