Page 13

THIR TEEN

C hase paced the tiny living room of the safehouse like a caged animal.

Fury raged under his skin. Every breath felt too tight in his chest. Every tick of the small, cheap clock mounted on the wall scraped against his nerves.

The kid had been blackmailed. Manipulated into letting a saboteur through their defenses. And now innocent men were dead because of it. Good men.

Chase squeezed his hands into fists, knuckles cracking. He wanted to punch something. Break it. He wanted action, but for now, all they could do was wait for tonight’s transport.

Wait. And simmer.

In the kitchenette, Alyssa rattled around like a restless spirit, opening and closing the same three cabinet doors, searching the empty shelves for coffee like it might materialize if she just looked hard enough.

He watched her silently, the way her hands moved faster than normal, her breathing just a little too shallow. She was rattled. They both were.

“There’s nothing left,” he said finally, his voice low and rough.

She turned to face him, hands falling to her sides as she finally surrendered. Her shoulders slumped, and for a second, she looked so lost it broke something open inside him.

Before he even thought about it, Chase crossed the room and put his hands on her. A simple touch—his palms sliding up her arms, thumbs tracing the curve of her shoulders.

A shudder ran through her, but then she melted into him, pressing her forehead to his chest like she’d been waiting for permission to fall apart.

His anger didn’t vanish. It thrummed just under his skin. But the worst of it—the blind rage—eased in the face of something totally unexpected.

Her touch did it to him. Her trust changed him.

They stood there for a long minute, breathing each other in.

Hours stretched between now and when they could leave this place behind, between now and whatever waited for them on the other side.

Chase knew what was coming. He saw it in her eyes when she finally tilted her head back to look at him.

This might be their last chance.

No future. No promises. She was a diplomat, and he was a soldier who lived in the shadows. Their worlds didn’t cross—not in the daylight, anyway.

He cupped her face in his hands, stroking his thumbs along her jaw. Her breath hitched, her hands finding his sides and lingering there, grounding herself.

“Julian…” she whispered, the syllables almost silent.

It shattered him.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

He kissed her instead.

Their mouths crashed together, desperate and unrestrained. She opened for him instantly, her body pressing into his like she couldn’t get close enough.

Chase backed her into the chipped counter, lifting her onto it without breaking the kiss. Her thighs bracketed his hips, and he slid his hands under the hem of her shirt, needing to feel her. Needing more.

Alyssa tugged at his T-shirt, bunching it in her fists and shoving it upward until he helped her strip it over his head. Her nails scraped lightly down his chest, making him hiss against her mouth.

He gripped the backs of her thighs and pulled her closer to the edge, grinding against her until she gasped into his mouth.

The heat between them was nuclear now. White-hot and impossible to contain.

Chase broke the kiss long enough to yank her shirt over her head, baring her to him. His mouth found the sensitive skin of her neck, her collarbone, the tops of her breasts. Alyssa arched into him, her hands sliding into his hair and tugging.

“More,” she breathed against his ear.

He gave it to her.

He found the waistband of her loose pants, dragged them down along with her underwear. She shifted to help him shimmy them off, then kicked them to the floor without hesitation, her legs wrapping around his waist.

He should have slowed down. Should have taken his time and made this last.

But there was a clock counting down in both of their heads.

Tomorrow, she would walk back into her world. And he would fade into his. Separate. Always separate.

He unzipped his jeans with shaking hands, barely pushing them down far enough. Alyssa reached between them and helped, her fingers brushing his length, making him groan low in his throat.

“Fuck. Condom,” he growled against her eager lips.

His cock pounded with the need to fill her without barriers, but they both knew that was too risky.

He one-handedly tugged his jeans back up and lifted her, still wrapped around him. Carrying her to bed felt like the most natural thing in the world. Suddenly, his imagination flooded with more times just like this one, only in their own place. Their own bed.

His own damn woman.

None of that was possible, but one more time with Alyssa was.

With shaking hands, he managed the condom. Claiming her mouth again, he delivered heated kisses with deep passes of his tongue.

When he pushed inside her, it felt like…

Like coming home.

She cried out, biting her lip to stifle the sound, and he kissed her again, swallowing her whimpers, giving her his own broken noises in return.

The rhythm between them was frantic, urgent. She clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, her body meeting every thrust with a desperate need that matched his own.

Chase slid a hand down between them, finding the spot that made her shudder and cry his name against his mouth. He felt her start to come apart around him, and he followed seconds later, burying his face in the curve of her neck and holding on like she was the only real thing in the world.

Their bodies sagged against each other, boneless and shaking.

Chase pressed soft, reverent kisses along her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone. Anything he could reach. Trying to memorize her. Commit every inch of her to memory.

Because this wasn’t forever.

