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C hase kept telling himself that he’d done what was necessary. He had to know. He had to learn if Alyssa was guilty. But when he questioned her, he didn’t pick up a single hint of artifice in her answers. If she was in on that security breach, then she was the best liar he’d ever seen.

The street was congested with market stalls and customers browsing everything from legs of lamb to handwoven rugs. Everywhere they walked, there was laughter and even music. The atmosphere buzzed with the kind of excitement that was almost infectious—even for a hard-ass like him. Or maybe it was his own plan that had his pulse drumming in time with the energy around him.

“Where are we going again?” Her voice lifted above the flute music an older man was playing in front of a stall of trinkets.

Chase shot her a smile. “We’re going to pick up our transportation.” They’d ditched their car at the base and he had no intention of returning for it. These things had a way of managing themselves.

She dragged her feet, hair swishing across her shoulders as she looked right and left. “Here?”

“Trust me.” He kept a grip on her elbow and the other hand loose at his side within reach of his weapon. With every step they took, he mentally marked a potential point of defense—a shadow, a notch between buildings—and another spot to fall back to, just in case.

All while Alyssa’s silky skin beneath his fingers was making him think about finding a quiet spot tucked out of the way for other reasons.

Chase led her down a narrow alley just off the main street, weaving past stacked crates, the scent of grilled lamb hanging in the air.

“You sure you know where you’re going?” she asked.

He didn’t answer—just shot her a small, knowing grin over his shoulder. A few more turns, and they stepped into a shaded courtyard where an old man sat under a tarp, sipping tea beside a row of battered scooters. Julian approached without hesitation.

Alyssa raised an eyebrow as the man stood, already handing Chase a set of keys. “You planned this?”

He accepted the keys with a flick of his wrist, his shoulder lifting in a lazy shrug. “Scooters are everywhere. Fast, quiet, forgettable.”

He pressed a folded bill into the old man’s weathered palm with a nod that said we never spoke . The man responded with a subtle dip of his chin and slipped back into his chair like smoke—gone without a word.

Alyssa slid onto the seat behind Chase, her legs straddling the narrow frame as her fingers curled around his waist, anchoring herself to his body. The scooter sputtered, then roared to life with a reluctant growl. A second later, they were cutting into the chaotic rhythm of the street, two shadows who knew the pulse of the foreign city like they belonged there.

The city blurred around them—sunbaked stone buildings, Arabic signs faded from decades of dust and sun, the constant hum of voices, engines, and the sharp calls of vendors peddling everything from figs to fake Rolexes.

Chase’s gaze never stopped moving—rearview mirror, dim alley, rooftop edge. He felt Alyssa lean in, her mouth close to his ear, warm breath fanning his skin.

“You’re full of surprises,” she murmured.

He didn’t answer, just let a slow, wicked grin tug at his mouth. The scooter rattled beneath them, eating up ground with every bump and jerk, but it didn’t matter. They had what they needed—speed and just enough cover to vanish into the noise. In a place like this, anonymity was more than an advantage. It was survival.

And it was pretty fun too.

The scooter climbed steadily, winding through narrow lanes until the city unfurled beneath them—sun-bleached and sprawling, a mirage of warmth and life. At first glance, it was all golden light and textured beauty: rooftops stacked like ancient puzzle pieces, laundry fluttering like flags, and the call to prayer echoing from a minaret in the distance.

Alyssa’s gasp of delight sent a trickle of warmth through his chest.

But Chase didn’t see only the postcard view.

He saw the shadows clinging to the mouths of alleys, the hardened stares of men hunched outside cafés. The unspoken anxiety in the way doors closed just a little too quickly behind them.

The city breathed in a rhythm. Alyssa may see life aboveground, but he saw the secrets buried beneath. Somewhere among these crumbling walls and sun-drenched courtyards was the truth they’d come to uncover, and it wasn’t going to give itself up easily.

