Christ on a cracker, he was still hard beneath the zipper of his borrowed jeans. They were a little snug as it was, and getting snugger by the minute.

He stood at the counter and watched her pussy-foot around the table and him. Damn, he’d wanted a little R&R, sex would even him out right about now, especially with his dick in a knot over this scrumptious woman.

But LT had given him an order and it complicated this thing between them. He might be in her bed right now if things hadn’t gone off the rails. In the shower, he’d imagined her sucking him with that soft, sexy mouth of hers, then climbing on top of him and riding his dick while he watched her caress her breasts and make herself come while he was fucking her. It wasn’t a surprise that he’d jacked all over himself.

Yet that release hadn’t been enough as evidenced by his erection straining his zipper.

The surprise was that she wasn’t anything like Caitlin or Mia. Both of those women had been fragile and innocent. Soft. Not that Paige wasn’t soft. She was, but she had…backbone…sass and he liked it more than he’d thought he would. Whenever he remembered Caitlin, it hurt too much to recall how she had left him. Then Mia. Both of them unable to really handle his deployments. Maybe, just maybe that’s what he had been going for? Women who weren’t strong enough, women who wouldn’t want to move forward with him, start a family, then if he was killed in battle, he wouldn’t leave anyone behind to mourn him like his mom, sister and he had mourned his dad.

He swallowed hard, rising up at the thought. He pushed it away, not wanting to delve in too deep at their separate betrayals. Caitlin had gone back home, and Mia had found someone easier.

He wondered what his dad would do in this situation if Paige was his mom. His dad knew he wanted to marry her from the moment he laid eyes on her. He wouldn’t have given in or given an inch. But Kid barely knew Paige and really, he insisted, he just wanted to have an uncomplicated fling with her. Sex could often be so simple.

But then, he knew, also, that sex could be one colossal mistake as evidenced by his train wreck relationships. Except he had to think again, Paige wasn’t like either Caitlin or Mia.

The oven’s timer went off, and she came back into the kitchen. He straightened to let her pass, but couldn’t help watching her take the amazing smelling chicken out of the oven and set it on the cooktop. She checked the peas, and obviously satisfied with their tenderness, removed them from the burner and twisted the knob to off.

“Anything I can do?”

She shook her head. “Just have a seat, and I’ll bring everything over.”

He did as she asked, removing himself from temptation, the thoughts of his exes crowding his mind and curbing his usual exuberant recklessness. Frankly, it was much easier to stealth in the darkness and take down enemies, fall off a cliff and use his skill and reflexes to not only recover, but get a win out of a clumsy mistake.

He didn’t want to make a clumsy mistake here. Maybe women like Paige were much too hard to handle, too strong for him.

He scowled at that thought and didn’t like that he’d even entertained the thought.

He wasn’t used to acknowledging any kind of weakness in himself. It was counterproductive to getting the job done, to winning. It wasn’t his mindset, too deep and serious. He rejected it completely.

She brought over a basket of rolls, then went back for the serving plate with the chicken, decorated with mangos and orange slices, and peas, the butter still melting on top.

“Looks great,” he murmured, the scent of food made his mouth water.

“Dig in,” she offered and sat down across from him.

He reached for a roll, helped himself to the chicken, salad and peas while she did the same.

“So, you have details about this assignment.”

“Yes.” She popped up. “I forgot the wine.” She went to the fridge, emerging with a bottle of white and then grabbed two goblets. Coming back to the table, she set one down in front of him. “About three weeks ago, the main armory at NAB Coronado was robbed and two MPs were killed during the attempt. By the time security and NCIS showed up, the plane with the weapons had already taken off.”

“Plane?”

“This was a well-executed, precision robbery. We believe that the weapons were already on the transport when the MPs caught and wounded the pilot.”

“And you used the DNA to find out his identity. Who?”

“David Duffield, a former marine. But we believe he didn’t act alone.”

“What makes you think that?”

“There were too many weapons stolen for this to be a solo gig and the security cameras were tampered with.”

“Hacked?”

“Yeah, and that person was very, very good at hiding both presence and identity. My best guys say it’s untraceable.”

He nodded. “Why do you think Anderson is involved?”