It could never be.

Slowly, gently, he withdrew from her, rolling to the side and bringing her against his body. She laughed quietly, breathless, and rested her forehead against his chest again.

They lay there, tangled together, surrounded by the dust motes swirling in the sunlight peeking through the cracks of the shutters.

The shabby little bungalow that had been their hideout for days—the cracked walls, the meager sofa, the single sad bed with its worn mattress—suddenly felt like a haven.

Chase looked around, a dull ache spreading in his chest.

He hated the thought of leaving it behind.

Not because he’d miss the noise of the city or the rust-stained sink that never quite turned off.

But because here, in this broken-down place, he had her .

He had stolen time—moments he wasn’t supposed to get.

And when they walked out later tonight night, they wouldn’t be able to come back. Not to this. Not to them.

Alyssa lifted her head and met his eyes, something profound and aching shining there.

“We made good memories here,” she said, her voice soft and bittersweet, as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against him, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low and rough. “I’ll never forget them.”

She squeezed him back, fiercely.

No promises. No lies.

Just this.

Just them.

For one more night.

* * * * *

Alyssa’s body hadn’t stopped humming from the amazing, emotion-fueled sex she and Julian just shared. She rested on her side, studying the hardened SEAL.

Her lover.

Every throb of her heart came with a matching pang of pain and regret. When they left the safehouse for the final time, their relationship would change. The mission would be over—they did what they came to do.

But they didn’t have nearly enough time together.

She skittered her gaze over the stubble of growth on his jaw, sweeping up to the angles of his god-like features, unyielding even in sleep.

Julian lay on his back, eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. After their lovemaking, they’d talked a bit about nothing while a storm cloud gathered over them, on the verge of breaking.

Neither of them wanted to bring up the real topic on both of their minds—what happened when this was over?

Finally, Julian suggested they try to catch a nap. They had a long night ahead of them with the flight back to the States.

But Alyssa couldn’t sleep. She lay there, studying her partner, her lover…and dammit, her friend. She wasn’t ready to leave all this behind.

Her throat thickened, and for a terrible moment, she thought she’d burst into a fit of tears. She pulled in slow breaths and thought how funny life was, handing her a good thing—such a special thing—only to rip it away from her.

She rolled over and grasped her phone to check the time. They had spent hours in bed, but they still had hours more to wait before they caught that flight. Even if she drifted to sleep now, her rest would be broken. She had no choice but to stay awake, and that meant she needed caffeine.

The cupboards in the house were empty. They’d even finished off the tea. If she wanted that coffee, she had only one option—to slip out and buy some of the rich brew from the vendor who set up his cart at the head of the alley.

With a quick glance at Julian, she thought about waking him with a cup of coffee. One of the few things she could do to show how much she cared. After they landed in the United States, there would be no more small gestures.

No small touches exchanged out of sight, no baskets of flatbread or flirting.

Her gut sank with the loss she had already begun to feel, and the sensation urged her out of bed.

The drawn shutters blocked all but a few slivers of early evening sun streaming into the space. When she left the bed, Julian didn’t stir. His breathing stayed deep and even. His body was a muscled line of pure heat beneath the tangle of the thin sheet.

She stood there for a second, bare feet on the scuffed wood floor, weighing her option again.

Was it wise to leave the safehouse, even to walk the short distance for coffee? From beyond the walls, she heard the faint hum of traffic on the street.

People were out and about, making the commute home from their workdays. The street vendors were often busy at this time of day. She could be spotted.

Her heart pounded above the quiet of the space.

There was safety in numbers, right? Julian had taken her to a crowded restaurant to discuss their findings about the Red Cross worker and her son.

Mind made up, she tiptoed to the front of the safehouse to dress. Her clothes were still scattered around the kitchen. Her shirt dangled from the doorknob like a forgotten trophy, and her pants and underwear were wadded up on the floor.

Carefully, she gathered them and dressed swiftly. When she pulled on her top, she sucked in a hasty breath. The fabric still smelled like Julian.

Her hands trembled as she drew the top down her torso, and she tied a scarf over her messy hair, forcing herself to breathe through the pain of losing him just as she found him.

The instant she opened the door, a blast of fresh air hit her nose, sweeping the musty scent inside the safehouse away. Before she let the door click shut behind her, she replayed the lock code she’d seen Julian enter several times in her mind.

A horn blast from several streets away was muffled by the buildings. The low whine of engines of the small vehicles and even the scooters filled the air, concealing the sound of her steps as she hurried to the end of the alley.

And the fresh notes of coffee carried on the air currents.

She moved swiftly, feeling safe within the two walls that made up the alley. She stole a glance over her shoulder at the emptiness and the closed door of the safehouse.

