His prayer was cut off when her pale lids fluttered open, her green eyes dazed and disoriented. “M-Mac?” she whispered in confusion.

And, sweet Lord almighty, had he ever heard anything more wonderful than his name on her lips? If so, he couldn’t remember. “Yeah, darlin’. I’m here.”

When her gaze finally focused on his face, she slowly reached up to touch the dimple in his chin, the pad of her finger cool against his skin. She smiled bemusedly before her lips curved down in a frown. “Th-the man from Uncle Theo’s house…he’s here. H-he s-strangled me, and—” Strangled? The sonofabitch had probably cut off the blood supply in her carotid artery. It was a dangerous maneuver. Done incorrectly, it could end in death. The hairs on Mac’s arm lifted at the thought. “I think he—”

“Shh,” he soothed, brushing a lock of auburn hair from her forehead—noting how soft and silky it was. “I know.”

She swallowed, blinking in consternation. Then her expression changed, becoming alarmed. “Wh—” was all he managed before she sat up so fast the top of her head clocked him under the chin. His jaws slammed together and it was a wonder his back molars didn’t crack. “Ow! Sonofa—”

“Fido!” she screamed, scrambling from his lap in such an all-fired hurry that her hip smashed his nuts into the ground.

“Oomph!” He cupped himself and barely managed to keep from crumpling sideways. The pain shot up from his testicles to radiate out to all parts of his body. He broke out in an instant sweat, his stomach doing flips like it was auditioning for a trapeze act in the circus that used to roll through town when he was a boy. And he really feared he was two seconds away from hurling chunks…

Of course, he felt like a complete wuss when Delilah—barely having regained consciousness—scrambled over to Steady and Fido, holding a hand to her obviously spinning head, and asking, “Wh-what do I do? How do I help?”

Damn, she sure is something, he thought, only slightly distracted by the agony in his balls when his chest swelled with…what was that exactly? Pride, maybe? And, yessir, since he was in the admitting mood today, he’d go ahead and admit that he was good and goddamned proud to know her. This strong, independent woman. This paragon of wonderful, exasperating, disturbing bullheadedness. And sometimes, like now, he wished things could be different. He wished he didn’t know what he knew because, damn, he was sure tempted to take her for a ride. To let their relationship just play out until its inevitable, disastrous end. But, unfortunately, he did know how things would turn out. And that meant he also knew that the short-term pleasure wasn’t worth the long-term pain.

“Hold this!” Steady instructed, and Mac watched him press her hand to the T-shirt wadded against Fido’s chest. “I have to run and get my medical bag.”

Mac managed to cowboy-up and drag himself over to Delilah and the dog a second or two after Steady beat feet toward the house. Letting go of his throbbing nads, he helped her apply pressure to the wound and used his other hand to softly stroke Fido’s big, block head.

“You’re a good boy,” Delilah whispered over and over again, uncaring of the tears trickling down her cheeks, leaving dirty trails in the dust covering her face. Fido whined pitifully, but the tip of his tail wagged despite the terrible pain he was in. And, sure as shit, that was a tear in Mac’s eye. Damnit!

The Lab reminded him of his father’s old ranch dog. Dutch had been his name. And he’d studiously kept the coyotes away from Lazy M cattle for fifteen long years. He’d been a big, rangy canine just like Fido here. But where Fido was happy-go-lucky, Dutch had been about as friendly as a bramble bush. Still, there was nothing quite so satisfying as owning a good dog. And nothing quite so heartbreaking as watching a good dog die.

“Wh-what happened?” Delilah asked, her eyes wide when she glanced up at him. “Where’d he go?”

And Mac knew she was asking about Mr. Timberlands.

“Don’t you worry about it,” he told her. “Zoelner and Ozzie have gone after him.” Though, the longer the minutes stretched out with no sound to break the stillness of the neighborhood, the more concerned he became. The only reason the BKI boys would be in stealth mode was if they’d lost the guy and were now quietly hunting him.

“Give me your keys!” he heard Steady demand and looked up in time to see him standing in the middle of the yard, holding a hand toward Agent Duvall. Mac had forgotten all about her. “If I can get the dog’s bleeding stopped,” Steady lifted the medical bag gripped tight in his other fist, “he might just make it to the closest vet. But I’m gonna need your car.”

Chelsea nodded and dug into the hip pocket of her slacks, all the while barking instructions into her earpiece and never taking her eyes off the screen of her iPad. After retrieving a key ring and tossing it to Steady, she jogged with him toward Mac and Delilah and the injured dog.

“Okay,” Steady said, dropping down beside them. He reached into his camo duffel bag and came out with a pack of QuikClot. “Now when I say go, I want you guys to remove my shirt and hold the dog down. When I shake this shit into his wound, it’s gonna burn like hell.”

Mac saw Delilah nod hastily, tears standing a quarter-inch thick on her lower lids. But she was holding steady, by God. Again, the thought she sure is something whispered through his head. But he didn’t have time to dwell on it, because Steady ripped the foil case of biological sealant open with his teeth, spit out the fragment of packaging, and said, “Go!”

They tossed the T-shirt aside—Holy crow, there’s a lot of blood—and threw themselves over the dog. Delilah held Fido’s rear end in place; Mac kept the pooch’s front legs and head under control.

Steady was quick on the draw, pouring the powder into Fido’s wound. But besides a low whimper, the dog did nothing to fight them. In fact, he went so far as to lick Mac’s hand. And damned if that tear in Mac’s eye didn’t up and decide to spill over.

Thankfully, more were stopped from joining the fun when he heard Agent Duvall bark, “Patch me over to Agent Zoelner’s number! Now!”

