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The Colonel's Widow?
Mallory Kane


The Colonel’s
Widow?
Mallory Kane


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u00aa2b70-2638-5afb-82ab-e6b90f9f1801)
Title Page (#u9e22b2c7-8194-52f3-8997-30161ba09b12)
About the Author (#ubca007d3-fd27-511d-9e72-903e2c4a1089)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Mallory Kane credits her love of books to her mother, a librarian, who taught her that books are a precious resource and should be treated with loving respect. Her father and grandfather were steeped in the Southern tradition of oral history and could hold an audience spellbound for hours with their storytelling skills. Mallory aspires to be as good a storyteller as her father.
Mallory lives in Mississippi with her computer-genius husband, their two fascinating cats and, at current count, seven computers. She loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at mallory@mallorykane.com
For Daddy, a hero by any definition.

Chapter One (#ub6fd2869-4c06-5407-b08d-9c06a11c4113)
Moonlight sprinkled pale silver across Rook Castle’s bare back, buttocks and thighs. His muscles tensed and rippled as he thrust once, twice, again and again, filling her with familiar, exquisite heat.
Irina’s fingers slid through her husband’s softly waving hair. She arched upward, pressing her breasts against his hot chest, demanding more.
He lifted himself, his biceps straining, glistening with sweat and moondust. He gave her more—gave her everything she craved. His deep, green stare mesmerized her.
“Rook,” she whispered. “Why did you marry me?”
He went still. The moonlight no longer shimmered along his flanks and shoulders.
When would she learn to keep her mouth shut?
His arms quivered with effort as he held himself suspended above her. His arousal pulsed inside her.
“Rina—” he muttered, something between a warning and an endearment. Dipping his head, he sought her mouth.
She longed to kiss him, to surround herself with his powerful body, to feel him in her and around her as she had so many times before.
But her hands acted against her will and pushed at his chest. Resisting. She struggled to maintain eye contact. “Why?” she repeated.
“You know why,” he whispered, his breath tickling her eyelashes.
“Tell me.”
He kissed her eyelids, her cheek, the sweet spot below her earlobe. Then he moved, rocking her with a slow rhythm born of trust and familiarity. His chest rumbled with languid laughter when she gasped.
“Shh,” he whispered. “Come with me.”
She tasted sweat on his neck—salty, delicious. “Rook, please?”
With a frustrated sigh, he lifted his head. A jagged shadow defined his rigid jaw.
“I had to marry you,” he said. “It was the only way I could protect you.”
“But what about love?” Dear God, she was pathetic.
“Love? Rina, don’t—” His voice rasped.
Then blood blossomed on his chest.
“No!” She reached for him, but her fingers slipped in the hot, sticky liquid.
“Rook!” she shrieked. “No! Help! Somebody help!”
He clutched at his chest.
She screamed.
His eyes met hers and he whispered something—she couldn’t tell what.
She grabbed his arm, but he was too heavy. She couldn’t hold on to him.
The last thing she saw was his beautiful face distorted by the bloodstained waters of the Mediterranean as he sank beneath its waves.
Irina Castle bolted upright, gasping for breath.
“No!” The word rasped past her constricted throat, pulling her out of the dream.
She wasn’t on their yacht. She was at Castle Ranch, alone. She kicked the covers away and gulped in air. The taste of his sweat stung her tongue.
No. Not his sweat. Her tears.
Harsh moonlight glinted like a knife blade on every surface. She covered her face with her hands, trying to block it out.
She hated moonlight. Hated night. Darkness brought the fear, and moonlight brought the dream.
Every night she promised herself that next time she wouldn’t ask him. Next time, she’d take all the dream would give and hold out for more. After all, her memories were all she had left.
But every night she asked.
Sliding out of bed, she reached to close the drapes and shut out the moon’s light. But her skin burned and perspiration prickled the nape of her neck, so instead she flung open the French doors.
Cold air sent shivers crawling down her spine. She took another deep breath, hoping the sharp April chill would chase away the tattered remnants of her nightmare.
No such luck. Her body still quivered with unquenched desire. The empty place inside her still ached with grief.
In the distance, the Black Hills of Wyoming loomed in magnificent desolation. Rook had loved the mountains. He’d drawn strength and purpose from them. And like the Black Hills fed him, his strength, his dedication, his larger-than-life presence had fed her.
Then he’d been shot. His body was never recovered. So for the past two years, she’d poured money into looking for him.
Two weeks ago, her accountant had issued an ultimatum—stop her unending search for Rook, or dissolve Black Hills Search and Rescue, the legacy he’d devoted his life to.
She stopped the search. How could she have known that her decision would set events in motion that would nearly destroy his two closest friends?
HE COULDN’T SLEEP. Hadn’t been able to since he’d been released from the hospital. The idea that he’d been shot—shot—still spooked him. He was lucky to be alive.
So he sat up, looking out the window toward the ranch house. Toward Irina’s bedroom. One of his favorite pastimes was watching her bedroom at night. She rarely closed the drapes.
He saw movement. Irina stepped out onto her patio with the red gown on—his favorite. She couldn’t sleep, either. He watched her for a while, noticing that the pain from his gunshot wound wasn’t so bad while he watched her.
Then he saw something—someone—inside the bedroom.
“Irina, don’t tell me you’ve got a man in there,” he whispered.
A cloud drifted by and the moonlight got brighter. He could see the man’s face clearly. Cunningham. He’d know that hard face anywhere. What the hell was he doing in Irina’s suite? At midnight?
He stood carefully, groaning with pain and dizziness, and got his shaving kit. Inside, hidden with the rest of his stash of goodies, was a LoJack.
It didn’t matter what Cunningham was doing in Irina’s suite. What mattered was that he had a window of opportunity to keep up with his every move.
He sighed and clenched his teeth against the throbbing pain. He didn’t want to go out there. He wanted to take another painkiller and go to bed. But he had a feeling this late-night meeting between Irina and Deke was no lovers’ assignation.
From the way Irina was acting, she didn’t know Cunningham was there.
Was this the night Cunningham would lead them to Rook Castle?
Pulling on a jacket, he stuck the LoJack in a pocket and took one more longing look at the bottle of painkillers on his bathroom sink. He needed one—bad. But he had to take care of business first.
Novus Ordo was willing to spend millions to find and capture his nemesis, Rook Castle.
He wanted at least one of those millions as a finder’s fee.
BLACK HILLS SEARCH and Rescue specialist Deke Cunningham moved silently through the east wing of the sprawling ranch house. Behind him, beyond the enclosed courtyard, past the living room and kitchen, was the west wing, home of the offices of Black Hills Search and Rescue. The building to the south housed the staff quarters.
Hard to believe it had only been two weeks since Irina had called Matt Parker back from overseas.
A lot had happened, not the least of which was that he’d become a father.
Unbelievable. And thrilling. An involuntary grin stretched his mouth as he thought of Mindy and his newborn son.
On the heels of his grin came a wince. His tongue sought the cut on his lip that matched the one over his eye as he stopped in front of the door to Irina’s suite.
Damn, he didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be at the hospital with Mindy and their baby. He wanted to be planning their future together as a family.
But even more, he wanted to be in a different world. A world where his best friend hadn’t had to die in order to save his wife. A world where a terrorist hadn’t made it his mission to kill Rook Castle and everyone close to him.
But that world didn’t exist. So he had to do his best to clean up this one—to make it safe for the people he loved. And one of those people was Irina Castle, Rook’s widow.
