So why the f.u.c.k had he lived while everyone else but Bear had died?

He didn't share that cheery thought with Sa.s.sy. That wasn't anything he was ready to share with anyone.

"I ended up with a broken leg and collarbone, a severe concussion, a ruptured spleen, and some fractured ribs. They tacked several weeks on to my upcoming leave."

Later they'd used the time to investigate Bryan because someone up the chain of command had been convinced his team had been set up.

No s.h.i.t, Sherlock.

Initially, the powers-that-be were convinced that it was Bryan, Bear, or both who'd betrayed the team, the reasoning being that if they were still alive, they must have been at fault. Convinced to the point where they wouldn't let either man go home, even when Bryan's grandmother died.

They didn't arrest him or Bear; they just didn't release them from the hospital. They were under a sort of house arrest. And they kept them in Germany, despite their being well enough to travel. The unofficial charges had caused Bryan to question everything he thought he knew about the military and what he was doing with his life.

Once both men's names were cleared, his commanders were "oh so sorry." They still had no idea where the information leak had come from that had led to the roadside attack. They'd probably never know. But even with the apology from his superiors, it was too late to change Bryan's feelings about his future with MARSOC.

His trust in the military and that life was completely broken. "I was at the eight-year mark and due to re-up. Instead I got out."

He didn't add that he hadn't been able to stomach the thought of going on. Betrayal did that to him. Once he felt trust was broken, recovery was impossible.

Sa.s.sy continued to silently watch him. The homemade ca.s.serole had cooled, but he had a feeling she no longer had an appet.i.te. He sure as h.e.l.l didn't.

What was she thinking? Was it too much to hope that she'd remain silent? He could handle anything but her sympathy.

His burner phone chirped; the soft, mellow tones of the ringer filled the apartment. He didn't recognize the number, but he took the chance to avoid hearing how Sa.s.sy would respond to his revelations and answered the call. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Bryan, it's Nick. I got your number from Leland. Are you in a place where you can talk?"

"Yes." He glanced at Sa.s.sy across the table from him. He covered the phone. "It's Nick Donovan."

"Are they okay?" The concern in her eyes was genuine, just as it had been for him.

He stared at her a moment, not registering what she'd asked. Definitely f.u.c.kable.

He mentally kicked himself, but there wasn't any forgetting that idea. "Are you and Jennifer alright?" he asked.

"We're back home. I've got some information for you, but I don't want to share it over the phone. Probably best to meet in person."

Hearing that Nick was concerned about the integrity of their communications did Bryan's heart good. He no longer felt guilty about not wanting to call Leland after the train derailment. It was an odd sense of relief to know that he wasn't the only one paranoid as h.e.l.l at this point.

"Where do you want to do it?" Bryan asked.

"Do you remember the boss's cabin?"

Bryan knew it. The place was just outside Broken Bow, Oklahoma. h.e.l.l and gone from where he was now.

"We could meet there," said Nick. "You told me I needed a vacation when we were in Skikda."

Bryan snorted a sad laugh. "Yes, I did. But that cabin is over a thousand miles from here."

"Where are you?" asked Nick.

Bryan glanced around the room, cognizant of what he didn't want to say. There was a beat of silence.

"Right. Forget I asked that," said Nick.

"It could take a couple days for us to get there. I don't have transportation at the moment."

"Think you could be there by New Year's Eve?" asked Nick.

Bryan studied Sa.s.sy sitting across from him, noted the darkening circles under her eyes. She hadn't slept for more than a couple of hours at a time. h.e.l.l, neither one of them had since the hotel room in Africa.

Was that three or four days ago? He stared at the st.i.tches on her forehead. Someone wanted her dead.

"Yeah. We can get there by then, maybe before. Let me figure out a car. Count on two and a half days. I'll call you when we're on the road." Bryan closed the phone.

He had no idea how he was going to do it but having Bear come for them might not work after all. They needed transportation now, not four hours from now. He couldn't rent anything with his ID and stay hidden for any length of time. Whatever was going on, the people after them had very long arms.

He glanced at Sa.s.sy again. Those circles under her eyes were deep purple. She had to rest, even if he didn't. When they got on the road, they could split up the driving. But she wasn't going to want to sleep until then. He'd bet money on it. She was stubborn that way.

Straightforward would be the best way to talk her into this. But as he recalled, biddable had never been a word anyone used to describe Sa.s.sy's personality.

