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Leigh sat with her back pressed against the wall of the small cell where they had forced her to enter. They were in a literal dungeon below some gorgeous house, but as to where they were exactly, she had no clue. For all she knew, they could still be in the United States, though she doubted it.

Most likely they were in Colombia, back to that narco-state. The woman on the phone had identified herself as Nacho’s daughter and Angel’s wife. They had only prosecuted one half of the husband-and-wife duo. Leigh planned to set things right as soon as Hazard’s team found them and took Pincho into custody. The worst-case scenario was that the seven-day deadline passed and they were killed. She doubted that Anna could pull the necessary strings. The United States never negotiated with people like Pincho. That meant she and Hazard had to work on this problem just as hard as Anna was. They had to escape from a brutal cartel with no weapons or assistance. What did Hazard’s team always say? The only easy day was yesterday.

She was not going to settle for anything less than victory. In her mind she pictured walking down the aisle with the man she loved waiting at the altar. She clung to that vision. Without him, nothing would matter. But at this moment her one and only concern was Hazard.

Leigh looked down at his ashen face. He had not moved or regained consciousness since that thug had struck him. His cheek was swollen and bruised in a mottled black and blue, and a deep gash had bled. Dried blood still stained his face. Gently, she brushed the stray hair from his sweaty forehead. It was hot in here.

“Archer?” she said softly, rubbing the uninjured side of his face. He stirred, and her heart leaped. “Babe? Wake up. Please, wake up. You’re scaring the shit out of me.” Her voice trembled with fear. She drew a deep, steadying breath. She had to be strong for both of them.

His eyes fluttered open as he stared up at her. “What happened to my mouthy warrior?” he murmured.

Almost giddy with relief and overwhelmed by emotion, Leigh brushed his hair back again. “She fell in love, tried to give up being a US attorney, took a teaching job, and got comfortable…happy. This post-engagement party really sucks. At least I still have my ring.”

“I’ll make it up to you, Leelee. I promise. There is this little place on the water, a B&B my mom and stepdad love. I’ll take you there.”

His smile softened her heart every time he used that silly nickname. “That is a promise then. I expect flowers, scads of seafood, and lots of sex—no cold showers, though, I wouldn’t say no to some skinny dipping.”

He grinned, though his expression soon turned pained. “My butt is still recovering from the last time I tried to get you to embrace a refreshing alternative.”

“Refreshing my ass. Just so you know, I do not like being cold.”

“Noted,” he groaned, massaging his jaw. “What the hell hit me? A freight train?”

“Some asshole with the butt of his rifle pushed and shoved us into a van, and then we were loaded into a small plane. They sedated me after that, and I have no idea where we are.”

“Fuck. Who?”

“You are not going to like it.” She clamped her jaw, fighting back the rant that she knew would serve no purpose.

“I am sure,” he groaned, his eyes closing again. “Tell me.”

“Lucia “Pincho” Siachoque Alzate. She is Nacho’s daughter and Angel’s wife. She is the one who runs both cartels. Nacho hid her in the shadows, and no one knew who she was…except Jose and Astrid. They knew Nacho had a daughter. Now she is pissed that her father is dead, and we managed to prosecute her brutal husband. She wants him back, and we are her leverage.”

“Fuck me,” he whispered. “I am no help to you like this. My head is killing me. I am seeing double, and my gut is churning. Do we have any water?”

Leigh closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. That bitch had promised a doctor, but after two long hours alone, no one had come. They were also without food or water. It made Leigh realize that her welfare and Hazard’s were not high on Pincho’s list of priorities.

“No. I am sorry.”

“Whatever happens, I love you, Leelee,” he said, his silvery blue eyes growing unfocused as he closed them.

“Archer?” she pleaded. There was no answer.

She pressed his head gently away from her lap and noticed a metal cup in the corner. Picking it up on her way to the door, she shouted at the top of her lungs. The anger and fear mingled in her voice as she banged the cup against the metal door. “Hey! I want water and food. I want a doctor. Get me a doctor! Now!” The sound of the cup echoed in the small room. “Doctor! Doctor! Food! Water! Doctor! Water! Food!” For a full fifteen minutes she screamed until someone banged on the other side of the door. The sound of the lock being released made her heart pound. They were either going to meet her demands or no one would sleep tonight.

