He’s a navy SEAL who’s highly trained for any assignment.

So why can’t he resist the woman he’s vowed to protect?

Navy SEAL “T-Mac” Trace McGuire is assigned to protect army specialist Kinsley Anderson and Agar, her IED-detecting dog. When they’re shot at and nearly blown up, T-Mac admires Kinsley’s ability to hold her own. On the run from terrorists, T-Mac is trained to ensure their safety and survival in the African desert. He’s prepared for every scenario but one: falling for the woman whose life is in his hands.

Mission: Six

ELLE JAMES, a New York Times bestselling author, started writing when her sister challenged her to write a romance novel. She has managed a full-time job and raised three wonderful children, and she and her husband even tried ranching exotic birds (ostriches, emus and rheas). Ask her, and she’ll tell you what it’s like to go toe-to-toe with an angry 350-pound bird! Elle loves to hear from fans at ellejames@earthlink.net or ellejames.com.

Also by Elle James

One Intrepid SEAL

Two Dauntless Hearts

Three Courageous Words

Four Relentless Days

Five Ways to Surrender

Hot Combat

Hot Target

Hot Zone

Hot Velocity

Navy SEAL Survival

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Six Minutes to Midnight

Elle James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09348-4

SIX MINUTES TO MIDNIGHT

© 2018 Mary Jernigan

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

I’d like to dedicate this book to the military

working dogs, who are such an important addition

to our fighting forces. They are loyal, smart and

dedicated to doing what they do best. Friends of

mine adopted a retired military working dog, which

gave me the idea to include him in this book.

Agar, thanks for your service!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

About the Publisher

Chapter One

“Four days and a wakeup,” Trace McGuire, T-Mac to his friends, said as he sat across the table in the chow hall on Camp Lemonnier. They’d returned from their last mission in Niger with news they were scheduled to redeploy back to the States.

He glanced around the table at his friends. When they were deployed, they spent practically every waking hour together. In the past, being stateside was about the same. They’d go to work, train, get briefed, work out and then go back to their apartments. Most of the time, they’d end up at one of the team members’ places to watch football, cook out or just lounge around and shoot the crap with each other. They were like family and never seemed to get tired of each other’s company.

T-Mac suspected all that was about to change. All of his closest SEAL buddies had women in their lives now. All except him. Suddenly, going back to Virginia wasn’t quite as appealing as it had been in the past. T-Mac sighed and drank his lukewarm coffee.

“I can’t wait to see Reese.” Diesel tapped a finger against the rim of his coffee cup. “I promised to take her on a real date when I get back to civilization.”

“What? You’re not going to take her swinging through the jungle, communing with the gorillas?” Buck teased.

Petty Officer Dalton Samuel Landon, otherwise known as Diesel, shook his head. “Nope. Been there, done that. I think I’ll take her to a restaurant where we don’t have to forage for food. Then maybe we’ll go out to a nightclub.” He tipped his head to the side. “I wonder if she likes to dance.”

“You mean you don’t know?” Big Jake Schuler, the tallest man on the team, rolled his eyes. “I would have thought that in the time you two spent traipsing along the Congo River, you would know everything there was to know about each other.”

Diesel frowned. “I know what’s important. She’s not fragile, she can climb a tree when she needs to, she doesn’t fall apart when someone’s shooting at her and she can kiss like nobody’s business.” Diesel shrugged. “In fact, I’m looking forward to learning more. She’s amazing. How many female bodyguards do you know?”

Big Jake held up his hands in surrender. “You got me there. None.”

“I can’t wait to see Angela.” Corpsman Graham “Buck” Buckner, the team medic, smiled. “She’s interviewing for positions around Little Creek.”

“With her doctor credentials, and the work she did with Doctors Without Borders, she’s sure to get on pretty quickly,” Big Jake said. “If not one of the military hospitals, there are lots of civilian hospitals and clinics in the area.”

Buck nodded. “I can’t believe after all these years, she’d want to be close to me.” He smiled. “I’m one lucky guy.”

“Yeah, and maybe she’ll talk you into going back to school to finish your medical degree.” Built solid like a tank, Percy Taylor had the tenacity of a pit bull, thus his nickname, Pitbull. He gave Buck a chin lift. “You’d make a good doc.”

“What?” Buck spread his arms wide. “And give up all this?”

T-Mac chuckled. “I know. It’s hard to believe anyone would want to stop being on call at all hours of the day and night, deploying to some of the worst hellholes on the planet and not getting back to see your family for months on end. Who would want to give up all that?”

“Hey, are we getting cynical in our old age?” Harmon Payne clapped a hand on T-Mac’s back. “We’re the ones who are going to suffer. We all have women to come home to now.”

“All except T-Mac,” Buck pointed out. “Maybe we should fix him up with someone? You think one of our women knows someone who could put up with his being a computer nerd and all?”

T-Mac shook his head. “I don’t need help getting a date, thank you very much.”

“I’ll bet Reese has met some pretty hot chicks in the DC area through her work as a bodyguard,” Diesel said. “Or maybe she still has some connections in the mixed-martial-arts community. One of those women are bound to be able to stand toe-to-toe with our guy.”

“Seriously.” T-Mac pushed to his feet. “I don’t need a woman in my life. You all know how hard our lives are without relationships. I’m surprised all you self-confirmed bachelors broke the cardinal rule.”

Pitbull stabbed the mystery meat on his tray with his fork and held it in the air, inspecting it with a frown. “What cardinal rule?”

T-Mac pounded his fist on the table. “Don’t get into a permanent relationship as long as you’re a full-time SEAL.”

“Nope.” Harm’s eyes narrowed and his lips twisted. “I don’t remember that line in the BUD/S training manual.”

“Before we came to Africa,” T-Mac reminded them, “we were drinking beer and talking about how we didn’t have wives and kids—”

“Ha!” Pitbull held up a finger. “We were drinking beer. That’s where we got off track.”

Swallowing his irritation, T-Mac continued. “We all agreed that relationships were doomed to failure as long as we were doing the jobs we do. No woman will be satisfied being on a part-time status, what with us shipping out as often as we do to fight some battle nobody else wants.”

“Then I found Marly,” Pitbull said. “She can stand on her own two feet. And we get along pretty well.” He smiled, his rugged face softening. “She’s even getting me to like flying in crop dusters. And she’s found a charter company in Virginia that wants her to pilot for them. She won’t be waiting around for me to come home. Hell, we’ll be lucky to be home at the same time.”

“Exactly,” T-Mac said. “And how’s that going to work for you? You won’t see each other.”

Pitbull frowned. “We’ll find time.” His frown turned upside down. “And when we do...yup.” He nodded. “We’ll find time. I’m not ready to give up on her, and I don’t think she’ll give up on me.”

“The point you’re missing, T-Mac, is that we found women who can stand on their own,” Harm said. “They don’t need us any more than we need them. We want to be together. And that makes all the difference.”

“Uh-huh.” T-Mac knew they wouldn’t listen. His five friends were so besotted by their women, they couldn’t see past the rose-colored glasses to reality. He might as well save his breath.

“Guys.” Buck stared around the table at everyone but T-Mac and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “We’ve got to get T-Mac laid. He’s strung way too tight. He’s likely to blow a gasket soon.”

“What’s the use?” T-Mac pushed to his feet. “We’re headed home in four days. Let’s not screw anything up between now and then.”

“What could possibly go wrong?” Buck asked with a grin and then ducked as everyone else threw their napkins and food at him.

Pitbull snorted. “Thanks for jinxing us, dirtbag.”