“What’s up?” he asked, looking away from Fido’s wound only after he noted with gratification that the QuikClot was working. The bleeding had instantly slowed. Fido certainly wasn’t out of the woods. But now, at least, they’d given the fearless animal a fighting chance.

“We’ve got thermal imagery of the guy,” the CIA agent relayed, keeping one hand on her earpiece, listening intently to whatever was happening on the other end. “And I need to let Z know which house he’s hiding in.”

Mac nodded, turning his attention back to the dog.

“Help me lift him,” Steady said, bending to get both hands under the animal. “Careful, now. Mierda! We don’t want to jostle that wound.”

Mac and Delilah helped Steady stand, the canine cradled gently in his arms. Fido whined weakly but still managed to bathe Steady’s face with his long, pink tongue. And unless Mac was mistaken, the medic’s eyes were unusually bright.

Yep, the Knights may deal with and deal out death on a daily basis, a bunch of hard-nosed, hard-hearted operators, but hand them one dumb-as-dirt, critically injured dog, and they all turned into big bags of mush…

“Okay,” Steady grunted once he’d taken all of Fido’s weight, clearing his throat. “I’ve got him. I’ll get him to the nearest vet.” He turned to Mac. “You keep me informed of what’s going on here, hermano.”

“I’m going with Steady,” Delilah declared, rubbing the back of her hand over her cheek, smudging her tears and the dust on her face in a long line as she bent down to grab Steady’s medical bag.

“No.” Mac snagged her wrist when she turned to follow Steady’s careful steps, noting the soothing warmth of her skin against his callused fingers. Crack cocaine. Pure and simple…

“What?” She turned to him, brow puckered. “Why?”

“Because until we have Mr. Timberlands in custody, and until I know what the hell is goin’ on around here, I’m not lettin’ you outta my sight.”

When she jerked out of his grip to catch up with the medic, Mac thought he might have a fight on his hands. But then she swung back to him, shouting, “I’m just going to help him to the car!” She lifted the camo duffel bag. God love her. Another wave of relief crashed over Mac, and he figured it was a wonder he wasn’t drowning in the stuff.

Of course, when Agent Duvall whispered into her earpiece, “Z, he’s in the garage of the house directly across from you,” any respite he’d enjoyed lit out of him quick as a hiccup. The fact that Mr. Timberlands was holed up inside a house meant Ozzie and Zoelner were going to have to kick in a door. And that was a tricky business, especially seeing as how a guy never knew what he was going to find behind that door. It could be Christmas morning or World War III…

* * *

“You must get out of there,” Haroun hissed the moment Qasim answered the phone.

“Why?” Qasim asked, jerking forward, the plastic chair squeaking in objection.

“I was not able to secure Miss Fairchild, and now I am forced to evade,” Haroun relayed, and Qasim glanced around the darkened, dust-heavy room. Forced to evade… Never a situation one wanted to find oneself in but a situation Qasim and all the others were used to since joining The Cause. They’d effectively been forced to evade nearly every Western government for years.

“Forced to evade the motorcycle fanatics?” he asked, motioning and barking at Sami and Jabbar to begin gathering their belongings. He didn’t question Haroun’s orders when it came to something like this. If his second-in-command said it was time to go, then it was time to go.

“The heavily armed motorcycle fanatics,” Haroun clarified, and Qasim’s blood ran cold. He’d figured as much, but to hear it confirmed was another thing entirely. “They saw me attempting to drag the woman from Sander’s backyard and opened fire. I am wounded.”

Qasim sucked in a ragged breath.

“It is nothing,” Haroun assured him. “A flesh wound only. But plans have changed. This place is no longer safe. If they have not called the police to report my assault already, then they will soon. This town will be swarming with men in badges. You must retreat to our second location.” Their second location… Praise Allah, we have one. “I will come to you once I have secured Miss Fairchild.”

“No.” Qasim shook his head even though Haroun couldn’t see him. “Forget about her for now. Just get yourself to safety. We will try different torture methods on Theodore. It has only been a day. We may still get him to talk by—”

“Ah, habibi,” Haroun chuckled softly. “I always say you worry like a sitto.” And, yes, Haroun was known to compare Qasim’s continual fretting to that of an old grandmother. He was the only man in Qasim’s circle who would dare. Years ago, Qasim had killed men for such insubordination, and his reputation still preceded him. But, Haroun…well, Haroun had been by his side since almost the beginning, and as such was allowed certain latitude. “By all means continue to try make that old Marine talk, but in the meantime, allow me to carry on with my mission. I will use the signal on the phone attached to her motorcycle to follow her like her own shadow. And when the time is right, I will grab her.”

“You have already attempted to grab her twice before,” Qasim reminded his second-in-command, wondering if they’d gotten so close to reaching their goal only to be thwarted at the last minute. Allah might be on their side, but unfortunately, qadar was now living up to her reputation as a fickle mistress.

“Yes.” There was a note of indulgence in Haroun’s voice. “But what is that American phrase you like to use about the third time someone attempts something?”

Despite himself, despite the left turn their mission had suddenly taken, Qasim felt the corners of his mouth twitch. Haroun was one of the few people who knew of his secret fascination with the English language. “They say the third time is a charm.”

“Yes. It is indeed. Now, go. I will call you again when I once more have the woman in my sights.”

Qasim could only hope it would be that easy. “God be with you, brother,” he said.

“And with you, habibi.”

Qasim punched the “end” button on the phone and turned to find his men had already packed up their meager supplies. They were standing at attention, awaiting his next order.