Even as the sun bathed the streets in a burnished glow, casting the illusion of calm, the air buzzed with something sharp and unseen. The people lived their lives, bartering and praying and sipping tea in the slanting beams—but Julian knew better.

This city wore its scars beneath its skin, and every turn could lead them closer to the kind of danger that didn’t announce itself with shouting or gunfire. It moved quieter, waited longer. But he and Alyssa weren’t here to play it safe. They were here to drag those secrets into the light.

As they rounded a corner on the road leading to their destination—the Red Cross—her thighs clamped tighter behind him. Her palms flattened on the planes of his chest, branding him with the heat of her touch.

In the military, nothing was one hundred percent. There was always a chance for error. When Con questioned Chase about the ambassador, he would say with ninety-nine percent confidence that Alyssa had no knowledge of the security breach prior to the kidnapping attempt.

And he could say with ninety-nine percent confidence that once he got her alone…she would look at him the way she had the night before when he buried his cock deep within her tight, clutching walls.

He dodged around a cart full of produce, and several kids chased after the scooter, laughing and waving.

Alyssa issued a carefree laugh, throaty and filled with a lust for life that he burned to see more of from the uptight, buttoned-up ambassador.

“This is just like Audrey Hepburn and Cary Grant in Roman Holiday ! Only not in Italy.”

His lips edged upward in a smile, but he couldn’t be distracted from his role of protector. He must be aware of potential danger at all times. He’d seen too much shit.

With another glance in his side mirror, he saw the kids fading into the distance, going back to whatever game they were playing. The closer they got to the Red Cross, the more he sank into thoughts of that day.

Echo team had been in control of the hostage situation that Alyssa was negotiating the first time their lives intercepted.

There wasn’t much question in Chase’s mind that the terrorist known as Cypher was behind the attempted attack back at the hotel. Question was, did he want Alyssa or the last member of Echo team?

He slowed the scooter as they approached the turn.

The woman was killed while the hostage negotiation was underway. It could be coincidence…or it could be the thread that tied everything together.

The Red Cross station sat behind a battered gate, its white walls streaked with windblown dust and the heat of too many summers. A red cross, dull and faded, was painted on the side. The place didn’t look like much, but Julian knew better than to judge by appearances. In cities like this, the quietest corners often carried the loudest stories.

He parked the scooter and touched Alyssa’s thigh, urging her to climb off. She slipped off the frame and adjusted the silk scarf on her head, smoothing the fabric that the wind had tugged at.

For a moment, he stared at her, chest tight. The way she took in the modest building—eyes sharp beneath the loose drape of the headscarf tracing the curve of her chin—struck a perfect balance between poised ambassador and undeniably sensual woman.

She swung her head to look at him. Before he could mask his expression, she saw it. Whatever she spotted on his face made her full lips part on a sigh.

He touched her elbow, the closest he could come to touching her the way he really wanted to.

“Time to research our second objective.” He moved forward, and she fell into step beside him, their shoulders together—a subtle contact that grounded them in a way that neither needed to acknowledge.

When they approached the entrance, a young man in a Red Cross vest waved them through, speaking a few words into a walkie-talkie before gesturing toward a squat building. As soon as they ducked inside, Chase swept his gaze over the interior.

Shutters over the windows blocked the baking sun as a broken ceiling fan barely turned in the breeze. Inside, the air was a measure cooler and smelled faintly of antiseptic.

Another man, his face young and bright with eagerness to serve, offered them a smile of welcome and asked how he could help.

Chase asked to speak to the director in charge.

They were led to a woman seated behind a desk scattered with paperwork and a steaming mug of tea. She stood as they entered, tucking her dark hair back into her scarf with a practiced motion.

“Hello. I’m Le?la Darzi,” she said in accented English. “I oversee this station.”

Julian offered a firm nod of greeting. “Julian Chase. This is Alyssa Vargas.” He purposely left off their titles. For this op, it was best to blend in. “We’re following up on some old records.”

