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“Tanner. Please.”

Tears ran down her cheeks. She lifted a hand, touched it to his jaw. It took all his strength not to turn his face and press his lips to her palm, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. What he could do, would do, was whatever was necessary to save her life.

“I’m not giving you a choice,” he said, the words harsh and blunt. “I have never not completed a mission, and that isn’t going to change just because you and I fucked.”

He saw her flinch. Saw the pain in her eyes. He wanted to call back the words, drag her into his arms, tell her the truth, that he loved her, that he would love her forever…

“Now,” he said, and he flung the door open.

She looked at him one last time. He knew he would always remember that look, that it would haunt his days and nights until he saw her again, until he could tell her that he had lied…

Because he would tell her.

Of course, he would tell her…

Tanner put his hand in the center of Alessandra’s back and pushed her out the door.

“Run, damn you,” he shouted.

She stumbled forward. He wanted to go after her, see her safely to the chopper, but he knew that the only way to protect her was to keep the guerrillas busy enough so they couldn’t get past him.

One last look.

She was almost at the bird. An arm reached out, the hand open and extended to her.

She grasped it.

Tanner spun around, raced to the front door and threw it open.

Men were coming through the tall grass, firing at the house. Without hesitation, he began firing back.

A dark shadow passed overhead.

It was a helicopter.

Alessandra was safe.

It was his last thought before he got hit, went down, and everything went black.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Walter Reed Medical Center, Bethesda, Maryland:

The world consisted of a narrow bed, a panel of blinking lights and the poking and prodding of shiny instruments.

And pain.

Jesus, the pain.

It was in his leg, same as the last time, except it wasn’t the same.

It was worse.

Much worse.

It was endless. Unrelenting. It was a white-hot flame, a blazing poker that pierced his flesh, his muscles, his bones. It made him want to scream each time he rose to consciousness, but he knew better than to scream.

If he did, the docs would decide things had gone too far.