Eve’s stomach tightened as she pushed her feet into the boots. That meant someone besides the US government and a group of terrorist thugs was after them. She cringed at the pain in her left foot. There was still glass in there. She’d get it out later.

“They came in by boat,” Archer said. “There’s a Bayliner tied to the dock.”

Eve knelt to tie the laces. The boots were three sizes too big, but big was better than nothing. “That’s probably our easiest way out of here.”

“Yeah. Miller left his truck, but it’ll take us twice as long to get to Everett that way.”

Eve stood and ground her teeth against the pain. “What’s in Everett?”

“My car.” When she stared at him, he added, “Supplies.”

Money, ID, passports, fresh weapons. Eve knew the drill. “Fine. Let’s go.”

She turned for the back door, but Zane’s hand gripped her T-shirt and pulled her back. Before she could catch her footing, he pushed the weapon to his side, shoved her up against the wall, and closed in at her front. Then his mouth was on hers. Hot. Hard. Demanding.

He kissed her with those sensuous lips and pressed his muscular, sweaty body into hers until all thought slipped from her mind, then pulled back. “You’re not alone, and you don’t have to do everything on your own. I’m here with you in this. Try to remember that.”

He stepped past her, out into the morning light, and, dazed, Eve stayed right where she was, pulse racing and mind spinning.

He was offering help. Help for something she’d dragged him into. No, she corrected herself, for something he’d stumbled into all on his own. He could leave, take off and get his team at Aegis to help him clear his name, but he wasn’t. Her gaze strayed out the shattered window toward the dock. He was staying. Waiting for her to join him.

Her heart picked up speed, and pain gathered beneath her ribs, where it beat hard and fast. Their rendezvous—okay, fuck session—in the bedroom replayed in her mind, and her stomach and chest grew tight all over again, just like it had the moment she’d realized what she’d done and climbed off him.

Sweat broke out all along her forehead, and she swiped at it with a shaky hand. A pissed Archer she knew how to handle. One hell-bent on revenge and retribution? Way easier to deal with than the one currently standing out on that dock. Offering to help. Trying to protect her. Because he cared.

“Tell me I never mattered to you and it was all about the job. I’ll walk away and you’ll never have to see me again.”

She squeezed her eyes tight. Stupid, stupid—so fucking stupid. He’d given her an out, and she hadn’t taken it. And now he knew her biggest weakness.

She braced a hand against the wall and tried to settle her quaking stomach. But it didn’t work. Because what waited for her out there scared her more than anything the CIA could throw her way.


Metal scraped metal, and Olivia braced a hand against the cold, dingy floor as she pushed up from where she’d been trying to sleep.

Bright light blinded her as the door to her cell was pulled open. A silhouette blocked part of the light, and she blinked several times to see more clearly, but she couldn’t make out any distinguishing features. “Who—who’s there?”

Fresh, blessed air drifted to her nostrils, pushing aside all the stale filth she’d been wallowing in these last days, and she drew it in deeply, as much as she could before they closed her in again. Heavy footsteps crossed the dirty metal floor as she was filling her lungs, and then a firm, large hand wrapped around her biceps and hauled her to her feet. “Time to go, little lady. The powers that be have decided you just might be useful to us after all.”

Pain raced down her arm and back up again. She yelped as she was dragged across the grimy floor and tried to find her footing. This wasn’t the same man who’d brought her food before. It was someone else.

Bright sunlight washed over her, blinding her, bringing her limbs to a stop in the warmth, and halting all questions about who had her now.

Freedom. Her body shook with sweet relief. The sun was still there. It hadn’t disappeared. There was still hope. Her legs went out from under her.

“Son of a bitch,” the man holding her arm muttered in a thick accent. He tugged hard again, and pain spiraled through Olivia’s body, but she couldn’t move her legs. They weren’t working. And the sun felt so good. She didn’t want to leave it. Couldn’t . . .

“Get up.” He yanked hard again.

Olivia yelped. Tried to stand. But her legs felt like Jell-O, and the sun . . .

“Fucking bitch.” He hauled her up and tossed her over his shoulder like she was nothing more than a sack of potatoes.

Pain echoed all through her weak body, but Olivia braced her hands against his back and lifted her head, blinking into the sunshine as he moved, trying to see—see something, anything.

Large shapes closed in around her. Blocking out the sunlight. She blinked over and over, trying to get her eyes to work, and then, slowly, the shapes came into focus.

Large metal containers. Hundreds of them, all around her. And above, angry-looking claw-like hooks. Big ones.

A seagull cried somewhere overhead, and Olivia realized it wasn’t just sunlight she was drawing in; it was salt as well. From seawater. They were at a port of some kind. And around her . . . those were ConEx containers. The kind that were shipped on barges from one country to another.

Gravel crunched under the man’s feet below her. He spoke to someone nearby in a language she didn’t understand. Spanish? German? Arabic? She couldn’t tell.

Focus, Olivia. Focus on anything you can so you can remember.

She was a teacher. Nothing special. And she was too weak to try to overpower these two and still live. But she’d watched enough crime movies to know that when she got out of this—if she got out of it—she needed to pay attention to every detail if she wanted them to be caught.

The man carrying her stopped. Words were spoken—more she couldn’t make out—then a car door opened, and the man holding her set her down on her feet.

He let go of her for a split second, and her legs wobbled, but she braced a hand on the edge of the white van to steady herself.

Then she realized he’d let go of her.