She stepped back, wanting to punch whoever came through the door. The door swung open and a man with an automatic rifle shoved her hard. She stumbled back. “Shut the hell up, bitch,” he barked in Spanish.

A soft-spoken man spoke from behind him. “No need for violence. She has strong points. Get her some food and water. If you want to keep your leverage, you should try to keep them alive.”

“Yes, patron .”

The guard glared at her, then turned and left the room while calling out orders. In the doorway stood a lean, fit older man with a neatly trimmed goatee and a full head of graying hair swept back from his handsome face. He wore a simple white shirt and khaki pants, an expensive gold watch on his wrist and a ring on his left finger. He looked both competent and kind. His warm brown eyes scanned the cell, resting on Hazard and then on her. Who was this man? It was comforting that he carried a medical bag and that they were finally going to get some food and water.

“I am grateful,” she said quietly.

“I am Hermano Alzate. I am Angel’s father.” His dark eyes hardened slightly. “And you are the ones who put my son in prison.”

Leigh stared at him in surprise, blinking rapidly. Even with this turn of events, she was grateful for his intervention. “Are you? Well, this is awkward.”

He looked down at Hazard, his eyes shifting from accusation to medical concern. “Help me get him onto the cot.”

Dr. Alzate was stronger than he looked. In just a few minutes he managed to move Archer onto the threadbare bed. He pulled over a small three-legged stool and sat. He removed a small flashlight from his bag and directed its beam over Hazard’s pupils.

“Are you a doctor?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes widened in startled surprise. This was unexpected. “Too bad your son didn’t follow in your footsteps.”

“Oh, he did. He was a different man before he met Pincho.”

There were no more words as the doctor flicked the flashlight over Hazard’s pupils. He gently examined the injured cheek and frowned. “Your man has a severe concussion and a fractured cheekbone. The best thing for him is sleep. I will hook up an IV so he can get fluids and antibiotics. I will teach you how to change his dressing and leave you with some pain medication in case he wakes up. I will speak to my daughter-in-law. I cannot stop her from her bloody tasks, but I will remind her that if you two die before she gets Angel back, none of this will have meant a thing.”

“I’m not sure she is going to get what she wants,” Leigh said frankly as Dr. Alzate gently cleaned and dressed Archer’s wound. “The US does not have a strong record of giving in to kidnappings and threats. There will be no debate. If it were up to me, I would not negotiate.”

“That is unfortunate. She is as adamant as they come when it concerns getting Angel back by any means. I’m sorry you have been caught in the crossfire of her rage. She has not been herself since her father was imprisoned and died there.”

Leigh could find no sympathy for Pincho. The woman was following in her father’s footsteps. She had chosen this life and chosen to take all those lives to feed her greed and power. Even if Angel was only a cover, he was as culpable as she was. “She is the head of a vicious, international cartel that runs drugs across the world, including fentanyl. She, Angel, and their gang have murdered dozens of people. I do not have to tell you how dangerous it is. How can you be associated with such an organization? You’re a doctor, for God’s sake.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t have much of a choice. She is ruthless even with her own family. I’m trying to keep myself and my wife alive.”

“Of course, I forgot. This is not the US, and you and your people don’t always have a choice. I am sorry, but that will not stop my government from taking her down and anyone who stands with her.”

Dr. Alzate stood and prepped an IV bag. He wrapped a rubber band around Hazard’s arm, found a vein, and inserted the needle before hanging it on a hook near the bed. “We are two people caught up in a violent situation. Please be careful around her. Here are fresh bandages, tape, and antiseptic. Change his dressing once a day. I will try to return, but we are at the mercy of Lucia.”

As he left, the guard brought two trays of food and several bottles of water. Leigh took them as she watched the doctor disappear with that grave look on his face. He treated them with care and mercy, but he was still part of her enemy’s organization.