He smiled at the thought and took a breath. "You need to rest."

"What did Nick want?" She spoke at the same time he did.

"He wants us to meet him."

"Where?" She stood with her plate and walked it to the sink.

"Oklahoma."

She stopped in the process of sc.r.a.ping her plate into the disposal. "But that's-"

"A really long way from here, yes."

"That could take days. Trey doesn't have days."

Bryan held up his hand. "One problem at a time. First we have to figure out how we are getting out of here, whether we're going to Oklahoma, Mexico, or back to Africa."

She stopped on the verge of what appeared to be a full-fledged rant and nodded. "Okay. So how are we getting a car if you can't use your ID? You think Otis would let us rent that antique under the cover in his garage?"

Bryan laughed and pushed back from the table. "I think Otis would be more likely to give us his house. He loves that car."

She raised an eyebrow. "Well, I suppose it depends on just how persuasive you can be."

He stood and cleared his own dishes. "Oh, I can be persuasive, alright."

She smirked and started filling the sink with water, standing closer to him than usual. "I just bet you can be when you're in the right frame of mind."

Glancing down and trying to ignore the s.e.xual tug, he could smell the floral shampoo she'd used. He also tried, unsuccessfully, not to stare down the front her robe. He failed at both and only managed to give her a look that was partway between scorching and pleading.

Despite the robe's being oversized, Sa.s.sy's generous a.s.sets were difficult to miss. She was curvy in a way that had him grinding his teeth to keep from saying anything that would lead them further into "bad idea land." Why couldn't he get himself under control around her?

The h.e.l.l of it was, he strongly suspected that she knew exactly what she did to him. He had to get out of here for a little while, or, despite his best intentions, he'd have her on that table with the threadbare terry cloth open any second.

"I'm going to go talk with Otis," he said.

"I'll get my clothes figured out from what I found in the closet."

Thank G.o.d. Out loud he muttered, "Good." Clothes would be an excellent start. Maybe then he wouldn't want to strip her naked, kiss her stupid, or both.

Sa.s.sY b.u.mPED BRYAN away from the sink with her hip. "I'll take care of these." She took a steadying breath as he stared down at her with an inscrutable look.

He said nothing and walked out the door, closing it with a decided snap. She could almost feel the perspiration popping out on her upper lip. Lord, she had to get out of this robe and put some real clothes on. Dressed this way, she was too vulnerable. Too everything.

The hot water was taking a long time to warm up, so she left the stopper out of the sink and let the water run over the dirty dishes and pan. She'd just turned to move toward Tilly's Goodwill bag when she heard voices outside on the landing. One voice was Bryan's; the other was someone's she didn't recognize.

Before she could move more than a step from the sink, the door burst open, and two men muscled into the apartment on either side of Bryan. Both held guns. Bryan stood silently between them, his face completely blank.

"What's going on?"

The men were dressed in suits and looked official, yet menacing at the same time. When they saw Sa.s.sy, something changed in the air. She got a distinct vibe that made her extremely nervous.

There'd be no pulling of the tiger's tail here. These men weren't on any kind of official business; they were up to no good. And if they got their hands on her, she was sunk. Bryan wouldn't fight them if he thought they were going to hurt her. And even if he did try, with their guns pointed at him, he wouldn't get far.

She reached into the sink behind her and grasped the handle of the saucepan that was finally filling with scalding hot water. She swallowed a gasp as it splashed over her hand. "Bryan? Who are these guys?"

The men didn't speak. One of them started toward her across the small apartment. When he got even with the table, she pulled the pan from the sink behind her and flung the water at his head.

The man howled as the unusually hot water splashed into his eyes. Bryan was on the other man immediately, and they wrestled to the ground. Sa.s.sy pounded her downed guy with the saucepan. It probably wouldn't have worked if he hadn't been so incapacitated by the hot water.

She heard scuffling and grunts behind her. A shot rang out. She froze in mid-swing with the saucepan and turned. It was Bryan with the gun. The first man was on the ground and he was dead, if the blood streaming from his head was any indication. Bryan had a bead on the second man even as Sa.s.sy was processing it all.

"Don't move, or I'll put a bullet through your brain, too, just like your buddy there," said Bryan.

Sa.s.sy did a double take at the tone in his voice. He sounded so different. Not at all like the Bryan she knew. She studied him a moment. His lip was bleeding and his shirt was torn, but the look in his gray eyes had gone from brooding and s.e.xy to turbulent and deadly.

