“Only issue I have is being in love with you,” I joke.

Lee raises her hands then lets them fall. “I give up. And you do realize you’re not really a minister!”

“I have a certificate that says otherwise.”

“I blame Liam for his brilliant idea of letting you get ordained.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

“What’s this paper?” I ask, bringing the conversation back to whatever led her here.

She sits with a sigh. “I can’t get a hold of the contact person in Egypt. It’s a small team that’s guarding a diplomat. He didn’t trust his last company, so he hired us. I worked really hard to secure this account. Assured him that we could handle it. No one is able to get a hold of anyone in their group.”

Fucking shit. “How many checkpoints have they missed?” I keep myself under control. Could this be another blip? Sure. It could also be that they’re unable to get reception on the satellite phone.

“Two.”

“How is this happening again?” I grumble.

Lee shifts. “I wish I had answers, but Liam thinks something is really wrong. I’ve put him at ease because he trusts you guys . . .” she trails off.

If she were my wife, I’d be telling her to leave, too. Before I can say anything else, Aaron knocks.

“Hey,” he says. “Lee, can you give us a minute?”

The former spouses smile their fake smiles, and she gets up. I gotta hand it to them. They both act way more mature than I would. Aaron really screwed up. He hurt Lee more than any of us probably know.

It was a mess.

And really awkward.

At the end of the day, she made her choice and he made his, but for Aara they keep their shit together. He always makes sure he’s there for her, and Lee does her best not to make him feel alienated. I wish more divorces were like theirs.

That being said, if my ex-wife married my former best friend, gloves would be off and someone’s nose would be broken.

“What’s up dickface?” I ask.

“I assume she told you?”

“Yeah, she did.” I stand. “Jackson know?”

Aaron walks to the door, pulls it closed, and then releases a heavy sigh. “I don’t think we should tell him.”

“Have you lost your mind?” I’m not sure I heard him right.

He walks toward me with his hands up. “We don’t have any information. Why would we go to him? Let’s spend the next week doing what we’re trained to do. I think all of our instances are related. Missing shipments, me being taken, Muff being shot, the mission in Egypt . . . it all centers on Jackson.”

I know where he’s going, but this is Jackson’s company. Sure, I practically run the operation from here, but he funds it. He’s in constant contact, monitors everything from California. He’s even opened a field office there to expand our reach. There’s no way in hell I’m keeping things from him. I like my paycheck.

“I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m just not saying you’re right.”

“I need to do something,” Aaron says while he cracks his knuckles. “I’m asking you to put me in charge of investigating this. Let me go back and figure out this whole thing.”

Now I know I heard him wrong. “You’re asking me . . . to send you back to Afghanistan?” I’m stunned. “Voluntarily?”

“I’m asking you to let me do what I know how to do.”

Aaron was an interrogator. A damn good one. There’s not a part of me that doesn’t think he gathered something while over there. Something he’s been harboring and festering over. I sure as hell would. A year of captivity is a long time of quiet reflection with nothing to do but use your mind.

“What do you know?” There’s no point in beating around the bush. It’s like a meeting of the minds with us, each of us working to outsmart the other, all the while pissing each other off.

For a second he looks stunned. “Same thing you know.”

“Don’t lie to me. Of all the people in this world, not me.”

Aaron knows why. I’ve saved his ass more times than he can count. I’ve covered for him more than I ever should. I’m also not an idiot. I’m sure he knows something.

“All I know is a name.”

I wait for an answer.

And wait.

Finally, I give him what he apparently needs. “And what name is that?”

“Al Mazir.”

That just happens to be a name I’ve heard before, and I know who my next call is going to be.

Charlie

“I understand, but I felt the mission was compromised. I couldn’t return to Afghanistan without being made,” I explain to my boss for the third time. Debriefs are the worst. The conference room is large, but I feel so small. I’m forced to go over every single angle, all the things I did right . . . and wrong. Of course, they tend to point out my errors more than anything. But I’m good. I’m damn good, and they know it.

“Charlie, there’s a great deal of intelligence collected, but what about where the leader is hiding? That was your mission. You were supposed to relay the location of Al Mazir, report any suspected terrorists he was working with, and get the hell home.” He flips through the very thick file I handed them. “I figured you would’ve gotten what you went for after the first six months, not over two years. Instead, you come home, continue working and saying you’re close by tracking him, but in essence you’re in the same damn spot.” Thomas looks up with disappointment.

If there’s anything I hate, it’s that look. One from not fulfilling the job I was sent to do. Did I get the info? No. But not for lack of trying. I spent over a year in that camp trying to gain access to the files I needed. I had to keep an injured American’s location quiet because the mission comes first. I knew he had a wife and child who thought he was dead. My job was bigger than either him or me, though, so I did the best I could to keep him from dying, and then got us both the hell out of there. I sacrificed a lot and was so deep undercover that I started to miss check-ins, code words, and went somewhat off the rails. But I embodied Fahima Salib. I was her in every way, all to get what I needed—answers.

Some of the other members of the terrorist ring were becoming suspicious. I started to notice hushed voices when I came around. It became more difficult for me to move among the groups, and I wasn’t sure anymore how close I could get. I figured they were meeting in other locations to discuss strategy; the safe house where they held Aaron was no longer their meet up.

“I gathered a lot more information than your other op did. Let’s remember that I also managed to find an American hostage who was presumed dead, collected files no one else could, and managed to gain more intel in the last year than anyone else who has boots on ground there.” My frustration grows, mostly at myself. Thomas would have a better chance of cutting my tongue out before I admit that, though.

“Your father would be—”

“Don’t even say it, Tom. You don’t get to talk about him.”

“I want you to take a few weeks off.”

My jaw would drop if I weren’t trained so well. “I’m sorry, I thought I heard you say weeks.”