Walker went searching for Anna because she had some ideas to run past her. It had been thirty minutes since they arrived from the airport. Walker longed for her room on the fourth floor where the SEALs had been housed in a former high school near the shabby US Embassy. The compound had a gate and high concrete walls with Marine guards outside. Inside were two security guards—one in a small room off the front double doors—a mess hall, a well-equipped gym, an armory, several conference rooms, a debriefing room, and even a swimming pool. All the amenities provided by the Colombian government. Her luggage had arrived the day before, loaded with disguises and accessories.

The only drawback was that her bathroom was not operational. She was told she had to share one with her partner in the adjoining room. That would be no problem. Walker and Strekoza had shared far rougher quarters.

She headed for the conference room where Anna would be setting up for the brief in about an hour. As she opened the door, she heard muffled sounds coming from the small office adjacent to the conference room. Anna was using that room. Walker pushed the door open and found Anna standing there, head down valiantly trying to hold back her distress. Pictures of Hazard and Leigh filled the computer screen.

“Oh, Anna,” Walker said softly. Anna whipped around, eyes wide with horror that someone had caught her in such a state. Walker didn’t hesitate. She walked over and hugged her friend tightly. Anna collapsed into the safety of her embrace and broke down into deep, convulsing sobs that wracked her entire body. Walker wrapped her arms around Anna, sharing her pain.

After a moment, Walker gently grasped Anna’s shoulders and pulled her away so that Anna could see her own tear-streaked face. “Damn, Anna,” Walker said in a gruff tone laced with regret. “None of us saw this coming. It is not your fault.”

Anna stared at her, fresh tears welling in her eyes. “It is my fault. I was in charge, and I missed something crucial. I do blame myself, and nothing you say will change that.” She squeezed her eyes shut, as if the memory was too much to bear.

“What the fuck!” Walker exclaimed, slamming her hands on her hips. “All of us were on that op. We all missed the fact that Nacho’s daughter was involved. She was flying under the radar. If anyone is to blame, it is me. I saw a photo of Jose, Astrid, and Nacho with a young girl, and I didn’t make the connection. I have to shoulder a lot of that blame, and I don’t like it.”

Anna blinked. “What photo?”

“The one from Astrid’s house. We were so focused on whether Jose was compromised that we didn’t follow up on the girl. It has to be Nacho’s daughter, Lucia.”

“Oh, dammit. That is the piece we missed,” Anna whispered, anguish clear in her gaze. She swiped at her tears and her expression hardened with anger. “I need to find that photo.” Relieved that Anna had recovered enough to speak, and Walker quickly shared an idea that Kai and Davis had sparked after their briefing.

Twenty minutes later, Walker pushed open the door to her assigned room, weary after the trip and the painful moments with Anna. They had a solid plan and a promising lead. It was small progress but progress nonetheless.

She sighed. She had flown on many vehicles, but the noisy, smelly, bare-bones tail section of a C-130 was nothing like the cushy CIA jets she was used to. Anyone who was not a Tier 1 asset rode in the back, no exceptions. Yet there was one bright spot about being on that C-130 with Anna and the team—even in those cheap seats, she was often rewarded with those smoldering looks from Cooper Sullivan. Throughout the trip, her eyes kept drifting toward him, and she was often met with that heavy, dark gaze as if he could not help himself.

A twinge in her neck from the cramped position and the vibration of massive engines pulled her from her reverie. She reached back to massage the sore muscles. She would call Juanita for a massage the minute she had the time. In the meantime, a long, hot shower would wash away the stench of jet fuel from her hair and nostrils.

Without knocking, she carried her makeup case and essentials into the next room. From the doorway, she noticed luggage piled on the bed. Her partner was nowhere to be seen. She recalled that her partner had mentioned getting some food, so she assumed she was in the mess hall. Her stomach growled at the thought of a proper meal, and if memory served her right, the SEALs were treated like kings when it came to food. Shower first, then food, she decided. She would wash away that C-130 stench.

