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Securing Arizona

Heather Long

Contents

Securing Arizona

Note from the Author

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Heather Long

Securing Arizona

James “Mickey” MacBride retired from the teams with a solid record of mission accomplished. Now at odds and ends, he accepts the request of his retired Petty Officer grandfather. They want to gather the children of the USS Arizona—the descendants of the 355 survivors—for a special event. No problem, how hard can finding one woman named Arizona Kensington be?

Ari King has been on the run for over a year. No matter where she goes, her stalker finds her. She’s changed her name, her hair color, and even gave up the job she loved. When Mickey walks into the restaurant and asks for her by the name she surrendered, she takes his order then leaves via the back door, running for her life. Only she can’t shake him.

Securing Arizona was supposed to be a favor, but Mickey soon discovers it’s the mission of his life, and the men after her will have to go through this SEAL to get her.

Note from the Author

First off, let me say thank you to the amazing Susan Stoker for inviting me to come get my feet wet with the SEALs. I’m more a Marine type of girl, but I fell for Mickey at the concept stage and I couldn’t wait to write this love on the run. Like the song says, love can come from the most unexpected places.

Xoxo

Heather

Chapter 1

James “Mickey” McBride checked the GPS on his phone then eyed the restaurant. A tidy, cheerful looking place, with a cast iron skillet on the sign and the scent of fried chicken filling the air, it seemed inviting. Jerry’s Roadhouse was the fourth stop on his scavenger hunt to find Arizona Kensington. At least checking off this woman from his list of possibilities came with the opportunity to order food. He was starving.

The phone in his hand began to ring, and his grandfather’s name appeared on the ID. Gliding his thumb over the screen to answer, he put it to his ear. “Hey, Old Man,” he said, grinning as he ran his palm over the stubble on his cheeks. He’d left Tucson before dawn and driven straight through, so he was looking kind of rough.

“Gimme a report, Stubby.” His grandfather was the only man alive allowed to refer to him by that nickname. Even the members of his team, who’d had occasion to hear it, understood Mickey didn’t joke about his name.

“I’m hell and gone in New Mexico. I’ve tracked down four of the five possibilities. This is number five, if she’s here.” So far, he’d tracked her to a small university town in Utah, a gas station in Colorado, and a truck stop in Arizona. Her name and hair color seemed to change with every location, but Pops didn’t need to know that part. Tracking her via a credit card only took him so far, so he’d cashed in a couple of favors to track the IP address where she logged into her Cloud account.

His debt to payoff ratio was rapidly sinking him into the red.

“Stubby, the reunion party is in just two weeks. We need her here. She’s family.” Family. His grandfather counted anyone in the uniform or related to one as a member of his extended family.

“I’m on it, Pops.” The old man didn’t ask him for favors—like, ever. Since retirement kicked in, Mickey had been at loose ends. Pops asked him for something, Mickey planned to deliver.

“Don’t put lipstick on a pig, Stubby. Just…” The old man huffed then sighed. “It’s an important event. Only a few of the old-timers left, and we want to see everyone honored, and the baton passed. You kids need to appreciate where you came from. Your legacy.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.” He’d heard the story plenty of times. His grandfather had been a wet behind the ears seaman, assigned the U.S.S. Arizona for a few days prior to its destruction. The event left its marks on him, and no matter how many tall tales his pops told, Mickey had understood the subtext. After eight years on the Teams, he heard all the words Pops didn’t use. “I’ll find her.”

“Happy hunting.” The old man hung up. They weren’t into hugs and tears. Scratching his jaw, Mickey eyed the restaurant. It was just after noon, the place opened an hour earlier. Accessing his phone, he scrolled to the email Jacko sent him. One of the best technical assistants for mission ops, Jacko left the service and opened his own internet guru genius coop. Mickey didn’t pretend to understand what it was Jacko did for a living, but he’d always been plugged in.

Mickey,

Arizona Kensington looks like she’s trying to stay off the grid. Either she or someone else is opening her emails. I sent her a worm. She opened it. Whenever she logs on, I get a ping. I tracked the latest IP address to Crownpoint, New Mexico. GPS coordinates attached below. Will put trace on your tab, and ping if movement detected.

You owe me.

J.

A string of numbers followed, along with GPS coordinates. Those were for the restaurant in front of him. The area around it wasn’t that remarkable. A small strip of town, a few random shops, and a gas station on the end of the block with a sagging roof and peeling paint—nothing stood out demanding attention. The area was colorful, beautifully sculpted rock, sparks of green against a field of brown and gold. The sky above it all was a startling shade of blue.

Of the few cars in the parking lot, the newest one was still five years old. He’d been to the middle of nowhere, and this was well off the beaten track on the way to the middle of nowhere. Killing the engine, he slid out of the car and slipped his phone into his back pocket. He was pretty sure he was on Navajo land. Beyond the strip housing the roadhouse, he could see more town and a line of suburban housing. It was nicer in that direction, colorful, and welcoming.

He could go for settling down somewhere quiet like this. Course, the absolute lack of ocean anywhere near wasn’t as appealing. He liked going surfing with his grandfather and the occasional fishing trip.

Rolling his head from side to side, he continued toward the roadhouse. This place was the closest to the scenic byway he’d followed to get to town. Between the restaurant and the gas station, they were probably geared towards people passing through rather than the town itself.

Isolated.

Remote.

Not a lot of traffic.

If someone wanted to fall off the earth, this would be a good place to start. The door jingled when he opened it. The roadhouse offered a tidy set up—wood floors, heavy wood tables, natural light, and warm inviting atmosphere. A waitress flashed him a quick grin.

“Be right with you!” Her perky ponytail bounced behind her as she strode toward the window to the kitchen. While she prepped her order, he skimmed his gaze over the restaurant. They layout seemed open, but the heavy wood crossbeams created an illusion of privacy—and limited the eye line.

The scuff of a shoe alerted him to a second waitress striding up to greet him. Dark brown hair and brown contacts didn’t disguise the woman’s bone structure or lusciously full lips.

“Afternoon, sugar.” The faux southern accent didn’t belong either. Arizona Kensington had been born in Hawaii and raised in San Francisco, San Diego, and went to college at Stanford. None of those were anywhere near the south—beyond southern California. “Just one?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“C’mon,” she said, beckoning him invitingly. Unlike perky waitress number one, there was no bounce in Arizona’s step. She moved with a haunting kind of grace, sauntering without being slinky. What riveted him, however, was the way her head was on a swivel.

At a table near the window, she swept a hand toward it to invite him to sit down. No sooner did he drop into a chair than she held out a menu to him.

“Can I get you anything to drink, sugar?”

“Unsweet iced tea with lime instead of lemon, if you have it.” It was a weird order, but it might keep her talking to him longer.

“Sure thing. We’ve got a great chili special today, sweet and hot. I recommend adding the Jack cheese to it. Gives it a little extra something.” The accent wobbled a little, but she wasn’t focused on him at all. She kept checking the door, the windows, and then the other customers.

The longer he studied her, the more uneasy he became. Changing hair color wasn’t a big deal, but colored contacts? Arizona Kensington had baby blue eyes, sandy blond hair, and natural tan. The only one of those still visible was her tan.

“I’ll take the chili, Arizona. And a moment of your time, when you have it.” Blowing out a breath, he leaned forward and grabbed the bull by the horns. “I’m here to help.”

It was a stretch. He was there to get her to come to a family event for the descendants of the Arizona, but no way in hell was he walking out on a woman who held glassy-eyed shock in her eyes or who went pale beneath her tan at the mention of her name.

“I’ll get your order turned in and be right back with your tea.” The quick smile barely tipped up the corners of her lips. Without waiting for him to say anything further, she strode across the room. Her path took her away from her other tables, and a jerk appeared in her smooth saunter.

Greeting her by name had been a miscalculation. She dropped a check in the window, then disappeared between two double doors into the kitchen. Leaving his table and ignoring his growling stomach, Mickey headed back to his car. He’d barely gotten the engine started when a dark blue Mini Cooper whipped out from behind the restaurant and pulled out onto the road.

Fuck.

If she’d told him to shove his help up his ass, they could still be inside, and he could be eating chili and persuading her.

The fact she’d bolted confirmed she wasn’t just running…she was in trouble.

Dialing Jacko’s number, he pulled out of the lot and accelerated in the same direction she’d taken. Arizona Kensington, or whatever she called herself, needed help, and his gut and conscience were both onboard.

First, he had to figure out what she was running from…

“Your tab is getting a little top heavy,” Jacko said by way of answer. “What do you need?”

“Can you run a background on Arizona Kensington?” He rattled off her last known address before she began state hopping.

“Sure thing, boss. Fishing or hunting?” It was a straightforward question—was he just looking for whatever he could catch or looking for something specific?

“Start by fishing.” He caught sight of her bumper about a quarter of a mile ahead. She was on the scenic byway, leaving Crownpoint in their rearview. “But keep your ear to the ground.”

“I’ll tap you back.” Jacko didn’t bother him with questions like why or details like how long. He’d do his job and, sometime, he’d ask Mickey for a favor in return.

Mickey would show up then, too.

Okay, Arizona, let’s find somewhere to talk… After he caught up to her.

The pound of Ari’s pulse echoed in her ears. Flexing her fingers on the steering wheel, it took every ounce of discipline to keep her speed pegged right at the limit. State troopers in the area had no mercy for tourists who flouted the law. They lurked around corners, tucked against the rocks, which kept them hidden until a driver was already on top of them.

She didn’t have time to be pulled over. That man had walked into the restaurant and identified her by name. Holy shit… It had been all she could do not to scream, hit him with her tray and run. But I kept it together. She’d even written down his order and dropped it at the kitchen before slipping out the back.

Ari King held that job for three short weeks. The apartment she couldn’t return to for even less. In the trunk of the car was her go bag. It had everything she needed—including a new set of papers for a new identity she’d have to assume right after she put several hundred miles between herself and Crownpoint.

The little town had seemed so perfect. Most people there referred to the internet in the tone others reserved for the annoying dog which barked down the street. Isolated, close-knit, they didn’t seem the type to be welcoming to strangers. Most of the places she’d lived in the last year had been just as inclined to ignore her as she’d been to keep to herself.

Not so in Crownpoint. They’d opened their doors and treated her like one of the family. For a few days, she’d forgotten about the running, the hiding, and the need to keep a low profile. She’d relaxed.

Idiot! Slapping her hand against the steering wheel, she blinked steadily and refused to give into the tears clawing their way out. They’d wash out her contacts, which was bad enough, but she was done sobbing for the injustices in life.

She had only one driving goal—survive.