“You guys can hang around talking about your women you’ll rarely see. I’m going for a run.” T-Mac walked out of the chow hall to the laughter of his friends.

“Gotta get him a girl,” Buck said.

As T-Mac rounded the corner of one of the stacks of shipping containers that had been outfitted to become sleeping quarters, a hard object landed at his feet.

He jumped back, his heart racing, his first thought Grenade! Then a hair missile barreled toward him, all four legs moving like a blur.

T-Mac braced himself for impact.

The black-faced, sable German shepherd skidded to a stop, pushing up a cloud of dust in the process. He grabbed the object in his teeth and raced back the way he’d come.

“Agar, heel!” a female voice commanded.

The animal stopped immediately at the female soldier’s side, dropped the hard rubber object on the ground and stared up at the woman as if eagerly awaiting the next command.

“Good dog.” She patted him on the head and then glanced up. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were there until after I’d thrown his KONG.” Her hand continued to stroke the dog’s head.

T-Mac stared at the woman, who was wearing camouflage pants, boots and a desert-tan T-shirt. Her hair was pulled back in a bun that had long since lost its shape. Coppery red strands danced in the breeze. She returned his stare with a direct green-eyed gaze. “If you’re afraid of Agar, I’ll hold him while you pass.” She cocked an auburn eyebrow.

“What?” T-Mac shook his head. “I’m not afraid of the dog. Just startled.”

“Then don’t let us keep you.” She snapped the lead on the dog’s collar and straightened.

Curiosity made T-Mac ask, “You’re new at Camp Lemonnier?”

She shrugged. “I’ve been here a week, if you consider that new.”

He laughed. “I do. And I just got back to camp, or I’m sure I’d have seen you.” There weren’t too many good-looking redheaded females in the world, much less in Djibouti. “Hi, I’m Petty Officer Trace McGuire. My friends call me T-Mac.” He took a step forward, slowly so as not to alert the dog, and held out his hand.

She clasped it in a firm grip. “Specialist Kinsley Anderson.” She glanced down at the dog. “And this is Sergeant Agar.”

T-Mac dropped to one knee in front of the German shepherd and held out his hand.

Agar placed a paw in his palm.

With a chuckle, T-Mac shook the dog’s paw and then stood. “He’s very well trained. What’s his mission?”

“Bomb sniffing.”

“Bomb sniffing?” T-Mac glanced again at the woman. He hadn’t really thought about females on the front line. But with the army graduating females from Ranger School, it was a natural progression.

“Well, I hope you don’t have to put that skill to use anytime soon.”

Her eyes narrowed and she lifted her chin. “We came here to do a job. I’m not afraid.”

Having seen his share of action and lost members of his team to gunfire and explosions, T-Mac didn’t wish any of it on anyone. But a person had to live through the horrors of war to truly understand how terrible it was. He couldn’t begin to explain it to the shiny new specialist who’d probably never been shot at or stood next to a man who’d been blown away by an IED.

And he had no business chatting up a female soldier when fraternization was strictly forbidden on deployment. Especially since it could lead to nothing and he and his team would be shipping out in four sleeps and a wakeup. “Well, it was nice to meet you.”

“Same,” she said, then grabbed the KONG and took off with Agar in the opposite direction.

As T-Mac continued on toward his quarters, he couldn’t help sighing. He’d never considered dating a redhead, but something about Specialist Anderson made him reconsider. Perhaps it was the way her coppery hair seemed out of control, or the light dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Or maybe it was the way she absently, or automatically, stroked the dog’s head, showing it affection without having to think about it. Either way, she was off-limits and he was leaving. Once again he reminded himself, Don’t get involved.

KINSLEY HURRIED PAST the navy guy. She’d spent the past two hours working with Agar, keeping his skills fresh and helping him burn off energy. Now it was her turn.

Though she’d been in the country for a week, she and Agar had been tasked only with inspecting vehicles entering Camp Lemonnier. Thankfully, they hadn’t found any carrying explosives. Training sessions were a must, or Agar might forget what he was looking for and Kinsley might not pick up on the behavior Agar displayed when he sensed he’d found something.

Meanwhile, her male counterpart had gone out on missions with the Special Operations Forces into more hostile environments, working ahead of the teams to clear their routes of IEDs.

Kinsley had signed on as a dog handler because she loved dogs and because she wanted to make a difference for her country and her brothers in arms.

Her heart contracted as she thought about one in particular. Cody, her best friend from high school, had been killed in Iraq when he’d stepped on a mine.

Kinsley wanted to keep other young military men and women from the same fate.

On her first deployment, she’d hoped to land in Afghanistan or Iraq. Instead she’d landed in Djibouti, a fairly stable environment but also a jumping-off point to other more volatile areas. She hoped that her being female wouldn’t keep them from mobilizing her to support missions outside the safety of the camp’s borders.

Kinsley reached her quarters, filled a bowl full of water for Agar and stripped out of her uniform pants and boots. While Agar greedily slurped the entire contents of the bowl, Kinsley slipped on her army-issue PT shorts and running shoes and switched her desert-tan T-shirt for her army PT shirt. After strapping her flourescent belt around her waist and pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she planted a black army ball cap on her head and stepped out the door, leash in hand.

She moved smartly, walking past the rows of shipping-container quarters and other buildings, working her way through the complex toward the open field designated for PT.

She passed the motor pool and offices set aside for contractors who were providing additional support and building projects for the camp.

A silver-haired man stood at the corner of one of the buildings, smoking a cigarette. He wore khaki slacks and a polo shirt, incongruous with the multitude of uniforms from all branches of the military.

As she approached, he smiled. “Good afternoon,” he said.

Not wanting to be rude, Kinsley slowed, though she’d rather speed by without engaging. “Hello.”

He stepped in front of her. “You’re new to the camp?”

“Yes, sir.” She frowned, her gaze running over his civilian clothing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.” She held out her hand. “Specialist Anderson.”

“William Toland.” He reached out and shook her hand. “No, we haven’t met. I’d remember a woman and her dog.”

Kinsley’s hand automatically dropped to Agar’s head. “Sergeant Agar is a Military Working Dog.”

“I assumed he was.” The man reached out as if to pet the dog.

Agar’s lips pulled back in a snarl and he growled low in his chest.

Toland snatched back his hand. “Not very friendly?”

Kinsley stepped between Agar and Toland. “He wasn’t trained to be friendly. He’s trained to sniff out explosives, not to be petted by strangers.”

“Handy skill to have in a war.” Toland stepped back. “And message received.”

Kinsley nodded toward the construction crane at the far end of the camp. “Are you working with the contractors to build the new water towers?”

“I am,” Toland responded. “But please, don’t let me keep you from your exercise. I’m sure Sergeant Agar needs a good run to keep him in shape, too.” He waved his hand as if granting her passage.

All in all, Kinsley was irritated by the man’s arrogance in stepping in front of her in the first place. And even more convinced Agar was right to growl at the man. She’d learned to trust her dog’s judgment of character.

Toland hadn’t said or done anything too far out of the ordinary. Even so, Kinsley couldn’t put her finger on it, but she wasn’t sure she trusted the man. After all, why did a man stop a lone female soldier just to talk? Didn’t the contractors get the same briefing as the military personnel?

Don’t fraternize. Period.

As soon as she cleared the buildings, she shook off the prickly feeling at the back of her neck and quickened her pace into a slow, steady jog, with Agar easily keeping up at her side.