She pushed open the bathroom door and set her case on the back of the toilet, then she turned and almost swallowed her tongue. There weren’t many people who could outwit, outmaneuver, or outdo Walker Adams or catch her off guard, but the man standing in front of her took the cake.

Cooper Sullivan.

Skull.

A very naked Skully.

He looked so incredibly good, like a water god, with his hard, perfect body, his wet tanned skin and the ribbons of steam swirling all around him. Wow. She had a good imagination, but there was nothing like being validated in each and every thought. This man was tall and sleek, chiseled in all the right places.

Unable to look away, she devoured the sculpted contours of his naked, muscular body. Starting at his bare feet, her gaze traveled over defined calves, up his long, strong legs, and got snagged on his Adonis belt, those tightly ridged six-pack abs, water sliding in glistening droplets down to his very well-endowed male anatomy that literally made her weak in the knees, along with a rock-hard ass, as hard as the rest of him. She was envious of that tantalizing H 2 O as she looked her fill. His lower body was probably the only part of him that could completely distract her from all that lean, mean muscle.

But she couldn’t help taking all of him in—his wide chest, those flat, brown tightly beaded nipples she ached to get her mouth on. His long, powerful arms, and big hands infused him with an aura of strength and masculinity, then up to that arresting face, his blunt features, and mouth. His pitch-black hair the color of midnight, danger in the shadows, and rich decadence and forbidden desire was wet in ragged, displaced strands framing his lean oval face.

All she could think about was the way her palms and fingers would outline the work of art that was Cooper Sullivan, gliding over hard plains and compact muscle.

Her senses came alive, adding to the desire that had built from the moment she’d laid eyes on him. Her breathing increased, her pulse pounding. Every time she inhaled, she not only drew in his smoky, tantalizing freshness, but also the arousing scent of a hot-blooded male.

Undeniably turned on, her own body responded to the natural glory of him. Her breasts grew tight, her stomach tumbled, and between her thighs she pulsed with a need she ached to fulfill. Not in a dream or a fantasy, but for real, with this man sliding deep, deep inside her.

“If you’re done, could you hand me a towel?” She might have been caught off guard, but Skull wasn’t fazed one bit. Of course, he was a SEAL, and they oozed self-confidence, don’t-mess-with-me attitudes. Alphas that were off the leash ready to be Uncle Sam’s watchdogs, but Skull seemed much more a dark hound of hell and despite the attitude, she wanted to mess with him—a lot. That formidable control was a challenge to break…oh, wait. There was tantalizing movement. Mr. Unfazed, Mr. Immunity, Mr. Lord of the Underworld was growing hard, and it was an even more arousing sight because that meant he desired her. Her focus was drawn once again to the velvet-textured length of him as he thickened, pulsing over and over and that plum-shaped head grew and grew, drawing his balls up, jutting his erection toward his flat, bisected belly.

Her lips parted, and her breathing grew ragged, her body flaming, and he hadn’t even touched her. How was that possible?

His gaze took in her slightly parted lips, then slid down the arch of her throat and over every inch of her. His eyes, flecked with gold and amber, and the thick long lashes accentuating their hypnotic beauty dragged her into a hunger so dark and hot, he burned with the intensity of it.

“Why in heaven would I hand you anything to cover up any of…that?” she replied in a hoarse whisper. “Do I look like a moron?”

His jaw clenched. The need and hunger in his unwavering gaze glowed hot and bright and urgent. “You look like a woman I could fuck for fucking hours. So, before I get fucked over for missing a brief, I suggest you get your fuck-worthy body out of my fucking sight. Iceman doesn’t give a fuck about boners, only about punctuality.”

“This isn’t over, roomie,” she said, refusing to hand him a towel.

A low, untamed growl ripped from his chest, and that stubborn, unyielding control of his slipped like it had at the hangar. “Go now, Walker before I lose control. We have more important things to think about and do. There’s no space in my head right now for this shit.”

Aching with need to have him buried to the hilt inside her, to convulse around him as he came was her goal. Keep it simple. He’s not simple, stupid, and you’re ignoring those signs. She silenced that voice. She wanted this to be simple.

