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She groaned in pleasure as marginally cool air blew in her face. A little civilization went a long way after a day like today. She might run around here trying to act like one of the boys, but she liked her creature comforts as much as the next girl. He eased the vehicle forward very slowly.

“You think they may still be out there?” she asked.

“Not likely. I’m just trying not to lay down a big trail of dust and announce our presence to everyone within a mile of our position. Even if your guys have left, that doesn’t mean this area is by any means safe for us.”

“They’re notmyguys,” she snapped a little peevishly.

“They’re your targets, right?” he asked evenly.

Too evenly. She might not know him all that well, but she knew him well enough to know that he was not a happy man at the moment. What wasn’t he telling her about the dangers out here?

“What’s wrong, Ian?”

“Care to explain why your guys hooked up with my target all of a sudden and burned down his lab for him when he was done with it?”

“The logical assumption is that they work together,” she replied reluctantly.Please, God, let that not be true.

Silence fell between them as Ian steered the Jeep onto a paved road and picked up speed. And it wasn’t one of those contemplating the countryside together in companionable quiet silences. This one simmered and stewed, twisting angrily throughout the vehicle, wrapping itself around Ian and lashing out at her every minute or two.

Whatwas his trauma? She’d already asked him once what was wrong. She would be damned if she asked him again.

After maybe a half-hour of driving northward, he spoke, this voice vibrating with tightly controlled anger. “The first two times your investigation put you across my path, I thought it was chance that our respective investigations brought us together. K-Town’s not that big a place at the end of the day. But now I’m starting to think you and I may be investigating the same problem.”

“I’m following a group of American, back-to-pre-industrial-revolution separatists. How do they have anything to do with a Palestinian scientist/terrorist?”

“Answer that, and we may figure out what both of our targets are up to.”

Reluctantly, she had to agree with him. Three times, now, tracking her targets had led her straight to Ian. Either he and she were following the same terrorist trail, or the gods of fate were playing a grand joke on the two of them. And she didn’t happen to believe in fate.

“Any brilliant ideas about how we should proceed?” she asked, leaning her head back against the headrest and closing her eyes.

“That’s a hell of a question, given that I had to let my target go so I could run into that house and save your neck. Again.” He thumped both hands on the steering wheel in frustration. “I had him, dammit. I hadvisualon the bastard. I’ve been tracking him formonths!”

There wasn’t anything she could say to that. She was grateful—beyond grateful—that he’d come into the house to let her know it was on fire. She had lost situational awareness and likely would not have realized what was happening in time to save herself.

And then, when she’d gone back up to the kitchen and that smoke had been so thick and black, she couldn’t have seen her hand even if was touching the end of her nose. She’d had no idea she would be completely, totally blind.

It had been one of the scariest moments of her life as flames and heat and embers swirled around her and she had no idea which way was out.

Thank God Ian had been there. She didn’t want to think about what would’ve happened if he hadn’t grabbed her hand and led her to safety.

He spoke heavily. “We need to get your samples to a lab and that thumb drive to a tech expert. Let’s sincerely hope they give us a lead on how to pick up the trail of my Palestinian again. If not, I’m screwed.”

“What do you mean?” she asked in quick alarm.

He glanced over at her sourly. “I disengaged my pursuit of an international terrorist to go into that house and save you. I’ll be thrown out of the Navy on my ass, if I’m lucky, for this.”

“If you’re not lucky?”

He shrugged. “Court-martial. Jail time. Dishonorable discharge.”

“Because you saved my life?” she squeaked.

“I was specifically tasked with finding and stopping a dangerous terrorist. I chose to ignore that imperative. I disobeyed orders.”

“I’m sure the government won’t take that extreme a view of the situation?—“

“I’m not a civilian. I’m a military officer. Duty, honor, country, and the whole nine yards. I was derelict in my duty. Period.”