Running had never been a joy, but she did it to stay in shape for the semiannual fitness test and to be able to keep up with the physical demands of the job. She had to be in shape to walk long miles carrying a heavy rucksack. She might also be required to run into and out of bad situations. She expected Agar to be fit; she required nothing less of herself.

She ran along the track circling the containerized living units, staring at the stark desert beyond. She could glimpse a bit of the blue waters of the Gulf of Aden. No matter how hot, she preferred running outdoors than in the air-conditioned fitness center on the treadmills set up for residents of the camp. If Agar had to run in the heat, then she would do no less. The peace of the desert, with the wind off the water and the salty tang in the air, lulled her into a trance, nearly clearing her thoughts of the man Agar had come close to slamming into earlier.

Kinsley had to admit McGuire had appeal, unlike William Toland, who was perhaps old enough to be her father. Knowing McGuire was a SEAL made her all the more curious about the man. Anyone who had gone through BUD/S training had to be not only physically fit, but also mentally equipped to handle the most extreme environments and situations.

Based on the man’s broad shoulders pulling tautly at his uniform, he was fit. But she wasn’t sure about his mental fitness. For a long moment, he’d stared at her before actually opening his mouth. Perhaps he’d been hit once too often in the head and had suffered a brain injury.

At least that’s what Kinsley told herself. She preferred to come up with reasons she should stay away from the man rather than reasons to fall under his spell. She hadn’t joined the army to get married. And fraternization at Camp Lemonnier was strictly forbidden.

Footsteps sounded behind her, disturbing her not-so-peaceful escape.

She tightened her hold on Agar’s lead and moved to the outside of the dirt path, making room for the other runner.

Instead of passing her, the runner slowed to match her pace.

She frowned over at him, ready to tell him to move on, when she noticed it was him...Petty Officer McGuire, the navy SEAL who had been occupying entirely too many of her thoughts since she’d run into him minutes before.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked with a grin.

She shrugged and kept moving. “Can’t stop you.”

“All you have to say is shove off, and I’ll leave you alone,” he said. “Sometimes it’s nice to have a running buddy to fill the time.”

“I actually have one,” she said, and tipped her head toward Agar.

As if he could understand, Agar glanced up at her, his tongue lolling to the side.

“I see.” With a twist of his lips, McGuire gave a curt nod. “Then I’ll leave you two to your workout.” And he picked up his pace, leaving Kinsley behind.

For a moment, Agar strained at the leash, wanting to keep up with the jogger ahead.

Kinsley gave him a sharp command. “Heel.”

The German shepherd immediately fell in step with her, looking up at Kinsley and back to McGuire as if to tell her he could easily catch the man.

“I suppose I was rude,” Kinsley admitted to Agar.

Agar looked up at her words, his mouth open, tongue hanging out the side. He appeared to be smiling, when in fact he was only trying to keep cool in the incredible heat.

“It’s just as well. He has red hair. I make it a point not to get involved with men while I’m deployed. But even if we weren’t deployed, I couldn’t date the man. He has red hair. Our babies would all be doomed to red hair.” She shuddered. “I wouldn’t wish all of my children to that lot in life. Not if I have a choice.”

Her gaze followed the SEAL as he ran to one corner of the huge field, turned and kept running, his powerful thighs pushing him forward with ease.

Kinsley’s heart beat faster and her breathing became more labored as she watched the man’s tight buttocks and well-defined legs. If she were into gingers, he’d be the one to catch. Thank goodness she wasn’t.

Nevertheless, she slowed to a fast walk, letting McGuire widen the gap between them. She didn’t want to risk running into him again at the end of her run. The man had complication written all over him.

When she arrived back at her quarters, she found a note stuck to the door.

Meeting at command center ASAP.

Kinsley had never received a message like that. Her pulse kicked up a notch, but she focused on staying calm. For all she knew, someone might have lodged a complaint about her exercising Agar too close to the living quarters. Or they were switching her to night shift.

She refused to get excited and dare to think she might be sent on an actual mission.

Chapter Two

T-Mac had just stepped out of the shower facility when Big Jake found him.

“Meeting in the command center, now,” Big Jake said.

“Give me two minutes to get dressed.” T-Mac hurried in his flip-flops toward his quarters, threw on his uniform, hat and boots and ran out the door, buttoning his jacket as he went. He jogged all the way to the command center and stepped inside the air-conditioned containerized office unit.

Inside, his team sat around a long, narrow table. Navy Commander Trevor Ward stood at the head of the table, his gaze on T-Mac as he entered. “Now that we’re all here, let’s get this party started.”

T-Mac remained standing near the door, his curiosity piqued, his adrenaline pumping. He preferred missions to boredom any day.

“We’re all ready to mobilize back to the States—” the commander held up his hand “—and as far as everyone is concerned, we will still be leaving in four days. However, we just received intel on a trade deal going down tonight on the border of Somalia.”

The team waited quietly for Commander Ward to continue.

“You might ask what we have to do with trade in this area. But here’s the deal. Someone from around here has been funneling shipments of weapons from around Camp Lemonnier to the Al-Shabaab terrorists in Somalia. Intel intercepted a text communication from a burner cell phone nearby. Apparently, there will be handoff of a shipment conducted tonight in one of the abandoned, shelled-out villages on the other side of the border between Djibouti and Somalia.” He nodded to his assistant, who clicked the keys on a laptop.

A map of the Horn of Africa blinked up on the whiteboard behind the commander.

Commander Ward turned to point at the location marked with a red dot. “The mission is simple. We go in, capture the traitors involved and return them to camp.”

“All in a night’s work,” Harm said. “What’s the catch?”

“Previous attempts by army rangers to recon this village were met with explosives.”

“As in mortars and rocket-propelled grenades?” Buck asked.

The commander’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Not so easy. IEDs and land mines. That’s why we’ll have two additional members on our team.”

As if on cue, the door behind T-Mac opened and a German shepherd entered, followed by Specialist Kinsley Anderson, still dressed in her PT uniform of shorts, a T-shirt and running shoes.

The woman glanced around the room full of men and lifted her chin. “I’m sorry I’m late. I got here as soon as I received word of the meeting.”

“No worries,” the commander said. He waved his hand toward her. “Team, meet Specialist Anderson and Sergeant Agar. They will be with us on this mission tonight.”

All eyes turned to the only female in the room.

T-Mac’s pulse quickened. He’d never been on a mission with a female. Would having a woman in the mix change the dynamics of his team? Not that he was superstitious, but would the others be worried that a woman would jinx their mission?

He glanced around the room at the others’ gazes. For the most part, they appeared more curious than apprehensive.

“Anyone have any issues?” the commander asked.

Specialist Anderson’s chin rose another notch, her gaze sweeping the room full of men, challenging them with just that one look.

Big Jake shrugged. “I’d be glad to have a dog ahead of us. I’ve seen what one can do. They’re pretty amazing.”

“Same,” Buck said. “Rather sniff out the bombs than step on one.”

The rest of the men voiced agreement.

“Then get ready, you leave in—” Commander Ward glanced down at his watch “—one hour.”

T-Mac followed Anderson out of the building. “Do you need help getting ready?” he asked.

“I think I can figure it out,” she said, stepping out smartly and moving toward the containerized living quarters.

Falling in step beside her, T-Mac hustled to keep up. “Is this your first mission outside the wire?” he asked.

She tensed and frowned. “I know my job, and I know what to carry and wear into combat. You don’t have to coddle me because I’m female.”

He held up his hands. “Oh, believe me, I wouldn’t dare do that.” Then he ruined it with a chuckle. “I’d help out the new guy, male or female. I like to come back with all the people we left with intact.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be so defensive.”