"Sa.s.sy, I need you to get something to tie this guy up with. Find something in the closet or the pantry, okay?"

She nodded and opened several drawers but could only come up with a roll of silver duct tape.

"That'll do." Bryan handed her the gun. "If he fights me, you shoot him." No one spoke as he began strapping the guy to an armchair with the tape. It seemed crazy and surreal, like something she'd see in a Quentin Tarantino movie. In a few moments he was finished.

"Why isn't Otis checking this out? Wouldn't he have heard the gunshots?" she asked. Otis didn't strike her as a guy to stand on the sidelines if he heard gunfire on his property.

After the man was secured, Bryan took the gun from Sa.s.sy. "Go get dressed. We're getting out of here," he said.

She didn't move. "Won't Otis have heard the gunshot?" she asked again.

"Otis is dead. They killed him."

Sa.s.sy's stomach roiled as she cast a horrified gaze at the man strapped to the chair. Somehow she was able to continue speaking in a level tone. "Don't we need to call the police or someone in law enforcement?"

G.o.d, when had she become so inured to all this?

The man in the chair c.o.c.ked an eyebrow, and she felt the first spurt of anger course through her veins.

"Go get dressed, Sa.s.sy," Bryan repeated.

The spurt of anger became a raging sea. "No, dammit. What in the world is going on here? Why aren't we calling the police this time?"

She was glaring at Bryan when the man strapped to the chair spoke up. "Well, that might take some explaining, since I'm with the DEA, along with my dead partner over there."

Chapter Thirteen.

December 28 Noon Mexico THE AIR WAS hot, but the breeze made the temperature almost bearable as Tomas Rivera sat beneath an umbrella outside the coffee shop surrounded by bodyguards. He sipped the iced coffee and wondered for the hundredth time what the h.e.l.l he was doing here and why he'd agreed to meet Marcus Ramon.

Right now, his remaining "silent partner" was out of control, and Tomas had more to do than deal with a nephew he had never met before. Going to the U.S. to deal with betrayal by a man he'd trusted for over ten years was out of the question. But Tomas had to do something.

Then he'd gotten this phone call and felt compelled to drop everything. Was he becoming sentimental?

He'd certainly come to a deeper realization of just how alone he was in the world with Carlita gone. He was also beginning to see his own mortality with the events of the past month. That, and it had been such a very long time since he'd spoken to any of his own blood relations.

When Tomas left the Mexican Special Forces at nineteen and switched sides to join the cartels, he cut all ties. His family gladly took the money he sent the first five years. But eventually his reputation-or his family's piousness-grew to the point that they asked him to stop sending any more cash. But he kept himself apprised of their lives, even if they didn't want to know anything about him.

When his youngest sister's son sent the cryptic message to him yesterday, he knew exactly who Marcus Ramon was. He'd known the day his favorite sister, Maria, had married a man from Texas and moved to the U.S. It was apparently a true love match, though the man wasn't Marcus's father.

That man had died in a car accident when Maria was still living in Mexico as an unwed pregnant teenager. He'd left her with an infant son to raise, but she'd met and married Marcus's stepfather, who'd adopted the boy and given the child his last name. Marcus Rivera was now Marcus Ramon.

Although Tomas still kept close tabs on Maria, this call had been unexpected. And right now, he had other business to attend to. He desperately needed to be working his contacts to figure out exactly what his onetime partner was in the process of doing. Tomas had no doubt he was about to be screwed, but just how badly depended on how much information he could gather and how quickly he could gather it. He'd rather be in the U.S. to take care of things personally, but that was impossible.

So here Tomas sat. He recognized the young man approaching his table immediately. Marcus Ramon was tall, with dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and eyes that looked so much like his own that Tomas did a double take. While it wasn't unusual for a nephew to bear such a strong family resemblance, Tomas, who had no children of his own, found himself shocked by the disconcerting sensation of gazing into the familiar face without the benefit of a mirror.

The young man sat across the table without preamble or offering his hand. "h.e.l.lo, I'm Marcus Ramon, your sister Maria's son." The look in his eye wasn't unfriendly, but it wasn't open, either.

Tomas recognized that look, as he'd worn it plenty of times himself. "I know who you are. Why did you want to see me?"

Marcus didn't appear the least bit intimidated. That surprised Tomas and pleased him in a rather perverse way.

"My mother asked me to come. She'd heard about your wife's pa.s.sing and wanted to send her condolences."