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J ack moved his hand under the covers, expecting to feel warm woman and felt cool sheet instead. Moment of cognitive dissonance here because he knew for a fact that he should be finding a warm woman.

An amazing warm woman.

A woman he’d spent the night loving.

Last night he had come alive in her arms. The memory of his lost family, the last painfully lonely six months with everyone thinking he was dead—that had faded into the background instead of being the fabric of his days.

There wasn’t even a lingering warmth, so Summer had gotten out of bed some time ago. There was a slight noise from the kitchen. Aha.

Smart CIA agent, highly trained, lots of field experience. He could guess where she was.

Jack rolled out of bed and was so eager to see her, hold her, he was halfway across the bedroom before he realized he was naked and his eagerness to see her was stiffly waving from his groin.

Better cover up. He didn’t want to. He wanted to walk in, grab her—if he could grab a cup of coffee too that wouldn’t be too shabby—and carry her right back to bed. He could get her aroused fast because he’d made a study of Summer last night. Pilots had check lists and now he had a Summer check list before take-off.

Neck. Mouth. Neck again. Breasts. Both of them. Not at the same time. Hands caressing her between her legs.

That did it. If only they could go back to bed, spend the day in bed together. God.

It had been so fucking long since Jack had had a woman in his bed. And even longer where the woman was so sweet and soft and giving. So long ago he couldn’t even remember. Maybe never.

Maybe he’d never had a woman like Summer in his bed before.

That exquisite sense of closeness when he’d been so freaking lonely. Lost and alone with his grief over the loss of his family. Night after night alone in this barren place, knowing he was alive only by the dull beat of his heart. Mourning his losses, trying to find the strength to go out the next day in search of clues, risking discovery, and finding very little. Doing that over and over again.

He’d had to let his little sister, Isabel, think he was dead. That was the hardest thing of all, but it had had to be done. Isabel wore her heart on her sleeve. She would have been totally incapable of pretending her brother was dead if she knew he was alive.

Such a horrible, heartbreaking six months.

Last night he had come alive. He wanted more of what he’d just tasted last night. More of it right now, more of it in the future. A lot more of it in the future. Oh yeah.

They were a little stretched for time, he thought, as he pulled a pair of pajama bottoms from the single chair in the room. He sniffed the crotch because, well, he did his laundry, but he’d been a bit lax lately. But yeah, it passed the sniff test.

At some point, the ASI jet would arrive and they’d have to be there on the tarmac, unrecognizable, operational. There wasn’t that much time. But if they could grab a little quickie…hmm.

Ordinarily Jack didn’t like quickies. He liked to take his time, enjoy the journey. They would have plenty of time in the future, because Summer was definitely going to stick around—or rather he was going to stick around her—so there’d be lots of opportunities to fool around.

But he’d tasted her and he wanted more, right now, a little joy after a long, sad barren stretch, so if he could get her to agree to a fast little roll in the hay…

“Hey.” Jack stopped on the bedroom threshold and watched as Summer rinsed a cup in the sink. The smell of his crappy coffee filled the air. Another steaming cup stood on the counter. She was fully dressed. “Thanks for making coffee.” Let me drink my cup and let’s go back to bed and do some more of those amazing things. It was on the tip of his tongue and he was just about to say it when Summer turned slowly around and uh-oh .

His dick deflated almost instantly.

That was not a look conducive to sex he was seeing on her beautiful face. She was cool, completely unreadable, pale-gray eyes as expressionless as marbles.

Jack hadn’t really thought much beyond wanting her back in his bed. “Hi, uh.” His mind whirred uselessly. “Sorry there isn’t much for breakfast.” He scratched the back of his neck.

“There isn’t anything for breakfast,” Summer answered coolly. “Except this terrible coffee. I made you a cup, though.” She gestured to the counter. Jack knew for a fact that it was gray and unappetizing.

She was standing straight, very stiff, nearly every line in her body a big back-off sign.