A flash of sunlight off glinted off a car passing on the left. Sweat slicked the back of her neck, but she didn’t turn her head. Instead, she tried to slide her gaze sideways. The silver-haired woman behind the wheel had to be in her seventies. The four-door sedan accelerated, blowing past her like Ari was sitting still.

Snorting at herself, she flexed her fingers on the steering wheel once more. When people were out to get her, being paranoid kept her alive.

Every time she glanced at the rearview and spotted another car, her heart would accelerate. Arizona forced herself to take deeper breaths. They don’t matter. I got away clean. He was still at the table. And she hadn’t seen any cars race up on her tail, most were passing her—not following.

The guy at the restaurant, he’d been in station five near the back. She left through the kitchen. No way he saw her go, but dammit…

How the hell had he known me? She’d done everything to conceal her tracks. She changed her hair color, changed her eye color—Crap, I left the rest of those contacts at the apartment. The place she didn't dare return to, not when there were too many reasons behind why that guy had recognized her. If they tracked her to where she worked, then there it seemed fait accompli they would know about her apartment. Awareness of the threat was why she kept a go bag in the car, and why she made damn sure she always ready to run.

How the hell had her life been reduced to this? Advanced classes in high school, graduating college summa cum laude, admission to Stanford Law, and passing the bar on her first try—and where was she now? Fleeing in a third-hand used car she’d picked up by trading her BMW and throwing in an extra thousand.

It wasn’t even registered in her real name. Working the system…it left a sour taste in her mouth, but she didn’t want to die. Her career? Her family? No, she couldn’t reach out to any of them. Not without risking painting a target on their backs. All because she’d seen a report that should never have crossed her desk. As an attorney, she couldn’t turn the information over without violating attorney-client privilege, but it hadn’t protected her from the client’s proclivities or life on the run.

Another glint of sunlight off a windshield made her jump, but it was just another car bypassing her. A glance in her rearview mirror showed maybe four or five cars on the road behind her. Not all that unusual. Scenic byways brought a lot of traffic through the area. It was part of the reason she chose the location when she’d had to leave Tucson. Strangers didn't stick out like sore thumbs, but the local tribal members kept track of newcomers. If they liked her and let her stay—which they had—then they would offer her a little more in the way of security.

The byway, however, was significantly different from the state highways and interstates. Pegging her speed right at forty and obeying the local laws meant it would take her at least two hours to get to the interstate. The big question was where should she go? Over the last eighteen months, she’d tried not to linger anywhere longer than six months. She hadn’t even managed three weeks in Crownpoint, so now what?

It took effort, but she tried to memorize every vehicle passing by, even as she tried to study every face. Though tinted windows and their higher speeds made it difficult, especially since she’d put on her own sunglasses in order to shield her identity. Maybe she would head to Texas. Initially she’d wanted to stay closer to home—to California. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe she needed to be much farther away. Perhaps north? Canada? I miss the days when all I needed to go to Canada or Mexico was my driver’s license. Her passport was back in California, in a safe deposit box.

Arizona wrestled with that question for another hour, until her bladder refused to be ignored, and then she kept an eye out for a rest stop. It took her reaching the state highway to find one.

She preferred rest stops to using restaurants or fast food joints. There were too many eyes that might see her at the latter, while most people at rest stops were doing exactly what she needed to do—rush inside to use the facilities. Following the exit for the stop, her heart rate accelerated and sweat soaked through her shirt. Even with the air conditioning on, she’d gone clammy all over.

Cottonmouth added to her discomfort. There was a case of water in the back. She’d wait to refill the tank until after she emptied it.

She chose a parking slip at the end, closest to the exit. It gave her time to cruise past the other vehicles—one RV and one big rig. Both seemed quiet. Probably people taking naps.

After extracting a small Beretta from the glove compartment, she checked the magazine make sure the safety was on before tucking it into her purse. She slid the strap of her canvas bag over her head and rested it crosswise over her body. It would allow for easy access to the pistol while also disguising where it was. Although she hadn’t researched gun laws in New Mexico, she had a concealed carry permit at home. At the moment, she was more concerned about personal safety than a gun violation.

Good Lord, her life sucked.

Leaving the car, she locked up the Mini Cooper, and then jogged across the yellow grass headed straight for the brick building housing the restrooms. Running for her life, exhausted to her bones, and nursing a headache, she paused at the door to the restrooms and stared at the vistas in the distance. They rose up against the cerulean sky, with hints of green against the backdrop of brown and gold. Exquisite beauty, and she had to abandon it like so many other things.

It took her only a few minutes to make use of the facilities, wash her hands, then splash some water on her face. She didn’t want to take longer than that, not when she would still have to check her car for any hidden detonators or devices. She rarely wore cosmetics, not even to work. The face staring back at her in the mirror was that of a stranger. Hollows in her cheeks, faint puffiness below her contact discolored eyes, and pallor. The last time she looked this bad, she’d been diagnosed with mono, and high school sucked for the next ten weeks as she tried to push past the misery to take the SAT and ACT.

If only her life were that kind of challenging again instead of what it had become.

With no more time to waste on her sorrows, she blew out a breath and dragged the door open. The guy from the restaurant appeared in front of her. A strangled scream escaped, and she closed her fingers around the Beretta in her purse. Dragging it out, she pointed the weapon at him. “Get the hell away from me.”

Even her soul seemed to quiver. Careful not to put her finger over the trigger, she kept it alongside it. She was shaking too much. She would defend herself, but she didn’t want to shoot him by accident.

The man's expression, seemed almost amused, though there was concern in his eyes belied by the odd quirk to his lips.

“I’m not here to hurt you, Ms. Kensington, but don’t point the gun at me.”

There was something shivery about his deep-canyon vibrato which sent a cascade of sensation down her spine.

“I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care. Just get the hell away from me.” It wasn’t the first time she’d come face to face with a goon sent after her. Though, arguably, it was the first time one of them was actually cute. Almost devastatingly attractive with his square jaw, deeply tanned skin, and firm lips all beneath studious eyes which seemed to assess her. Not in a sexual way, but as though he could bore right down to her soul.

“Sweetheart, I get it that you’re running, but last chance. Put the gun down, please.” His tone was so polite, but it was the please which surprised her. She didn’t dare comply. Did she look like an idiot who would just go along without a fight because he asked so nicely? Or did he expect…

Whatever he might have expected, she wasn’t prepared for him to just remove the gun from her hands. She didn’t even understand how he’d done it. One moment she had the gun, the next minute, he had it in his palm. He checked the safety, then the magazine before staring at her.

“What?” What was happening?

“I don’t like it when people point guns at me.” His tone remained even and utterly reasonable. “Now that we got that out of the way, I’m…”

He didn’t get to finish his statement because as suddenly as he’d appeared in front of her when she opened the bathroom door, there was a pair of men striding toward them. Neither looked friendly, and they appeared far more thuggish than he had.

Her heart slammed its way toward her throat. Maybe restaurant dude wasn’t a threat, but everything about those other two screamed they were.

Twisting slightly, tall-dark-and-determined eyed the newcomers. A sigh kissed his tone as he said, “Boys, trust me when I tell you, you don’t want to do this.”

No other words were exchanged. The two simply attacked, and trapped behind the stranger and the two assailants, she froze. A distant part of her brain said run, but it was like the message didn’t reach her muscles.

The battle was short-lived, the two thugs ended up on their asses. One collapsed—unconscious. The second was in a headlock until his eyes rolled upward, then he went slack and slumped.

“Who are you?” She forgot to be afraid, forgot she’d been running, forgot everything except the man who had taken her gun, then taken those two men out without seeming to even break a sweat. Hell, he hadn’t even used the gun he’d taken from her.

“The name’s Mickey,” he answered with the barest smile. “I’d offer you my hand, miss, but I’m a little busy at the moment. Would you do us both a favor and not take off running while I deal with these two?”

Did she dare agree? Or did she take advantage of the potential distraction to run like hell again? Yet there was something almost compelling in the way Mickey stared at her and the way he lifted his eyebrows.

Curiosity killed the cat, but she’d been running for really long time and she had learned to trust her gut. The only reason she’d run from him was because he had known her name. Yet, he’d just saved her life—or maybe he’d saved her for himself. Her brain hurt. Did she dare take the gamble or not?

“I don’t want to promise you anything,” she finally admitted. “But you stopped them, and I think that’s worth something.”

“Three minutes,” was all Mickey said. “Give me three minutes, and I’ll give you my ID, and you can tell me what’s going on. Maybe we can help each other.”

Maybe they could.

Blowing out of breath, Arizona tossed caution to the wind, then she glanced at her watch. “Three minutes.”

Mickey didn’t hesitate. He picked one of the guys up, slung him over his shoulder and then vanished into the men’s bathroom.

After he was gone, Arizona glanced at the unconscious man at her feet, then to bathroom, and finally toward the parking lot. Aside from the occasional whoosh of a car going past on the highway, it was beautifully quiet. So strange, considering everything that happened in the last few seconds. She could make a run for it. She still had her car keys.

With two minutes left, Mickey reappeared and scooped up the second guy. He spared her a single nod, and then carried thug number two into the bathroom.

Stay or go?

Stay or go?

She’d been trapped in a state of fight or flight for over a year.

Nerves jangling, she took a step toward her car and froze. A tribal police vehicle cruised through the lot, then slowed as it approached her car.

Her heart clenched when it parked right next to her little Mini Cooper.

Son of a bitch.

Mickey was suddenly at her side, and it was too late. She was trapped between a cop and a hard place.

“Follow my lead,” Mickey told her before slinging an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his him. Too late to do anything else, Arizona gritted her teeth together.

Surrounded by the sunshine and sand warmth of Mickey’s scent, and buffered by the strength in his arm’s gentle weight, she relaxed a fraction.

It went so against the grain, she exhaled a shaky breath.

So this time she wouldn’t run.

Maybe it was time to fight.

Chapter 2

Mickey had no idea what the hell was going on with Arizona, but she’d taken off so fast that he hadn't been able to resist following her. He hadn’t heard back from Jacko regarding the investigation into what had happened in her past. When she pulled off into the rest stop, he’d debated just letting her do her business and hanging back until she settled in for the night.

Following someone was creepy—and she hadn’t been wrong to freak at him when he’d lurked at the bathroom door waiting for her to step out. At the same time, it bugged him to keep following her without knowing where she was headed or without her knowing he was there. Based on the way she'd fled, she had reason to be afraid. He couldn't do much about the reason if he didn't know the source. Then along came Tweedledee and Tweedledum. Private security, rent-a-cops most likely, with only passing training who likely relied more on their sheer size for intimidation than any real skill.