She finished chewing her forkful of chicken. “How do you know it’s Anderson I’m investigating?”

“That’s easy. Cris wouldn’t hurt a fly, and I can tell when a guy is legit. But Anderson is cagey, and I flat-out don’t like him. He gives me bad vibes.”

“Ex-CIA.”

“Figures. Those guys know how to get things done under the radar. A heist of government weapons would be like taking candy from a baby.” Everything was tasty, the chicken tender, the peas sweet and buttery, and the rolls flaky and delicious. “I’m sure it’s not the first operation he’s been involved in. Let me guess, he’s an international gun for hire and dabbles in arms.”

“Yes, to all of that. I don’t like him either, but I’m here to find out who was behind it and to recover government property.”

“With a promotion riding on it.”

She put her fork down and leaned forward. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. You have something personal at stake.”

She gave him a quelling look. “For you, this is just something you’re being forced into doing because you got in my way out there at the warehouse, and I knew you weren’t going to let it go, so I had to read you in so you didn’t blow my cover. So, yes, it’s personal in more than just my promotion. For me, it’s my whole life.”

She rose and pushed her chair back.

“Paige—”

She raised a hand to stall him. “I need some air. You finish eating. We’ll continue when I get back. All of it about business.” She grabbed her coat off the back of the sofa and went out the patio doors.

Kid sat there for a moment realizing that he’d hit one hell of a hot button. He’d only mentioned it because it was part and parcel of this mission of hers. It wasn’t an accusation or a way to subvert her.

He did finish eating, then he cleaned up, put everything away and washed the dishes. When she hadn’t come in, he grabbed the leather jacket and headed for the back. Stepping out, he saw the moon had risen and the snow-covered peaks of the mountains glowed in the soft light. Back in Coronado it was summer, San Diego warm and sunny as was the whole of the US. But here, it was winter and it felt like it with Paige’s obvious cold shoulder. Paige sat in one of the chairs with her back to him, looking out at the light drenched landscape.

She was tense, reading her like he would anyone, coming as second nature. Her hands were balled into fists on her thighs.

“Paige—”

“Don’t Paige me. I want you to read over the reports, see the crime scene photos, and you can draw your own conclusions, see if anything triggers something I might have missed.”

“I doubt you miss much.”

“Don’t try to charm me.”

“Tell me about the marines, the MPs.” His voice husky.

She took a breath and turned her head to look at him, held his gaze for what felt like forever, and he thought she was going to argue. This…this was the soft spot. She cared about those men and his mention of the promotion diminished it. Damn if he didn’t like her compassion. This woman was the full package. And, hoo-yah made him want her more.

“Corporal Ronald Miller, his mom kept calling him Rusty, played baseball, volunteered at a soup kitchen in downtown San Diego for the homeless. His dad was a vet who went off the radar. He wanted to serve in the worse way. He had a shock of carrot-colored hair and a laugh that would light up the room. He loved building model sailboats and sailing them in competitions. He was twenty-eight.”

Kid’s exact age. It shocked through him that the guy was as young as he was, still a full life ahead of him. He came around the chair and crouched down, bringing his face closer to eye level. In the moonlight and dark shadows, her eyes gleamed like a tiger’s, fierce and primal. That’s how he felt around her as if she boiled him down to basics.

“And the other man?”

She bit her lip and looked down. “David Hong. Father of little twin girls, Alice and Ariel. They had his beautiful eyes and dark hair, very adorable. Big softie, fan of Disney movies obviously. His wife was devastated, so much so, she couldn’t even talk to me. Her mom had flown out to visit and it was lucky she was there. He was getting out after this tour. They were moving back home to Indiana, closer to their parents. She was so excited that he’d be finally home and out of danger. He was thirty-two.”

He reached out. Her hands were icy. “Come on. Let’s go back inside. Show me what you want me to see. I have more questions.”

She nodded and rose. “It’s not about my promotion. I want it. I do. I feel guilty every time I think about it, but it’s just part of my reality.”

“I get that. I can see that. You don’t have to justify what you want for yourself to me. I understand. They’re not just dead marines to you. They’re a murdered son and husband. If we can’t feel the pain of the people we help, then why are we doing what we do? It’s not a sin to work hard and expect to get ahead.”