There were all sorts of things Jack could do or say. He could offer to suit up in his homeless kit and go get some bagels at the corner deli, which wasn’t really around the corner but four blocks away. He could run it fast, get back here in ten minutes.

He could talk logistics, using his low and gentle voice. Outline their day, the trip to Portland, touching her, smiling, getting her used to his touch again.

He didn’t do any of that. Seeing her so stiff and cold terrified him. His feet carried him across the room before he could stop them and he gathered her in his arms and held on tightly, as if they were in a storm.

He couldn’t stand that look on her face, simply couldn’t go there. He wanted his Summer back, the Summer who’d smiled up at him as he was inside her, the one who kissed him so fiercely, the one who held him so tightly, the one who didn’t make him feel so alone in the world.

She stood stiffly in his embrace but he wasn’t backing away. No. He was going to hold her forever, if he had to. Certainly until he could feel the coldness melt, the stiffness soften.

Jack buried his face in her neck. He needed her to embrace him, smile at him. Together with Isabel, Summer was the only person on earth he cared about. He couldn’t lose her.

He kissed her neck. “Don’t pull away from me,” he said, his voice muffled against her skin. “I couldn’t bear it.”

Summer’s arms came up slowly, clutched his back. Yes, darlin’, cling to me because I sure as hell am clinging to you.

They stood there, swaying in the dim morning light. “Last night was amazing,” he said. Just in case she hadn’t gotten the memo. He waited for her to say something, but she didn’t. It hurt his pride, but he finally said the words. “Was it amazing for you?”

He felt more than saw her smile. “Really, Jack? You’re really asking me this?”

Jack nodded against her neck. Kissed it. He was going to ruthlessly use every trick in the book. “I have to know.”

Summer sighed. She sounded exasperated, but her body language had changed. Jack spoke woman very well. He understood the body language of women. Back in the day he’d been a master. He was no longer fluent but he was still okay. Summer’s back was no longer stiff and her tense muscles had relaxed.

“It was fine.” He could practically hear her eyes roll in her head.

“More than fine,” he said, nudging her with his shoulder.

Another big sigh. “Fine. More than fine. Are you happy now?”

“Sort of.” Jack straightened, looked down at her lovely face. Some color was back in her cheeks and though she looked annoyed, annoyed was much better than that blank, cold facade. “I’d give anything to get back in that bed again but I think we’re going to have to get going.”

She gave a faint smile. “You always were insatiable.”

He clenched his jaws. “Is that what you think this is about?” He waved a finger between them. “Me getting as much fucking as possible?” He was deliberately crude to hide the fact that he was genuinely hurt.

Horribly, she looked blank. Now, that hurt. “Well, yeah. I mean you’d use any possibility to go to bed. And my roommate said?—”

She broke off, looked to the side.

Oh God. Jack barely remembered her roommate. Some chick with long brown hair. He couldn’t even remember her name. He did remember Summer’s blank look when he showed up at the dorm room to take the roommate out and not her.

Jack looked her straight in the eyes. “I’m sorry I hurt you. More sorry than I can say. All I can tell you is that the Jack who was such a dick is gone. Dead and buried. I don’t know what he was thinking. Not much, apparently. He sure wasn’t thinking with his big head. But this Jack—” He thumped himself in the chest hard enough to hurt. He welcomed the little bite of pain. “This Jack thinks with his big head and with his heart. This Jack hasn’t had sex in more time than I care to think about. These past six months were sexless for security reasons. But I hadn’t had sex in a long time before that because there wasn’t anyone I cared about. I had sex last night because I cared about you. Care about you. What I feel is real and what we had last night was real and I’m not letting it go. Not letting you go.”

She stared at him while he babbled, utterly astonished. Jack shook her a little by the shoulders.

“Are we clear on this?”

Summer nodded shakily.

This broke every single one of the relationship rules. Jack was showing his hand early, laying down his cards, each and every one. You don’t do that. You showed your cards one by one, and only after your partner showed hers.

He didn’t give a fuck for the rules.

