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  The LC cursed under his breath. “I’m guessing the attack wasn’t a coincidence.”

  “I don’t think so. She got a call from a coworker not long afterward, telling her that her apartment in DC was ransacked. The guy in the parking lot tried to grab her purse, so I figure they were looking for something.”

  John repeated everything she’d told him about the drop, including the car, the license plate, and the woman wearing a military jacket. He also told the LC about the documents she had.

  “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. A redacted deployment order? Only a handful of people would have had access to that.”

  Pretty much exactly what John had said.

  “I’ll have Kate look into it and see what she can find out,” Taylor said. “Maybe finding Brittany’s source will help us find the leak.” He didn’t sound overly optimistic. “Anything about the guy in the parking lot?”

  “It was raining and hard to see. He was wearing a hood, so I didn’t get a good look at him. But he was about my size and build and knew how to fight.”

  All of which were significant. Not a lot of guys had a build like his. He was in top physical condition—or had been two months ago.

  “One of ours?”

  “I couldn’t rule it out, but if I had to guess, I’d say Eastern European.” Team Nine had trained with some guys in Crimea once, and Brittany’s attacker reminded him of that.

  “Russian?” The LC asked grimly, as if he already knew the answer.

  “Could be.”

  Taylor didn’t say anything, but John knew what he was thinking. If the Russians were trying to stop her, what did that mean? Were they trying to protect a source—maybe the same source who’d leaked the mission—or did they just want to avoid the public relations disaster of having it be known that they wiped out a platoon of US soldiers?

  Retiarius might have been on Russian soil—which made it look bad for the US—but President Ivanov had vowed to go to war under that very scenario. If what had happened became public, he’d lose considerable face or be forced to go to war. Humiliation or a war with the biggest superpower in the world. For Ivanov, that was what you called a no-win situation.

  “Did he get a look at you?”

  “Not a good one. It happened fast. I was wearing a hood, too. With any luck, he’ll just assume I’m one of the locals.”

  And without luck they were screwed. Like Brittany, they would be targets for anyone who wanted their op to stay a secret, and it would make finding out who had set them up a hell of a lot more difficult.

  “Do you think they were tracking her?”

  “Probably. I didn’t want to take any chances, so I got her out of there fast.” John explained about her luggage and phone, as well as the zigzag train rides.

  “Where are you now?”

  “Denmark.”

  “Good. Sit tight for a couple days. I’ll be in touch once I’ve seen what Kate can dig up on Brittany’s source. I’ll also see if anyone checked into an emergency room with a broken arm. But I’m not holding my breath on that.” Neither was John. A professional would have his own resources. “I assume I don’t have to worry about any more articles?”

  It wasn’t really a question. It was more of a “you better have done your fucking job.” But the LC didn’t know Brittany. She wouldn’t give up so easily. Not with something like this. If she thought the government was trying to cover up her brother’s death—which admittedly it was—she would be relentless. No quit. As that pretty much summed up every SEAL John knew, he might admire her for it if that same quality in her didn’t wind him up so much.

  “Brittany kind of has a mind of her own when it comes to things like this.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  He sighed. “It means I don’t think she’s put aside the idea.”

  Taylor swore a few times at that. “What more does she need to understand the danger?”

  “She understands the danger fine.” John paused. “I think she’s more like Brand than either of them realized.”

  In other words, she was like them. They didn’t run from danger; they ran toward it. He wasn’t one of those guys who thought women couldn’t hack it in war. His mom had made damned sure of that. She’d been a strong woman—and a fighter. He’d never seen anyone do battle the way she had in the hospital. But he’d never understood how such a smart woman—and a feminist to her bones—could fall in love with a guy like his father.

  It was one reason John had no intention of getting married. He’d never do to a woman what his father had done to his mom.

  The LC cursed in frustration before responding. “Well, do what you can to convince her, but if you can’t do that, then at least keep her occupied and too busy to think about anything else,” the LC said. “Put some of that skill you are supposed to have with women to good use for once.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?”

  “I’ll leave the details to you, but I’m sure you can think of something.”

  The LC wasn’t suggesting what John thought he was suggesting . . . was he? “Sleeping with her is off the table, LC. I’m not going to seduce Brand’s sister.”

  He left out “again.”

  “At ease, Donovan. Don’t get your choir boy robes all in a twist. I wasn’t suggesting you sleep with her— although good to know you do have a few lines you won’t cross when it comes to good-looking women. I was referring more to your tour guide skills.” He paused. “Interesting assumption to make though. Have something on your mind, sailor?”

  Ah, hell. John decided to cut his losses and change subject. “You and Kate any closer to figuring out who did this?”

  “We’re still working on a few leads.”

  In other words, no.

  “Weren’t you the one complaining about lack of leave the past couple of years?” Taylor asked. “Well, you got it. So I suggest you take advantage of it while you can.”

  “Let me guess, by sightseeing in Copenhagen?”

  “Exactly.” The LC sounded like he might be smiling. “Keep me posted.”

  John hung up and started to head back to the room. But recalling who was waiting for him, he took the elevator downstairs instead to talk to the front desk.

  When the maid made up the room later today, that king bed was going to turn into two twins.

  Thirteen

  Brittany took a sip of her Austrian beer in its Edelweiss logo glass and studied the man across the picnic-style table.

  “What?” John said. “Do I have mustard on my face or something?”

  She smiled. “No. I’m just surprised, that’s all. I wouldn’t think that bratwurst was on the John-Donovan-approved menu list. Didn’t you give me a long lecture after I ate that hot dog at the Padres game about how unhealthy they were?”

  He’d taken her to a baseball game to cheer her up not long after that first time he’d sat down next to her on the beach. She’d made a comment about the only thing they ever had on the TV being baseball, which had to be about the most boring sport known to man and mentioned that she’d never been to a game. He insisted on correcting that “defect” in her Americanness immediately, and they’d spent a Sunday afternoon baking in the warm San Diego sun. She still didn’t like baseball, but being at the game with him had been the most fun she’d had in years. They’d argued playfully all day.

  Much like today. Which had also been one of the most fun days she’d had in years. He was funny and charming, easy to be around, and so sexy he made her eyes hurt. Too many times today it had felt as if they were a couple. It had been the same way five years ago.

  He put down the enormous roll loaded with sauerkraut, mustard, and some kind of weird curry ketchup and gave her a look of acute disappointment that hadn’t lessened any in five years. “Anyone who eats a hot dog at a Padres game when there are s