He took a deep breath and glanced up and down the hall. There were four suites in the east wing. Irina’s, of course. Next to hers was the one he’d lived in until he’d left on a mission to rescue his ex-wife, Mindy.
The suite directly across from his belonged to Rook’s baby sister, Jennie. For the past two years, she’d been living in Texas with a family friend and attending graduate school. The fourth suite, opposite Irina’s rooms, was empty.
Satisfied that there was no one around, Deke gripped the door handle. He’d waited until two o’clock in the morning for a reason. If he’d ever been on a stealth mission in his life, this was it.
The door was unlocked. “Dammit, Irina,” he whispered. “You know the danger.”
He eased open the door and peeked around it. Moonlight angled across the rumpled bed.
The rumpled, empty bed.
Instantly on alert, he drew his weapon as he slipped inside and closed the door. A movement caught his eye. Curtains ruffling in the breeze. The French doors were open.
His unease ratcheted up a notch. Dan Taylor had assured him that there wasn’t a chance in hell anyone could sneak past the Secret Service’s perimeter onto the ranch. But Dan didn’t know Novus Ordo.
Deke did.
He’d experienced firsthand what the internationally famous terrorist Novus was capable of. Twice. So it would take more than the word of a young hotshot with lots of civilian training and zero field experience to put him at ease.
Deke moved silently across the room, trying to position himself to see the entire patio without stepping out of the shadows. The French doors faced south, which meant she could be seen from the guesthouse, where the three specialists lived. If she was out there, they could see her—and him if he wasn’t careful.
He knew from the gate guard that all three were there. And he had a very good reason for not wanting any of the three to know he was here.
He took another step, craning his neck to see the southwest corner. Finally, he saw a flash of red. There she was, in a red gown and robe, bathed in moonlight. She had her arms wrapped around herself, and her head was bowed.
He blew out his breath in relief and frustration. She was all right. But she was exposed. He sank back against the wall.
Now what?
He had to get her out of here and on the road. Every second increased the danger that he’d be spotted.
He thought about calling out to her, but if someone was watching, her reaction would alert them.
And once they were alerted, it wouldn’t take them long to figure out that there was only one reason he’d be spiriting Irina away from Castle Ranch—the one place on earth she should be safe—in the middle of the night. And right now he couldn’t risk anyone knowing where he was taking her. Not even his fellow BHSAR specialists.
Gritting his teeth, he waited, absently rubbing at the bandage on his right forearm. The surgeon had done a great job of stitching up his arm—thirty-two stitches—but the deep slash itched and hurt like a sonofabitch, courtesy of the weasel who’d called himself Frank James.
He’d like to have five minutes alone with James. Hell, three minutes would be plenty. But that was impossible. The dynamite he’d set off in a last-ditch effort to save Mindy and their unborn son had taken care of James and Novus Ordo’s soldiers—permanently.
A rustle of silk pulled Deke’s gaze to the French doors. Irina’s shadow stretched across the bedroom floor. She was coming inside.
No matter what he did, his presence was going to scare her, so he stood still and waited until she stepped inside and closed the heavy drapes.
She headed toward the bed, reaching for the sash of the shimmery red robe. Then she stopped, her palm pressed against her midsection. She’d sensed him. Slowly, she turned her head.
“Irina,” he said softly. “Stay quiet.”
SHOCK PARALYZED Irina. She tried to suck in enough breath to scream, but her throat seized. She coughed and gasped.
“It’s Deke,” the voice said.
Deke. She shuddered as relief whooshed through her, followed by ringing alarm.
“Deke?” she said, her voice rising. “What’s wrong?”
“Be quiet. Okay?”
She nodded.
“I’m serious. Promise?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Is it Mindy? Or the baby?”
He put two fingertips against her mouth. “They’re fine. Listen. I’ve got to get you out of here.”
Fear tore through her like lightning. It had happened. Danger had penetrated her home. She’d known it would one day.
“I’ll get dressed,” she whispered.
Deke shook his head and grabbed her hand. “No. No lights. No movement. I can’t risk anyone knowing I was here.”
Nothing Deke said made sense. “But—”
“Irina, we’ve got to go now.”
IT DIDN’T TAKE Irina long to figure out where Deke was taking her. The route was familiar. They were headed to a hunting cabin Rook had acquired years ago. He’d managed to keep the title and tax papers in the name of the original owner and hadn’t told anyone about it, except Deke and Matt, his oath brothers.
He’d called it their getaway house. A place the two of them could go where no one could find them if they didn’t want to be found.
She hadn’t been there since he’d died. Their last night there had been too painful to relive. Besides, why go alone?
Irina folded her arms beneath the wool throw Deke had tossed her way when he’d gotten into the SUV. She stared at the road, not bothering to hide her annoyance. Several times, she’d tried to engage him in conversation, to no avail.
He acted as if he were too busy making sure they weren’t being followed. Rook’s best friend had always treated her with loving respect, but for whatever reason, tonight he wasn’t answering any questions.
So she clamped her mouth shut and snuggled deeper under the throw. Her flimsy silk robe offered little protection against the late April chill. She shuddered. Nothing short of a direct and imminent threat would have made Deke ignore her comfort or dignity. Fortunately, she had clothes at the cabin.
Once they reached the hunting camp and Deke was satisfied that she was safe, she’d unload on him. She didn’t get angry often—temper rarely helped any situation—but she didn’t like being bullied. Not even by the man who’d appointed himself her protector after her husband’s death, and not even if it was supposedly for her own good.
Deke spoke only once during the hour’s drive, and then not even to her. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a pre-programmed number. He listened for a few seconds.
“Dammit,” he muttered. After another couple of seconds, he hung up and glanced at the tiny screen, as if to check the number he’d dialed. Then he shot her an awkward glance and turned his attention back to his driving.
Irina bit her tongue to stop herself from asking who he was trying to reach. He’d tell her when he felt like it.
The road ended a quarter mile from the camp, but Deke barely slowed down. He circled around and drove up behind the cabin, where he parked and shut off the engine of the large SUV.
Irina reached for the door handle.
“Wait,” he snapped.
He retrieved his phone and pressed the redial button, hissing in frustration through clenched teeth.
After a few seconds, he sucked in a sharp breath. “Where have you been?” he growled.
Irina held her breath and listened, but she couldn’t hear the person on the other end of the line.
“You could have waited. I was afraid you—” he stopped. “Yeah, okay. We’re here. I’ll bring her inside, then put the car in the barn.” He paused, listening.
“Nope,” he snapped. “No way. You’re on your own this time. I’m going to take a look around. I’ll be in later.” He hung up and got out of the car.
Irina didn’t bother to ask who’d been on the phone. Judging by the brevity of the conversation, she figured it was probably Brock, the oldest and most experienced of the Black Hills Search and Rescue specialists. Brock O’Neill’s conversational style was terse at best.
As soon as she entered the rustic kitchen, she saw dim light coming from the front room. “Is that a fire? Or is the generator running?” she asked.
He didn’t answer.
“Deke, stop acting like a secret agent and tell me what is going on! Who’s here? Is it Brock?”
He set down his black duffel bag. “I’m not playing. Don’t worry, you’re safe. I’m going to hide the car. Irina—” He laid a hand on her arm, as if about to say something else.
She waited, apprehension crawling up her throat.
“Just remember that all this—was for you.” He turned and went out the door, locking it behind him.
Irina stared at the door for a few seconds, as Deke’s words replayed over and over in her head.
All this was for you.