“I’m sure you have a right to be.”

She lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “I get tired of people underestimating my abilities just because I’m a woman.”

“I’ve seen you two in action. I have complete confidence in you and Agar.”

The dog lifted his head at the sound of his name and then looked forward again, trotting alongside his handler.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about us. We can handle our job. We’ll keep you and your team safe from explosives.”

“And we’ll do our best to keep you and Agar safe from loose bullets.”

She shot him a hint of a smile. “Thanks.” By then, they were standing in front of her quarters. Specialist Anderson frowned. “I didn’t ask where we should meet.”

T-Mac’s lips twisted. “We’ll be loading up in helicopters. If you like, I can swing by and we can walk over together.”

Her frown cleared. “Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

“My pleasure,” he said, and left her at her door to hurry toward his own quarters, where he’d gear up for the mission ahead.

In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but worry about the addition to their team. The SEALs trained together. They hadn’t trained with a dog handler working out in front of them. Specialist Anderson and Agar might know what they were doing when it came to sniffing out bombs, but they had no experience in hostile environments.

When T-Mac entered the containerized quarters he shared with Harm, his roommate glanced up from assembling his M4A1 rifle with the SOPMOD upgrade. “Hey, T-Mac.”

“Harm.” T-Mac pulled a hard plastic case out from under his bunk, extracted his rifle and pulled it apart piece by piece. He’d cleaned it after his last mission and had assembled and disassembled it a number of times since. Handling his weapon was second nature.

“Saw you walked the dog handler back to her quarters,” Harm said.

“Yeah.” T-Mac stiffened. “So?”

Without looking up from what he was doing, Harm continued. “You know we were just kidding about fixing you up with a female, right?”

T-Mac snorted. “No. I fully expect you guys to bombard me with women.”

Harm gave a twisted grin. “You’re right. But we’d wait until we got back to the States. What with how touchy folks are about not fraternizing while deployed.”

With a frown, T-Mac shook his head. “If this is about Specialist Anderson, forget it. I only offered to help her get ready for the mission. She hasn’t actually been on one before.”

Harm’s head shot up. “Never?”

His chest tightening, T-Mac pressed his lips together. “Everyone has to have a first time.”

His roommate frowned. “I’d rather it wasn’t with us.”

“Would you rather she went out with some teenaged infantry soldiers who are barely out of boot camp?”

Harm sighed. “I suppose not. But I don’t like the idea of babysitting when we have a mission to accomplish.”

T-Mac pulled the bolt from his weapon, inspected it and shot it back home, reassembling the weapon in record time. “I’d almost rather take my chances with the mines and IEDs than risk losing her and the dog.”

“Not me,” Harm said. “Remember what happened to Roadrunner when he got too far ahead of the rest of us on that extraction mission in Afghanistan?”

T-Mac’s stomach clenched at the memory.

Roadrunner had been point man when he’d stepped on a land mine. Thankfully for Roadrunner, he’d died instantly. The team had been left to pick up the pieces, physically and mentally.

“Hopefully Anderson and Agar know their stuff,” T-Mac muttered.

“Yeah. But they’re all about sniffing out explosives. We have to worry about the snipers. A lot of money goes into training dogs and handlers.”

“And SEALs,” T-Mac reminded him.

Harm nodded. “That’s a given. I’d like to make it back to the States in four days. Talia will be waiting at my apartment. I let her use it for a place to stay while she’s house hunting.”

T-Mac shot a glance toward his teammate. “I thought you two were a thing?”

“We are. But I want her to be sure. Moving from Africa back to the States is a big deal. And dating a SEAL won’t make it much easier.” Harm lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “I don’t want to pressure her. She needs time to make up her own mind and be comfortable with herself.”

“Before she commits to you?”

“Yeah.” Harm grinned. “You know our lives aren’t easy even for us. I want her to know how it is and what she can expect before we tie the knot.”

“What happened to being confirmed bachelors? I thought we were a team. And now you all have women.” T-Mac shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

Harm chuckled, pulled his steel-plated vest out of his go bag and laid it out on his bunk. “You’ll get it when you find the woman who makes you reconsider everything you ever thought to be true.”

“Now you’re starting to sound sappy. I’m not sure I want to find a woman who makes me go soft.” T-Mac strapped a scabbard around his calf and stuck his Ka-Bar knife into it. “Next thing you know, you’ll be second-guessing yourself on the battlefield.”

“Never.” Harm shrugged into his vest and secured several empty magazines into the straps. “Let’s quit flapping our gums and go meet up with your cute dog handler.”

“She’s not my dog handler.”

“No?” Harm gave him a side-eye glance and raised one eyebrow. “Sure looked like it to the rest of us.”

“She’s not my dog handler,” T-Mac insisted, his tone hard, his lips tight.

“Whatever you say.” Harm grabbed his helmet and stepped out of the box. “But between the two of you redheads, you’d make some really cute redheaded babies.”

“She’s not my redhead,” T-Mac said through clenched teeth as he snagged his helmet and followed Harm. “And we’re not having babies.”

“Who’s having babies?” Buck fell in step behind Harm and T-Mac. “If T-Mac is planning on marrying the dog handler, they can start their own ginger basketball team. Or hockey team. Or whatever team they want. They’d all be gingers.”

“We’re not getting married. She’s not my dog handler, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t say anything around her about babies and basketball teams.” T-Mac picked up the pace, hoping that by walking faster, his teammates wouldn’t have the time nor desire to poke fun at him.

Pitbull and Big Jake stepped out of the quarters they shared.

“What’s this about babies and basketball teams?” Pitbull asked. “Is T-Mac marrying his dog handler?”

T-Mac threw his hand in the air. “She’s not my dog handler.”

Big Jake chuckled. “I think he protests too much. I swear I saw something between the two of them.”

“You can’t see something that wasn’t there.” T-Mac sighed. “I get it. This is all part of razzing me because I choose to stay a bachelor and have my pick of women out there while you losers commit to being with one woman for the rest of your lives. I think I have the better deal.”

“What deal?” Diesel jogged to catch up to the team. “What did I miss?”

“T-Mac’s met his match,” Buck said.

T-Mac gritted his teeth. “I didn’t.”

“His dog handler?” Diesel guessed.

“She’s not my dog handler.” T-Mac might as well have been talking to a wall.

“Oh, he’s going to fall hard,” Diesel said. “She’s got attitude and a dog. A killer combination. What’s not to love about that?”

“I’m not in love. She’s not my handler, and I don’t even think the dog likes me.” He glanced toward the container where Specialist Anderson was staying and debated walking past and letting her find her own way to where the helicopters were parked. But he’d promised to walk with her. He slowed, hoping the rest of the team would walk on without questioning why he was stopping.

But he knew them better than that. They weren’t stupid and they would figure it out pretty quickly.

“Look, guys, could you be serious for once?” He turned and raised his hand to knock on the door.

All five of his friends came to a complete stop.

T-Mac groaned as the door opened.

Agar came out first and immediately sniffed T-Mac’s crotch.

A rumble of chuckles sounded behind T-Mac.

“I guess the dog likes you after all,” Buck muttered.

More chuckles sounded.

Heat rose up T-Mac’s neck into his cheeks as he glanced up at Specialist Anderson. “Don’t listen to anything these yahoos say. They’re all full of... Well, they’re full of it, anyway.”

KINSLEY TORE HER gaze away from the SEAL standing in front of her looking all hot and incredibly sexy in his combat gear. Beyond Petty Officer McGuire stood five of the other men who’d been in the command center minutes before. She stepped out of the doorway, looped the strap of her rifle over her shoulder and double-wrapped the dog’s lead around her hand. “What am I not supposed to listen to them about?”