Le?la tilted her head. “Records?”

“We’re trying to track down personnel from this facility from three years ago,” Alyssa said smoothly, her diplomat voice kicking in. “Around the time of the bombing that struck the sector.”

Le?la waved a hand. “The building was rebuilt after the bombing.”

Chase nodded. “We understand. But we were told a few workers might still be in residence.”

Alyssa spoke up. “Specifically, we’re looking into those who may have been working the day the Red Cross suffered those casualties.”

Understanding flashed in Le?la’s eyes. She gestured for them to sit. “Yes. There were lives lost that day. Please, sit. Be comfortable.” She moved to a cart a few feet away and set out two small cups, pouring tea for him and Alyssa.

They thanked her, and settled in the simple chairs. Alyssa reached out to touch his arm but drew her hand back before her fingers grazed his skin. In this country, touching wasn’t the same as it was in America. He looked at her for a brief second but said nothing.

Each secret they attempted to uncover seemed to bring them closer.

Chase took a sip of the mild herbal blend, washing away some of the dust in his throat from the scooter ride. When Le?la sat once more, he met her gaze.

“Do you know who we can speak to?”

Le?la’s shoulders rose slightly. “That was before my time. I was brought in to replace the woman who was killed.”

“Then you’ve heard of her?” Alyssa leaned in, her expression gentle but probing.

“I knew her by name. Miriam Sheen. Everyone here spoke highly of her.”

Chase stilled, glancing at Alyssa. “It wasn’t public knowledge that the woman who was killed was in charge.”

“No,” Le?la said, frowning. “She was listed in the reports, but not identified as the lead. Maybe to avoid stirring more trouble.”

“Are there any other staff from that time still working here? Volunteers? Medical staff?” Alyssa leaned in with her best diplomatic body language, encouraging the woman to keep talking.

Le?la hesitated. “No one who was here that day. But I believe some of them were reassigned. The trauma, you understand.”

Chase nodded, but his gaze sharpened. “We also heard there was an interpreter assigned here. Was he working that day?”

Le?la sifted through a file before answering. “That was Mahmoud. No, he wasn’t here that day.”

Julian paused, every instinct going still. “Is that unusual?”

She blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“When the clinic is open to receive civilians,” he said slowly, “aren’t interpreters standard?”

“Yes,” she said, after a beat too long, like she too had questions now, “they usually are.”

Out of the woman’s sight, Alyssa’s fingers met his. It wasn’t for affection—it was a signal. They were on to something.

“Do you know where we might find him?” He forced himself to keep the edge out of his voice.

“He sometimes assists at the hospital in Sector Nine,” Le?la said. “But his schedule isn’t regular. I can try to contact him.”

“Please do,” Alyssa said before Julian could press harder.

Le?la nodded and slipped out to make the private call.

As soon as the door shut, Julian exhaled sharply. “That’s too convenient.”

Alyssa gave him a look. “Let’s not be hasty.”

“He was the only interpreter and didn’t show the one day someone bombs the clinic? Come on.”

“Maybe he was sick.”

Maybe Mahmoud was “busy” planting bombs. Because Mahmoud might go by the name of Cypher.

He kept the thought to himself.

“Maybe someone told him not to come.” Chase rubbed the back of his neck. “And now nobody from that day works here? There are no records? No one remembers anything?”

She reached for his hand again, squeezing. “You’re not wrong, but let’s not push her too fast.”

The door opened. Le?la stepped back inside, her expression unreadable. “He’s not answering. I’ve left a message.”

“We’d appreciate it if you follow up with us.” Chase’s tone was tight, his temper rising. But he wouldn’t take it out on Le?la. “It’s important.”

“I’ll try again this evening. Sometimes the signal is bad.” She walked back to the desk and sat. “I’m sorry I can’t be more help.”

He stood, movements stiff and jerky, his jaw hard. “Thank you for your time.”