With their IDs and powered off cell phones in his jacket pocket, he focused on Arizona. He could strip mine the items for data later, but her fear was real and right now. What surprised him more than the attempted assault her or her pointing a gun at him had been her waiting for him outside the bathroom. He’d pegged her for a runner, and he couldn’t fault her survival instincts. Not at all, not when running could keep a person alive to fight another day.

The way she’d held the Beretta told him she’d had training—the fact she didn’t just shoot him told him it wasn’t enough training. If you pulled a weapon, you should be prepared to use it. Disarming her had been the safest choice for both of them. Of course, juggling the gun and the other items while keeping her close would be a tad awkward.

Unlike some jackasses, he didn’t stick weapons in his pants. Her gaze kept skipping toward the tribal police vehicle.

He’d been in worse situations.

“It’s going to be fine,” he reassured her and gave himself an order. “We just stopped to use the restroom, and now we’re getting back in our car and getting on the road.”

“Whose car are we getting in?” The softness in the way she asked gave him some insight into how she thought. Tactically. He could admire that.

“We’ll see,” he told her, and instead of heading to her vehicle, he turned them toward his. He was parked about seven slips away next to a Range Rover that hadn’t been there when he pulled in. Which suggested the attackers had followed him. Another answer to a question he hadn’t had time to ask. “Do you need anything on your car?”

“My go bag—my car.” There was a hint of annoyance in her voice. “I don't have much, but I have that bag, and I have that car, and I'm not leaving either one of them here. Also, I'm not getting in the car with you until you tell me who the hell you are and why the hell you're here.”

The tribal officer hadn’t gotten out of his vehicle yet. In fact, he was still sitting there with a cell phone to his ear, so Mickey just gave him a nod and half-smile as he continued to guide Arizona towards his car.

“Understood. So, let’s give this guy some time to get out of here, but if he goes into the bathroom, we’re grabbing your go bag, retreating to my car, and getting the hell out of here.”

“Tell you what, if he goes to the bathroom, why don't we get in my car and get the hell out of here?”

One, she committed to the we. It was a good first step.

Two, he appreciated her determination — but he wasn’t leaving his vehicle there to be traced either.

“Let's split the difference, if he goes to the bathroom, we get in our respective vehicles and I follow you to another safe location where we can talk.”

She’d identified with the we — the least he could do was show her some freedom and independence to try and win her trust. Right now, she was acting as though she were something of a hostage, or at least an unwilling participant. He wanted her to trust him enough to bring him up to speed. He’d already had to chase after her once, no way was he going to risk losing her or leaving her alone to face whatever the hell was happening.

Gotta give a little to get a little.

“I like that plan better. Do I get my gun back?”

Mickey laughed. The woman had balls. He liked anyone who wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself, even against the odds. “As long as you put it away.” At his SUV, he opened the backseat door behind the driver’s side. Turning, he boxed her into the space he’d created, then slid the Beretta back into her purse. “Keep it in the bag.” The last thing they needed was for the cop to spot the gun.

“You gave it back.” Surprise and maybe more than a hint of shock softened her tone.

“Sweetheart, the only reason I took it was ‘cause I didn't want you pointing it at me. As long as you’re not pointing it at me, then you can keep it.”

“I'm sorry, who are you again?” Though she didn’t twist, her attention seemed riveted on the bathrooms where he left Tweedledee and Tweedledum secured with some Para cord he’d had in his pocket. They were tied together in one stall with their shirts stuffed in their mouths. When they woke up, they could conceivably make a lot of noise to be discovered. Or, if they worked together, they could get free. If the cop walked in there—all bets were off. More problems than he wanted to deal with at the moment, hence the plan to get the hell out of there. Meanwhile, the cop stayed in his car, so Mickey focused on Arizona.

“I’m Mickey McBride,” he said. “You don’t know me. My grandfather asked me to locate you for a family event involving the U.S.S. Arizona.

At first, she just stared at him and then released an uneasy laugh. “What?”

“Yeah, I didn’t actually apply for this job. Pops mostly volun-told me to help out. It’s a big event, and they want all the survivors and surviving descendants there. He sent you some invitations, but apparently you didn’t RSVP. So here I am.”

On its surface, the explanation came across as lame even to his ears. Bracing an arm on the door, he kept an eye on the cop via the reflection on the driver’s side window.

“You’re serious.” It wasn’t a question. Arizona studied him, then sagged and ran a hand over her face. “I don’t know what’s more troubling—you tracking me down because your grandfather wanted you to find me or that I want to believe it’s true.”

“I don’t lie about Pops. He was a Seaman, 3rd Class, assigned to the U.S.S. Arizona for his first float. He was eighteen years old when he became one of the only survivors, and he served in the Navy for more than twenty years after that, but he has always been a survivor of the Arizona.” Mickey never tired of his grandfather’s tales. “This event is important to him. Your presence is important to him. That makes you important to me.”

The longer the officer just sat in his vehicle without doing anything, the sharper Mickey’s awareness of him grew.

“I can’t go to some event,” she said, her voice so soft he had to strain to hear her. “It would endanger lives.”

“Who’s after you?”

An 18-wheeler exited the highway and pulled into the far side of the rest stop where the other large truck sat waiting. It was mid-afternoon, too early for anyone to be settling in for the day.

“I…”

Touching his fingers to her lips, he ordered himself to ignore how soft they felt. Arizona was in trouble, and he needed to get her secure, so she could tell him what was happening. “Go get in your car. I’m following you. Where are we going?”

She hesitated, then said, “I don’t know. You found me, so I can’t go back to my apartment, and those guys found us here, which means someone knows you were looking for me.”

“I got that. We’ll make sure we aren’t followed.” He hadn’t been looking for a tail earlier, but that would change now. “You have a full tank of gas?”

“Mostly…why?”

“We’re going to head north. Durango, Colorado—it’s about two and half hours from here. If you suspect trouble, tap your breaks twice, wait a sec, then do it again. I’ll take care of everything after that.”

The 18-wheeler had parked. The driver’s side door on it opened at the same time the officer finally got out of his car. They were both going to converge on that bathroom.

“You’re just letting me go?” When she made no attempt to disguise her skepticism, he had to grin.

“I’ll be on your ass. I won’t let anything happen to it. After we get somewhere secure, you can tell me what the problem is…”

“But why…?”

They were getting close to the bathroom. “I’ll explain when we get there. Go.” He almost hated barking the order out to her, but they needed to move. When she followed his gaze, she ceased all arguments.

“Thank you.” She squeezed his arm, then strode to her car. Though she didn’t run, she walked with absolute purpose. He kept his gaze on her until she was in the driver’s seat, then he slid into his vehicle. It took him a few seconds to start the engine and back out of his spot. By the time she’d pulled out, he was right behind her.

Mickey divvied his attention between his six and the woman in front of him. Arizona pegged the speed limit and stayed there. A sensible choice for someone being pursued who didn’t want to deal with legal interference, but aggravating when he wanted to get her as far away from the rest stop as possible.

Pulling the two driver’s licenses from his pocket, he skimmed the names, then hit autodial on his phone.

Jacko answered on the first ring. “Hey, man, I’m still compiling—”

“Need you to skip this to the front of the line. Marcus Bellamy and Jordan Duquesne.” He added their driver’s license numbers, then checked their six. No cars were in the immediate vicinity, and no sign of the truck or tribal officer. They would be in and around reservation land for quite a while. “Run these guys. I need to know who they are working for.”

“Yeah, yeah. Jacko look this up. Jacko get me tickets to the sold-out Springsteen tour. Jacko find flowers and chocolates for my girlfriend. Jacko, bring the pizza.” The man’s rants were as familiar as the audible clicking of his fingers flying over the keyboard. “Huh…Jacko, call Tex, cause we’re going to need his help.”

“What?”

“I need to call Tex for you, those guys work for Citadel.” The name didn’t mean anything to him, but Jacko, who maintained a cool head even in the worst of circumstances, sounded stressed.

“Never heard of them.”

“They used to be called Bulwark. Watch your back with those guys, and I’ll call in some backup for you.” That was taking it a bit far, but he trusted Jacko’s judgment.

“I’m on the road. I’ll check in when I get to a secure line.”

“Understood.” Jacko cut the call off. They’d been on the phone under a minute. He still had the men’s cell phones, but they were off. Maybe he should take his own advice. He’d told Jacko he would call him, so he powered off the cell and set it aside.

Bulwark had been a private military contractor embroiled in a huge scandal involving the execution of civilians in Afghanistan. The company declared they’d been doing their job, protecting a private company’s employees from insurgents. Videos leaked from the encounter seemed to tell another story. At least two of their men had been or were undergoing prosecution in federal court.

Mickey hadn’t followed the case, but he had been in the region when the incident went down. It had been a damn mess. Bulwark had become persona non-grata as far as he knew…maybe that explained the name change.

It didn’t explain why two of their employees were after Arizona. Some of the PMCs provided domestic security, but most confined their work overseas. They would be more likely involved in hostage rescue…only Arizona hadn’t been a hostage. They’d tried to take him out first because he was the bigger threat. Then they would have what? Taken her? Killed her?

Had she been evading them all this time?

The annoying lack of intel aside, his respect for the gorgeous woman went up another notch.

The sooner he got answers, the safer she would be.

A little over two and a half hours after leaving the rest stop and sweating her anxiety all the way to Durango, Arizona pulled into a hotel about a quarter of a mile from the highway. She didn’t want to check into the place, though it was a familiar national chain and the rooms were likely to be comfortable. Unfortunately, she had only limited funds in the car, and she didn’t dare use a credit card.

Starving, hot, and desperate to get away from all the possible things that could go wrong tangling in knots in her brain, she waited for Mickey to pull in next to her. As good as his word, he’d followed her close enough that she could see him in her rearview mirror. Each time he’d caught her glancing, he’d given her a small, if reassuring smile.

Why she trusted those smaller expressions she couldn’t say, but he hadn’t done anything to harm her. Even when he disarmed her, he hadn’t inflicted so much as a bruise to do so. He’d taken care of those two thugs without a question, too. What sealed it for her was the fact he returned her weapon to her. Even when reacting to the possible discovery of the men he’d secured, he sent her to drive her own car.

So distracted, she’d failed to so much as glance under her car. She’d climbed in and started the engine, it wasn’t until she was pulling back onto the highway that it hit her.

She could have died.

But I didn’t go boom. Call it a win.

Mickey left his SUV and circled around to open her door. “You look beat.”

“I probably smell it, too.” The air conditioning in the car croaked on their drive north. At least the air outside was cooler. “I thought the hotel would be a good idea, but I don’t have enough for more than one night.” Not if she wanted to eat. “And I can’t use a credit card.”