“All of what?” she whispered. Shaking her head, she stepped through the dining room and into the front room. One lamp shone dimly, competing with the fireplace for the privilege of staving off the darkness. The only sound she heard was the crackling of the flames.
But she knew she wasn’t alone.
Her breath hitched. Deke had promised her she was safe, she reminded herself. He’d promised her, ever since Rook’s death, that he’d take care of her, and he had.
“Hello? Brock?” She spoke softly. “Is that you?”
No answer. Yet she felt a presence.
“Who’s here?” she asked sharply.
Did she only imagine she heard breathing? She squinted, trying to see past the shadows. From the corner of her eye she recognized the old bookshelf to her right. It was on the wall opposite the fireplace. It was one of many places in the cabin where Rook had hidden loaded guns.
She’d never liked all the weapons. He’d turned their secret getaway into a secret arsenal. She’d complained a million times that she’d seen all the guns she ever wanted to see during her childhood in Russia. Still, she couldn’t deny that right now she was glad to have a loaded weapon within reach. If she remembered correctly, this one was a Glock. She took a step toward the bookcase.
“Hello, Rina.”
She whirled, startled. Nobody called her Rina—not anymore.
A lone figure stood to one side of the fireplace. All she could see was a silhouette.
“Who—?” Before she could gather breath to say more, the person took a step forward. When the light hit his face, a giant fist grabbed her insides and wrung them tight—so tight she couldn’t breathe.
“What’s going on?” she gasped, gulping in air and casting about, as if an explanation lurked somewhere in the room.
“It’s okay.” A whisper. The figure held up a hand. “Irina…it’s me.”
A sharp ache burned through her chest. An ache of loss, of grief. Of denial.
“No,” she breathed, shaking her head. Whoever was standing there, whatever was going on, she knew one thing for certain. His words were a lie. It wasn’t him.
It couldn’t be. He was dead.
She took a shuddering breath. “I—I don’t understand—”
“I know you don’t.”
The sound of the man’s voice sheared her breath and spasmed her throat. The words were tentative, the voice was hoarse and hesitant, but she knew it. Just like she knew the broad shoulders, the long powerful legs, the rugged profile outlined by the flickering firelight.
Knew them, yes. But believe what she heard and saw? No way.
It was impossible.
She clapped her hands over her mouth as her brain denied what her eyes saw. Was this another, more astounding dream? A dream she’d never—even in sleep—dared to contemplate?
Her hands slid down to cover her pounding heart. “Who are you?” she asked. “Where’s Brock?”
He took another step forward.
She instinctively stepped backward, maintaining the distance between them. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Her throat closed up. Her whole body contracted, as if turning inward in an effort to protect her.
For an instant, her panicked brain considered running. Deke was in the barn. But she’d have to go past—
Her breath hitched.
His brows drew down and he took a step closer.
She stiffened, and he stopped.
She couldn’t take her eyes off his face. His cheeks were leaner, his hair was all wrong—long and shaggy and damp, as if he’d just gotten out of a shower—and his eyes were haunted and sad. He was wearing dress pants without a belt, and a dress shirt that hung unbut-toned and untucked over the pants. And he was barefoot.
It was him.
Or a dream of him.
Darkness gathered at the edge of her vision, like a fade to black.
Like a dream. That had to be it. It was the only explanation that made sense.
She hadn’t eaten dinner, and she’d drunk a glass of wine. Maybe she’d never woken up at all. She was still in bed, immersed in dreams. She pinched her arm, feeling silly.
Nothing changed.
The man standing in front of her lowered his gaze to the floor, then raised it again. When he did, a burning log collapsed, sending more light splashing across his face.
His face. The last time she’d seen those lean cheeks, that long straight nose, that wide sexy mouth, they had been horribly distorted by the dark Mediterranean waters.
“Go away,” she cried. “Why are you doing this to me? You can’t be here, Rook. You cannot. You are dead.”

Chapter Two (#ub6fd2869-4c06-5407-b08d-9c06a11c4113)
God in Heaven, it was really her.
That was her low, sexy voice with the faint Russian accent that increased when she was upset.
Rook Castle wiped his palms down the legs of the dress pants that hung a bit too low on his haunches. His skin was still warm and damp from his shower, but the moisture on his palms came from pure nerves. He hadn’t seen his wife in two years. Hadn’t dared to hope he’d ever see her again.
She was so beautiful his eyes ached. More beautiful than he remembered. Although her delicate features were masked by fear, and her slender frame looked fragile, engulfed by the plaid wool blanket that wrapped around her shoulders.
Without makeup, her blue eyes surrounded by pale lashes were as wide and innocent as a girl’s. And right now, they were filled with confusion and disbelief that etched another groove into his already battle-scarred heart.
“Irina,” he breathed, and dared to move one step closer.
She held up a hand in warning. Her gaze tracked him like a doe watching a hunter. He hated seeing her like that—the way she’d been when he’d rescued her father, dissident Soviet scientist Leonid Tankien.
But he’d come to know her well in the past six years. Irina Castle was no doe in headlights. In about five seconds that wild-eyed fear was going to change to fury, and woe to anyone who stepped into the path of her storm.
Woe to him.
“Irina.” His throat was scratchy and sore, his voice hoarse from disuse. He’d talked more today than he had in two years. He cleared his throat. “I’m not—”
“What is going on?” She stiffened her back and tucked her chin. Her eyes narrowed and the spark he’d been waiting for flashed in them. She eased sideways. Again.
A weak thrill fluttered in his chest. If he could’ve remembered what muscles to use to smile, he would have.
She was doing exactly what he’d expected her to do. She was edging toward the closest weapon—a Glock .23, hidden in a shelf of dog-eared paperbacks opposite the fireplace.
He pushed back his open shirt and slid his weapon from the paddle holster in his waistband. He held it up. “Here,” he said, flipping the Sig Sauer’s handle out. “Take mine.”
He bent down and slid it across the red oak floor toward her, then straightened and leaned against the mantel, doing his damnedest to appear nonchalant.
She picked up the gun, never taking her eyes off him. The blanket slipped off her shoulders, and Rook saw her perfectly shaped breasts beneath a thin covering of silk. He gritted his teeth as his body reacted to the familiar, lush curves and hollows he saw, and those he knew only from memory. Her beautiful body, which he’d yearned for every night during the past two years.
Was that the red silk gown and robe she’d bought for their yachting cruise in the Mediterranean? He’d never gotten to see it on her.
He’d died on that trip. As the thought formed in his head, the heat in his groin dissipated.
Clutching the Sig, Irina pointed it at him and straightened. One shoulder of the robe slid down her arm. She didn’t notice.
Her delicate shoulder was made more vulnerable, more fragile looking by the little bump of bone that interrupted its curve. Her skin stretched across it, appearing translucent. He knew that bump, and the matching one on the other side. He knew how it felt, how it tasted. Like clean, white linen. Like her.
Rook winced inwardly and lifted his gaze to her face. Her gaze met his with faint horror, as if he were a stranger ogling her and she could read his thoughts.
Suddenly, a different kind of sparkle lit her eyes, and it twisted his heart painfully.
He knew better than anyone that Irina never cried. And he knew why. That he’d caused the tears that reflected the firelight gouged another chunk from his heart.
She took a deep breath, lifted her chin and, miraculously, the dampness in her eyes disappeared.
“So tell me. What is the big emergency?” she asked tonelessly.
“What?”
“Obviously, you never planned to—” she paused briefly “—to come back here. But something has happened. Something involving me. Something you couldn’t handle any other way.”