She went to him, and he faced her, the torment in his expression telling her that he was in sensual, physical pain…agony, and she had enough time to help with that.

“God dammit , Hummingbird?—”

“Shut up. We’re all reeling from what happened to our friends, but there is no shame in living in the face of that pain and sadness.” She placed her fingers against his warm lips, stopping his flow of words and dark desire sparked like flint in the darkness. Emboldened by that knowledge, she closed the distance between them. “We don’t have any time to waste, and I’m not going to allow you to go down there with a raging hard on that I caused,” she said, and moved closer to him. Yeah, she was so self-sacrificing because taking advantage of Skull’s magnificent body was such a terrible hardship.

Unable to help herself, she closed her mouth over his taut nipple, noting the rapid rise and fall of his chest. She slid her nails down his torso, eliciting a deep groan in his chest, until her fingers brushed across the heavy sacks beneath his shaft, until one hand was wrapped snugly around the base of his heated flesh, and she nipped that delicious bead, then sucked him hard.

With a ragged groan, his head fell back against the tile, and his body arched, sending his shaft against her palm. Feeling the barely leashed aggression beneath his shattering control, she twined her fingers in the silky long hair at his nape and pulled at the same time she bit him harder. He bucked upward, hard and strong, and his groan of surrender in her ear was the sexiest sound she’d ever heard. “ Hummingbird ,” he rasped. “Fuck, I want your mouth on me, but?—”

She slipped down his slick body not wanting him to put a stop to this. She took him in her wet mouth, his skin hot and salty against the stroke of her tongue. He shuddered and tangled his hands in her hair, and she sucked him, taking him as deep as she could, pleasuring him, teasing him with her tongue, using techniques taught to her by the best whores in the red-light district of Amsterdam. And she’d learned some things that would make a man a slave to her mouth, but she only wanted him. She slipped and swirled her tongue around his shaft, all the way down, then pulled back up in a long, suctioning draw that was designed to make a man’s knees buckle. His fingers knotted in her hair, and she looked up the length of his torso, watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest and finally met his gaze. His eyes were dark and intense, just as hypnotic, and when she stroked him all the way to the tip of his shaft then glided her tongue over the swollen head, sucking just the tip, he shuddered and jolted against her hot caresses.

She couldn’t take her eyes off his face, finally pinpointing why his features intrigued her—that dark stubble on his face tagged him as a renegade from the underworld. Besides the compelling indestructible attractiveness that claimed her in the most profound way, there was a depth of character, an inner strength, and she had no freaking idea that she would crave the kind of man he was.

She was drowning in this need, this desire for what she was only aware of, but on the verge of diving into everything that made him who he was. She wanted to know it all with the kind of passion that she had only reserved for her job. Her heart, that closed, inert organ, hammered wildly against her ribs, and it ached for his pain, fear and worry over Leigh and Hazard. But beneath that electric undercurrent of sexual chemistry and exquisite arousal the truth was that she would give anything to get inside this man’s defenses, get a piece of that dark soul, hold onto it as hard as she wanted to ride her body over his, feel every sensation from his mouth, his hands, his dick. All of it.

And that was where the terror began. That was why this relationship could only be about sex. If she didn’t ask anything of him, he wouldn’t ask anything of her, even in light of her motivations for going down on him, which were partly about taking him away from that tragedy, just for a moment, a breather.

She might have a dedicated work partner, but she preferred to be alone in the shadows using her guise and cunning. She became other people, morphed into characters to manipulate, get information, kill. All of it thrilled her, every last bit of it. She was the master of her craft because of it. Closing down allowed her to wear so many masks, hiding, protecting, and disguising her very essence. There was no going back from that, and this kind of man…. He would want to get inside her defenses, get a piece of her dark soul, hold onto it as hard as he wanted to thrust himself inside her, feel every sensation with his mouth, his hands, his dick. All of it.

And if she gave in. If she gave in even one little bit, she would be lost, and she never intended to be lost again.