“Tell her, T-Mac,” one of them encouraged.

“We don’t have time for games,” McGuire said. “We have a mission to accomplish before we head home.”

“You’re heading home?” Kinsley asked.

“Four days and a wakeup,” the tallest of the group answered.

“Where’s home?” Kinsley fell in step with them as they wove their way through the temporary buildings to the landing strip where planes and helicopters parked.

“Little Creek, Virginia,” McGuire answered.

“What about you?” one of the guys asked. “Where is your home base?”

“San Antonio, Texas, was my last PCS assignment,” Kinsley said.

“That’s where they train Military Working Dogs, isn’t it?” McGuire asked. “They have a facility at Lackland Air Force Base. Is that where you and Agar received your training?”

She nodded. “I spent the past year in training.”

“T-Mac says this is your first assignment since training.”

Again, Kinsley nodded. “That’s true. Agar was the best in his class. He could find trace amounts of explosives that none of our own detection equipment could pick up.” She patted the dog’s head. “He’s good at what he does. If there are IEDs or land mines, he’ll prove himself tonight.”

As they reached the helicopters, more SEALs gathered. Ammunition was dispensed. Then it came time for them to load into the helicopters.

Kinsley started for one of the choppers away from McGuire and his group.

The navy commander who’d briefed them caught up to her. “You’re riding in the other bird. Stick with T-Mac. He’ll make sure you’re safe.”

“I can take care of myself,” Kinsley insisted.

“I understand,” the commander said. “But the team isn’t used to working with a dog and its handler. It’s for their safety as well as yours.”

Kinsley couldn’t argue with that. Apparently, she was to have a handler. “Yes, sir.”

The commander escorted her back to the other helicopter where McGuire, or T-Mac, as his team nicknamed him, stood, waiting his turn to climb aboard.

“T-Mac,” the commander called out.

The SEAL turned when he saw who was with his superior.

“I have an assignment for you,” Commander Ward said.

“Yes, sir,” T-Mac replied.

“You’re to keep up with Specialist Anderson and Sergeant Agar. Bring them back safely.”

T-Mac’s eyes narrowed. “Sir?”

Kinsley stiffened.

The SEAL didn’t look too excited.

“You heard me,” the commander said. “Take care of them out there. You don’t know what you’ll be up against.”

“Yes, sir.” T-Mac nodded.

When the others in the helicopter chuckled, T-Mac shot a glare their way.

With the odd feeling she wasn’t in on the joke, Kinsley stepped up to the chopper.

“Has Agar been in a helicopter?” T-Mac asked.

Kinsley nodded. “Not only has he been up, he’s been hoisted in and out on a cable multiple times. He’s calm throughout.”

“Good.” T-Mac offered her a hand up.

Ignoring the hand, Kinsley motioned for Agar to go first. Then she stepped up into the chopper and found a seat between the tallest guy and one who was stout with a barrel chest. She settled between them and buckled her safety harness, keeping Agar close at her feet.

“I’m Jake,” said the tall man. “They call me Big Jake.”

Kinsley shook hands with the man. “Nice to meet you, Big Jake.”

“I’m Pitbull.” The barrel-chested guy stuck out his hand. “Here, you’ll need these.” He handed her a headset.

She removed her helmet and settled the headset over her ears. Immediately, she could hear static and the pilot and copilot performing a communications check with the passengers.

She watched and listened as each of the SEALs answered, and she committed their names to memory.

“Diesel.”

“Pitbull.”

“Buck.”

“Big Jake.”

“Harm.”

“T-Mac.”

Her heart skipped several beats when T-Mac spoke. He sat in the seat opposite, his gaze on her. When no one else spoke, he winked and touched his finger to his own microphone.

Kinsley realized she’d forgotten to say her name. With heat rising up in her cheeks, she spoke into the mic. “Anderson and Agar.”

T-Mac grinned.

A moment later, the helicopter lifted off the ground, swung out over the Gulf of Aden and then turned south, back over the Horn of Africa.

The sun had sunk low on the horizon, bathing the land in a bright orange glow.

If they hadn’t been headed into a potentially hostile environment, Kinsley would have enjoyed the view, the sunset and the warm wind blowing in her face. But this was her first real combat assignment. She wasn’t scared, but she was anxious to do well.

She sat back in her seat, forcing herself to be calm. Agar needed her full focus. He sensed her every mood and emotion. He needed to know she was in full control of herself as well as him. They’d trained to save lives by finding dangers lurking beneath the surface or behind walls.

For the duration of the flight, she concentrated on reducing her heart rate, breathing deeply and going over everything she’d learned in the intensive training she’d been through with Agar. Dogs weren’t deployed unless they were ready. And dog handlers didn’t last long in training if they weren’t capable, consistent and calm. She’d excelled along with Agar.

All of her training had been for more than inspecting vehicles entering through the post gates.

Agar nudged her foot with his nose and looked up at her.

Kinsley rubbed the dog’s snout and scratched him behind his ears.

He laid his head on her lap, as if sensing her unrest.

When Kinsley glanced up again, it was to stare across the darkening fuselage at the SEAL seated across from her. Though she resented feeling like she had to be babysat, she was glad she had someone with more combat experience watching her back.

All too soon, the helicopter touched down. The second one landed beside it.

Kinsley removed the helicopter headset, slipped her helmet on and latched the buckle beneath her chin. She exited the aircraft and stood to the side with Agar while all twelve SEALs alighted, checked their gear and waited for the signal to move out.

T-Mac approached her and handed her a small electronic device. “You’ll need these earpieces to hear the team as we move through the village. You’ll have to keep them up-to-date while they’re looking for our traitor.”

Kinsley fitted the device in her ear and spoke. “Testing.”

Big Jake took charge, giving directions, performing one last communication check on their radio headsets.

After everyone checked in, Big Jake gathered them in a circle. “The village should be another four clicks to the east. We need to get in, clear the rubble of any enemy combatants and wait for the handoff. Any questions?”

Big Jake nodded toward Kinsley. “Take it, dog soldier.”

Kinsley’s heartbeat quickened. This was it. She and Agar had a job to do, lives to save and explosives to find.

She tugged on Agar’s lead, sending him in the direction Big Jake indicated. She allowed the dog to run out at the extent of the retractable lead and walked behind him. She carried her rifle in her right hand, the lead in her left.

T-Mac fell in step beside her, his specialized M4A1 at the ready position.

Darkness had settled over the landscape with a blanket of stars lighting their way.

Agar zigzagged back and forth in front of her, his nose to the ground, tail wagging, moving swiftly enough that Kinsley had to hustle to keep up.

One kilometer passed without incident. Then two. As they neared their target, Kinsley slowed Agar, encouraging him to take his time. The team had chosen to approach the abandoned village from the west, establish a defensive position and wait for the party to start. The handoff was supposed to take place at midnight. That gave them a few hours to get in place and hunker down.

From what some of her more experienced counterparts had reported, sometimes it took hours to navigate a quarter-mile stretch. If their adversary considered the location to be worth the effort to defend or sabotage, they could have rigged it with land mines or trip wires hooked to detonators.

Glad for T-Mac’s protection, she led the SEALs toward the crumbled buildings at the edge of the little village.

As they neared the closest of what was left of a mud-and-stick hut, Agar stopped, sniffed and lay down on the ground.

Kinsley’s pulse quickened. “He found something.”