She wrapped her left hand around her right to support the weight of the gun. “You were never fond of theatrics, so I have to assume that it is urgent, or you wouldn’t have sneaked me out here in the dead of night. So get to it.”
Rook nodded. That’s my girl.
She was doing everything she could to stay in control. It was one of the things he loved about her. That need to keep everything steady in an unsteady world. It was embedded into the core of steel that had drawn him to her the first time he’d seen her. But that steel core made her slow to trust.
And if anyone ever betrayed her…
If he could hate himself any more than he already did, he would. But his self-loathing was maxed out. There was no way he could explain to her why he’d done what he had.
Hell, he’d been second-guessing his decision for two years.
“Is it because of what happened to Matt and Deke? I’m sure Deke has briefed you—” Her voice cracked.
“Deke didn’t know,” he said quickly. “Not for sure. Not until yesterday morning. Don’t blame him.”
“No. I do not blame him. I blame you.” The staccato words were coated with frost. “Spare me the explanations. Just get to the point.”
“Why don’t you sit down—”
“Get. To. The. Point!”
Rook pushed his hands through his hair and wiped his face. He still wasn’t used to his naked cheeks and chin. The beard—his mask—had been a part of him for the past two years. He lifted his gaze to Irina’s. Her eyes were as hard and opaque as turquoise.
“Novus Ordo is after you.”
“Da,” she said, then, “Yes. That I know.”
“When you stopped looking for me, and called Matt back to Wyoming, it alerted him. Deke was right about—”
“About Novus acting on the theory that I stopped because I had found you,” she fired back at him in a rapid staccato. “Not because I ran out of money or gave up. How silly of me. I waste so much time and money looking for you when I could have—” her voice broke and she laughed sharply, the sound like breaking glass. “You should tell me something I do not know.”
“Fine. But I’m going to sit down. You stand there if you want.” Rook dropped into a worn leather chair that smelled like oil and pipe smoke. It had been his dad’s.
He couldn’t believe how shaky he was. How unsure. He didn’t remember ever feeling this way before. Back when he’d made the decision to fake his death to stop Novus Ordo from targeting Irina, he’d felt like his life was spiraling out of control.
But this uncertainty was new—born of lies and deception, of stealth and secrecy and living in exile.
He’d been alone too long. In the past two years he’d barely spoken a word to another person. He’d spent all his time studying and searching for his enemy. The world’s most dangerous terrorist, Novus Ordo.
He feared he might never feel human again, now that he’d lived inside himself for so long. He’d hoped to find a way to keep up with her, to make sure she was all right.
But by the time he was healed, he knew if he saw her he wouldn’t be able to stay away from her.
And if he didn’t stay away from her, she could die.
When he looked up, she hadn’t moved, although the gun barrel had tilted downward. Her face was still expressionless, but her body was rigid—so tense he was afraid her bones might break.
“You said you know Novus Ordo is after you. Do you understand why?”
Irina’s throat moved as she swallowed. “I understand that it has to do with you. That secret mission to save the senator’s son, before you left the Air Force.” She took a shaky breath. “When you rescued Deke.” Then she shot him a look of pure suspicion. “Not that you ever told me anything about it.”
“Do you know why Novus wants me?”
She shrugged and her arms dropped. The Sig slid from her fingers and hit the floor with a thud. “You saw him.”
He nodded wearily. “Apparently I’m the only person in two hemispheres, other than his trusted inner circle, who’s ever seen him without his mask.”
“Why didn’t you kill him then, when you had the chance?”
He shrugged without lifting his head. “We’ve been through this. I was out of ammo. I was sure I was a dead man.”
Irina moaned audibly. “But now, you’re not the only one who knows what he looks like. The CIA has the drawing. Why can’t they figure out who he is? Find him? Kill him?”
“Believe me, Irina, if it were that simple—”
“No!” She shook her head, and the clip that had been holding her hair slipped free and clattered to the floor. Waves of shimmering gold fell over her shoulders.
He swallowed against the lump that suddenly rose in his throat.
“No,” she repeated. “Believing you is something I will never do again.”
Rook slammed his fist down on the arm of his leather chair. “Then what do you want from me?” he yelled.
Too late, he realized he’d done what he always did when backed into a corner. He’d turned a weak defense into a strong offense.
And this time he’d aimed it at his wife. His wife. The one person in the world who least deserved it. Who had never deserved what loving him had put her through.
She winced, then lifted her chin. “I want the truth. But, as I am sure you can understand, I’m a little shy right now.”
Gun-shy, he almost said, but he bit his tongue. She’d always laughed when he’d correct her English. She wouldn’t appreciate it now.
“Why don’t you ask the questions, and I’ll answer them.”
“Truthfully?”
Rook growled and rubbed his aching jaw. The muscles there and in his neck throbbed with tension.
“Did you plan all this?” she snapped.
He looked up at her from beneath his brows. “All what?”
Irina let fly a string of Russian that Rook was sure would have shocked her father, were he still alive.
“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling mean and cornered and exposed. “I planned to die. It was the only choice I had—”
He clenched his jaw and pressed his lips together. No. She didn’t deserve excuses.
He propped his forearms on his knees and nodded, looking down at the floor.
“If you planned the whole thing, then who did you hire to shoot you?”
He bent his head and squeezed his temples between his palms. He was tired. He was frustrated. He ached with the need to pull her into his arms. Just long enough to remind himself that he was a human being. That he was alive.
He hadn’t felt anything in so long, he’d begun to wonder if he ever would.
“Rook? Who shot you?”
Her voice sizzled with venom. She hated him for what he’d done to her. And she had every right.
His very presence here put her in danger—her and everyone else involved with Black Hills Search and Rescue. That thought sent a shard of fear through his chest.
No. He couldn’t afford to feel anything—not until all this was over. If he let his emotions get in the way, the consequences would be too great to bear.
He’d already pushed Irina too far. Answering the question she’d asked would sever the last frayed thread that bound them together. And he wasn’t sure he could survive if that thread broke.
He took a long breath. “Deke.”
Irina gasped audibly. “What?”
He lifted his head and met her shocked gaze. “You heard me,” he muttered.
“D-deke?” she stammered.
As she spoke, the door from the kitchen opened.
“Deke shot you?” Her voice was shrill with shock.
“Oh, crap,” Deke said.
IRINA MET the wary gaze of her husband’s best friend. She shook her head back and forth—back and forth, while her stomach churned with nausea.
“I don’t understand…” she whispered. Her throat was too tight, her chest too constricted, to speak any louder.
“Don’t blame him,” Rook said, standing.
He might as well have been in a different room. She barely heard him. All she could do was stare at Deke, who had been there for her, who had grieved with her, who had kept Black Hills Search and Rescue going and had taken care of her during the dark time since her husband’s death.
“Deke? You—?”
“Irina, he was only following—” Rook started.
“Shut up!” She swiped a hand through the air in his general direction without looking at him.
Deke’s tanned faced turned a sickly green. He opened his mouth, closed it, ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “Irina—”
“You shot him? You shot Rook? It was you?” Saying it didn’t make it any more real. In fact, it confused her more. The memory of those awful seconds washed over her like a volcanic wind. For that instant she was back there, on the deck of their yacht, feeling the downdraft from the helicopter, gripping Rook’s arm as she asked him why it was flying so close.
“But that’s impossible. The shot—it came from a helicopter. He was—” She turned her head to look at Rook. “You were hit in the chest. All that blood…” She had to force air past her constricted throat.
“It was so awful. How could you not tell me, Deke?”
“It was…a matter of national security—” Deke started.