“Not a problem. I have a friend who has a cabin outside of Durango. We’re going to stay there. It’s quiet, off the beaten track, and it will give you time to come down from the adrenaline you’re riding on.”

“You want me to go to a remote location with you?” Desperate didn’t mean stupid.

He scanned the area, then squatted so their heads were more on the same level. “I know I’m asking a lot. You’ve trusted me this far, and I get it, you have no reason to do it. Can you give me just a little more leeway?”

To do what? Kill her? “You have no idea what I’m up against.” Rubbing her face, she tried to suppress the desire to yawn. She’d been running for so long, she had no idea how to stop. Dropping her gaze to his arm, she stared at the oddly colored tattoo of a leg visible beneath the cuff of his t-shirt. He’d lost the jacket he’d been wearing earlier, and the muscle definition on his arms was impressive. “Is that a frog?”

“Yep.” He pushed up the sleeve, and she got a good look at it. It was just a standard frog, but above it were the words NEVER QUIT.

The words blurred, and she didn’t rub at her eyes, no matter how much they itched. At this point, she’d pop her contacts right out. “I don’t get it.”

“I will never quit. I persevere and thrive on adversity. If knocked down, I will get back up, every time.” The quiet promise sent another shiver along her spine. “You can trust me, Arizona. I won’t let you down, and I won’t quit. Ever.”

“That’s a hell of a promise to give someone you don’t know.” How desperately she wanted to believe him, to have someone on her side.

“My grandfather sent me. I promise you, on his life, I will get you to that reunion, no matter what we have to do to make it happen.” He sounded so earnest and genuine. He also hadn’t tried to drag her out of the car or force her to just do what he wanted.

“If I say I’d rather stay here?”

He blew out a breath, then slanted a look at the building. “More difficult to secure. We’d want a room closer to the top floor, which would make exiting a challenge, but it would be better to prevent sudden invasion. Doable. Challenging, but doable. I’ve got enough cash to cover the rooms, as long as they have adjoining doors.”

The chill tingling over her skin ceased. “And if we go to your friend’s place?”

“We leave your car here. I know you need it, but it might distract them while they try to figure out where you are in the hotel. It could buy us more time to get this resolved.”

He had a plan for everything.

The minute she’d realized what was in the file she’d been reviewing, she’d known she had to make a contingency plan. The first “accident” had been less than twenty-four hours later. She’d taken off the day after that. Those same instincts said to go with him, let him take care of watching her back.

“We’ll do it your way…just don’t forget I have my gun.” It was a small measure of security, considering he’d already taken it away from her once.

“Duly noted.” He nodded solemnly, then glanced at her backseat. “What do you need?”

“The duffle bag and the case of water.” She barely finished saying the words before he had the car open and he emptied the items into his SUV.

“Grab any paperwork in the glove box,” he told her. “Anything in here that might identify you.”

She did as he instructed, and before she was finished, he was cleaning through the car, removing even the debris of take out bags, and checking beneath the seats.

At her questioning look, he said, “We want to distract them with your car being here. We don’t want to leave them any breadcrumbs. If this is a dead end for them, all the better.”

That made sense. It was exactly why she’d left her car in the long-term lot before taking a cab to a used car lot and buying the Mini in the first place.

Ten minutes later, she sat in the front passenger seat of his SUV. He’d covered her hair with a baseball cap just as she’d snapped on her seatbelt.

“There’s a jacket behind the seat, if you get cold.” The comment didn’t make much sense, until he cranked on the air conditioning. They hadn’t even left the parking lot before he grabbed the aforementioned jacket and tossed it at her. “Sunglasses on.”

She’d already planned to, but she studied his profile after sliding them into place. “You know what you’re doing.” It had taken her nearly being caught twice to master hiding her face when in public. Cameras were just everywhere, and smartphones. Social media was her enemy.

“I get around. I was going to let you sleep if you wanted. It’ll take another hour to get to my buddy’s place, but if you’re up for it—fill me in.”

Where to begin? “I can’t tell you all of it.” Because beginnings sucked. “If I did, I might violate attorney client privilege.”

“I’m thinking if you’re hiding your identity and dodging goons, then your client’s already violated privilege.” A fair observation, she supposed.

Snuggling under the jacket, she stared out at the landscape as they passed it by. As hot as she’d been in her car, she was freezing in this one. It helped chase away some of the exhaustion. “I wish it were that easy,” she admitted. “The problem is, whatever the ethics of the client, I have to be true to mine.” What else did she have left?

“All right. Can you answer questions?” The man just seemed to roll with everything.

“Within reason.”

“Spoken like a lawyer.”

The element of teasing in his voice pulled a smile from her. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like to smile for real and not for effect. “Thank you. It feels like reclaiming a small piece of me…I’ve worked as a waitress, a barista, a clerk in a gas station. I haven’t had so many odd jobs since I left school.”

“You’re a survivor. Doesn’t matter what work you do. Matters how you did the work.” Sage advice. Her dad would have liked him.

The last thing she wanted to do was get maudlin, so she took a deep breath to brace herself before saying, “You had questions?”

“I do.” He opened a bottle of water and passed it to her without taking his gaze off the road. “You worked at a law firm?”

“Yes, I was an associate, in my second year.”

“In technical terms, what does that mean?” Weird phrasing, but he was right. He needed to understand.

“It means the majority of the casework I handled was for a partner in the firm. A lot of grunt work, depositions, research, all in the hopes that my attention to detail might earn me second chair if we ever had to go to trial.”

“How often did you earn second chair?”

“My fair share,” she said, smiling again. It seemed a lifetime since she’d walked into the firm, or spent hours poring over cases in the law library, or a late pre-trial night going over a deposition in order to make sure they’d covered all of their bases. “Enough to earn a chance at handling the clients directly. You can’t be unsupervised, but you can take a meeting or at least tackle the minor cases for them. Eventually…eventually I would have made my bones, earned enough billable hours to be considered for partner myself. Ten years down the road, maybe, but I was doing what I loved.”

Or had been…before.

“So, a grunt?” The gentle poke to her ego had her shaking her head.

“More or less.”

“Then would it be reasonable to assume whatever you cannot reveal is directly related to a case you were working on for a partner?” He was quick.

“Yes.”

He tapped two fingers against the steering wheel. “Hypothetically, did it involve research you were doing for a trial?” The way he laser focused on the target fascinated her.

“Hypothetically?” It was a good phrase. “Hypothetically, it involved deep background and review of depositions prior to organizing the case files.”

“Criminal or civil?”

Not missing a beat, she tugged his jacket toward her cold nose. “Still hypothetical?”

“If it makes it easier to discuss.”

Oddly, it did. “Hypothetically, the partner may have handled both types of cases depending on the client. Hypothetically, this client faced a civil lawsuit.” With criminal implications. If only the partner had been more careful with where he placed his notes or maybe he hadn’t cared that the report had been misfiled into a box she had to review.

“And you didn’t go to the authorities because of attorney client privilege?” Maybe he didn’t sound like he was judging her, but he didn’t have to. She had plenty of judgment for herself.

“Hypothetically…if I found a report which could have resulted in severe legal consequences for the client, my options were limited to informing the partner about it or turning it over to the authorities—which could have led to my disbarment and the chance the information would have been thrown out of court because of how I obtained it.” Still, she’d considered it.

“Did you talk to the partner?”

“Not immediately, no.” Closing her eyes, she took a long drink of water. The cottonmouth she’d had earlier returned with a vengeance. “I’m ashamed to admit it, but I took the report home and sat on it. I was torn. For the first time in my life, my conscience and my ethics were in opposition.” Then it had been too late… “Hypothetically,” she tacked on belatedly. “I couldn’t in good conscience not act, so I’d half-convinced myself to turn the information over anonymously…when everything went to hell.”

They’d turned off the highway and followed a long, winding road. She hadn’t seen any buildings or even other cars in a while. If her trust had been misplaced, and he was taking her somewhere to kill her, then so be it. She was so damn tired of running.

“Do you still have the report?”

“Not on me,” she admitted. “I secured it before I ran.” She didn’t bother with the caveat this time.

The sun was beginning to set as he turned off the tiny road they’d been on for the last fifteen minutes, and followed a narrow one lane road through the trees. He hadn’t been kidding about being off the grid.

“Are you going to ask me what was in the report?” Because he hadn’t inquired about the contents.

“It has to be bad, whatever it is, and your judgment told you it was dangerous enough to secure. I’m calling that a live grenade, and you already threw yourself on top of it once. Tell me when you’re ready to, in the meanwhile…welcome to Chez Johnson.” He nodded to the cabin, which sat nestled amidst the green pines. It was like something out of a postcard. After he parked, he glanced at her. “Go on inside and make yourself comfortable. I have a few things to do and then I’ll be in.”

“A few things to do?” Maybe she shouldn’t ask…

Twisting, he gave her a firm nod. “Don’t know if they’re still tracking you or me, or if they’ll show up here. If they do, I plan to have a reception waiting for them. That means traps around the cabin. Do me a favor and stay inside. I’ll point them out, and the escape route I’ll lay in for you.”

He was thinking a half-dozen steps ahead. Instead of leaving her stomach in knots, however, his assurance relaxed her.

“Do you think I can take a shower? Maybe brush my teeth?”

“It’s fully stocked and the water comes from a well. I’ll make sure the generator is on. The place is self-sustaining.”

She stretched her legs as she climbed out and tugged his jacket on. The air was definitely chillier here. “Can you thank your friend for me?” He must have made the arrangements while they drove to Durango.

“I can, but he knows I’d do the same for him. Go inside, Arizona. You’re safe here. Nothing will come for you without going through me.”

Damn if she didn’t believe him.

Chapter 3

Mickey hadn’t been kidding about taking time to set traps or whatever. He remained outside for over an hour. The interior of the cabin was as nice as the exterior promised. Thick logs served as the walls, while the furniture seemed chosen for its sturdiness—all hardwood with thick cushions or covers on the chairs and sofas. A stone fireplace occupied one wall, and there was a fully stocked refrigerator in the kitchen.

Even the fruit seemed fresh. She stole an apple before walking the cabin—all five rooms—a kitchen-slash-living room, two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a long room that included a pool table and dartboard.

The whole place screamed man cave—especially the 50- inch television in the front room. Returning to the living room, she stared out the front windows. Every now and then, she thought she could see Mickey, but he disappeared almost as soon as he appeared.

The man moved so gracefully.

