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Piper huffed, not exactly steady emotionally. She hated having to be strong for both of them when all she wanted to do was curl up in his arms and never, ever emerge.

“C’mon, Ian. You know the rules. We’re going to be on a mission together. Colleagues.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

God almighty, she was tempted to take that deal. Which scared the hell out of her. She didn’t need other people. Ever.

He pushed a damp tendril of hair off her forehead, and the gentleness of the gesture all but undid her.

She’d had a crappy day, and she’d just needed to escape it all for a little while.

That was all this was. Nothing more. It wasn’t about emotional connection or being wanted, held, and cherished by another human being.

They were scratching a mutual itch. That was all.

Then how come sex with him tonight felt like a whole lot more?

“We can’t,” she declared. Just a little longer to enjoy his delicious weight pressing her down into the cushions. And then she would push him away, get up, get dressed, and get to work.

“Give me one good reason why not—” he retorted, “—besides ‘it’s the rule.’”

She stared up at him at a loss. Heck, she was lucky to remember her own name right now. Her body was still drugged with lazy pleasure and sated lust. “Ian—“ she started. The little voice in the back of her head whispered persuasively, just a little more .

He reached for her and drew her up against him.

“No. Fair.”

“Love and war, baby,” he murmured back.

Dammit.

Piper woke up slowly, disoriented. Unfamiliar bed. Unfamiliar room. She rolled over cautiously and was relieved to recognize the face on the pillow beside her. Ian. Right. Break-in at her place. Beer at his place. And sex. Lots and lots of the hot variety of that.

She eased out from under the covers carefully so as not to wake him. The bastard was even pretty when he slept. His sun-bleached hair was tousled and a light stubble roughed his jaw. The muscular arm thrown over his head would make a fashion photographer weep with joy.

She tiptoed into the living room where she vaguely recalled her clothes having gone flying at some point.

She turned everything right side out and dressed quickly.

Her blouse was missing a button near the collar, but the garment was still wearable, just with a little extra cleavage.

She grabbed her purse and eased the front door shut soundlessly behind her.

Ian lived close to a Metro stop and she hustled down the street, breathing a sigh of relief when she disappeared below ground. Things were complicated between the two of them, and she didn’t want to deal with it this morning. Last night had been a mistake. Actually, a series of glorious mistakes.

Fine. He was a god in the sack. That still didn’t make it smart or right to have a torrid affair with him.

She could use a shower and a fresh change of clothes, but her home and her wardrobe were in ruins.

It was too early to go shopping, so she swung by the police station instead to pick up a copy of the police report on her break-in.

As she’d rightly suspected, the cop who’d flirted with her last night was not on duty this morning.

She collected the report and browsed through the list of destroyed items the police officer had noted.

Huh. She glanced through the list again.

Places where she might hide something had all been emptied or cut open—her sofa cushions, mattress, refrigerator, closets, and drawers.

Every single item in her home that was electronic, mechanical, or plugged into an electric socket was on this list, yet not one of them had been stolen?—

--Oh, shit .

A cold chill passed over her and goose bumps puckered her forearms. How had the Patrick Henry Patriots found her? For surely, they were behind the break-in. Who else would have targeted all the technology in her house without stealing any of it?

Memory of her books sitting in blissfully undisturbed rows on her shelves shivered through her. Her bicycle had been unharmed in the corner of her bedroom. Her backpacking gear had been undisturbed in her closet. But everything else, from lamps, to alarm clocks, to computers, had been trashed.

She stumbled out onto the sidewalk, and for the first time since Khartoum, felt exposed. Watched. Anonymously hated. It was deeply unsettling, almost more so than in Sudan where she expected such things. But this was America. Home.

Her cell phone vibrated, startling her, and she fished it out. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” Ian asked tersely.

And, on cue, Ian McCloud was close at hand to rescue her.

God, that man had radar for when she was in trouble…

or more accurately when she was screwing up by the numbers.

If only their work lives didn’t keep intersecting like this!

It was bad enough that they couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other.