“He was following my orders. He didn’t know I was still alive until he contacted a prearranged number three days ago.”
Irina’s head was spinning. Too much information. “But I saw the bullet hit you. It made a little puff.” She gestured with her fingers. “F-fibers from your shirt, I think. Then blood—your blood—spattered on my blouse. You fell into the water.” She pressed her palms to her temples. “Were you wearing a bulletproof vest? No, you couldn’t have been. We’d just…” Her voice trailed off as more memories flashed across her vision.
They’d made love. She’d watched him dress afterward. All at once she realized that was the origin of her recurring dream.
They’d made love and then he’d been shot.
Killed.
“I watched you die,” she whispered. Then suddenly the floor tilted and her vision turned dark. Strong arms enveloped her.
Rook’s arms. But no. It couldn’t be. Rook was dead.
She came awake as he laid her gently on the sofa. She didn’t open her eyes, afraid the room would tilt again. Afraid her world would turn right-side up again and Rook would be gone.
The next thing she was aware of was Deke’s voice.
“—can’t believe you’re here in the flesh. But I gotta say, I’d like to strangle you right now. You could have let me know you were alive.”
“After all that planning, it was too risky to take a chance like that. What happened to your arm?”
Their words confirmed what Rook had said. The two men, who’d been best friends and oath brothers since childhood, really hadn’t spoken in two years. She could tell from Deke’s voice that he’d feared he’d killed his best friend.
At least Deke hadn’t betrayed her—not like her husband had.
“This? It’s just a scratch, courtesy of a costume cowboy called Frank James, who insisted he wasn’t working for Novus.”
“It’s wrapped up like a mummy. Looks like a little more than a scratch.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine. More than I can say for your widow. Think she’s okay?”
“I think so. But look at her. She’s so pale, so scared. Dear God, I never meant to hurt her.”
“Well, you did.”
“You think I don’t know that? If there had been any other way—”
“You know what, man? Just stop. I had to watch her, knowing the whole time what I’d done—what I’d let you do. I’ve learned a lot in the past two years. And even more in the past few days. One thing I can tell you for sure, it may take me the rest of my natural life to make up to Mindy for everything I put her through in the past. But I’ll do it. And I won’t waste time whining that there was nothing else I could do.” Deke’s voice was low, but Irina heard the disgust and anger behind his words.
Cloth squeaked against leather as Rook stood up. “You got anything else to say, Cunningham? Because if you do, maybe we should go outside. I’d rather my wife not be any more upset than she already is.”
“Now you’re blaming me for upsetting her? You arrogant—”
Their argument was fast escalating into a fight. Irina sat up, a lot more quickly than she should have. Stars flared at the edge of her vision. She pushed her hair out of her face.
Both men turned toward her. She could see Deke’s sheepish expression and Rook’s worried gaze through the fading starbursts.
“Hey, Irina.” Deke’s voice softened into gentleness. “Are you okay?”
“Not even near,” she muttered.
“Stay still. Rest. Maybe you can even sleep for a while,” Rook said.
She laughed. “Sleep? I don’t know what sleep is. Not for two years. My brain is speeding ninety miles an hour. There are so many questions that I don’t know where to start.”
His gaze faltered.
“Okay. Answer this one. Why did Deke bring me here?”
Deke answered her. “Because he doesn’t want you out of our sight for even one second.”
She shook her head and smiled sadly. “No. That doesn’t explain it. Why now? I’ve been out of your sight for two years—” She stopped. “Or have I? Don’t tell me you have watched me all this time.” Her stomach churned. “I think I may be sick.”
“I swear, this is the first time I’ve set foot in the U.S. I couldn’t chance being spotted.”
She turned to Deke. “So how did you find him?”
Deke’s gaze slid past her to Rook. “I’ll let you field that one. I’m going to go take a look around outside—”
“No!”
Deke and Rook jumped.
She swallowed. Her vehemence surprised even herself. “No. You stay right here, Deke. You’re involved in this, too.”
Deke looked down at the toe of his boot.
Rook rubbed a hand across his face. Despite her hurt and anger, Irina’s heart squeezed at the soul-deep weariness etched there.
“I set up a message service,” he said flatly. “The fees are paid automatically on a yearly basis by electronic withdrawal from a bank in the Caymans. I used the name Kenneth Raven.”
She stared at him. “A bank—” How had she been married to him and not known him at all?
“So who called you on this message service? I thought Deke did not know you were alive. You said nobody knew.”
“That’s right. Nobody. Deke had the number, but he wasn’t to call it unless it was a life-or-death situation.”
“You arranged your assassination. You planned for a contingency in case you needed—or wanted—to return to life. You left your sister, your wife, all your friends and family, to think you were dead.” Irina’s stomach was still churning. Her head was spinning. “We had a funeral. We grieved for you. And the whole time you were laughing at us.”
“Trust me, I wasn’t laughing.”
Was she seeing things, or were his eyes brighter than they’d been a few seconds ago? She’d never seen Rook Castle cry before. Still, even if those were tears, it didn’t matter. It was too late for tears, too late for apologies.
It was too late.
An awful thought occurred to her. “What about Jennie? Is she all right?”
He nodded without looking at her. “I hired a bodyguard for Jennie, using the Cayman Islands account. She has no idea.”
“So you have decided the best thing for everybody, haven’t you?”
“I didn’t have a choice.”
She lifted her chin. “Just so I know, how long had you been planning all this?”
“Rina, it wasn’t like that—”
“How…long?”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Deke squeeze his eyes closed.
Rook looked away and shrugged. “Six months. Maybe eight.”
A short, sharp laugh burst from her throat. “Eight months. You lived with me, you made love to me, and all the time you were planning to—? Dear God, who are you?”
She stood and caught the arm of the sofa to steady herself. Then she glared at the man she’d married in a fever six years ago. “I do not know you at all.”
Rook spread his hands. “Trust me, it’ll all make more sense once you’ve had some rest. It’s a lot for you to take in right now—”
“A lot to take in? You think?” She heard her voice rising in pitch. “But, yes, of course. I am sure I’ll feel much better once I take a nap.”
Deke reached out a hand, as if to soothe her, but she jerked away. “No. Don’t touch me.”
She wrapped her arms around her middle and turned back to Rook. “Where have you been? Who have you been in touch with?”
“Nobody. Irina, you need to calm down.”
“You have no right to tell me what I need to do. You gave that up when you let me think you were dead.” She held up her hands, palms out. “I can’t—I cannot take any more. I’m going to make tea.”
“Stay there. I’ll make it for you,” Deke said.
“No,” she snapped. She couldn’t be alone with Rook. She didn’t know what she would do—or say. “I think I’ll let you two talk. It’s pretty obvious you need to.”
She glared at Deke. “Maybe you can get some real answers out of him.”
She took a cautious step, making sure her legs weren’t going to collapse, then headed to the kitchen, with Rook’s voice following her.
“Use the light over the stove. Don’t turn on the overheads.”
“Fine. Fine. No problem,” she muttered. “Like I have no sense to figure that out.”
She twisted her hair up and anchored it with a rubber band from a kitchen drawer, then pulled the tea canister toward her, hoping there was at least one tea bag. She opened the lid.
“Jasmine,” she whispered. Her favorite. She dug the little package out and opened it.
She put the kettle on the stove eye and held the tea bag to her nose. The scent hurtled her back in time.
She and Rook had come up here a couple of weeks before the fateful trip to the Mediterranean. Just the two of them.