“I know that. But, thank you. I’m sorry I got snippy.”

“It’s okay. I can handle it. I’m a SEAL, and we’re tough both inside and out.”

She pushed his shoulder and slid around him, walking toward the house. He wanted to put his arm around her in the worse way. He didn’t know where the tenderness came from, it was just there and felt more real to him than any emotion he’d ever felt.

She stopped and then turned back around. He saw the look on her face and he simply opened his arms. She closed the gap between them, this tough, sweet woman needed a hug and that’s what he was going to give her.

Realizing he was stepping across a very dangerous line, and sharply aware of how hard his heart was pounding, he held her body against him, his jaw clenching. Those stark words about the marines touched on his own pain, and his eyes burned.

He gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“So, the marine is hit, worse than he thought and he what…crash lands? How do you know it was here and not in the ocean?” he murmured against her hair, breathing in her scent.

“We don’t. That’s the problem. But we have to make sure those guns don’t fall into the wrong hands and that our MPs and their families get the justice they deserve.”

He was totally on board now, thinking about his dad, thinking about his mom and sister, thinking about Paige.

Yeah, thinking about her was the most dangerous thought of all.

* * *

Cris Oyola had gotten married later in life at a time he figured he was going to be out of luck in finding a family, something he’d wanted for so long. His days of looking for adventure behind him after a harrowing tumble from one of his mountain bikes woke him up to what was missing in his life. But just when he had given up hope, Ariane had walked into his office looking for a job. She was ten years his junior, but that hadn’t stopped her from showing him that she was attracted to him. She’d been young, but there hadn’t been a moment of time that had passed that she hadn’t shown him her maturity. Not in managing the books, helping him with decisions in expansion of their company, or having and raising Ricardo, but they all called him Riky for short and Jhosselin, their two children. She…they were everything to him.

Cris was shaved, showered, and dressed in blue jeans and a silk cream, short-sleeved shirt. Standing in front of the stove frying bruñuelos, balls of yeast dough flavored with anise when he heard Ariane enter.

He turned and gave her a thorough look from head to toe. His beautiful wife had long, dark hair that tended to curl when she didn’t have time to tame it, something he thoroughly approved. She was delicate and slender, her skin smooth and creamy, the color of light brown sugar, dark brows over a set of almond eyes, the irises so brown they almost looked black. She had a lively sense of humor and the love she had for him shone from those expressive eyes. She returned his gaze, the intimacy they had shared this morning had turned him inside out, and he was still lost in the wonder of her. As if attuned to him, she gave him a small half smile that spoke absolute volumes. He said, his voice husky, “Good morning.”

Ariane wet her lips. “Good morning.”

The devil glinted in her eyes, and he smiled. “I think you must have been completely distracted, my love,” he said indicating her shirt with the lift of his spoon. The glint intensified. “Your shirt is inside out.”

Riky chortled and smacked the table. “He’s right, Mama.” She blushed which only made her more appealing. “You can’t take me to school like that. I would be embarrassed.”

“Hey, no disrespect. Your mama is always beautiful, even with her shirt inside out.”

“Thank you,” she said, kissing him on the cheek.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down next to their son, ruffling his hair. He had the same coloring as Ariane, but his features were purely his papa’s. Breakfast proceeded along until their seven-year-old daughter Jhosselin appeared, looking just a little cranky, a bedraggled llama clasped under her arm. Jhosselin wasn’t like her sunny mama in the morning. You couldn’t expect her to rise and shine until you fed her first.

Ariane got up to fix Jhosselin a bruñuelo, drizzling a generous portion of melted miel or honey on the dough ball. Jhosselin plopped down in her mama’s vacated seat. He looked at his daughter, a smile for her on his lips. “Good morning, bambino.”

She grunted and gave him a grumpy look. “Morning is yucky.”

“I guess they are at first, but then they get better.”

She gave him a look that made both him and Ariane laugh.

Fifteen minutes later, he had to maneuver around a few police cars, wondering what had initiated the increased police presence in the Prada. He was opening the doors of Going Down when he was greeted. “Good morning, Mr. Oyola,” his employee Juan said.