Alyssa rose and gave Le?la a more measured smile. “You’ve been very kind. If you do reach Mahmoud, would you let him know we’d like to get in touch with him?” She reached for a slip of paper and a pen. “May I?”

“Of course.”

She wrote down her number. They took their leave and were halfway to the exit when Le?la caught up to them. They turned to see her holding out a phone. “Mahmoud is on the line if you’d like to take the call.”

* * * * *

Alyssa had seen Julian’s frustration and anger mounting by the second back there. She couldn’t risk him detonating like a not-much-tamer explosive in the ICE facility.

Turning to him, she rested a hand on his forearm. Tension buzzed through the muscle, and that dark warning in his eyes solidified that she was making the right move here.

She leaned in, voice pitched low. “Let me do this my way.”

He gave her a slight tilt of his head, the closest she’d get to his agreement on the matter.

Stepping forward, she extended a hand to take the phone from Le?la. With a smile of thanks to the woman, she said, “Hello, my name is Alyssa Vargas. My partner and I had a few questions for you concerning an event that took place at the Red Cross station a few years ago. If you’re willing to speak to us…”

A voice filled her ear, its regional accent low and musical . “I will agree to meet. But not there.”

A tremor—part excitement, part apprehension—snaked its way down her spine. “Of course. You name the place, sir.”

Julian’s attention was fixed on her, and unfortunately, so was the director’s. Using the skills she’d honed in countless negotiations, Alyssa offered them both an assuring smile and waited for the man’s response.

It was clear he knew something, and that he didn’t want to be overheard.

“There is a mat’am. ” A restaurant.

“That sounds perfect,” she breezed out more as a way to expel the air accumulating in her lungs. “Can you please share the name?”

“Sahraa. Seven o’clock.”

“That sounds perfect.” Smiling and nodding at Le?la, she said a quick farewell and ended the call. She passed the phone to the woman. “Thank you for allowing me to use your phone, and for putting us in touch with the interpreter.”

The woman’s expression held a degree of curiosity, but she didn’t ask more. She simply took the phone and, with a final wave, returned to her office.

Alyssa reached for Julian’s arm. Feeling off-balance for no good reason.

With a hand on her waist, he steered her outside to the scooter.

“Maybe I’m picking up your ability to tell if something is off. I feel so shaky inside.”

He gripped her upper arms, looming over her protectively. “I’ll keep you safe, Alyssa.”

A warm, weightless tumbling started in her gut. Without thinking, she lifted her hand and cupped his jaw. The bristle of his beard stubble against her fingertips grounded her.

He leaned in and brushed his lips over the spot between her brows. Her eyes automatically slipped shut, and she sucked in a gulp of his masculine scent.

Then he urged her onto the scooter once again. When they were securely within the confines of the safehouse, she dropped to the sofa and lowered her face into her hands.

“No one bombs a peacekeeper,” she muttered.

The cushion dipped under Julian’s weight. “You’re right. That’s why it was so devastating and out of the blue.”

She lifted her head and looked at him directly. “Tell me what you know about the bombing. I need to know everything before we meet with the interpreter for dinner.”

He let out a huff of air, a sign she had noticed meant Julian was gathering his thoughts. “The bomb was brought in during a normal supply delivery.”

“How do they receive their supplies?”

“I looked into it. They have global warehouses stocked with essential supplies and get regular shipments.”

“Somebody was able to mess with the shipment before delivery.” She nodded as the pieces clicked into place. “Now we know what to ask over dinner.”

He gave her a sharp look. “What time is dinner?”

“Seven.”

His eyes hooded. Slowly, he brought his finger from the hollow of her throat, up, up, with a heated stroke, to the point of her chin. Fireflies danced in her belly as he tilted her face upward and lowered his lips to hers.

She didn’t remember moving. One second, Julian was just sitting there—all broad shoulders and coiled restraint, the kind that burned behind his eyes whenever they were too close for too long. The next, he had her off her feet, arms wrapped around his neck, and scarcely space between them.