But she really needed to forge her own identity as a bona fide field operator without him always having to save her from herself.

Belatedly she answered his question about her current location. “I’m at the police station. Picking up my report.”

“Our stuff’s ready for pick-up. Meet you same place as yesterday in an hour?”

“Sure,” she answered. Defense Intelligence had their in-brief and legend for the surveillance op ready to go, huh? That was fast. Somebody’d worked all night pasting their images onto ID’s and activating the backstories in their legends.

Ian disconnected without trying to bring up last night or why she’d slipped out this morning without waking him, for which she was deeply grateful.

She had just enough time to swing by a boutique and pay entirely too much for dark slacks and a plain white blouse—with all of its buttons—before she headed to the briefing.

If she thought to show up Ian by being ten minutes early and beating him to the meeting, she was wrong on both scores. He was already in the conference room, joking around with the tech guys gathered to brief them in.

He shot her a level stare when she walked into the room that was anything but morning-after-great-sex pleasant.

Okay, so he was pissed that she’d snuck out on him.

At least it had the side benefit of making him look like he despised her a little.

No one would suspect they’d been having smoking hot sex a few hours ago, right?

She took a seat and pointedly ignored him, vividly aware of how attuned the analysts in this room were to vibes between people.

Let them all think she and Ian hated each other’s guts.

They wouldn’t be entirely wrong. The two of them had had a love-hate thing going from the very first time they’d met, now that she thought about it.

More hate than love if Ian’s veiled glare was any indication.

Under any other circumstances, she would have been one of the Subject Matter Experts giving this briefing on the PHP, if not the lead briefer.

She sat on the receiving side of the table this morning, however.

Still, she leaned forward to listen critically.

Maybe these guys had something to add to her already extensive knowledge of the PHP.

Like what in the bloody hell had changed to send these guys up to the terrorist big leagues all of a sudden.

The overview the briefers gave her and Ian on the PHP sounded lifted pretty much verbatim out of her reports.

There was one bit of new information that caught her attention, though.

Surveillance indicated the group had expanded in size recently.

The analysts speculated that it was possible the new blood might have radicalized the group.

Which could also explain the recent activity in North Africa.

Then the legend-and-cover briefer startled her by announcing, “We’ve prepared a legend for the two of you as a married couple.”

She lurched forward in her seat while Ian threw himself backward in his. “Married?” they both squawked simultaneously.

Hey. Ian didn’t have to sound so outraged at the idea. She wasn’t a complete troll, and she’d rocked his world at least a little in the sack, thank you very much.

The briefer frowned at both of them. “Well, yes. You yourself describe the area as deeply conservative, religious, and suspicious, Ms. Roth. A married couple raises less flags than a boyfriend-girlfriend pair.”

“We’re not going to infiltrate the PHP compound, are we?” Ian demanded.

She froze in horror. No way was she going into the PHP compound voluntarily! She glanced over at Ian and cursed under her breath. He’d caught her violent reaction to his question. Too damned observant, that man was.

“No, sir,” the briefer answered. She exhaled in profound relief as the guy continued, “But long-term surveillance will be difficult to maintain without the two of you being spotted by locals.”

“Why?” Ian demanded.

Piper tuned out as the briefer explained. She’d been in that corner of Idaho before. A lot. She knew the answer already. Everyone watched everyone else. Everyone knew everyone else. Everyone gossiped about everyone else. Anonymity was impossible.

As it was, she needed to consider changing her appearance before they commenced operations.

She’d been toying with getting a haircut anyway.

And she could go brunette. She’d always secretly fantasized about having dark, mysterious locks and dramatic coloring instead of her fair, pale hair- and skin-tones. A chin-length bob?—

“Piper?”

She looked up sharply at Ian. “Sorry. What?”

“Do you want to work a regional accent into your legend?”

“Nah. Generic mid-western will raise less flags in Elkville than a distinctive accent of some kind.”

The briefer continued, “You’ve been married under a year. That way, if you don’t know things about each other, it can be explained away.”

“And we’ll be in Elkville why?” Ian asked.