Up ahead, she saw the bright tunic the man selling coffee wore. He was speaking to a customer, bobbing his head as he accepted coins and handed over a paper cup.

She hurried forward, almost able to taste that coffee and feel the caffeine flow through her veins.

When she exited the alley and the street spread out before her, she approached the coffee vendor with a smile and a word of greeting in his native tongue.

She ordered two drinks from him and paid with a couple coins. While she watched him pour the dark brew from a metal pot he kept over a small portable heating element on his cart, she took in her surroundings.

Pedestrians walked by. Cars zoomed down the street.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of fading sun glinting off a mirror as a vehicle careened around the corner. She looked up, eyes widening as she saw it was a van bearing down on her.

“Watch out!” she cried out to the vendor. He dropped a cup, and black coffee splashed, drawing an arc on the pavement.

Tires screeched as the driver swerved toward the sidewalk where she stood.

Suddenly, two doors flew open and men wearing masks flooded out.

Not this again.

Not another van on a different street. Not the icy dread spreading down her spine.

With a stifled cry, Alyssa backed away, turning to make a break for it at the same time, but blunt fingers dug into the flesh of her arm.

A man yanked her off her feet. Someone else grabbed her legs and rushed her toward the open door of the van.

She kicked out, foot connecting to some tough body part. Another man grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back. Pain lanced through her scalp and he squelched any sound she might have made by stuffing a cloth in her mouth.

She thrashed, adrenaline making her wild, but there were too many of them. They were too strong.

The interior of the van wavered in front of her vision, then was abruptly cut off as someone yanked a hood over her head, cutting off the light.

She couldn’t see.

Her assailant pulled it down tighter, cutting off the air.

She couldn’t breathe.

They manhandled her into the van, pinning her to the floor between the seats with knees and elbows.

Van doors slammed, and the vehicle lurched forward in a scream of tires.

Alyssa squeezed her eyes shut tight, fighting to breathe around the cloth filling her mouth and through the airless hood. Black spots danced in her mind.

Her brain screamed for help, but there were no hands to rescue her, no armed SEALs prepared to put their lives on the line for her.

How stupid she had been, thinking it was safe to run out for coffee. All this time, these men were just waiting for her to venture out alone.

And she played right into their plan, into their hands.

She squeezed her eyes tighter against the darkness of the hood. She couldn’t panic. Panic would get her killed.

She threw out her senses. The hood cut off much of the noise and all of the smells. But she sensed they were traveling fast in a straight line, buzzing through the city, leaving behind the safehouse and her unsuspecting partner who would wake and find her gone without a trace.

Fury aimed at herself brought a sharp sting of tears to her eyes. She forced them away. Tears were the last thing she needed right now. She had to think.

Her mind reached for Julian, but he wasn’t coming to save her. No one was.

She was on her own.

She could feel every turn, every pothole jarring her. The brakes shrieked several times as they almost collided with something, and she smacked against the seat in front of her, bruising her side and ribs before the driver stomped the gas again, punching the breath out of her lungs when she banged into the seat behind her.

The memory of that day Julian kept her from being snatched exactly like this filled her with fear. Whoever was behind that attack couldn’t possibly be connected to this one, could they?

Nobody knew she was in Syria. Blackout had seen to it.

Nobody except the commander, his assistant Rezvan and the prisoner in the brig, Hyde. Plus Mahmoud and a handful of Red Cross workers they’d encountered. Some of those people she trusted more than others, but they’d all been cleared, at least in her mind.

She and Julian were far across the world, thousands of miles away from where the last attack took place.

Someone must have been watching that alley, waiting for their chance.

Her stomach pitched and heaved with the thread of a theory that seemed more and more like the only possibility.

Back in New York, Julian had guarded her like a human tank, crashing into those attackers like a wrecking ball.

This time he didn’t even know she was gone.

Tears burned in the backs of her eyes. She bit down on them hard. No, she told herself. They’re not worth it.

One of her kidnappers spoke in clipped syllables, a language she didn’t understand, but the anger vibrating in his tone wasn’t something she could miss.

The van slowed, tires shrieking in protest as it turned sharply to the left. There was no way to brace herself before the brakes locked down, hurling her violently forward again and bruising her ribs more.

Before she could even process the impact, rough hands seized her. One dug painfully into her arm, another clamped on the back of her neck like a vise. They yanked her out of the vehicle and forced her upright before her feet could find up from down.

She stumbled, disoriented and dizzy.

She couldn’t stop the tears this time.

They spilled down her cheeks, soaking into the stifling fabric of the hood. Her heart battered her ribs with a thunder of helplessness.

She knew before they ever removed the hood there would be no Julian crashing through the dark to save her. She would disappear into the shadows like smoke, and no one would ever find her.

Not even the man she loved.