Sutton whistled. “Hairy stuff.”

As much as he preferred not to talk about his work, Jose reminded himself this kept the focus off Stella’s job.

He clapped the kid on the shoulder. “If you call jumping into a minefield hairy, then sure, it’s hairy stuff. Another of my buddies, Franco, was dropped onto a mountain in Afghanistan to rescue a Green Beret with his legs blown off in a minefield. We couldn’t risk the rotor wash of a landing helicopter setting off another mine that would take out the whole aircraft and everyone in it. So Franco parachuted in alone. He used his medic training to secure the patient, then the helicopter hoisted them both up.”

“Hey,” Stella said, “that’s the same buddy of yours who rescued the lawyer and her nephew from earthquake rubble last year. Right, Jose? You do civilian rescue work too.”

“They were buried underneath layers of concrete slabs.” Jose kept on talking, since sure enough, the kid wasn’t focusing on Stella anymore and that was good for a lot of reasons. “Franco not only crawled through with stabilizing medical help, but also stayed with them through aftershocks until rescue teams could free them.”

Sutton leaned back against the tree trunk. “That’s one helluva bedtime story.”

Although, the sun was rising, which meant they would either be leaving or evading. “You only have about a half hour left to catch some shut-eye.”

“Then I’d better make the most of it.” Sutton’s eyes slid closed.

And as the student began snoring lightly, Jose realized he had no buffer between him and Stella. Nothing left but the two of them and a boatload of messy history.

***

In spite of all her intention to button up her heart tight, Stella couldn’t bring herself to sleep away these last minutes with Jose, not with the dream of their first date still curling through her mind and into her heart. The sun was rising and the chopper would certainly be arriving soon. They would go their separate ways again.

So even as exhaustion tugged on her every cell, she forced her eyes to stay open. She tugged the ponytail holder free and began braiding her hair loosely.

Jose’s eyes glowed coal hot in the night. “Are you seeing him?”

Surprise jolted her. “Sutton? Really? God, no. He’s just a kid.”

“Twenty-two, according to the briefing info we got on the hostages before rolling out. He’s not that much younger than either of us. Hell, I’m a couple of years younger than you and that never seemed to matter to either of us.”

She saw jealousy—and hurt. The first would have made her defensive, but the latter made her lean forward and stroke his jaw lightly.

“Well, I am not seeing him. Why would you think that?”

She was still so raw from their relationship, she didn’t know when—if—she could think about commitment again. And how scary was that? She was nowhere closer to finding out anything about her mother and she’d screwed up any possibility of a relationship with Jose. She wanted a family of her own, but she couldn’t think of being with anyone else.

But what about Jose? Had he already moved on? Was that why he thought she could?

She couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Are you seeing someone new?”

“I make it a point not to be dumped more than once every six months. Since you broke it off with me four weeks ago, I have five months left to be careful and stay completely single. No risks to the heart.”

Her fingers still carried the feel of his unshaven jaw. “Risks to the heart?” How the hell could he place this all at her doorstep? Anger welled inside her. “If we’re laying it out there, don’t forget I wanted more with you.”

“Just so we’re clear here.” He tugged the end of her braid. “I asked you to move in with me.”

The connection of his hand on her hair shimmered clear to her roots and pissed her off. “Yeah, well, call me old-fashioned but I was hoping we could have it all—house, family, rocking chair retirement with grandchildren—and you also made it clear that was never going to happen.”

So much for keeping her distance.

He gave her braid a final tug. “Keep right on fighting. You can let down soon.”

The way he knew just how to bolster her, how to read her, brought a lump to her throat. Spending time with him now was bittersweet, knowing how it would end.

“Stella…” He pulled his 9 mm from the holster. “For you.”

He had his machine gun, so it made sense. Still, she appreciated having control of her safety again after the helplessness of the past three days.

“Damn you,” she whispered, cradling the handgun in her hands.

“What did I do now?”

“You understand me,” she admitted, her anger peeling away, leaving nothing but the hurt behind. “I almost hate you for that. Be horrible, okay? Be a total jerk. Make this easier for both of us.”

He cupped the back of her head, his fingers massaging into her scalp. Tempting her all over again. If she could just give up her dreams, she could have him…

Then she would resent him, truly hate him in the end.

A low hum started in her brain, a buzz of frustration or doubt? Either way, it grew louder and louder until…

Jose went tense. His hand fell away and he launched to his feet. “The helicopter’s here.”

***

The CIA agent pulled out his buzzing cell phone, but he didn’t recognize the number scrolling across the screen. Not unusual, since they used disposable names and identities on a regular basis.

He held up a hand to his two fellow operatives for them to carry on with their brief about the aircraft picking up the rest of the team. He would be right back. Sidling out of the small conference room, he ducked into a deserted computer cubicle in the hangar-based mobile command center and thumbed the on button.

“Yes?”

“Hello, Henry Pope.” The tinny sounding words carried over the phone, unrecognizable with a voice changer distorting the sound.