She’d brought up the idea of having a baby—again. And again, like always, he’d sidetracked her with jasmine tea and hot, passionate lovemaking. He’d never talked about having children. At least now she understood why.
She had to blink away tears before she could pour the hot water into her mug. Then she turned out the light over the stove and stood at the kitchen window in the dark, waiting for the tea to steep. In the distance, thunder rolled lazily and a pale flash of lightning lit the sky.
Before Rook, she’d always been afraid of thunder-storms. They reminded her of the guns and bombs from her childhood in the former Soviet Union. Thunderstorms had frightened her. But ever since she’d married Rook, she’d learned to love them.
He liked to lie in bed with the windows open, summer or winter, spring shower or gale-force winds, and watch the lightning and listen to the sounds of rain and thunder.
For her, lying in his arms, safe and secure in the knowledge that he would never let anything happen to her, was the ultimate definition of safety.
But he’d left her alone—alone with the storms and the memories and the unrelenting grief.
She swiped her fingers under her eyes and set the tea bag aside. Then she wrapped her hands around the warm mug and sipped, sighing as the hot liquid slid down her throat to soothe her insides.
She closed her eyes. She’d spent the past two years living in a nightmare. Every night, she’d prayed she would wake up and find Rook beside her, safe and sound. Every morning, she’d woken with her prayer unanswered.
Now he was here, but she still didn’t feel like her prayers had been answered.
This felt like the nightmare. The months of sleepless nights, of the recurring dream of loving him and then losing him, had become her reality.
Thunder rumbled again, closer this time. Irina’s eyes flew open. A lightning flash illuminated the dense woods on the east side of the cabin and a deafening clap of thunder made her nearly spill her tea.
Then something moved—a shadow darker than the trees.
She froze, holding her breath as the thunder continued to roar. She waited for the next flash of lightning. It didn’t take long.
The flare spotlighted a creature slinking along the edge of the woods. No. Not a creature. Not some thing.
Someone. And he was carrying a gun.

Chapter Three (#ub6fd2869-4c06-5407-b08d-9c06a11c4113)
Irina’s breath caught. There was someone outside the cabin, and he was carrying a weapon—maybe a rifle.
Setting down her mug, she moved swiftly toward the living room.
Rook and Deke were still arguing.
“—surprised he hasn’t tried to get to Rina before now,” Rook was saying.
“Son of a—That’s what I’m trying to tell you. He has.” Deke’s voice rose. “You don’t get it. The level of security I’ve got around her—she might as well be the First Lady. I told you I’d take care of her!”
“Of course I get it. That’s not what I’m saying.”
“It’s only been two weeks since she called off the search. Fifteen days! And he’s already managed to send a man after Matt and put a plan into place to kidnap Mindy. That’s why I knew I had to call you. He was obviously watching Matt. He knew the instant Irina called him. Hell, he knew before she got in touch with Matt. I’m thinking Novus knew she was calling off the search as soon as we did.”
“That’s not possible,” Rook snapped.
“It is if he’s got a mole on the inside. Look how he got to Mindy and used her to get to me. The SOB was watching her. He knew she was pregnant, something neither Irina nor I knew.”
“You can’t think that one of the BHSAR specialists is working for Novus.”
Irina stepped into the room.
“Would you listen?” Deke snapped. “My helicopter was sabotaged on the ranch. Right there in front of the hangar.”
“Sabotaged?”
“Rook! Deke!” Irina hissed. “There is someone outside. He’s armed.”
“What?” Both men jumped up. Deke grabbed a fireplace tool and shoveled ash over the flames. “Where?”
“At the edge of the woods outside the kitchen window.”
“Did he see you?” Rook asked.
She shook her head. “Not when I saw him. The lights were off. Maybe while I was making the tea.”
“I thought you said you weren’t followed,” Rook flung at Deke.
“I wasn’t. You?”
“Absolutely not. Are they Secret Service?”
“I’ve got a team on alert, but they won’t approach until I call them.” Deke cursed. “See? This is what I’ve been trying to tell you—”
“Who’d you tell about the cabin?”
“Just Dan Taylor. Today.”
“Then how in hell did they find us? LoJack?”
“No way. I swept the SUV before I picked up Irina.”
“But not after? If what you said about a traitor in BHSAR is true, someone could have tapped your car while you were inside.”
Deke cursed and crossed the room. He peered through the corner of the wooden blinds.
Rook shook his head. “No matter. Too late now. Are there still automatic weapons in the safe?” he asked as he walked over to the metal safe set into the far wall.
“Yeah, plenty. I can’t see anything out there.”
Rook dialed in the code and opened the heavy door. He reached in and pulled out two machine guns, along with several magazines of ammunition. “Wow,” he breathed. “You’ve upgraded.”
Deke walked back over to the fireplace. “HK 416s,” Deke said. “Secret Service gave me those after you disappeared. Part of their commitment to protecting Irina. You should find some super-hot night-vision goggles in there, too. And several flash grenades.”
“Nice.” Rook examined one of the 416s briefly and efficiently. His ease with handling the big weapon sent chills down Irina’s spine.
Deke pulled out his phone and dialed a number. He spoke a few words and hung up. “The Secret Service team will be here in less than twenty.”
“Hand me a com unit. And don’t we have some Tasers around here?”
Deke had already pulled a small wired box out of his pocket. “Pocket Tasers and handcuffs are stowed in the duffel bag I brought in.”
Irina watched them in awe. They hadn’t seen or talked to each other in two years, yet they worked completely in synch, anticipating each other’s needs. Their calm efficiency was reassuring and yet profoundly frightening at the same time.
As he grabbed the com unit and inserted the earpiece, Rook nodded at Irina. “You’re going to the basement.”
“Wait. I can take the Sig. I can help—”
“Now!” He pointed a finger at her. “And don’t open the door until you hear my signal. There’s a Glock down there, with plenty of extra ammo. Remember the safe word?”
She nodded stiffly, nearly paralyzed with fear. Years ago, when Rook had bought the cabin, he’d extended the basement to the barn and turned it into a safe room, reinforced with steel.
Since the barn was downhill from the cabin, a short tunnel was all that was necessary to join the two buildings. A door at the far end of the basement joined the back wall of the barn.
He’d gone over a long list of precautions with her. His insistence on such extensive safety measures had spooked her at the time, but they’d never had to use any of them.
For her, Rook’s very presence had always meant safety. But no more. The man standing in front of her with cold determination hardening his face was not the same man she’d married.
“Go!” he barked.
“Don’t—” she choked out through her constricted throat “—don’t get killed.”
ROOK DECIDED to follow Irina down the stairs from the pantry to the basement. He wasn’t going to take any chances. He’d see for himself that she was securely locked in the basement safe room.
He didn’t touch her—he didn’t have to, to know that she was shivering with fear and confusion. That and more radiated from her like a fever. He couldn’t blame her, but he couldn’t reassure her, either.
He wanted to tell her how sorry he was. Wanted to somehow explain. But even if he could form the words, they were meaningless. Mere words couldn’t make up for what she’d been through.
Hell, nothing could.
He opened the basement door and stepped back to let her pass. She went through the reinforced metal door and pushed it almost closed, then paused, peering at him through the narrow opening.
Long ago, he’d promised her that she would never be afraid again. He’d promised himself that she’d never have cause to regret marrying him. He’d broken both promises.
“Why?” she whispered, as if she knew his thoughts. “Why did you let me believe you were dead? All this time—”
He clenched his jaw. “Not now, Rina.”
She recoiled slightly, as if dodging a blow.
