“Hurry up,” Jack growled. “Knock him out and stop being so gentle about it.”

“It’s Mari, Jack,” Ken whispered, needing to say it aloud.

“What?” Jack jerked around, staring at the sniper as the eyes fluttered closed. “Are you certain?”

Ken pulled the woman’s belt loose and buckled it around her leg. “Either that or your wife is playing sniper for the other team. It has to be Mari. She looks exactly like Briony.”

Jack backed up until he had a good look at the woman’s face. There was dirt and scratches and blood, but the sight of her lying pale, platinum and gold hair spilling around her face, nearly stopped his heart. “Is she going to make it?”

“I’m trying. She’s lost some blood. We’ve got to get out of here, Jack. Kadan and the others aren’t going to be able to hold them for long. Who’s our medic?”

“Nico is the closest. He’s with the helicopter, about an hour out.”

“Tell him to rendezvous at the point. We’ll hump it out of here and hope she doesn’t bleed out while we make a run for it.” Ken reached over the top of the woman to grab her arm. He inhaled as he did so. He’d been holding his breath without realizing it, afraid to take in her scent. Whitney had done a lot of experimenting, everything from genetic enhancement to pheromones. Ken wanted no part of that. He already had enough to contend with.

Mari was small and shapely beneath the vests, camouflage clothing, and regulation boots. The moment Ken drew her scent into his lungs, he knew he was in trouble. It mattered little that they were surrounded by the enemy, or that she smelled of sweat and blood; her natural scent acted like a powerful drug, an aphrodisiac, and he found his body reacting in spite of the dangerous situation. He clenched his teeth and brought her up to his shoulders, then moved quickly through the heavy brush toward the rendezvous point with the helicopter.

Jack retrieved her weapon, slinging it around his neck and falling in behind his brother, forcing his attention on keeping them alive, and not worrying about what might happen to his wife’s sister.

Kadan and the rest of the team would get the senator and his wife to safety, utilizing the vehicles. Kadan had already arranged for another helicopter pickup at an opposite location. Ken and Jack were fairly certain the assassination team was going to be charging after them and their prisoner, or at least dividing. In any case, Kadan needed to question the senator’s wife. At the very least they needed to take a much closer look at her.

Ken ran, feeling with every step he took the weight of the knowledge that he was the one who had shot the woman. If she died, he would never be able to face Briony, Jack’s wife. He loved Briony. She accepted him with his ugly face and body, never flinching away or averting her eyes. But more than her acceptance, she’d changed Jack’s life. She’d brought happiness and hope to both of them when their world had been bleak and unforgiving.

Briony and her twin sister had been two of the orphans Whitney had experimented on, and he had separated the twins, keeping Marigold and giving Briony up for adoption. Briony was frantic to find Mari, and if Ken had killed her, he had no idea what that would do to their family. He sent up a silent prayer as he jogged, trying to ignore the smell of blood and the feel of it soaking into his shirt.

They had been looking for Marigold, unraveling the clues leading to her for weeks now. They’d started with the premise that Whitney still had her locked away in one of his many compounds. The locations were secret and difficult to find, as he had a high security clearance and someone very high up was helping him cover his tracks. But they had the name and registration number of the private jet that had gone down in the Congo carrying the senator. And there had been a private jet carrying the team of men who had chased Briony across the country.

The jets were owned by two different corporations. The company in Nevada had a secretary who simply stated that the owner, an Earl Thomas Barlett, was not available. He signed all the documents and owned a home, yet there was no public document on him, not even a driver’s license. Strangely enough, the company in Wyoming mirrored the one in Nevada. Both consulting companies were represented by the same attorney, who had purchased the jets for each.

The corporation in Wyoming owned a great deal of wilderness in the Cascades, inaccessible by anything but small planes landing on the very expensive airstrip or by a rapid and dangerous river. The senator just happened to own a hunting cabin on the adjacent land and have landing privileges given by the Wyoming consulting company. The same attorney had been used to acquire those privileges.

Jack and Ken had been on their way to do a little recon when the orders came down to protect the senator. Their team had taken a helicopter into the remote area and set up surveillance and an exit plan. The senator had insisted he and his wife should continue their hunting trip in spite of the danger, and she had concurred, turning down the team’s recommendation to move to a more secure area.

Ken tried not to think about the woman slung around his shoulders, or how her body felt against his. He didn’t want to touch her skin or feel for a pulse, or acknowledge the slide of silky hair along his jaw where her head bounced. She seemed to envelop him, and the scent of her soaked into him through his pores, his lungs, deep into his tissues and bones where he knew he’d never eradicate her.

He wanted to stay numb for the rest of his life. He didn’t want to have to face another trial by fire. He wasn’t certain he was strong enough to overcome the rage living and breathing inside of him. He couldn’t afford to feel. He couldn’t afford to want or need. He lived for the job. He lived to keep Jack safe, and now Briony and the twins she carried. Life for him had stopped almost before he was born, and it was much safer for everyone that way.

This unknown woman, already the enemy, could destroy not only him, but his family. It was through no fault of her own, but he didn’t dare allow compassion to sway his course. He was not going to become more of a monster than he already was. Inch by slow inch, his life had been compromised, until his outside skin reflected the dark shadows inside him where no one could see.