That didn’t scare him. But the fact that the person had used his real name? That scared the shit out of him. Only one person would use his name on this line while he was in the middle of a top secret op in Africa.

“How did you get this number?” Damn it, their business was concluded. He’d done what they asked. The debt had been settled.

“My people can always find your number.”

All those video screens and the hum of activity in the next cubicle over had his skin crawling. If a Predator unscrambled his encrypted signal… “I can’t talk now.”

“Then just listen,” the mechanical voice continued. “There’s a young man who will be on the flight with the rescued hostages.”

How the hell did they know that clear across the ocean? He looked around him at the computers with workers hunched over the screens, wearing headsets and monitoring data. Who? Who was trying to sabotage his life? Was someone here talking to him or feeding information?

Maybe if he kept the person talking, he could find the bastard who’d been making him dance like a puppet for the past year. He wasn’t some errand boy.

He’d paid off his debt. “What is it you want?”

“Very simple. We just want to know what he says, who he implicates.”

“Who is this person?”

“Check your messages when they land. We’ll send you the rest of your assignment then.”

That sounded easy enough, but he didn’t need their help anymore. He wasn’t going to risk his ass for nothing.

“No can do,” he lied. “I don’t have access to what you want. Sorry, but I’m out.”

“I’m disappointed to hear that. But not surprised.”

A crackle sound on the other end of the line and then…

“Henry?” The voice changer had been removed. His wife spoke now, familiar, dear—terrified.

Panic twisted his gut in half. “Charlotte? Are you okay?”

Please Lord, let her be all right. His mind was already racing to a horrific conclusion.

“They haven’t hurt me, but they have guns, Henry. They carjacked me.” Her voice cracked on a sob. “They have Ellie too. We were in the minivan together. I’d just picked her up from preschool.”

Whimpers carried over the line, his daughter in the background.

Nausea welled, and he tried like hell to swallow it back. He was going to be sick, right here in front of everyone in the hangar. His secret would be out and his family would suffer the consequences.

Sweat beaded on his brow. He had to keep his cool, for his family, for his career, for his life.

“Stay calm, Charlotte. I’ll take care of everything. I promise.”

“Henry, I love…”

The phone line went dead.

Chapter 5

His time with Stella was at an end.

Jose eyed the approaching aircraft with relief—and yeah, a little disappointment since he would have to say good-bye once and for all. This bizarre pocket of time together was over, reopening all the wounds that had only just started healing after Stella dumped him the first time.

There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Their ride had arrived, descending about fifty yards away. Not a helicopter after all, but a CV-22, the Air Force’s newer tilt rotor aircraft. Engines on the wings moved, enabling it to do vertical takeoff and landings like a chopper, then point forward to fly like a regular plane. The CV-22 combined the maneuverability of a helicopter with the speed of an airplane.

The military wasn’t messing around here.

Jose stood along with Bubbles, both of them sliding in place along either side of Sutton Harper, propping him as he hopped on one leg.

Jose glanced left at Stella, knowing he had to help the lame student, knowing she could take care of herself. But aching with everything inside him to toss her over his shoulder and carry her straight to the aircraft himself. “Stella? Are you good?”

“I’m fine.” Her hand fell away from her ribs, the ribs he’d seen her cradling one too many times. “The sooner we get onboard, the sooner I can let you medics baby me to pieces.”

The CV-22 descended, blades whomp, whomp, whomping, pushing the air downward. Tall grass bowed in an outward circle.

“Go,” Bubbles shouted. “Go, go, go!”

Bubbles’s words popped like a starter pistol through Jose’s brain. He ran. His body worked on instinct from dozens of marathons, countless missions. His feet moved, legs pumping with everything inside him. Sprinting out from the cover of trees. Each step pushed the fresh scent of morning out of the ground.

As he raced closer to the helicopter, he could already almost smell the familiarity of it, a mustiness of past missions mingling with the scent of hydraulic fluid. This was his life, the military. Dreams of enlisting had been the only thing that kept him going as a teenager when his mother’s drinking got worse. When his sister started drinking too.

He’d been thirteen years old then, parked in front of the television for the summer because his sister drank away their zoo pass money. He’d seen a commercial about joining the Air Force, seeing the world.

For him, anywhere sounded better than where he’d been that day—

“Jose!” Stella’s scream just barely carried over the roar of the helicopter.

He jerked his head around fast and saw her. She’d stopped dead in her tracks, a gun in her hand and horror plastered across her face. His 9 mm that he’d given her, not really expecting that she would need to use it. He followed the line of her aimed weapon.

A teenage boy ran out of the tree line with a rifle slung over his shoulder. A couple of goats scattered as he plowed forward, his words carried away by the wind.

“Halt!” Stella shouted.

The boy froze, his eyes wide, but his hold on his rifle looked practiced, comfortable. Stella leveled the gun, pointing with the fluid ease of training. Jose’s stomach rose up to his throat. The thunder of the lowering CV-22 echoed the roar in his head. The boy didn’t seem much older than Jose had been when sitting in front of the television all those years ago, dreaming of joining the military but too young to make that dream come true yet.