“I thought you were going to take a shower,” he said, from directly behind her. Jerking, she hurled her half-eaten apple, heart racing triple time. He caught it, and took a bite. “Thank you,” he said around the crunch.

“Holy shit…I thought you were still outside.” How the hell had he snuck up on her?

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” The audacious question followed by a wink had her heart leaping for an entirely different reason. The man had no business being so damn sexy. Especially when he was still a relative—if awesome—stranger.

“Only after I brush my teeth.” She flattened her palm against her chest.

Chuckling, Mickey held her apple back out to her. When she shook her head, he took another bite and headed toward the kitchen. His shirt was stained with grass, dirt, and what might be sweat, yet he still managed to look delicious. “I’m going to make some food. Did you want to go and take your shower now? The SUV is parked in the barn behind the cabin.” She hadn’t even seen a barn out there. Of course, she hadn’t been looking for one, either. “I’ll walk you through the route after we get some grub.”

“Mickey?” Following him, she paused at the bar separating the kitchen from the living room.

“Yeah?” He glanced over his shoulder as he pulled the fridge open.

“Who are you?”

“I told you, I’m…”

“Yeah you’re Mickey MacBride—your grandfather sent you to find me for an event. But that…that doesn’t explain how you found me, how you have friends helping you out, or even how you set those traps out there.” She almost added the word if, but stilled her tongue before she questioned his actions. If he’d wanted to hurt her, he’d had every opportunity. It wasn’t like she left word for the report to go to the authorities if anything happened to her.

She hadn’t had time.

“Point. You’re astute.” He set the apple on the counter, then pulled out a couple of thick steaks.

“Thank you, and you’re evading the question.”

“Evasion is a strong word,” he retorted, then held up a hand to stave off her response before he began unwrapping the steaks. “Let’s see, I went into the Navy at 18, served twelve years. Left a few months ago, medical discharge.” He set the unwrapped steaks on a cutting board, then went to the sink and washed his hands. “I did most of my time overseas, and I’ve been at loose ends since I came home. Pops asked me for a favor, and when you meet him you’ll discover telling him no is a virtual impossibility. I tracked you down first to Southern California—you were still using your social security number when you got a job as a bartender near the beach. You’d already cut your hair—by the way, I liked it when it was longer and blonder, but you make a cute brunette, too.”

Was he flirting with her? The flutter in her stomach had her wanting to respond to it. “Thank you?”

“No problem, just calling it like I see it. Anyway, you stopped using your social security number, but you asked a friend to forward your last check to a hotel in Tucson. You weren’t at the hotel, but the lady behind the desk remembered seeing you at a restaurant. Only you had changed your name and your hair color.”

He made it sound so easy. “But I didn’t do either of those things when I left Tucson. No forwarding address, and I wasn’t using my social security number.” In fact, she’d only taken jobs where they would pay her under the table for just that reason. It made finding work harder, but service staff made most of their money in tips.

“No, you didn’t.” He chopped the steaks in half, and sprinkled them with salt and pepper before setting a large skillet on the stove. “You were still driving the Mini Cooper—you had it in Southern California, and one of the waitresses in Tucson commented on how cute it was—so I cheated a little and asked a friend to track the license plate.”

“That’s illegal.” It’s also damn impressive…and terrifying.

“Ehh,” he hedged as he set the steaks in the pan. “My intentions were pure, so I look at it as a necessary evil and as it turns out—a good one. I was there when you needed me.”

Except she might not have needed him if he hadn’t shown up at the restaurant. Or maybe she would have. There were no guarantees. Her head hurt. Elbows on the counter, she pressed her face into her hands. She wanted to call her mom, but she hadn’t dared. Not once.

Her parents probably reported her to the police as a missing person. At first, she’d checked the papers—remotely—but even that became too heart wrenching. Better not to look at all.

The sound of the steak sizzling filled the air with a wonderful scent. Her stomach growled, but her skin crawled. “I’m going to shower.” She needed to clear her head, to think, and to feel human.

“I’ll be here.”

After grabbing her duffle, Arizona paused in the doorway to the bedroom. “Mickey?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” she said, the floor beneath her feet seemed to wave as though she were on a boat. “I like to pretend I know what I’m doing, that I’m making it work because I’m still alive, but I have no idea how to get out from under this insanity. I’ve been on my own in it because I didn’t want to endanger anyone else, and I wasn’t sure who to trust.” It sounded lame to her ears. Yet, of all the things she’d had to do, trusting this sailor seemed the least crazy thing she’d managed.

“You still have your gun?”

Odd response, but she nodded. “Yes.”

“Keep it close at hand. I meant it when I said nothing was going to get near you, but it’s better to be prepared.” Good point.

“I will.” Before she could press the subject any further, she made herself leave him and go to the shower. She hadn’t been kidding when she said she needed to think.

Fifteen minutes later, she ran a brush through her damp hair. Her duffle had three changes of clothes, clean underwear, and toiletries. Not much, but as she’d learned, she didn’t really need much to start over. Life only required intent, not items—or degrees.

Leaving the brown contacts in their case, she returned to the kitchen. Mickey stood waiting, the steaks on plates on the bar. He’d put out a loaf of french bread along with some butter. It wasn’t fancy, but it was probably the sweetest thing she’d ever seen. Awareness of him hummed against her skin.

Head tilted, he said, “Feel better?”

“Much.” Clearer. Stronger. “Thank you for the food.”

“Happy to do it.” The weight of his gaze rested on her. “I’ve got some feelers out, and backup on the way. You’ll be secure. If you want to go home…I’ll be right there with you.”

“I don’t expect you to give up your life to watch over me as I walk back into the debris I left behind in mine.” Not that she didn’t appreciate the offer. “But I made a decision in there.”

“Yeah?”

Arizona nodded and climbed into the seat in front of the smaller of the steaks. Cutting into it, she had to admit it looked even better than it smelled. “I’m not running anymore. I want to turn in what I found. I should have done it the moment I discovered it, but I thought…well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. Let them disbar me. Someone has to know.”

Mickey nodded as he set a glass of ice water in front of her. “Then we need to make a plan.”

That was it? “Just that simple?” She liked the idea of diving right in, but was that realistic?

“No, not simple at all. But we know it’s going to be complicated, so we plan for it, anticipate responses, and prepare contingencies. The only bad plan is no plan at all.”

Arizona winced. “I didn’t have much of a plan when I started this.”

“Not having much of one is not the same as no plan at all.” He settled on the tall chair next to hers and pulled his steak toward him. Cutting into the meat, he added, “Besides, your plan worked well enough to keep you alive.”

They ate in silence for a while, then she asked, “What do we do next?”

“Next you tell me about the report. I need to know exactly what we’re up against.”

Even making the decision that her life was worth more than any job, or the years of education or the dreams she’d once believed meant everything, it was hard to let go of the concept of privilege. Working in adversarial system meant she could argue both sides of the case, but today she had to advocate for only one case…her own.

“It was a report from an incident in Afghanistan involving the employees of a company called Bulwark.”

Somewhere between their arrival at Joe’s cabin and her shower, Arizona began reclaiming her identity. He’d been on too many missions where he compartmentalized James. Surviving BUD/S meant developing mental discipline to endure all potential hazards on the job. Whether making a HALO jump or swimming five miles in full gear to make a midnight raid, he knew the three keys to successful completion of their objectives.

Intel, prep, and the utter faith in himself and his team.

Arizona told him about the report, including photographic evidence and radio call recordings. Her voice broke when she mentioned the photographs. During every moment of interaction they’d shared so far, she hadn’t once cried or drooped with defeat. Discussing the images?

The memory cut her. Instead of focusing on the details she’d shared, he’d noted them mentally then held her hand. The chill on her flesh and the faint dilation to her pupils suggested shock. Preferring action to concern, he moved them into the living room, wrapped her in a blanket, and got a fire going. The temps were dropping outside. Then, Arizona wrapped herself around his heart when she fell asleep, holding his hand—after she thanked him.

What had she said? “Thank you for being a stand-up guy,” she’d yawned. “For not turning out to be someone who wanted to kill me…but more, just for believing me.”

The absolute loneliness in her voice wrenched him. Even when he worked a mission with his team, and they moved in absolute silence, he wasn’t alone. No SEAL was alone. They always had each other’s backs.

Why the fuck hadn’t someone had this woman’s back?

Glancing to where she curled on her side, her face open and vulnerable as the firelight played over it, Mickey wanted a specific target to eliminate. He’d bet a hundred bucks the members of the Bulwark team mentioned in the report were behind the two assholes at the rest stop.

A quiet campaign of terror, of isolating her—they’d driven her out of town. Clean and simple would have been a double tap to the head. Those guys hadn’t done that, instead they’d scared her, left her jumping at shadows, and she’d run. Only, he’d throw in the additional wager they hadn’t counted on her being good at hiding from them.

Stop staring at the pretty lady and get to work. Shaking off the need to literally watch over her, he made sure the fire had plenty of wood before walking the perimeter. The sun had set the hour before, and it was still early evening. Arizona’s exhaustion would hopefully let her sleep for the next few hours. Satisfied, he spot-checked that the alarm remained armed before heading into the office.

Joe kept his cabin well stocked. An armory was locked behind a wall panel which required a code to unlock. Only a half-dozen men had the combination. There were also burner phones, charged and ready to go. Mickey would replace whatever he used once the mission was complete.

The mission…settling in at the desk, he opened his laptop and set up the satellite connection. He’d been retired—numerous injuries over the years accumulated to stiffness in his joints and a TBI he had to live with. Pain, however, could be ignored. Discipline kept it in check. Rolling his head from side to side, he felt the tension release as the vertebrae cracked.

Once online, he sent a message to Jacko.

SECURE.

UPDATE?

A part of him wanted to search for any information on Bulwark—or Citadel, as they were called now. Computer research wasn’t his specialty. If they had security worms maintaining surveillance on a keyword searches, they might flag him. He didn’t want their attention just yet.

That would come soon enough.

TOOK YOUR TIME DIDN’T YOU?

Jacko’s response amused him.

I MISS YOU, TOO.

WHAT’S THE WORD?

The best part of a team was they didn’t need to dig into the details. Working together was like riding a bike. He knew their moves, and they knew his—whether they were breaching, kicking it on R and R, or mission planning. Jacko would have drilled down into the details.

CANNON AND FLINT ENROUTE.

ETA 0800.

Good. Cannon and Flint had been on his first team during his QUALS. They were solid Seals, both retired a couple of years ahead of him. They, along with Jacko, founded their own private security company. They’d offered Mickey a job, but he’d still been feeling his way through being stateside permanently. The best part of the cabin he was in currently was that the only person around was Arizona. She was an easy presence to have around.