The hounds have been unleashed, Kadan warned. Not one stayed to go after the senator. They’re coming after you. I don’t dare leave the senator, just in case this is a setup, but watch yourself. I’m not certain who your sniper is, or why he’s so important, but get the hell out of there. You’re in enemy territory. And he’ll be able to communicate with them if you don’t get him out of range.

Copy that, Jack said. He’d dropped back even farther to protect them as they raced toward safety. And our him is a her.

Ken didn’t bother to acknowledge. He splashed through three narrow streams and up a steep embankment, grateful for the fact that he was genetically enhanced. He could run long distances without fighting for air, and carrying the woman, as small as she was, was no problem. But soldiers coming up behind them were enhanced as well, and they carried guns. He tried to stay to the heavier foliage when at all possible, deep in the trees, careful not to expose his body as he ran toward the rendezvous point.

The sound of the helicopter reached him. It was flying in low and fast. Kadan had held the other team off to give them the break they needed.

They might double back on you out of sheer frustration, Ken warned Kadan.

Nico flew over that stretch of land the corporation you were talking about owns. It’s a military training facility, Kadan announced. Watch yourself, they may track you in the air.

Ken swore softly and moved into position just on the edge of the clearing, where he could stay covered by the foliage. Jack came up behind him, but faced back toward the way they’d come.

“You need to get out of this, Jack,” Ken said. “I’ll have Nico drop me at a safe house and you get home to Briony. This most likely isn’t going to end well.”

“I’m not running out and leaving you in a hornet’s nest.”

“And what if we have to kill her? What then? Just go home and you’re out of it. You never have to tell her we found her sister.”

“Lie to Briony? Live a lie with her? That’s what everyone else did to her all those years. I’m damned if I do. I promised her I’d always tell her the truth, and no matter how messy this gets, she gets told everything just the way it happened.”

“You don’t have to be in it.”

“We don’t change things at this late date. Briony wouldn’t want that and neither do I. Whatever you’re thinking, Ken, forget about it. If there’s a chance to pull Briony’s sister out clean, we’ll do it. If we can’t recover her, then we have no choice here and we’ll accept that.”

“Briony won’t.”

“She’s stronger than you think she is. She doesn’t want Whitney to get his hands on our children any more than I do. I’m not leaving, so drop it.”

Ken kept his gaze on the helicopter as it dropped into the clearing. Nico was in the doorway, hands steady, eye to the scope to cover them as they ran.

Chapter 2

Marigold Smith seemed to be floating in a sea of pain. It wasn’t entirely unusual to wake up that way, but this time her heart was pounding in utter and total fear. She’d botched her mission. She hadn’t managed to speak to the senator and plead their case. She hadn’t protected him, and when she was captured, she hadn’t managed to end her own life. She had no idea if the senator was safe, or if he’d been murdered. It wouldn’t be so easy for anyone to get through Violet to him, but then Marigold hadn’t considered that she herself be unsuccessful either. Briefly she let that failure shake her confidence in herself. She wanted to keep her eyes closed tight and just wallow in misery. She had been taken prisoner by the enemy, and it was too late to end her life and save the others. That left her one option—she had to escape.

Her leg, her back, her chest, and even her hand throbbed and burned. Worst of all, she didn’t have an anchor to keep the psychic overload from frying her brain. She was wide open to assault, and that was more frightening than all the physical wounds in the world. She felt rather than heard movement near her and kept her eyes closed, her breathing even. There was no sound of footsteps, but she had the impression of someone large and very powerful leaning over her.

She wanted to hold her breath, self-preservation rising sharply, but then he would know she was awake. She drew in her breath and took him into her lungs. He smelled of death and blood and spice and outdoors. He smelled dangerous and like everything she didn’t want—everything she feared. But her heart accelerated and her womb clenched and her stomach did a frightening little flip. Her eyes flew open, in spite of all her resolve. In spite of the danger. In spite of her years of training and discipline. Her gaze collided with his.

His eyes were the most frightening she’d ever seen. Cold steel. A glacier, so frozen she felt as if the cold burned her skin everywhere his gaze touched. There was no mercy. No compassion. A killer’s eyes. Hard and watchful and utterly without emotion. They appeared gray, but were light enough to be silver. His lashes were jet black like his hair. His face should have been beautiful—it was constructed with care and attention to detail and bone structure—but several shiny, rigid scars crisscrossed his skin, running from under both eyes to his jaw and across his cheeks and up into his forehead. One scar dissected his lips, nearly cutting them in half. The scars ran down his neck and disappeared into his shirt, creating an unrelenting mask, a Frankenstein effect. The cuts were precise and cold and had obviously been inflicted with great care.

“Have you looked your fill, or do you need a little more time?”

His voice made her toes want to curl. Her reaction to him was disturbing and not at all that of a soldier—she was reacting entirely as a woman, and she hadn’t even known that was possible. She couldn’t tear her gaze from his, and before she could stop herself, the pads of her fingers traced one rigid scar down the length of his cheek. She braced herself for the psychic backlash—the onslaught of his thoughts and emotions, the shards of glass tearing into her skull that always accompanied touch, or even close proximity to others—but she could only feel the heat of his skin and the hard ridges that had been sliced into it.