“Julian,” she gasped, more air than voice.

“Not another word, Alyssa.” His growl was low, hot against her cheek as he walked them across the room of the safehouse toward the bedroom, every heavy step deliberate. “You’ve been looking at me like that all day. You knew what would happen.”

She had. God, she had. Still, nothing could have prepared her for the feel of him right now—every hard, warm, impressive inch against her, carrying her like she weighed nothing, like she belonged in his arms.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders, nails scraping the tight cotton of his shirt, and he grinned against her lips. She felt it without seeing it. Smug. Dangerous. Like he knew exactly how far she’d already fallen to allow him to break through all her barriers and have her this way.

Then the world spun.

Her back hit the mattress, the thin quilt bunching beneath her as Julian came down over her, one hand braced beside her head, the other already sliding up her thigh, pushing her skirt higher, his knuckles hot and possessive.

“I shouldn’t want you like this,” he said, voice hoarse. “But I do. So bad it’s driving me crazy.”

“Then don’t hold back.” Her voice came out rough, breathy. Begging.

That was all it took.

He kissed her like he was starving. Mouth greedy, demanding, teeth catching on her bottom lip until she moaned and tangled her fingers in his hair. His hips pressed to hers, and when she shifted and rolled up into him, she felt just how ready he was to break every rule between them.

“You’re playing with fire,” he muttered, nipping along her jaw, tongue chasing the sting.

“Then burn me.”

That cracked something inside him. With a low, wrecked sound, he tore her shirt open, sending the buttons scattering. He tugged off her bra and kissed the skin he revealed, tongue dragging over the swell of her breast before he caught a nipple between his teeth. She arched, crying out, back bowing as heat raced through her.

He didn’t stop. Rough hands slid over her ribs, down her hips, gripping tight as if he didn’t trust himself to go slow.

But then…he did slow.

She blinked, panting, as he looked at her— really looked. His pupils were blown, jaw tight, lips swollen from kissing her senseless. But behind the hunger was something else. Reverence. Regret. Something tender that wound through her belly and made her ache in a whole new way.

“You sure?” he asked, voice gravel and silk.

Her fingers slipped into the waistband of his pants. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

It felt like they both surrendered.

He made a sound like a curse and kissed her again—softer this time. Like she wasn’t just something he needed to consume, but something he wanted to remember. He stripped her with slow purpose, claiming her lips with tormenting kisses. Between those kisses, every piece of clothing was tossed to the floor.

As his fingers moved lower to slick between her thighs, stroking and circling until she was squirming beneath him, she realized something dangerous.

This wasn’t just lust.

This was something bigger. Wilder. The kind of thing they couldn’t take back.

“Julian,” she breathed, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Tell me what you need.”

“You. Now. ”

He didn’t tease. Didn’t drag it out. In seconds, he had a condom in place over his long, thick cock. When he poised between her thighs, their gazes met in a look that sent her senses scattering in every direction.

In one hard jerk, he filled her, and her body arched into his, a broken cry slipping past her lips. He groaned, forehead pressed to hers as he started to move—slow at first, grinding deep, then faster, rougher, until the bed creaked beneath them and her cries grew breathless and wild.

Each thrust said what neither of them could.

That they needed this. Needed each other.

She hovered on the brink, her release battering at her insides even as the man unraveled the rest of her.

His name left her lips again and again, and when she came, it was a full-body shatter—her fingers twisted in his short hair, her body clenching around him, as white-hot heat spread through her.

Julian wasn’t far behind. On a broken sound, he thrust one last time and came hard, buried to the hilt, arms shaking as he held her through it, like letting go might crumble everything.

They lay tangled together, skin damp, their breaths ragged. The still air crackled between them.

“You okay?” he finally asked, voice gritty against her hair.

She smiled, lips grazing his jaw. “Better than okay.”

Silence wrapped around them like a blanket. Forbidden, reckless, perfect.

And completely theirs.