He’d hurt her again. More. It seemed that all he’d ever be able to do from now on was hurt her.
Reassuring words lodged in his throat. If he said them, they could turn into yet another lie. She needed time to heal, time to learn that she could trust him.
But right now time was a luxury they couldn’t afford, because Novus had found them. So he said nothing.
She lowered her gaze and closed the door.
Rook stood there until he heard the massive lock click into place, then he mounted the stairs.
He tapped the ultralight communications transmitter in his ear.
“Deke?” he muttered.
“Front room. And whisper, dammit. You’re busting my eardrums.” Deke’s words slid through his head as if they were his own thoughts.
“Irina’s secure,” he mouthed, barely making a sound. “I’m in the kitchen. Whatcha got?”
“I see two, slinking around behind the trees.”
Deke’s voice was clear and as smooth as silk. These were damn good units. A far cry from the staticky ones they’d used during their Air Force missions.
“I figure there are four of them,” Deke continued. “And two of us. That makes it even odds.”
Rook’s mouth twitched. “You’re giving those four guys a lot of credit.”
“Yeah, well, they may have explosives. How do you want to handle this?”
“The two you don’t see—where are they?”
“My guess—one at the front door and one at the back, waiting for us to come out. I’m betting Novus wants you alive, so they’ll try tear gas first. Then escalate to stun grenades if they have to.”
“What about these grenades we’ve got?”
“New toy, courtesy of Homeland Security. Works like a regular grenade. The flash blinds the enemy for thirty seconds or so. The goggles you’ve got hanging around your neck will protect you.”
“What if they have the goggles, too?”
“These babies are brand-new technology. Prototypes. Theory is you can stare at the sun for hours with them on. I doubt Novus has them yet. We don’t have them—officially. Whoa!”
“What?”
“They’re on the move.”
“Deke, go get Rina and get the hell out of here. Through the basement into the barn. The keys are in the rental car. I’ll hold them off.”
“The hell you will! Four against one’s not the same as four against two. You’ll be playing right into their hands. You get Irina, I’ll hold off these—” Deke spilled a few choice curse words. “I’ve gotten away from Novus twice before. I can do it again.”
“With that arm you may not be able to handle the 416. It’s heavy.”
“You don’t worry about me. I can handle anything you can.”
Rook heard something clatter against the kitchen window. “Something hit the window. Probably tear gas.”
“Rook—go! Take Irina and get to safety. They’re after you, not me.”
“No way. We’ll take them together and then I’ll get Rina. As long as she stays in the safe room, she’ll be fine.”
“Unless one of our visitors decides to check out the barn.”
“The steel door from the barn into the safe room is rated for twenty minutes against dynamite.”
“Good to know. So how do we want to take these guys? Stay together or split up?”
“You take the front. I’ll take the back and then we’ll catch the middle two in a crossfire. No casualties unless absolutely necessary. I want them in custody, spilling their guts.”
He heard a hissing noise outside the window. “There goes the tear gas. They wasted that one.”
“I’m at the door. You?”
Rook flattened his back against the kitchen door, mentally measuring the distance out to the yard. The door opened onto a small stoop and then down five steps. “Yeah. See anything?”
“Nah. I say we go on three. If you spot one, try the flash grenade, but be ready with firepower. I’ll be shooting down from the porch.” The edge in Deke’s voice cut like a razor blade through Rook’s head. He knew the tone. Deke was prepared to die to protect him. Rook felt the same way.
But it wasn’t going to happen. Not today—not ever. Deke had every reason to stay alive. He had Mindy and their newborn baby boy.
And Rook had—He gripped his machine pistol in both hands and shoved those thoughts away. “On my mark,” he growled.
“One.” He tensed his thighs and pushed to a standing position, then pulled the night-vision goggles over his eyes. It took him a second to adjust to the Matrix-like look of the world through the infrared lenses.
“Two.” He turned the key in the back door and reached for the knob, ready to angle around. Ready for anything. A heady rush of adrenaline buzzed through him, making him super-aware. He heard the whisper-light hum of a mosquito, noticed the faint cold breeze on his neck.
He took a long, slow breath.
“Three!” He slung the door open and slid around it, his finger on the trigger of the HK 416. The 416 was a heavy piece of equipment and carried plenty of ammo, but right now its weight was comforting.
A second wave of adrenaline jacked up his heart rate and sharpened his already-honed senses.
Deke’s labored breathing sounded like a windstorm above the sawing of his own breaths. His nose picked up the fresh, earthy smell of rain from the brief thunderstorm. His trigger finger tightened.
In one long stride, he crossed the stoop and put his back against a wooden pillar.
Poised to shoot, he swung out and swept the backyard with his gaze and his gun. It was empty—no shadowy figures, no sound other than rain dripping off eaves and tree branches.
Where were they? If they were his men, they’d be covering the main entrances to the cabin.
He didn’t like that he couldn’t see them. Had they circled around to the barn? Or was Deke wrong? Were there just two of them?
He shook his head. Deke was rarely wrong.
“Whatcha got?” he whispered into the com mic.
“Nothing.” Deke’s voice was laced with disgust.
“Still think there are four of them?”
“Yeah. But maybe not.”
A noise to Rook’s left had him swinging his weapon in that direction. Glass shattered.
“They breached the kitchen window with a tear-gas grenade. Ready to go? Flash grenade first?”
“On your mark,” his friend replied.
“One…” Rook hopped lightly to the ground and planted his back against the north wall of the cabin, east of the porch. The grass, wet from the thunderstorm, muffled his footsteps.
“Two…” He cradled the HK 416 in his right arm and pulled out a flash grenade with his left, noticing his arm, dark and edged with acid green, through the goggles.
“Three!”
He rounded the corner of the cabin in time to see a human-shaped green monster slink away from the kitchen window back toward the woods.
He jerked the pin with his teeth and tossed it a couple of feet beyond the man.
“Flash!” he muttered into his com unit. “Look out.”
Suddenly the yard lit up like the midway of a state fair. Even through the goggles the flare was painfully bright. Someone screeched in pain.
Then all hell broke loose.
The air around him filled with the deep rat-tat-tat of machine-gun fire. The blinded enemy were strafing the yard randomly, hoping to score a hit.
And coming damn close.
Rook shrank against the wall, making himself as small as possible as a flurry of bullets zinged past him. If he could dodge them long enough, their attackers would soon be out of ammo.
If he could dodge them.
“Deke?”
“I’m okay. You?”
“Soon as they’re done wasting ammo, let’s take them. Tasers and cuffs. Then we’ll see how many buddies they’ve got.”
“Say the word.”
Rook stayed flattened against the wall until he heard the spit of machine-gun fire slow down and then stop. The volley that seemed to go on forever had probably only lasted a few seconds.
He pulled the fully charged Taser from the scabbard he’d attached to his belt and checked its setting.
Medium. He turned it to high. To the danger zone, in fact. He wanted the bastards helpless and moaning with muscle cramps.
Then, with his finger on the trigger of the HK 416, he tensed.
“Go!” he spat through the com unit.
He rounded the northeast corner of the house just as Deke appeared on the southeast end of the long front porch.
The guy who’d thrown the tear gas was dressed head to toe in black. He lurched across the bare yard toward the woods, obviously still blinded by the high-powered flash. Rook hoped Deke had the other man in his sights.
He slung the 416 over his shoulder by its strap and ran toward the stumbling terrorist. He took him down easily, zapped him with the Taser and then, ignoring his moans, cuffed him and jerked his ski cap over his eyes as a blindfold.