HAVE SOME INFO ON TANGO.

ASSET NEEDS ESCORT.

Secure line or no secure line, there was enough data about Arizona out there. Jacko would understand.

COPY.

TEX RECS TRACKER FOR SECURITY.

Good plan. Now that he had Arizona around, he wasn’t all that willing to risk losing her to anything else. The alien possessiveness settled on him, and he frowned. Twisting in the chair, he glanced to where she continued her undisturbed sleep. It eased the sudden twisting in his gut.

ROGER.

PLAN?

WORKING ON IT.

DITTO.

SUGGESTIONS?

ALLY US ATTORNEY.

WILL CONFIRM.

The speed of the conversation didn’t alleviate his current predicament. They needed to retrieve the report she’d hidden away. That meant taking Arizona into the open. Cannon and Flint’s presence would provide him with a secure barrier to place around Arizona.

Travel to California, retrieve report, turn it over to the US Attorney once Jacko confirmed him, and keep Arizona alive.

Straightforward.

Dangerous.

It was the latter thought which put him in check. A risk to him and the guys? Not a big deal. They’d handled worse.

Putting Arizona out there?

Fuck no. She’s been through enough.

IDENTIFY TARGETS?

WORKING ON IT.

SECURE ASSET.

WE’LL HANDLE THE REST.

Secure her? Absolutely. Leave her fate in his team’s hands?

He could do that. He would be with her every step of the way.

ROGER AND OUT.

Logging off, Mickey rose and paced the perimeter. The lights were off in the main room, and the only illumination came from the fire. It didn’t take his eyes long to adjust. They had about eleven hours until support arrived.

Settling into a chair near her, he put his feet on the coffee table and leaned his head back. Dozing lightly, he wouldn’t miss a single sound.

Movement woke him a few hours later. The fire had burned to barely flickering embers. Arizona sat on the sofa, shoulders shaking, and her hand clapped over her mouth, as though to muffle any sound.

For a split second, he remained still. If she was trying to not wake him, then he didn’t want to intrude on her privacy. When a strangled sob escaped her, he abandoned the chair and moved to the sofa. Sliding his arms around her, he lifted her then set her in his lap as he took her place on the sofa.

“I’m here.” He had no idea what else to say or what had set off the tears. All he knew was he wanted to take away her pain. Pain could be borne, it could be turned off. If he had her pain, then she wouldn’t suffer.

Arizona twisted, then slid her arms around his neck even as she buried her face to his chest. The thud of his heart pulsed through him. The movement had rubbed her ass against his cock, and he was human, so his body responded immediately. The dampness of her tears was wet against his skin.

Tracing his fingers against her back, he searched for something to say and finally repeated, “I’m here.”

Gliding his hand to her neck, he began to massage the tension ribbing the muscles. It also let him check her pulse, and the rapid rate gradually slowed. Her soft sobs turned to hiccups, and then her breathing evened. He half expected her to pull away, but she curled her legs closer. The tips of her nails teased at his neck. It was not a place he was used to allowing anyone, but the shivery sensation she elicited with such casual touch ignited a det cord on his desire.

“I suppose I should say thank you again.” The whisper of her voice feathered her breath against his throat. Her hair brushed the stubble on his chin and cheeks. He should have shaved.

He didn’t need her thanks. “Feel better?” The fit of her in his arms suggested he had what he wanted. Women had always been a dime a dozen. A fun distraction when he needed to play. He was always going to say goodbye and never see them again. Even when he did run into the occasional past fling, they’d already moved on.

It had worked—until he retired.

Since coming home, he’d been more interested in being alone, the occasional surf trip with Pops, and sorting out what came next.

“Yes,” she said with a sigh.

Zeroing in on the wistful sound, he slid his fingers into her hair and gently tugged. She allowed him to ease her head back. Studying her tear streaked face, he leashed the violent desire to thrash whatever upset her. There was a plan in place to deal with her adversaries. The demons plaguing her tonight weren’t tangible.

“Want to talk about it?” He wasn’t a fan of spilling his guts to anyone. Too much of what he’d seen and done remained classified. But he could listen, would listen to Arizona.

“I’m feeling sorry for myself,” she said, the hint of tears turning her voice husky.

“How so?” Giving into the temptation, he wiped away the moisture from beneath her eye, then smoothed her hair away from her temple. Rumpled, swollen eyes, and so damn kissable. The woman was rapidly becoming his kryptonite. I’m here to help her, not seduce her.

“For a minute, I thought I was home and this was all a bad dream. Then I realized, the bad dream had become home…and I’ve dragged you into it. I keep pretending I’m brave, and I know what I’m doing. But I’m tired, and I’m scared…and what if I’m wrong? What if we get that report and…it doesn’t change anything?”

All valid fears, so he attacked them one at a time. “You’re not home, you’re on a mission. It wasn’t a mission you chose for yourself, but one that picked you. You were the right choice, because here you are—still on mission, still alive, and now you have a team at your disposal. There are things that one man or woman can do. Places they can go, tasks they can see to their conclusion. The rest of the time, we need someone at our back, someone we can trust. You have that now, which means whether you’re pretending or not, you got this. I got you. Do you think it doesn’t change anything now?”

Her mouth opened, then closed again as though she wasn’t sure what to say. It was worth the slow wonder erasing the devastation from her expression, though. “I think so. It means I’m not alone anymore. Maybe we can make a difference.”

“No maybe about it. You have to know you can do this. You have to know I will have your back. I won’t risk you without certain assurances.”

“How can you be a stranger and feel so familiar at the same time?” She licked her lips, and the action riveted him.

“Charm and good looks?” The flip response worked, because she laughed. Then she hugged him, a real hug that crushed her breasts to his chest and filled him with the competing sensations of comfort and desire.

“You’re not married, are you?” she whispered against his ear, and he went utterly still.

“No. No attachments of any kind.” None.

Pulling away, Arizona locked her gaze on his, and the world narrowed to the warm woman in his arms. She was in such a vulnerable state, and he wasn’t that much of an asshole.

“And as lovely of an offer as you might be thinking about right now, it’s probably not a good idea.”

Even in the near dark of the room with its fading fire, he couldn’t miss the wounded look in her expression before it too vanished.

“Of course not,” she mumbled and began to extract herself. The struggle of her embarrassed hurt couldn’t be ignored.

“Arizona,” he said, tightening his arms, and sitting forward so their faces were once again close. Their breaths mingled, and all he could think about was how it would feel to kiss away her sorrow. “I don’t want to take advantage of you. You’re hurting and you’re…you’re in a difficult position.”

“I was,” she said, agreeing with him. “Then you walked into that restaurant, and I have hope again.” She closed the distance between them, and her lips touched his.

With a groan, Mickey fought to hang onto his good intentions—then her tongue teased against his mouth. He locked his lips to hers, hungry for the sweetness she offered.

Chapter 4

Arizona had never been brash or bold in her life. No, she’d always been focused. The girl with the plan. The girl with her eye on the prize. She’d approached every goal as a wall to be torn down or built—brick by brick. It didn’t leave her time for fooling around. Flings weren’t in her genetic makeup, and what boyfriends she’d had never held up against the competition with her education and later her career.

Where had that gotten her?

Here, in a cabin with a beautiful, strong man who’d stumbled into her life, she discovered an escape route she hadn’t even realized she craved. More, she wanted the freedom and security she found in Mickey’s arms. When he broke the kiss, she swore she whimpered. Gripping his shirt, she tried to pull him back into the contact, but he pressed a finger to her lips. The action dragged her gaze up to meet his dark eyes, glinting with the faint flickers from the fireplace.

“Are you sure?” His voice sounded thick, and deep. The warm masculine tone rolled over her, an entirely different caress from the firmness of his lips against hers. What was it about this man? If she’d dreamed up a hero, she couldn’t have imagined a more perfect one.

“Not even twenty-four hours ago, I woke up in my single room apartment, furnished with a single bed, a chair, a table, and a black and white television I picked up at a flea market. My only company was a couple of library books. I didn’t even have a plant. What did I have to look forward to? Going to the restaurant where I could pretend to be Ari King.” Licking her lips, she shifted her position to straddle his lap, her knees on the sofa and framing his legs. “I was alone, and every day that I woke up like that, I chipped away a little bit more of Arizona. Then you walked in. You called me by my name…”

How could she possibly express to him what it had meant to her?

He traced the line of her lips with his thumb. “I scared the hell out of you.”

“You did.” No point in denying it. “You also woke me out of the coma my life had become, and here we are—not running away, but planning to go and confront this problem. I don’t think I’ll ever be that Arizona again. I think I peeled away too much of her.” She didn’t want to have a conversation, she just wanted to feel his skin against hers. To experience… “I need this. I need you. I know I’m demanding a lot, when you’re already doing so much…”

“Shhh.” He silenced her when he pressed his thumb to her lips again. This time, she sucked his thumb against her teeth, then teased the tip with tongue. The salt on his skin, the taste of him, made her mouth water for more. His groan went straight to her soul, and his free hand on her hip tightened. “Woman, you are making it damn near impossible to be honorable around you. I don’t want to just fuck you.”

He didn’t? She froze.

“Nope, don’t run away. I’m not rejecting you. But I want to give you more than a quick bang. I want to take my time, feast on your body, learn what gives you pleasure. I want to take you out to dinner…date. I’m not good at it, been a while since I went on a real one. Do you surf?”

Was he for real? Blinking, she released his thumb and caught his hand. “What?”

“Do you surf?” He enunciated each word with absolute care.

“Not well,” she admitted. “Is that a requirement for dating you?”

The rich masculine laughter vibrated through him, and she shuddered at the way it teased her. The sweatpants and t-shirt she wore were made of thin material. The weight of his erection pressed right at the apex of her thighs. If she rolled her hips or simply settled deeper against his lap, she could…

“No, sweetheart.” He smoothed hair away from her face, then tucked an errant tendril behind her ear. “I’d love to take you surfing. I’m saying I want more than an adrenaline-fueled romp with you.”

“Are you worried I’ll wake up in the morning and be horrified that I put out for you?” Grimacing, she fought to hold his gaze. “I’m not really good at the sexy talk.”

“Not a problem. I can talk dirty for both of us, and yeah—I want more than a one-night fuck. I want time to see if there could be more.”

She barely knew who she was anymore, yet Mickey’s interest left her longing for the same things he sought. The hell with the trepidation and terror. She was so over being afraid. “Ask me out, Mickey.” It wasn’t a request.

Eyebrows raised, he rubbed his thumb against the waistband of her pants. The glide teased at her skin, and she wished he’d dip his hand beneath the fabric. “Want to spend the day at the beach with me? After we tie all this up, you, me, the sand, and the surf? We can even go to one of those fancy restaurants.”