She marked the spot with a flag and bent to scratch Agar behind the ears, then gave him the command to continue his search. Within a few feet he lay down again.

Marking the new spot, Kinsley worked with Agar, moving a few feet at time, ever closer to the village, at what felt like an excruciatingly slow pace.

“I don’t like it,” T-Mac said. “If they have a sniper waiting in one of those buildings, they can easily pick us off.”

“Unless they figure the explosives will alert them to anyone coming in from this direction,” Big Jake said into Kinsley’s ear.

She ignored the chatter and continued until she and Agar had identified a clear path to the village through what appeared to be a short field of submerged mines.

Once inside the crumbled walls of the village, Agar moved from structure to structure, sniffing without lying down.

Kinsley didn’t let her guard down for a moment. After encountering the mines, she wouldn’t put it past whoever set them to have more hidden treasures to keep unwanted visitors out.

She had Agar enter huts along the way, clear them and move on, aiming toward the center of the village and the road that led through the middle.

All the while, T-Mac remained at her side, his weapon ready, hand on the trigger.

As Agar neared the building on the edge of the road, he slowed. His hackles rose on the back of his neck and he uttered a low and dangerous growl.

Kinsley dropped to a squat in the shadow of the nearest building.

T-Mac followed her movement and knelt on one knee at her side. “What’s the growl mean?”

“Someone’s nearby,” Kinsley whispered.

T-Mac held up a hand where the others could see his command to stop.

Kinsley didn’t dare look back. All her focus was on Agar and what was in front of the dog.

“We’ll take it from here.” T-Mac rose and started forward.

Kinsley caught his arm before he could move past her. “But what if there are more explosives?”

“You’re not going any farther.” T-Mac glanced down at her. “Bring Agar back.”

Kinsley didn’t like being relegated to the rear. She’d come this far; she wanted to complete her work.

Before she could bring Agar back, the dog turned and entered a building, his growls increasing in volume and intensity.

Kinsley hurried after him.

“Wait,” T-Mac called after her.

She had to know Agar was all right. As she ran forward, she pulled her flashlight from her pocket. When she turned into the doorway of the building, she flipped on the switch and shone the light, filtered with a red lens, into the room.

Agar stood with his feet planted and his lips pulled back in a wicked snarl.

As she panned the light around to see what Agar was growling at, a man’s face appeared in the glow...a face she knew.

Kinsley gasped but didn’t have time to react when the man lifted his rifle and fired point-blank into her chest.

The bullet hit with enough force to knock her backward through the door. She landed flat on her back and lay stunned.

Before she could catch her breath, the world erupted in gunfire around her.

Agar flew out of the building and landed on his side.

“No!” Kinsley screamed silently, though nothing would come from her lungs. She rolled to her side and tried to rise.

Agar yelped, the kind of sound only emitted when an animal was hurt.

Pushing past her own breathlessness and the pain in her chest, Kinsley crawled toward the dog, her heart in her throat, her need to reach Agar foremost in her mind.

Then an explosion went off in the building in front of her, shooting mud, rock and shrapnel in all directions.

Kinsley felt the force of the blast against her eardrums. Her body was peppered with rock and shrapnel like so many pellets from a shotgun shell. Dust billowed outward, choking the air, blinding Kinsley before she could reach Agar.

A sharp pain ripped through her side; still she staggered to her feet, crying out, “Agar!”

A high-pitched whistling sound screamed through the air.

“Incoming!” T-Mac yelled. Then he hit her from behind, sending her flying through the air to land hard on the packed dirt.

T-Mac landed on top of her, knocking the air from her lungs yet again. At the same time, another explosion rocked the ground she lay against.

Her ears rang, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe or move. Dust and debris rained down on them. A darkness so deep closed in on her, threatening to pull her under.

“Agar.” She reached out her hand, patting the ground, unable to move or crawl forward. Then her fingers touched fur. A sob rose in her throat as her vision faded and the ringing in her ears became a roar. She couldn’t pass out. Agar needed her.

The next thing she knew, she was being lifted into the air. She struggled to get free. “No.”

“Be still, Kinsley.” T-Mac’s voice sounded in her ear. “I’ll get you out of here.”

“No,” she croaked, choking on dust. “Can’t leave—”

Gunfire sounded all around.

“I have to get you out of here,” T-Mac insisted. “You’ve been hit.”

“Can’t leave.” She fought him, pounding her fists against his chest.

Big Jake appeared beside her. “Get her out of here.”

T-Mac fought to retain his hold on her. “She refuses to go.”

“Agar.” Kinsley pushed against T-Mac’s chest.

“He was hit,” T-Mac said.

She swung her legs out of T-Mac’s grasp and dropped to the ground. “Not leaving without him.” Her knees buckled and she would have crumpled into a heap if T-Mac hadn’t been holding on to her.

Again he scooped her up into his arms. “You can’t stay here.”

“I’ll get the dog.” Big Jake ran into the swirling dust and reappeared a moment later, carrying Agar.

“Oh, God,” Kinsley sobbed. “Agar.” Tears streamed from her eyes. “Let me help him.”

“Not until we’re out of here.” T-Mac ran through the village, back the way they’d come. He passed his team as they moved in the opposite direction.

Over T-Mac’s shoulder, Kinsley watched for Big Jake. The big man appeared out of the cloud of dust, still holding Agar.

Then, as they cleared the edge of the village, Big Jake staggered and fell to his knees, his arms hitting the ground first, cushioning Agar’s landing.

“Stop!” Kinsley screamed. “Big Jake’s down.”

“I can’t stop,” T-Mac said. “I can only carry one person at a time.”

Behind Big Jake, another one of the SEALs appeared, looped Big Jake’s arm over his shoulder and half carried the big man down the path between the flags Kinsley had planted to identify the buried land mines.

Agar remained on the ground...left behind.

“Let me down,” Kinsley begged. “Please.” She didn’t dare struggle, afraid that if she did, she’d make T-Mac stumble and veer into one of the mines. Her strength waned, and a warm wet stickiness spread across her right arm and leg.

“Please, you can’t leave Agar. He’s my partner. He trusted me.” Her voice faded to a whisper as tears trickled down her face and darkness threatened to block out the stars shining above.

The crackle of gunfire and the boom of explosions seemed to be coming from farther and farther away.

Kinsley must have passed out. When she came to, T-Mac was laying her on the floor of a helicopter. When she tried to sit up, her body refused to cooperate. All she could lift was her head, and only for a moment before it dropped to the hard metal floor. “Agar,” she said on a sigh.

“Buck, do what you can,” T-Mac said. “She’s bleeding in several places.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “Please, go find Agar.”

No one seemed to be listening as they pulled off her helmet, unbuckled her protective vest and applied pressure to her wounds.

“Shh, you’re going to be all right.” T-Mac leaned over her, brushing her hair from her face, while someone else ripped her uniform jacket away from her leg.

The rumble of rotor blades sounded and the helicopter lifted from the ground.

As they rose into the air, Kinsley reached out a hand. “Agar.”

T-Mac took her hand. “We’ll take care of you.”

“But who will take care of Agar?” she whispered.

And then the sounds of the rotor blades faded, and the world went black.

Chapter Three

T-Mac stayed with Specialist Anderson from the moment he carried her out of the village until they wheeled her into the medical facility at Camp Lemonnier. At that point, the medical team on standby grabbed him and made him take a gurney as well.

“You’re bleeding,” one of the medics said.

“I don’t care. I promised to take care of Anderson.” He pushed to his feet and slipped in something wet on the floor.