“Why are the police at the Prada?”

“There was some shooting going on last night. They are worried about tourists as you can imagine. Started near a bunch warehouses just behind our office.”

Cris stiffened. That was where Bryant had insisted they needed warehouse space. His increasing anxiety about Bryant Anderson, his so-called partner jumped up a notch. When he’d met the man, he’d been overjoyed to have the kind of partner with Bryant’s skills. The fact that he was an American also was attractive. He was sure he could increase the traffic to their business. He also had a nice offer of cash to sweeten the deal. But over the years, Cris had become…concerned with his secrecy and his aggressive behavior. Not only on the mountain bike treks, but with employees as well.

“Juan, you get things going. I have to do an errand I forgot about.”

“Yes, sir. Got you covered, Mr. O.”

He drove over to the warehouse district. There were armed guards at the door, but they let him pass when they recognized him. As he approached the office, he could hear Bryant’s voice and another man’s voice, one of his “employees,” a shady-looking, rough character named Dean Norris. Cris didn’t like him or trust him.

“Did you get a look at them?” Bryant was agitated, his voice filled with anger.

“No, sir. The guy was too fast, and I was out like a light. He was good. I’d say special ops. But it was too dark to see his face.”

“And the other one?”

“Small, slender and fast. If I had to guess, I’d say a woman. But I can’t be certain. They could have been drug runners, maybe. Got caught with a deal going down.”

“It’s possible, Bry.” The other male voice in the room was a booming, deep baritone. Bryant’s other shadow, Reggie Monroe. An even scarier guy. Cris was thinking he’d let vipers into his beautiful, ordered world, and he wasn’t quite sure how to get them out. Apprehension slithered down his spine.

“I can’t afford to ignore any breaches in security. Duffield messed up big time. After all that planning. Son of a bitch is dead and the plane in pieces.”

“No one’s onto us, though. We’re scot free,” Dean said. “If they are…well, we’ll make sure they keep quiet.” His tone was ominous.

“I don’t like what happened last night. My gut is telling me it ain’t good,” Reggie piped in.”

“We’re just about ready to search the area. It’s slow going with just the two of us. We’ll get them all.”

Cris had heard enough. He knocked and the room went silent. “Come in,” Bryant said. Cris pushed the door open. Reggie rose from the edge of Bryant’s desk. He was a huge man, black, his eyes cool and confrontational—all the time. Reggie’s head was completely shaved, and he looked to be far more comfortable in a combat zone, rather than a city that wasn’t under fire. He was the bigger of the two, a muscled, expressionless warrior wearing camo cargo pants and a long-sleeved Corps T-shirt with an unbuttoned olive shirt over the top.

Dean was blond and lean, but all muscle. His eyes were mean and hooded, devoid of any expression. His boots were pure military issue, flat black and lace-up. He wore a T-shirt with the sleeves torn out showing the tattoos on his forearms that went up to both shoulders, full sleeves filled with skulls and crossbones and other symbols of death. Cris’s apprehension doubled.

“I need to talk to you.” He glanced at the two men who didn’t move a muscle. “Alone,” he emphasized. His shadows looked to him, and Anderson gave them a quick nod.

Dean bumped his shoulder as he passed. “Oh, excuse me,” he said, but it was clear both the bump and the apology were nothing more than intimidation.

When the door closed behind them, Cris said, “What the hell happened last night? We have a business to run and protect, Bryant. I don’t like that there was gunfire around our warehouse.”

“It was nothing. The police are investigating, but probably just drug dealers.” Bryant’s tone was conciliatory, but after the overheard conversation, Cris knew there was something going on, something that involved a dead man and a plane. He didn’t know what, but Bryant wasn’t going to involve him in anything illegal. He would be ruined. He had to think about his family’s welfare.

“Look, I know we’ve had our differences, but you’ve been an asset to the company. I feel it might be time for us to dissolve our partnership. I think you might be interested in going in a different direction with expanding, but I’ve decided the three offices are enough for me and Ariane to manage. I can buy you out.”

Bryant’s gaze narrowed. “No, Cris. I think we do well together. I am staying.”

Cris moved forward and said, “It’s not going to work. We have different visions.”