Heat warmed her cheeks. A blush, it spread all over her. Leaning in to him, she felt the pull of his orbit, and she just wanted to burn up in his atmosphere. “I could eat hot dogs on the beach with you and be happy.” Grabbing the bull by the horns, she slid her hands beneath his shirt, exploring the hard ridges of muscle. They flexed beneath her fingers. “Old Arizona followed the rules. She had a specific order for things—it was always A, then B, then C.”

“And new Arizona?” He mirrored her touch, answering her unspoken request when he eased two fingers under the waistband of her sweats, the contact electric.

“She wants to live life. She wants to reach for what she wants, and who I want right now is you. I know it’s kind of skipping the line…but I don’t suppose you’d mind jumping with me?” Trusting him in the first place had been a leap of faith. Trusting him now? It was as natural as breathing.

The caress of his fingers against her skin as he left her pants to explore beneath her shirt had her nipples stiffening in anticipation. Not once did he look away as he cupped one breast in his hot hand. She flattened her palms to his chest, and the moment he circled the pebbling flesh, she tried to brace herself for the overwhelming sensation tingling over her. When his free hand eased between her thighs and the heel of his hand exerted pressure against her clit and sex, Arizona damn near wept.

Pleasure swamped her. Hard and fast. The pinch of her nipple added a sharp sting of pain that only sent her spiraling as he continued to massage her clit. The friction of the fabric seemed to tease her—heightening and denying her in the same breath. She dug her nails into his chest and whimpered.

One moment she was trying to ride his hand and figure out how to deepen the experience, and the next, she was on her back on the sofa and her shirt was gone. The wild heat of his mouth locking on her nipple and sucking had her crying out. Somehow, he peeled off her pants. The cold air against her overheated flesh left her aching, then his hand stroked her labia, and the intensity she’d craved invaded her. His thumb worked her clit until all she could do was hold onto him and writhe.

The sensual assault stormed over her as he kissed a path from one breast to the other. He speared her with a finger, and she arched her hips to meet the thrust. When he added a second digit to the first, the pressure increased, and she rose and fell to meet his enticing strokes.

“Look at me,” Mickey ordered as he released her breast, and she had to force her eyes open. Another eddy of pleasure flooded over her. The dampness between her thighs might have been embarrassing, but she couldn’t deny the thrill continuing to build in tautening coils. He was magnificent, gazing down at her, and she wanted more. Then his heel thumb pressed against her clit as his fingers curled. The orgasm was so unbearable, it bubbled through her, and she screamed.

He took her cry, claiming her mouth in a kiss as devastating as his strokes against her sex. Shuddering, she was still rising to meet his gentling strokes. With quaking fingers, she gripped him and then sucked on his lower lip before saying. “Will you get naked this time?”

“Oh yeah, babe. We’re going to be naked, but I wanted to take the edge off so we can really play.” Just like that, she was on fire again. When he kissed her, she clung to him.

Talk about rocking her world.

It took every ounce of Mickey’s will to concentrate on bringing Arizona to orgasm. The wild pleasure in her voice as she cried out left him hungry for more. Easing his fingers away, he began to leisurely explore her body. She was lean to the point of being almost underweight. The roundness of her breasts was a bare handful, but what a succulent handful they were. He rolled one nipple between his damp thumb and forefinger while he sucked on the other.

Her pleasured whimpers were music to his ears. He toyed with one nipple while he sucked on the other. Switching his attentions, it was his turn to groan. The sweet moisture of her orgasm tasted rich and musky.

Fuck me… He wanted more. Her moan followed him as he kissed across her abdomen, then settled between her thighs. The scrape of her nails against his scalp only amplified his craving to taste her pleasure. His cock was solid stone, but they’d get there.

They had hours ‘til dawn. A glide of his tongue along her labia made him drunk for more. She gripped his hair and pulled at him. Obeying the request, he lifted his head and looked up at her spread out like a goddess on the old sofa.

“I want you,” she demanded.

“You’ll have me,” he promised. “I want this right now…I want to taste you, play with you. I want to fuck you with my tongue, and have you come against my lips. Then I’ll fuck you with my cock. I promise.” It was crude, and it was dirty, and he didn’t give a rat’s ass. Her lips curved wider with every word, and she went wetter. He could feel her desire against his finger.

“If you’re going to put it that way, sailor.” The sultry tone only amplified his own raging reaction. He hadn’t planned on seducing her, nearly talked himself out of it twice, but no way in hell would be deny her what she wanted.

What they wanted.

She widened her legs, pulling one knee up and baring herself to him in damn near perfect submission. A carnal feast just for the two of them. The action sent a pulse through his nervous system.

Playtime was almost over, and he wanted his fill. Stroking her labia apart with his tongue, he nuzzled her clit. His stubble could be abrasive, so he had care with not rubbing his cheeks against the tender flesh of her sex. She smelled so fucking wonderful, and she tasted even better. The thrust of her hips upward, and the tautening of her legs, told him she was close.

Sucking her clit against his teeth, he increased the pressure and dragged her orgasm out of her in another explosive shout. Lapping up the sweet cream of her climax, Mickey’s control began to slip. He wanted her to come again and again.

God, it could be a full-time career, discovering all the ways he could pleasure her. Easing away from her sex, he stripped out of his clothes. His cock jutted free as his jeans came off.

Extending a hand to her, he helped her off the sofa. It took him less than a minute to flick out the blankets on the heavy rug in front of the fireplace. He added a couple of logs to the fire, and as the flames began to flicker higher, he helped her to lie down.

The condom in his wallet was new—he replaced them regularly, even if he didn’t use them. The foil ripped easily and, as he rolled it on, he met the half-lidded gaze of the woman he was falling for…one night wasn’t gonna be enough. But he’d been lying when he said he didn’t just want to fuck her. Currently, all he wanted was to fuck her—every damn way he could.

“You’re gorgeous,” she whispered. Didn’t much matter to him what he looked like, but if it pleased her, then cool.

“Right back atcha,” he told her. Pretty words just weren’t on his mind at the moment. He’d rather show her how he felt. Lowering to the floor, he settled his weight against hers, and they both groaned. It was like the crackle of an incoming storm, only it danced over his flesh every time he touched her.

Then there were no words—just caresses, strokes, tastes, and nibbles between kisses. When he sank into her sex, his whole body was rigid. Every stroke brought them closer. Her nipples rubbed against his chest. Arizona ran her hands over him, urging him closer even as she locked her thighs to his hips.

Not once did she look away as he sank into her body. The absolute trust in her eyes, and the way the firelight played over her gaze, it captivated him. The delicious friction, pulling out then sinking into her once more, intensified his pleasure. Her every moan spurred him on. Somewhere, reason ceased, and he caught her hips to thrust.

Finding a rhythm, he drove into her until they were both lost. When her orgasm had her crying out for a third time, and the muscles of her sex squeezing him tight, he came with a ferocity he couldn’t remember experiencing before.

They collapsed together, until he rolled onto his back and cradled her to his chest. For the first time since he’d retired, he felt like he’d come home.

Home to Arizona.

Chapter 5

Arizona couldn’t think of a single time she’d had a sleepless night and still felt refreshed. Seducing anyone had been a thought once so far out of her wheelhouse, she might have suffered a panic attack on an earlier attempt. Saying yes to a date hadn’t been difficult. Making small talk? She could handle that. Brazenly propositioning a guy when he seemed to be holding back despite a very real attraction? Thank God, his reluctance seemed to be more from wanting to know her better.

When all this was over, she had a date. Grinning, she finished dressing in clean clothes. Mickey and she had shared the shower earlier, but after he’d stepped out to shave and heard the arrival a vehicle—man had to have the ears of a bat—she’d lingered.

“Backup is here,” Mickey informed her, leaning in the door while she was still wrapped in a towel. “Damn, I hate to tell you to get dressed.”

Emboldened by the open admiration in his gaze and the buzz still humming in her body from all the sensual ways he’d played with her, she grinned and said, “Well, I don’t have a lot of clothes with me.”

“Uh huh. We can stop for supplies along the way.” Then he’d closed the door. A couple of minutes later, two more masculine voices joined his in the living room. Their backup. They were getting closer to heading back to California, to going home, and reclaiming her life.

Running a brush through her hair, she tried to ignore the quaver in her belly. No time for chickening out now. The year before, she’d made the only choice she believed she could. Confused by the circumstances and terrified of the information in her possession, she’d run rather than endanger those closest to her.

And now I’m planning to charge back in and endanger…the one closest to me. The backup he’d called might not have any idea of the danger. Hell, Mickey seemed to grasp it, considering all the traps he’d set and the little things he’d let slip.

Navy. She’d bet money he’d been more than a sailor. It’s none of my business. Even if she was really curious.

Unwilling to delay more, she headed out to the living room. The conversation halted and the two strangers standing with Mickey eyed her. Like him, they were big men. One was heavily tattooed while the other looked like a choir boy.

Mickey set a cup of coffee on the kitchen bar. “Hey, babe, let me introduce you to Ben Stone, though we call him Cannon.” That was the choirboy. “And Jesse McCoy, also known as Flint.” The tattooed guy looked more like a cannon in her opinion or maybe a tank. Flint was closer to her, and he extended a red dragon tattooed arm. She couldn’t ignore the offer to shake his hand, even if her hand disappeared in his oversized mitt.

“Holy crap, you’re tall,” she admitted as she shook his hand. From across the room, the guys looked relatively the same size, but Flint easily had an inch on Mickey. All three men chuckled.

“Mama fed me five times a day growing up.” Delivered with a sheepish grin, Flint retrieved his coffee and resumed leaning against the counter.

“I can tell.” She turned her attention to Cannon. The choirboy offered his own hand for a quick shake.

“My mom settled for three square meals instead of five round ones.” He gave Mickey the side eye while still holding her hand. “You didn’t mention she was a knockout.”

The blunt force of his charm might have held more appeal, but Cannon—pretty boy looks or not, with his reddish-brown hair, green eyes, and a smattering of freckles—had nothing on Mickey’s darker appeal.

“Look all you like,” Mickey told him. “But keep your hands to yourself.” Cannon released her immediately, even as Mickey winked at her. The territorial claim in his steady tone gave her a little thrill. If someone had asked her before…you know, screw before. This is now. No more comparisons to the time PR—pre-report. Now there was only PM—post-Mickey.

Look out world, Arizona was making a comeback. “Thank you both for coming.” It seemed to be the thing to say into the lingering awkward silence. Settling into a chair at the bar, she cradled her coffee. All three men were relaxed, so that meant she didn’t have to worry about any surprise visitors.