The flight response kicked in without her even searching for it. She shoved her arms hard into the cargo door. It hit one of the men, knocking him off balance. She turned and pushed her legs forward as hard as she could.

She was a runner. She might be weak from days in isolation and very little food, but she dug deep for the strength she’d gained from hours and hours running trails back in Boise.

“Dammit. Get her!”

She darted around a car. Didn’t even care that her feet were bare or that gravel was digging into her soles. She pumped her arms and ran as fast and hard as she could. Away. She had no idea where she was going—just away.

She scurried behind a truck and turned to her right. A body slammed into her hard. She grunted, sailed through the air, and hit the packed gravel on her side, sliding through rocks and dirt that embedded into her skin.

“Stupid fucking bitch.” A man—not the same one who’d carried her, this one was smaller—grabbed her by the front of her blouse with both hands, lifted her upper body inches from the ground, and then slammed her back into the gravel.

Blinding pain ricocheted through Olivia’s skull, and she gasped.

“You’re gonna pay for that.” Chest heaving, he yanked her from the ground and tossed her over his shoulder.

Stars fired off behind Olivia’s eyelids. And the pain . . . She groaned as he jostled her bruised and bleeding body.

When they reached the van, he tossed her into the back. She hit the floor with a grunt and tried to pull her legs up to her chest to alleviate the burning pain in her hip and shoulder. Only nothing helped. She breathed through her mouth and cradled her aching arm close, but then he was there, climbing into the back, pulling the cargo doors closed, and yelling, “Let’s go!”

The van’s engine turned over, and Olivia braced herself as the vehicle whipped around and bounced over the uneven ground, but it did nothing to stop the pain thrumming through every cell in her body.

“Stupid bitch,” the man growled. “We were nice to you before because of your sister. But not anymore.”

Olivia’s eyes tore open, and she stared up at his dark face, twisted in a fury she’d never seen before.

“My—my sister?”

He chuckled, a dark, menacing sound that condensed into a knot of terror in her belly. “What? You thought this was all for fun? No. You’re leverage now.”

He dropped to his knees and leaned over her, and his scent—sweat, spice, and danger—filled her nostrils. A scent she’d never forget. “Too bad she won’t find you in one piece. Not after that little stunt.”


It took Landon longer to locate Archer’s warehouse than he’d thought. The ferry system had been shut down, which meant he had to drive all the way down to Tacoma and back up and around. Then, when he’d finally made it back to Seattle, the damn traffic was being rerouted all over the place because of the ongoing investigation.

Frustrated, he climbed out of the rental car he’d picked up on Bainbridge Island after leaving Archer and slammed the door shut. An abandoned warehouse stood to his right, the skeleton of a building under construction on his left, and between the two a tower crane sat unmoving, its long arm angled out toward the waters of Puget Sound in the distance.

Damn, but the guy really was a moron to bring her here, not even three miles from the bombing site.

Landon rubbed his aching forehead as he moved for the warehouse doors. Obviously, the dumb fuck hadn’t been thinking. But then, when it came to a woman, he wasn’t the first man to lose all common sense. Landon knew that lesson well himself. The difference was, he’d never repeat his stupidity, and after seeing Archer this morning, he knew the idiot was bound to repeat every single stupid-ass thing he’d done because of Evelyn Wolfe. Archer might not be able to see it, but Landon could. Up close and personal. The idiot was still in love with her.

The door handle didn’t turn, but picking the lock was easy enough, and Landon was inside in a matter of minutes.

The warehouse was cut in the middle by a long hallway and doors that led to what looked like large storage units. Uncovered, dim bulbs hung from the ceiling every twelve feet. Landon paused to listen. Hearing nothing out of the ordinary, he moved for the metal stairs that ran up to the second and third floors.

He knew when he’d found the right loft. The steel door was cut in two, as if whoever had wanted in had used a buzz saw to get inside. Landon pushed the right side open the rest of the way and moved into the loft.

His gaze scanned the empty room. A chair was turned over on its side. A broken table sat upside down. A metal tray and three hypodermic needles lay scattered across the floor. His gaze strayed to the bed against the far wall. To the mattress stained with blood and other things he didn’t want to focus too much on. Then to the metal handcuffs hanging from the metal headboard.

“Stupid-ass dumb fuck,” he muttered. Oh yeah, Evelyn Wolfe had every reason to kick Archer’s ass from here to Mount Rainier, and at the moment, Landon kinda hoped she did.

He shook his head as he turned away and looked around for the purse Archer had told him he’d brought back with him. Whatever happened between Archer and Wolfe was not his problem. The only thing he cared about was finding Wolfe’s sister. Then he was taking a monthlong vacation, and his boss Ryder could suck it if he didn’t agree.

He checked cabinets along the wall and finally found a woman’s black purse hanging behind what had to be Archer’s denim jacket on a hook in the bathroom.

He set the bag on the dirty counter and pawed through it until he found a cheap cell phone. He powered it on and saw a video on the home screen. His fingers hit Play, and he watched as a woman, her hands tied behind her back and her face covered by a black sack, thrashed on the floor of what looked like a van. The purple butterfly tattoo on her ankle was clearly visible as she struggled.

There was no sound. Landon replayed it three times, looking for anything that might help him identify the van. Fury rolled through his gut. He didn’t have a problem taking down anyone who deserved it, but he had a major-ass problem when innocents were drawn into the mix. He knew that was why he’d washed out at DIA. Not because he couldn’t stomach what he was asked to do, but because he refused to do it to civilians.