“Move, and I’ll shock you again.”
The man squealed in protest. His legs jerked involuntarily.
The unmistakable stacatto of machine-gun fire broke the silence.
“Deke?”
“Over here. I got two for one. Had to take one out. Got the other one trussed up like a turkey.”
“Mine, too. That makes three.”
“Hey.” Deke’s voice brightened. “Here comes the cavalry, right on time.”
As his voice faded, Rook saw the headlights. He jerked his captive to his feet by the neck of his black sweater, but the man’s legs buckled under him.
“Get moving. I’ll drag you if I have to,” Rook growled and proceeded to do just that. By the time he got to Deke his arm muscles were protesting.
Rook dumped the man onto the ground next to Deke’s prisoner and shoved his goggles up onto his forehead. “Where’s the casualty?”
Deke nodded toward the bushes that hugged the edge of the porch. At that moment, the headlights of a black SUV shone on them like spotlights, and four Secret Service agents jumped out, dressed in flak jackets with weapons at the ready. The driver stepped over next to Deke while the other two took charge of the prisoners.
“Good timing, Dan,” Deke said, nodding at the driver.
Rook glanced beyond the SUV as a second vehicle pulled up and four more flak-jacketed men emerged.
“Rook, meet Special Agent Dan Taylor, with the Secret Service. He just took over as Agent in Charge of Security around the ranch. He’s been briefed about your situation. Dan, this is Colonel Rook Castle.”
Taylor shook his hand. “Pleasure, Colonel.”
“Glad to meet you,” he said. “Deke, I’m going to get Rina.”
Deke nodded as he continued talking with Taylor. “Dan, we think these guys are working for Novus Ordo. I’m afraid the one in the bushes over there didn’t make it, but these two are healthy. We need all the intel they’ve got.”
“Any means necessary?” the Secret Service agent asked.
“That’s right,” Deke responded. It looked to Rook like Deke had everything handled for the moment. So he turned on his heel and headed for the house to fetch Irina from the fortified basement.
As soon as Deke and Agent Taylor headed off with the prisoners, and he and Irina were finally alone, they could talk. The thought sent apprehension skittering down his spine.
He was halfway up the steps to the kitchen door when the blast shook the cabin. The force of the explosion knocked him down the steps and on his butt. Heated air gushed over him.
Black smoke billowed up over the west roof.
The barn.
“Rina!” he screamed, pushing himself to his feet. He ran toward the smoke and flames.
“Rook, wait!”
Deke’s hand brushed his arm. He jerked away, pumping his legs faster.
Then Deke tackled him. He went down heavily, with Deke’s arms locked around his legs.
Rook struggled, kicking. “Let go!”
Deke propelled himself up and over him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders in a bear hug. “Stop it, Rook!”
Rook heard a shout and the pounding of boots on the wet ground. He kicked again and tried to buck Deke off.
“You’ll kill yourself. Taylor’s men are checking it out.”
Rook barely heard him. He bucked again.
“Get off me you son of a bitch! I’ve got to get to Rina!”

Chapter Four (#ub6fd2869-4c06-5407-b08d-9c06a11c4113)
Rook finally pushed Deke off of him, or Deke gave up and rolled away. He vaulted over Deke and up the porch steps, heading for the basement safe room. From the color and height of the smoke coming from the barn, he was sure nobody could get to the basement going that way. The fire was burning too hot.
He raced through the kitchen and down the basement stairs. With a giant leap off the bottom stair, he hurtled himself against the metal door, pounding with his right fist and groping for the intercom switch with his left.
He prayed that the wires hadn’t been burned or shorted.
“Irina!” he shouted through the intercom’s speaker. “Answer me!”
Nothing.
His scalp burned with fearful anticipation. Had the explosion compromised the steel mesh-reinforced walls of the safe room? Had she been hurt? Or worse, had the men gotten to her?
He took a deep breath and shouted the safe word. It was actually a phrase, made up one night as they lay in each other’s arms after an hour of nonstop lovemaking. Loosely translated to English, the phrase meant “Come here often?”
“Irina, Priyed’te s’uda chasto?” he said carefully, enunciating the words the way he’d learned. He’d never been great with the language, although he could speak it. According to Irina, he always bungled the pronunciation. She’d laughed every time he spoke. He wished he could hear her laughter right now.
“Priyed’te s’uda chasto, Irina.” He hit the door with his fist again, then spread his palm against the metal, ridiculously relieved to feel its chill against his skin. Rationally, he knew it was too thick to allow heat to penetrate, especially after only a few minutes, but he breathed easier anyway.
Please, he begged silently. Answer me.
“Tol’ko—” a choked voice crackled through the intercom. “Tol’ko, kogda suda vhod’at.”
Only when the ships come in.
Relief sent shivers across his scalp and the nape of his neck, where sweat prickled.
“Irina, thank God. Are you all right? Are you hurt? Can you unlatch the door?”
He heard her fumbling with the lock, then with a cold metallic snick, the latch sprung.
For an instant, he paused. She hadn’t answered any of his questions. What if she wasn’t alone? What if one of Novus’s men was holding her?
But, no. She knew what to do. If she weren’t safe, she’d have answered Vse vrem’a, “All the time,” if she were compromised.
He swung the door open, expecting her to throw herself into his arms. But she didn’t. She stood, a couple of feet back from the door, her arms wrapped around herself.
He examined her closely, looking for any sign of burns or injuries. She looked unhurt, but she was shivering.
“You’re freezing. Dammit. I should have grabbed that blanket for you. Come here.” He held out his arms.
She looked at his outspread hands, then met his gaze. Her eyes were wide and dilated with fright. “Is it safe?”
His embrace or the situation? “We’ve contained the attack.”
Her gaze held his for an instant, then she pushed past him and went up the stairs.
He turned to follow her, but the straight, stiff line of her back in the silk dressing gown spoke volumes. In fact, she couldn’t have been clearer if she’d shouted.
She didn’t want his help, nor his comfort. He couldn’t blame her. She’d managed for two years without it.
He was terrified that during that time she’d decided that being without him was easier than being with him.
He didn’t take his eyes off her until she disappeared through the door at the top of the stairs and closed it, quietly but firmly.
He couldn’t make it up to her for leaving her. All he could do was make sure that everything around her was safe. So he stepped through the metal door and looked around. She’d turned on the solar lights that were fed by panels on the roof of the cabin, so it was easy to see that this end of the basement was undamaged.
However, the smell of smoke and burned wood and rubber permeated the air, and forty feet away, at the other end of the room, he could see where the steel mesh that reinforced the basement walls was bare in several places. Whatever they’d use to blow up the barn, it had generated enough heat to incinerate the plywood.
The basement was slightly soundproofed by virtue of the reinforced walls and metal doors. Still, it must have been terrifying for her, down here alone, listening to the gunfire. He couldn’t imagine what she’d gone through as the explosion ripped the roof off the barn and burned through the walls he’d assured her were impenetrable.
For all his training and experience, in the Air Force and afterward, it occurred to him that beneath it all he was a naive idiot, thinking that because he thought he’d made her safe, she actually was.
Worse, he’d expected her to blindly accept his decisions—expected her to trust her life to them.
When had he become so arrogant and self-delusional?
The door behind him opened.
“Rook?”
He heard Deke’s voice in his ears and through the com unit at the same time.
“Yeah.”
“I saw Irina.” Deke’s footsteps were light on the wooden stairs. For his size, he could move almost without a sound. He stepped up beside Rook. “She didn’t seem to be hurt—”

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