They found him in a room upstairs. He lay asleep on the floor on a bed of cushions, an AK propped against the wall near his head, a young woman sleeping beside him—one of his wives. Javier confiscated the AK and handed it to Reeves, who was watching his six with Tower, the rest of the team downstairs to cover their exfil route.

Javier moved in on the bastard and jabbed him in the head with the tip of his suppressor. “Wake up, motherfucker.”

Salman Al-Nassar’s eyes opened, and he sat bolt upright, staring wide-eyed at Javier, reaching for the missing AK and muttering something in Arabic.

“Look at him,” Javier said to Tower. “It’s a nightmare—and it’s real.”

Tower barked something at the bastard in Arabic.

Javier stuck with English. “I know you understand me, so listen very carefully. We don’t want to hurt any of the women or children here, but if you fuck with us, we’ll take this place apart—starting with you. Have I got your attention?”

Salman nodded, sweat beading on his forehead. “Yes.”

“You know why we’re here?”

The man nodded again. “You came for the girl.”

“Wake the woman. Tell her to be quiet. Send her to get the girl.”

The man shook the woman beside him and woke her, covering her mouth to keep her from screaming. She stared wide-eyed up at Javier as her husband spoke in rapid Arabic. She climbed out of bed and hurried past Javier and out the door, her long, dark hair hanging down her back, Tower following behind her.

Salman glared at Javier. “My brother is going to be a martyr.”

“Your brother is a murdering, raping terrorist asshole. He’s going to rot in hell. Keep talking, and I’ll make sure you join him.”

From somewhere nearby, he heard a woman cry out.

And then Tower was there, a sleeping toddler in his arms, dark hair spilling over the blanket, her little face so much like Laura’s that Javier didn’t need a DNA test to know this was Klara.

A woman appeared in the doorway, a distressed look on her face. She spoke in Arabic to the man, who hissed at her. She fell silent.

Javier walked over to her. “Safiya?”

Her eyes went wide.

He held his rifle against her chest and glared down into her face, letting the full force of the hatred he felt for her come through. He asked Tower to translate. “Tell her that this little girl was never hers to take or hold. Tell her that it is only for the sake of her children that I don’t pull this trigger right now.”

Tower translated, but the translation went on so long that Javier was pretty sure the man had added a few thoughts of his own.

Trembling, Safiya sank to the floor, terror on her face.

Javier turned back to Salman. “This ends here, dawg. You or any of your terrorist buddies try to harm Laura Nilsson or her baby girl, and I will personally hunt you down and rip your balls off. Got that?”

Salman nodded.

Javier turned to Tower and Reeves. “Time to go.”

* * *

LAURA BENT DOWN so that Karima Al Zahrani could kiss her cheeks.

“You have restored Ali’s memory, Laura. Please know that you are always welcome in our home.”

“Thank you.” Laura forced the words past the lump in her throat. “It was the least I could do.”

Laura had spent the past few weeks putting together a feature package about Ali—his life, his dreams, his accomplishments—her way of helping Denver face the murder of an innocent young man whom most had been only too hasty to condemn. The article, which Laura had felt deeply driven to write, had finally run in today’s paper. She’d called Karima and Yusif to ask whether she could drop a copy of the edition by their house and had arrived to find their entire family gathered together. When they’d invited her to stay for dinner, she hadn’t been able to refuse.

It was a balm to her heart to see smiles on their faces.

Yusif offered her his right hand. “Thank you, Laura. You are a woman of good heart. Ma’salaam.”

Farewell.

“Thank you. And farewell.”

Then Hussein Al Zahrani, Ali’s uncle, stood. A proud man and devout, he did not offer to shake her hand. Instead, he stood before her, a sheen of tears in his eyes. “As Ali was my nephew, so you are my niece, Laura. If there is anything you need, call upon me. I will help you if I can. Inshallah.”

God willing.

“Thank you. You are very gracious. Ma’salaam.”

Under the watchful gazes of Ali’s father and uncle, she walked to her car. The night was warm, the sky bright with stars, the air scented with lilacs. Winter had finally given way to spring. She made the drive back to The Ironworks through quiet streets, her mind turning to Javier as it always did.

God, she missed him.

Two months had gone by since he’d left for Coronado. She’d gotten a few e-mails, and he’d called twice. He hadn’t been able to tell her where he was or what he was doing, but it had been wonderful to hear his voice. She’d been certain the last time they’d spoken that he was out of the country. It might have been the bad connection that had given it away. Or it might have been the goat bleating in the background.

That had been two weeks ago.

She’d been watching reports on the newswire since then, looking for international news that might indicate where U.S. SEAL teams might be deployed, but that had proven to be about as effective as consulting a crystal ball. She could do nothing for him but pray, and so she did, just as she’d done every night since her rescue. Only now she didn’t have to pray for “the tall SEAL,” because he had a name.

About Klara she’d heard nothing—not a single call from Erik in weeks.

She let herself into her loft, checked her e-mail for messages from Javier, then settled in for the night, fighting a growing sense of melancholy. She sank into a tub of hot lavender-scented water and tried to let her worries float away.

Four years ago, a day like today would have felt like a great success. She’d put together a feature story she was proud of, a story that had made a difference in someone’s life. And although it did mean a lot to her, there was a loneliness to her daily routine that she couldn’t ignore, an emptiness that stole the shine off even the most positive moments.