Jack had spent the past fifteen years masking who he was. Showing a bland fake facade to the world, never ever revealing his true self. He’d been trained, and trained hard, to do it. It was the essence of his job, and he’d been really good at it.

At times, over the course of his career in the NCS, he’d wondered whether he could ever show his true self, ever again.

The answer was yes.

Jack opened himself up completely to Summer. He put a little distance between them so she could see him. Really see him. Every inch, from his face to his toes, including his slightly inflated ever-hopeful dick.

Everything he felt was right there. He’d been hopelessly lonely. Not just these past six nightmare months, but before, too. Lonely and dispirited and a little bit lost. When he’d seen Summer again, something had clicked for him. Just lit up something inside him and he recognized that he’d never forgotten her. He’d thrown something good away but he’d been young then. Hadn’t understood what he’d had.

He understood it now.

“Look at me,” he said. “Really look at me. See what I am now and not what I was then.”

Summer understood exactly what he meant. And he realized she had always understood him. He could talk to her and not have to explain the subtext because she got it. Maybe because she was a journalist and sensitive to nuance, maybe because her horrible childhood had forced her to develop antennae, maybe they just vibrated on the same wavelength, but Summer got him.

“I’m looking,” she said, gazing straight into his eyes.

“This is not like before. I’m not leaving you. As a matter of fact I’m going to stick to you like glue. You’re going to be sick of me.”

“Because I’m in danger.” Her voice was flat.

“That, too. But I’ve been on protection detail before and this is different. You’re in danger and I’m here to protect you, I’m here to make sure you come out of this intact. And you will, because anyone gunning for you will have to go through me. But most of all, when all of this is over and everyone who has to be dead is dead and everyone who has to be in jail is in jail, after that—I’m still going to stick to you like glue. We bonded last night.”

“We had sex last night, sure,” Summer said evenly.

“That wasn’t sex.”

She smiled for the first time. “Sure felt like sex.”

“I mean, yes, it was sex, of course it was, but—” Jack’s tongue got all tangled. He knew what he wanted to say but he didn’t know the order. Or he didn’t have the right words. Something was wrong. The things he wanted to say were…big. And let’s face it—a little scary.

He opened his mouth again, hoping to not put his foot in it, when his cell pinged. Joe. Joe Harris. His sister’s lover and the reason he could be across the country from Isabel. Isabel was safe. Joe was in love with his sister and he would protect her with his life. Had saved Isabel’s life not long ago.

“Yo,” Jack said, stepping slightly away from Summer.

They were in the middle of something really important, but he didn’t mind the interruption. Gave him some time to work things out in his head before saying them to Summer.

“So the ASI plane should land in about an hour at Reagan. Can you and Summer get there unobserved?”

“Absolutely.” Jack was already walking back into the bedroom. “We’ll be there.”

“Get to the general aviation section, I’ll text you the plane tail number and the pilot’s cell. Don’t let anyone see you.”

“Dude.”

“Okay, okay. I’ve got Isabel on my back about this. Big time. I swear to God, Delvaux, if anything happens to you and Summer, my life won’t be worth living, so make sure nothing does.”

“Hen pecked,” Jack said. “How does that feel?”

“Great. Love it. Food’s definitely worth it. So we’ll call while you’re in the air. I’ve never met Summer but tell her she’s got a lot of fans around here. Lots of admirers. And that we’re all sorry about her place.”

“Yeah.” Jack scrabbled for his jeans. “Sarin’s no joke.”

“No. I mean the bombing.”

“Wait.” Jack froze. His eyes met Summer’s, she’d followed him into the bedroom. She sensed something. “What is this about Summer’s apartment?”

“Shit,” Joe swore. “Don’t tell me you don’t know. That Nick didn’t call you.”

“Fuck.” Jack had done the unthinkable last night. He’d toned down his cell ring so that if someone called in the middle of the night it wouldn’t wake Summer. And then he’d fallen into a sex-induced coma and had missed a call. This was unforgiveable. “I didn’t get the call. I’ll ping Nick right now. So what happened?”