“Don’t come in here and dictate to me. I saved you and this company. I’m not talking about this anymore.”

“Bryant—”

Cris backed up, his words cut off when Bryant lifted his arm and pointed a gun at him. “Don’t push me. I say what goes and you’re going to follow in line like a good little partner.” He rounded the desk and shoved the gun against Cris’s forehead. “I’ve got things going on, so you and that sweet little family of yours better keep your noses out of it.” He nudged the gun for emphasis, the barrel cold against Cris’s sweaty brow. “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you…or to them.” His platitudes couldn’t hide the ominous threat in his words. Bryant was giving Cris an ultimatum. “You understand,” he continued in a caring tone, but his eyes were hard and cold. “It’s safer.”

Cris swallowed hard, the fear for his family escalating just as Bryant had intended. Anger was mixed in as well. Bryant was a barbarian, and there was no telling what he would do to protect whatever illegal and dangerous thing he was doing. Cris’s mouth went dry…the thought that Ariane, Riky, or his precious little Jhosselin would be harmed made his gut tighten, every protective instinct surface.

Cris held up his hands. “All right!” he bit out. “I’ll back down. I don’t want to be involved in any of your messes.”

“You won’t be if you fucking mind your own business. This meeting is over.” He stared at Cris until he backed away from the gun’s threat. His heart pounding, feeling trapped in Bryant’s threat. Outside the door, he almost ran into Reggie and Dean. They regarded him with hostility, but this time it wasn’t hidden. He left the warehouse, shaken and afraid. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for his family. Not anything.

* * *

Bryant Anderson clenched his jaw and tucked the gun back into his waistband. Reggie and Dean walked in and closed the door.

“Why didn’t you just kill him. He could be trouble,” Dean said. “Hell, I’ll do it in some dark alley, make it look like a robbery.”

Bryant shook his head. “We can’t afford any heat right now. We’ll finish this operation, and Cris and his family can find another way to make a living.” He was well aware what Cris would do. Not a goddamned thing. He had his family to protect, and they meant everything to him. He knew now that if he stepped out of line, Bryant would put a bullet in each of them.

No one was going to mess up this operation. He had buyers for those weapons, buyers who were breathing down his neck. Kirikhan rebels from Kirikhanistan, filled with radical Islamists and rebel fighters who wanted independence from the now Post-Soviet states, the former Soviet Union. When a vast amount of oil had been detected in the small state tucked against Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, and Afghanistan, there was an attempt to overtake it that led to unrest and civil war. Now there were always bottom feeders in every society, but the leaders of the Kirikhan rebels were some of the finest. Boris and Natasha Golovkin. The only funny thing about them was their connection to Rocky and Bullwinkle. Those two didn’t give a damn about complications or stupid former marines who couldn’t assess whether they had a mortal wound or not. A former marine who had died just on the other side of La Paz close to the town of Colomi. The stupid, incompetent bastard. Bryant had practically tied everything up with a bow before he, Reggie, and Dean had left Coronado. All Duffield had to do was fly the damn plane.

He mulled over what Dean had said. The guy who’d attacked him had seemed like he’d been special forces. Hmmm, Pete Wilder’s kid? Ashe. Bryant wondered if he had followed in his old man’s footsteps. “Get on the horn to one of our contacts. Find out what Ashe Wilder is doing when he’s not skirt chasing and extreme sporting.”

“Roger that,” Dean said, pulling out his cell.

If that kid was anything like his bleeding-heart father, then they would have something else to handle. Wilder had been a tough, fearless bastard, but in the end, he had died, and he’d never seen it coming. Medal of Honor winner, ha! The CIA never got recognition for their deeds. Bryant was okay with that. He’d screwed over the agency as easily as he’d screwed everyone else he’d come into contact with. It was survival of the fittest, and Bryant was at the top of the food chain.

Except for the Kirikhans. They were animals and had no patience for people who screwed up. That was a scary duo, and he had no intention of missing his second deadline with their arms dealer, Anatoly Makarov. He seemed like a jovial Russian bear, but his claws would rend and tear Bryant apart.

It didn’t matter who was involved, he was going to recover everything or his life wouldn’t be worth a plug nickel.

The Kirikhans would see to that.