The medic grabbed his arm and steadied him. “She’s in good hands. And you can’t go back with her.”

“But it was my responsibility to take care of her.” And he’d failed. Miserably.

The physician on call appeared in front of T-Mac, a frown furrowing his brow. “You might not care about your own injuries, but you’re putting everyone else in this facility in danger with the amount of blood you’re getting on the floor. Take a seat, SEAL.”

At the command in the doctor’s voice, T-Mac sat on the gurney.

The medics stripped him of his body armor and uniform jacket and cut away the leg of his trousers.

In minutes the doctor had fished out the shrapnel, stitched the wound and applied a bandage.

The medics cleaned up the blood from the floor and set his gear on a chair beside the examination table.

T-Mac pushed to a sitting position and reached for his boots. Once he had his feet in them, he slid off the table to stand on the floor. He swayed slightly.

The medic was there, helping him stay upright. “Hey, you’re going to rip a stitch if you’re not careful.”

“I want to see Specialist Anderson.”

“They’re taking care of her now.” The young medic, who couldn’t be more than nineteen years old, released his arm. “I’ll go check on her and let you know how it’s going.” He helped him out of the room and nodded toward the front of the building. “In the meantime, you can take a seat in the lobby. I’ll bring your gear.”

Gritting his teeth, T-Mac turned away as another gurney entered the building with Big Jake on it.

His face was pale, but his eyes were open. He grabbed T-Mac’s arm as he passed. “How’s the dog soldier?”

“They’re working on her now.” T-Mac scanned his friend. “Where were you hit?”

“Took a bullet in the buttocks.” Big Jake laughed and grimaced. “Only hurts when I laugh, or move, or hell, anything. I’ll be glad when they get it out.”

T-Mac stood back, his gaze going to the medics pushing the gurney. “Take care of my friend.”

“We’ve got this. You might want to take a seat while you’re waiting,” the medic who’d helped him said. “You lost a little bit of blood yourself.”

T-Mac made his way to the lobby. The window looking out was still dark.

As promised, the medic delivered his gear, setting it on the floor beside a chair.

Wearing his torn pants, the air-conditioned air cool on his exposed leg, T-Mac paced the short distance between chairs. He prayed the female dog handler and Big Jake would be all right. Part of him wanted to be back in the bombed-out village, wreaking havoc on those who’d hurt his team.

Seeing Anderson blown back out of the building by the power of a point-blank attack made his gut clench. He’d tried to grab her arm before she went in, but she’d been too fast, worried about her dog. He should have known she’d do something like that and thought ahead. She was his responsibility. Even if the commander hadn’t tagged him with the job, he would have taken it anyway.

As he stared at his body armor and helmet, he wondered if the rest of his team was still fighting or if they’d brought the little village under control.

The whole mission had felt as if it had been a fiasco from the very beginning...as if they had been led into the chute like lambs to slaughter.

Unfortunately, Specialist Anderson had been first up. She’d taken a bullet to her armor-plated chest. Thankfully, she’d worn her protective gear, or she’d be dead. As it was, the mortar having landed near them had taken its toll. If she didn’t die of a punctured or collapsed lung from the blunt force of being fired on at close range, she might die from the multiple shrapnel wounds across her arms and legs. Or suffer from traumatic brain injury.

He didn’t feel the stitches pinching since the doctor had given him a local anesthetic, but he felt ridiculous in his one-legged pants.

All the while he sat in the lobby, his teammates could be facing the fight of their lives, and he wasn’t there to help.

An hour passed, and the medic came out. “Your friend, Petty Officer Schuler, is going to be okay. He should be out shortly.”

Minutes later, Big Jake limped out into the lobby, wearing what T-Mac assumed were borrowed gym shorts and his T-shirt.

A medic carried his body armor and helmet, as well as his shirt and the remainder of his pants. “I can help you get back to your quarters when the shift changes in an hour,” he promised. He glanced over his shoulder. “I have to get back in there.”

“Wait.” T-Mac took a step forward. “What’s the status of Specialist Anderson?”

The medic shook his head. “They removed all the shrapnel, but she’s still unconscious. They were waiting to see if she’d come out of it on her own, but she got kind of combative, so they sedated her. The doctor thinks she might have a concussion. We’ve called for transport to get her to the next level of care. They’ll either take her to Ramstein in Germany or back to the States.”

T-Mac’s chest tightened. “How soon?”

“As soon as we can scramble a crew and medical staff to fly out on a C-130.” The medic turned. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back.” He disappeared before T-Mac could ask any more questions.

Big Jake laid a hand on T-Mac’s shoulder. “I’m sorry about your dog handler.”

For every time T-Mac had corrected his teammates, he knew he’d been lying to himself. He didn’t know Kinsley Anderson well, nor did he have any ties to her, other than having been assigned to protect her. Still, he had felt she was his dog handler and that he was responsible for seeing to her safety.

The door to the medical facility burst open behind T-Mac and Big Jake. Buck, Harm, Diesel and Pitbull pushed through, covered in dust and smelling of gunpowder.

“Thank God you’re both okay.” Buck clapped a hand to T-Mac’s back.

“We didn’t know what had happened to you when you took off,” Pitbull said.

Diesel nodded toward their pant legs and grinned. “New fashion statement in uniform trousers?” Then his smile faded. “You’re okay?”

Big Jake snorted. “Other than a stitch here and there, we’ll survive.”

“What about T-Mac’s dog handler?” Harm asked.

T-Mac’s jaw tightened. “They’re going to ship her out to the next level of medical support.” He turned to Harm. “What about Agar? What happened to the dog?” T-Mac knew the first thing Kinsley would want to know was if her dog made it out alive.

Harm shook his head. “We got him onto the helicopter and carried him to the camp veterinarian. I can’t tell you whether he’ll make it. He was nonresponsive when we delivered him, but I think he still had a heartbeat.”

When Kinsley recovered enough to ask, she’d receive yet another blow if the dog didn’t make it. T-Mac wanted to know more about Agar’s condition, but he wasn’t leaving the medical facility until the army specialist did.

“You might as well get some rest,” Big Jake said. “You can’t do anything for her now.”

“I know. But I’m staying,” he said.

Big Jake nodded. “You know it wasn’t your fault she was hurt.”

T-Mac’s fists knotted, but he didn’t say anything.

Big Jake touched his arm. “You couldn’t have known the dog would dart into that building, or that someone was there waiting to shoot her.”

“That’s right,” Buck stated. “She’s lucky she had on her body armor, or she wouldn’t be alive—”

Pitbull elbowed Buck in the ribs. “She’s going to be okay. The docs will take good care of her. And when they get her to a real hospital, they’ll make sure she gets even better care.”

T-Mac knew all that, but he wouldn’t feel better about any of it until he saw the dog handler standing in front of him, giving him attitude.

“If you two are up to it, the CO wants a debrief,” Harm said. “He’s out for blood. The way we see it, we were set up, plain and simple.”

“Did you find the guy who shot Specialist Anderson?” T-Mac asked.

Harm’s lips thinned. “We thought we’d find pieces of him after the explosion, but he got away. There was a back door to that hut.”

Anger seared through T-Mac’s veins. “He got away?”

“Yeah,” Buck said. “And the only guy they left behind was in no condition to give us any answers.”

“He was dead,” Pitbull said.

“Shot in the back,” Diesel finished.

“Not only were they waiting for us,” Harm said, “but they had their escape plan in place before we got there.”

Buck’s eyes narrowed. “Someone tipped them off about what time we left. We got there well before the arranged trade deadline.”