Summer was close by him, a hand on his arm. He put his hand over hers, watched her eyes.

“Her apartment was blown up around 4:00 a.m. Nick will tell you about it. Right now the best guess is a grenade launcher. The place looks like Beirut, man. Nick showed me pictures.”

“Fuck.” Summer was clutching his arm, staring up at him wide-eyed. “Talk to you from the plane then,” he told Joe and thumbed off.

Fuck yes. He was getting Summer onto that plane as fast as humanly possible and he was keeping her in Portland, surrounded by the toughest guys he’d ever met, and their super friendly women, until every possible danger was over.

“What?” she whispered. “What about my apartment?”

“Gone. Bombed.” Jack delivered the stark news and watched the blood drain from her face. “I’m so sorry, honey.” He grabbed her hands, holding them tightly. She was shivering with shock. The intrusion, the discovery of sarin, dredging up horrible memories of being so sick in Cartagena, had been bad enough. This was much worse. “They’re looking into it but the truth is—your place is gone.”

“Gone,” she whispered through stiff lips. Fuck. That lost, disoriented look was back. How many blows was one person supposed to handle? “Everything. Gone. All my records, too. Luckily I keep everything in the cloud but now?—”

“Now we’re going to Portland,” Jack said firmly. “Where you’ll be safe.”

“ Area 8. What about Area 8 ? It just dies?”

“You’re going to have to close up shop. I know what that means, believe me. I know how hard you must have worked to create it. But like I said, you have to stay off the grid for now. Whoever is orchestrating this has to think you’re dead. We already talked about this.”

“I am dead.” Her voice was low and flat. “Or close to it.”

“God no.” Jack wrapped his arms around her and rocked her. They had to get going right now but he needed to comfort her. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it. You’re going to go underground and when you emerge, you’ll be stronger than ever. And you’re going to write articles that will make Woodward and Bernstein look like pikers. You’re going to win the Pulitzer. Guaranteed. I promise you.”

“The Pulitzer.” He pulled back and saw that she was trying to smile. It was an awful effort and wasn’t convincing but he was grateful she was trying.

“The Pulitzer,” he nodded. “But for now we have to get going.”

“Wait.”

Jack felt urgency thrum through his veins. He was nearly vibrating with it. But he obediently stopped.

She was frowning. “Is there anyone who can check up on my staff? Find out if they’re okay? Without letting them know that I’m alive?”

“Who are they? I’ll get Nick on it as soon as we’re airborne.”

“Zac Burroughs and Marcie Thompson, they’re based here in DC. Write the names down so you don’t forget.”

“I won’t forget,” Jack promised. He was used to memorizing eighteen digit codes. Two names were nothing. “Now let’s get going.”

Summer put on her coat and Hector’s coat over it and started wrapping the scarf around her lower face.

“Forget that.” Jack pulled out two full face helmets. “I’ve got something better.”

Summer stared. “How are you going to drive with that thing on?”

Jack pulled his helmet on, pulled down the visor. His voice came out muffled as he fitted hers on. “We’re not taking the SUV, we’re taking something faster.”

* * *

Kearns put down his newspaper for a second and watched the young man sitting next to the coffee shop’s windows. Zac Burroughs. Young, trendy haircut. Shaved on one side, long on the other. Completely oblivious to the outside world, head totally inside his laptop. This was going to be easy.

Kearns was sitting on a bench across the street from the coffee shop. He’d been careful not to leave any prints and he’d take the newspaper with him. He hauled out his cell and pretended to be engaged in it. People read books on their cells, he knew. It wasn’t hard to fake absorption. Kearns could see into the coffee shop and it was filled with people who were absorbed in their own stuff, no one was looking round.

There were also no security cams, which to Kearns meant the place didn’t earn enough money to warrant being robbed.

Great.