It wasn’t that she lacked friends. The ordeal with Kimball had brought her closer to her colleagues and opened the door to deep friendships with Sophie, Megan, and Janet. Laura was grateful to have them in her life, but friends couldn’t make up for the loved ones who were absent—Klara and Javier.

She’d always been comfortable in her solitude, but without Javier the loft now seemed empty. She missed his voice, the music he played on his guitar, the sound of his laughter. And sex. Yes, she missed that, too. Having the evenings and weekends free to do whatever she wanted—something she had once cherished about being single—wasn’t nearly as satisfying as doing those things with Javier.

But that’s what it meant to love a military man. Other women managed to cope with the long separations and periods of silence. So would Laura.

She closed her eyes, inhaled the soft scent of lavender, let her mind drift.

But rather than relaxing, she found herself wondering what it would be like to work and live in San Diego. She could get a journalism job pretty much anywhere in the world provided there was an opening. She liked the ocean, liked sunshine and palm trees. But was she willing to leave the paper, sell the loft, and move across the country just to be closer to a man?

As soon as she asked the question, she knew the answer.

Yes, she was. Oh, yes, she was—as long as that man was Javier.

But how would he feel about that? He’d never talked about living together or getting married. Then again, neither had she.

She soaked until the water was lukewarm, then dried off with a fluffy towel and slipped into her bathrobe. Out in the living room, she set her iPod to play the mix Javier made for her—a mix of the songs that he’d played for her and songs that they’d danced to. She hugged her arms around herself to ease the ache and, without realizing it, began to dance in slow circles where they had danced together that special night.

Her phone rang.

She jumped, startled, and ran to get it from her handbag. “This is Laura.”

“Erik here. Please don’t ask questions. Catch the next flight to Stockholm. E-mail me your itinerary, and I’ll send a car for you.”

Laura’s pulse raced. “Erik?”

Had they found Klara?

“I’ll see you when you get here.”

* * *

LAURA LEFT A message for Tom, telling him she had to fly to Sweden for a family emergency, then called Janet to cancel their visit this weekend. She was sorry to do that because Janet, who’d been much more seriously injured than anyone had told Laura, was still adjusting to her new life and needed both help and company.

Janet took it with good spirits. “Have a safe trip. I hope everything is okay.”

Laura managed to catch a late flight to New York, then flew standby to Reykjavik, Iceland. From there, she caught another flight to Sweden, arriving at Stockholm Arlanda Airport twenty hours after getting Erik’s call. As he’d promised, a car was waiting for her at the airport, even though it was only seven in the morning.

Sitting in the backseat, she called her mother, whose surprised squeal almost split Laura’s right eardrum. “I’m not sure why I’m here. He just told me to catch a flight, and so I came.”

“This must have to do with Klara. Do you think she’s here?”

Laura couldn’t fathom how that could be possible. “The last I heard from him, the Pakistani government had no idea where she’d been taken. Even if they’d found her again, it would take months to win custody of her.”

Still Laura dared to hope.

Was it possible that Klara would be flying home with her?

The thought made her pulse trip.

“Ring us as soon as you know.”

“I will.”

Pumped up on caffeine and adrenaline, she looked out the window, the familiar streets of Stockholm seeming strange to her, the city awash in the grays of clouds, sea, and rain. It was only when they passed Rosenbad, the street that was home to the foreign ministry, that she realized he wasn’t taking her to Erik’s office. He headed into Östermalm, passing Humlegården and the Royal Library before turning into a gate that led to a private courtyard of a three-story residence.

The car drew to a stop. “The minister is expecting you, Miss Nilsson.”

Laura thanked the driver and stepped out, the air chilly. She made her way to the black double doors and rang the bell, too tense to stand still.

If the Swedish government had somehow won Klara’s freedom, why couldn’t Erik simply tell her so over the phone? Why was it so essential that she come to Stockholm at once? Was it possible that something terrible had happened, that they’d discovered Klara had been killed or . . . ?

Laura’s stomach turned, even as her logical mind told her Erik wouldn’t have made her fly halfway around the world to get bad news. She drew a deep breath, tried to rein in her imagination.

The door opened.

Erik gave her a tired smile, lines of stress on his face, his blond hair looking like he hadn’t combed it since getting up. “Come in. Did you have a good flight?”

“Yes. All the connections went smoothly.” Laura stepped inside and wiped her feet, wishing Erik would skip the small talk and tell her why she was here.

“Let’s step into my office.” He motioned toward a closed door to her right.

She followed him inside—and froze. “Javier?”

He stood by Erik’s desk wearing jeans and a black T-shirt, a smile on his handsome face. “Hey, bella.”

* * *

JAVIER WAS IN deep shit, but the moment he saw Laura, that no longer mattered. He couldn’t keep the stupid grin off his face. “God, it’s good to see you.”

She rushed into his arms and held him tight, as if she thought he might disappear. “What are you doing here?”

Had it been only two months since he’d seen her? It felt like an eternity.

“That’s a long story.”

Erik’s voice cut in. “Mr. Corbray is under house arrest. He claims he acted alone, but I find that rather hard to believe. He showed up on my doorstep early yesterday morning with Klara in his arms—”

“Klara is here?” Laura looked from Erik to Javier, eyes wide.