“Any others hurt besides the three of us and Agar?” T-Mac asked.

“No,” Pitbull said. “When the dust settled, they were gone in a couple of pickup trucks. We would have gone after them, but we figured the dog needed medical attention.”

“What exactly happened to the dog handler?” Harm wanted to know.

“She was shot in the chest by whomever was in that hut.”

“That’ll give her nightmares.” Diesel shook his head. “Seeing the face of the man who shot you would leave an indelible image in your mind.”

T-Mac snorted. “She was more concerned about Agar being hurt than the fact she’d nearly been killed.”

“I hope they make it.” Big Jake gently rubbed a hand over his backside. “The whole mission was a disaster.”

T-Mac ran a hand through his hair. “Absolutely. Tell the commander what I told you. I’ll be here, if he wants to hear it from me in person.”

“Will do.” Big Jake limped out of the facility with the others on their way to the debrief.

T-Mac paced the lobby again, his frustration growing with each step. He hoped he could be around when Kinsley came to. He wanted to let her know how sorry he was for not keeping her and Agar safe.

Just when T-Mac was ready to ignore the rules and march back to Kinsley’s bed, the medic returned.

“She’s still out of it,” he said. “But you can come back and sit with her.”

KINSLEY HOVERED BETWEEN the dark and the light. Every time she felt as if she were surfacing from a deep, black well, she stretched out her hand only to slip back into it. No matter how hard she climbed and scraped her hands on the hard stone walls, she couldn’t seem to get to the top. Her fingers grew chilled from the coldness of the stones.

And then warmth wrapped around her hand.

She quit fighting to climb and lay back, basking in the warmth radiating from her hand up her arm and throughout her body.

A deep voice came to her through the black abyss.

“Kinsley, wake up and tell me I’m wrong.”

That voice made her want to wake, but that well she’d been clawing her way out of wouldn’t let her go.

“Kinsley, you’re going to be okay. You just need to wake up and give me all kinds of grief for not taking care of you.”

Who was talking to her? And what was he talking about? She tried to open her eyes but she didn’t have the strength. So, she lay listening to the warm, deep tones, letting them wash over her, fill her, hold her up when she couldn’t stay afloat in the bottomless well. The voice permeated her insides while a strong hand cupped hers, providing heat when she felt so very cold.

Images and sensations swirled in an endless cyclone, refusing to coalesce into anything she could recognize. Faces, dust, fur, sounds, blinding flashes, all spinning inside, making her dizzy, forcing her back into that well, away from the light.

“Kinsley, sweetheart, you’re going to be all right. Open your eyes. You’ll see. I should have been the one entering that building. You and Agar wouldn’t have been hurt if I’d gone first. You have to be okay. Agar is going to need you.”

Agar? The word was odd, yet familiar. Still, she couldn’t remember why. Nothing made sense. The only anchor keeping her from drowning in the whirlpool threatening to take her under was the voice in the darkness urging her toward the light.

As the black abyss pulled her under, she tightened her hold on the big hand.

MINUTES, HOURS or days later—Kinsley couldn’t tell—she blinked her eyes open and stared at the top of an auburn head lying on the sheet beside her. She wasn’t in her apartment back in San Antonio. Then she remembered—she’d deployed. Her brow furrowed. To where? She thought hard, the truth just out of her grasp.

She was in the army. They’d sent her on a long flight to...

Nothing.

Frustration made her want to hit something. But when she tried to clench her fist, she couldn’t. Someone was holding her hand.

Again, she stared at the head on the sheet beside her. Perhaps the man who owned the head was also the one holding her hand.

But why?

The astringent scent of disinfectant assailed her nostrils. Her gaze moved from the stranger’s head to the walls around her. Once again, she realized she wasn’t in an apartment, and based on the unusual bed, the bright overhead lights and the monitor tracking her heartbeat, she had to be in some kind of hospital.

Had she been hurt? Kinsley took inventory of her body. Twinges of pain answered for her. Stinging on the surface of her arms and legs let her know she had cuts and abrasions. Her chest felt bruised, and breathing deeply made it slightly worse.

But who was the man with his head on her bed? And what was she forgetting that was so important? Something tugged at her mind, something she should remember, but couldn’t.

“Psst,” she said.

The man remained facedown on the sheet.

“Hey.” When she spoke, her voice sounded like a frog’s croak.

The head stirred and lifted. Blue eyes opened, and ginger brows knitted together. “Kinsley?” the man said.

“Yes, that’s me.” She frowned. “But who are you?”

He sat up straight in the chair beside her bed and pushed a hand through his hair. “I’m T-Mac. Don’t you remember me?”

Her frown deepened, making her head hurt. “If I remembered, would I be asking?”

He chuckled. “You still have your bite. We met yesterday, near your quarters.”

“Quarters?” She looked around. “These aren’t my quarters.”

His brows pinched together again. “No. You’re in the Djibouti medical facility.”

“Why am I here?” she asked.

“You were injured in a skirmish in Somalia.”

“Skirmish?” she asked, feeling like she was missing a chunk of her memory. And it was scaring her. “What day is it?”

He told her the date. “You were shot and involved in an explosion.”

She gasped, her heartbeat fluttering uncontrollably. “What was I doing in Somalia?” The green line on the monitor jumped erratically.

The auburn-haired man pushed to his feet. “Let me get the doctor.”

“I’m okay,” she said. “I’m okay,” she repeated, as if to remind herself. “I just can’t remember any of that.”

He didn’t listen, leaving the room in a hurry.

Kinsley lifted her head. A sharp pain slashed through her forehead. She lay back, closed her eyes and let it abate before she opened her eyes again.

By then T-Mac had returned with a man in a white coat. He introduced himself as her doctor. She couldn’t commit his name to her memory with the pain throbbing in her head.

He shone a light into her eyes. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

She tried to shake her head, remembering too late that it caused pain. Kinsley winced. “No.” Her heart beat fast and her hands shook as she pressed her fingertips to her temple. “I can’t remember what day it is.”

“Do you know who the president of the United States is?” the doctor asked.

She thought, but couldn’t come up with a name. “No.”

“What about where you were born?” he persisted.

The more she tried to remember, the worse her head hurt. “I can’t remember.” A tear slipped from the corner of her eye to run down her cheek.

The doctor patted her hand. “Don’t be too alarmed. You had a concussion. Temporary memory loss can be a side effect.”

“Will it come back?” Kinsley asked. “Will I remember where I’m from and who the president is?”

He smiled down at her. “You should. Give yourself time to recover. We’re trying to get a transport to send you back to a higher-level medical-care facility, but we can’t seem to find a C-130 we can tap into for the next couple days. You might be stuck with us.”

“I’m fine,” she said, and pushed up on her elbows. “I need to get back to work.” She shook her head. “If only I could remember what work I do.”

The doctor touched her shoulder. “Don’t strain your brain. The memories will return, given time.”

She lay back on the bed, her gaze following the doctor as he left her room. Kinsley wanted to call him back, to make him give her some pill or potion to force her memories to return. Not knowing things was confusing and frightening.

Her gaze shifted to T-Mac. “Why are you here?”

He smiled. “I wanted to make sure you were going to be okay.”

“I’m okay. You don’t have to be here. I’m sure you have more important things to do.”

“Do you mind if I stay? I’m not on duty or anything. After being here all night, I feel invested in your well-being.”

She shrugged. “Suit yourself. I’m probably going to go back to sleep. Maybe when I wake up again, I’ll remember what I’ve forgotten.” She laughed, the sound catching on a sob. “I don’t even know what I’ve forgotten.”

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