Burroughs finally closed his laptop and got up. He didn’t seem to be the kind to move fast, so Kearns gave him a big head start. When he got up, he put on his baseball cap with IR lights along the brim. Any security cams on the street would simply see a big blurred white dot instead of a face.

The target was walking along his street, with old growth trees whose roots were cracking the sidewalk. One building in three was abandoned. Zac lived in an old building six blocks down, at the end of the street—he was headed home. Home was the basement apartment. Kearns had checked.

Civilians were just clueless. It never failed to astonish Kearns. There was no way someone could follow him for six blocks without him being aware of it. He would be able to just clue in. Did soldiers develop some kind of sixth sense with all that intense training? Maybe subconsciously notice patterns that civilians didn’t? Whatever it was, it sometimes seemed to him that civilians walked around with PREY tattooed on their foreheads.

There was no need to hurry. Kearns kept back several hundred feet until Burroughs got to his block, then he started catching up with him. Countersurveillance training had taught him how to go fast without appearing to hurry. A lengthened stride, keeping the torso straight, not pumping his arms—anyone watching him would have to be an operator to notice that he had increased his speed by fifty per cent.

He caught up with Burroughs ten feet from the front gate. Keeping his head down, Kearns took the kid’s arm in a friendly grip. Two old friends meeting up.

“Hey Zac,” he said with an easy smile.

The kid looked up at him, frowning, but not concerned yet. If Kearns had been his own age, the kid wouldn’t even be frowning. He’d just assume that Kearns was part of that vast world of young people who congregated by the hundreds in bars and conventions. As it was, Kearns was visibly not of Burroughs’ generation and warranted a frown.

“Hey,” Burroughs answered cautiously, surreptitiously trying to pull away. Moron. The guy’s arm was so thin, Kearns’s hand fit around it. And as for pulling away—what Kearns felt beneath his fingers was soft, untoned muscle. Kearns’s grip had been measured at almost two hundred pounds. Thompson had about as much chance of tearing himself away from Kearns as he had of flying to the moon.

“How you doing, man?” Kearns asked genially. He was gripping Burroughs’ right arm with his left hand, while his right hand brought the jet syringe to the biceps and pressed the end, shooting five hundred milligrams of ketamine into his system, enough to induce what in clubs was called a k-hole, a ketamine high, strong enough to give the user an out of body experience.

The kid’s stride broke, but Kearns shifted his hold, putting his left arm around Burroughs’ shoulders and guiding him with his right. Kearns easily held Burroughs’ entire weight up. An outsider would see only a friendly bro-embrace. Two old buddies meeting up. Conveniently, Burroughs had a set of keys in his front right pocket. Really fast, but with no jerky movements at all, Kearns had him through the gate, down the shallow concrete steps to the basement apartment and inside.

The apartment was small, messy. The military beat messiness out of you. Burroughs would have earned an extra 150 pushups for keeping his personal space like this. Not that he could have done them, not with that muscle tone.

Kearns dropped Burroughs immediately inside the door, pulled out a pair of latex gloves and went hunting for the right place to dump the body. He found it immediately. A small closet just off the kitchen. Perfect.

He’d come prepared. In his backpack was a small spray bottle of bleach and a folded body bag taken from a small town morgue.

Back at the entrance, he held one gloved hand over Burroughs’ mouth and with the other he pinched the kid’s nostrils shut. The kid was so deeply under, his autonomous nervous system didn’t even kick in. In three minutes he was dead without having moved a muscle. Even better, his bowels and bladder didn’t void. That was always messy.

Burroughs was so light it was easy to fit him into the body bag. Kearns sprayed bleach on Burroughs’ upper body, zipped up the bag and shoved it into the closet. He took a tube out of his backpack—a new molecular binding agent that hardened into a glue stronger than concrete. He spread it around the jamb of the door, closed the door and squirted the binding agent into the keyhole.

Someone would have to take an axe to the door to get it open.

The underground apartment had a back door that gave out onto steps leading up to an alley. He walked out into the alley and would begin the long, slow series of evasive maneuvers to shake any possible tails.

One down, one to go.