“Mickey’s filled us in on the basics,” Flint said as she sipped her coffee. “One question he couldn’t answer was how did this start? Finding the report didn’t make you run. It was something that happened after that, right?”

Sipping the coffee, she used it as an excuse to consider her answer. “Someone broke into my apartment and tried to strangle me in my bed.”

The silence in the room turned icy.

“I shot him.” The first shot had only winged him. The second one took him center mass. As did the third one. She’d never killed anyone before. The weight of Mickey’s stare caged her in, but it happened the year before. She’d made her peace with it.

“And you just left town after shooting someone…”

“In self-defense,” Mickey interjected, his tone cold and devoid of emotion. Too devoid. He was probably pissed.

“I got it, man. I wasn’t faulting her for shooting the son of a bitch.” Flint’s cool manner didn’t seem remotely ruffled by Mickey’s irritation. “Even a self-defense shooting would lead to an investigation.”

“There was one and, no, that wasn’t when I decided to run. About four days after the DA and the investigators declared it a clean shoot, I was one my way home from work when the brakes went out on my car. I was lucky, I managed to run off the road into soft dirt at a construction site.” It had terrified her at the time, but she was pretty proud of it now. If the brakes had given when she’d been a little farther along on her route, she might have ended up rolling her car.

Leaning forward, she covered Mickey’s hand with hers, and he captured her fingers in a gentle grip.

“I wasn’t an idiot. Someone randomly breaks into my place? Okay, that could happen. But the brakes giving out on my car when I’d had it serviced a month before? A little too coincidental. I started varying my routes, changing up my routines. I half-convinced myself I was paranoid…then there was a mass shooting in downtown during the morning rush hour when I had to be at court to file papers.” It had been the breaking point. The pop-pop-pop of the gun, the screams, the people on the ground—no, she hadn’t been able to dismiss it as paranoid delusions.

“How was that not in the papers?” Mickey arrested her attention. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“I told you it was dangerous…and it was in the papers. But my name wasn’t, because I ran. It was chaos that day, and everything in the city was pointed at the event, dealing with the injured.” She swallowed. “The dead.” People who were dead because of her. “I couldn’t take any more risks. I still had the report, and I hadn’t made it past wrestling with my ethics. But it didn’t matter, because I wouldn’t stay there to let anyone else pay for my choices.”

“Babe…” The softness returned to his voice.

“I lived. I’m still alive, and I’m going to stick it to those bastards.” It was the right thing to say, because the guys raised their coffee cups to her.

“All right, Crash,” Flint said. “Let’s all talk about how we’re going to do this. We need every detail. Leave nothing out. Not even the facts that might make Mickey-boy here cry.”

Biting the inside of her lip was the only thing that kept her from smiling. For his part, Mickey squeezed her hand, and said, “Crash. I like it.”

“I’m not going to ask why you all have nicknames or why I’m getting one.” Don’t ask, don’t invite them to break some confidential status.

“You don’t have to ask. We all served on the teams. Flint and Cannon were ahead of me, and I was on their team during quals. They rotated out a couple of years ago.” Mickey nodded to her. “We’re adopting you. I’d say you’ve got the mental fortitude to get the job done—Crash.”

The smile she’d refused earlier returned in full force. “Is there a story behind how you got your name?”

Mickey shrugged. “I made the mistake of letting them know I considered my job the happiest place on Earth…in my defense it was Hell Week, and I hadn’t slept in four days, but I stand by it.”

She giggled, and it hit her all at once. Happiness, that elusive sensation, it was hers again, even with the task ahead of them.

“Playtime’s over. We’ve got a limited window and a scaled job. If these guys are setting up mass shootings, I want to take them down. Jacko’s already on his part.” Flint’s commanding attitude coupled with the way both Mickey and Cannon deferred to him gave her a deeper look at their command structure. They might have “retired,” but they were still SEALs.

“What do you need from me?” Because no matter what plan they had in mind, she was the witness and the one with the information. She had to be involved.

“Everything you remember, no matter how small. We need you to go over every event.” Mickey told her.

“And we need to know, where is the report?” Flint tacked on. “How difficult will it be for you to regain access?”

All doable, then Cannon said, “How good of a shot are you? Distance? Close up? Are you rusty? We have a couple of hours we can use to get you some practice in.”

She really didn’t want to have to shoot another person.

Two days later…

Mickey hated the plan. Hated it. They never went into a situation without solid intel, insert and exfil in place, as well as the right support for the right job. Their plan covered a lot of contingencies. They had a few guys filling in to back them up if needed—if all went according to plan, they wouldn’t.

Their active duty guys couldn’t join in on the party. They were forbidden from acting domestically, but Tex knew a lot of people, and they had retired guys everywhere. Including one who acted as a local member of the SWAT team. He was on call. Flint and Cannon were both in position, and Mickey had the asset’s six. They would cover her at all times.

The plan itself was fine—it was the fact everything revolved around sending Arizona into the bank to get the report that he hated. She’d filed it in a safe deposit box that had belonged to her father. She continued to have access to it, but her name wasn’t listed anywhere on the public files—helpful, considering that it was also a branch of a French-Swiss bank.

No matter how close he stuck to her, there would be a few minutes while she was in the secure vault area when she would be out of sight. It was the one flaw in otherwise strong plan. It was an acceptable flaw—if the asset was anyone other than Arizona.

The bank opened at 9 AM promptly. At 8:55, Arizona stood up from the table she’d occupied in the coffee shop and carried her latte with her as she exited. Mickey gave her a three second lead before he followed. Flint and Cannon were in position outside. The bank was located on a small plaza. Across the street, a black SUV town car pulled up in front a neoclassical building, which housed the Federal Court.

Arizona had chosen her hiding spot well. The local security was top notch. Cameras covered most angles, and there were always armed guards in and around the Federal buildings. It also made their weapons and potential engagement a little trickier.

They just had to finesse it to lure any potential attackers into a trap while not inviting getting shot themselves.

For her part, Arizona never glanced at the building or the US Attorney. Jacko arranged to have the man in place with his security. She’d retrieve the report, then walk directly across the street and turn it in. Once she had the report and left the bank, she’d be out from under cover for five minutes. Those minutes would be the most critical.

Dressed in slacks and a pale green blouse beneath a suit jacket, she looked cool, composed and professional. She’d timed her arrival at the bank perfectly. The security guard opened the door as she approached, so she walked inside. Mickey followed on her heels. As she walked to the security desk, he diverted to go through the credit slips table and pretended he was filling one out.

The table gave him a direct view of the front doors and the security doors leading into the vault area. Arizona showed her identification and signed in on the sheet. He should have asked her how she felt about being Arizona Kensington again. She hadn’t dyed her hair back to blonde, but she had pulled out her old ID—a license she hadn’t given up, even when she went on the run.

The woman constantly reaffirmed how tough and amazing she was. Obsessing about her might be fun, but he needed his head in the game. Save her first, admire her later. His internal clock began the countdown.

Five minutes.

He had his earpiece in, but neither Flint nor Cannon spoke. They didn’t need to say anything. As long as they were on schedule, the guys all knew what would happen and how to respond. Their training ingrained in them how to move, when to move, and how to trust his brothers to do their jobs.

Four minutes.

Two businessmen in three-piece suits entered. A manager greeted them, then led them to an office off the lobby. They didn’t head toward the vault. So, he filled out another slip and continued his monitoring.

Three minutes.

An SUV pulled up on the other side of the square. Three men exited the vehicle, and they were all armed. He could see it in the way they moved. Their suit jackets didn’t cover their shoulder holsters well. The driver remained with the vehicle. Like scouts, they scanned the area.

Targets acquired.

Two minutes.

Mickey tore up a slip, and pulled out his cell phone. He used the camera function zero in on the faces. Quick snaps, which he sent to Jacko. Then he tossed his trash and slid the phone back into his pocket.

One minute.

“Thank you so much.” Arizona’s husky voice drifted across the lobby as she exited the vault and shook the hand of the bank representative who’d served as her escort. She no longer had her coffee cup, but she carried a leather satchel instead.

She’d rocked the jeans and T-shirt look as a waitress, but lawyer Arizona? Yeah, he could go for a little cross-examination.

Dead on the five-minute mark, she headed for the exit. During his time on the teams, he’d primarily served as the breacher. He took the doors to the outside with the same determination. They’d already scoped the best sniper positions and left surprises for any who might have honed in on her presence. It didn’t mean he would leave her exposed.

He paused to hold the door for her, then nodded as she joined him. Smart woman, she stayed on his left side. The one order he’d told her not to forget. He wanted his gun arm free.

The three possible tangos across the street spotted her at the same moment she approached the crosswalk. The guys weren’t even subtle about it. They broke and began to move on an intercept course.

Arizona didn’t slow her pace across the street. The stiffness in her posture told him she’d noticed the men. Linking his pinky finger to hers, he gave her two squeezes. Keep moving.

Her stride lengthened, and he let her move ahead, but only by a foot. Behind one of the men, Cannon appeared, while Flint was already moving on an intercept of his own. Trusting the guys to handle their targets, Mickey paced Arizona while fixed on the man who moved like military, but wore an expression so cold it suggested he’d left his soul somewhere on the battlefield.

The man was on a mission. A mission Mickey had zero intentions of letting him complete. The US Attorney noticed Arizona’s approach. Jacko had sent her credentials and photo ahead to make sure there were no mistakes. His security detail also seemed aware of the potential threat coming toward them. Angling, Mickey cut away from Arizona. She was closing in on the attorney, and no way anyone would interrupt that meeting.

The first crack of gunfire echoed through the square. Arizona was safely with the US Attorney, and he and his security pulled her toward the courthouse. His tango went for his gun, but Mickey was already there. He caught him in an armlock. The guy tried to slip free, and he managed to land a couple of blows, but he couldn’t break the hold.

Twisting his arm harder, he put the guy on his knees. “Give me one reason I don’t put a bullet in your head and be done with you?” The quiet threat did what the damn near dislocating the guy’s shoulder hadn’t. These bastards targeted Arizona in order to cover their own asses for a colossal fuck up. He had no mercy for them.

Courthouse security reached him as the man finally ceased his struggles.

Mickey caught sight of Arizona vanishing inside and smiled.

“He has a weapon, in his jacket.” Like him, Flint and Cannon had their guys down. Security had also swarmed the waiting SUV. Jacko had definitely been busy. Mickey and the guys might have to endure questioning, but they’d done what they’d set out to do and their targets were all alive.

“Crash is secure.” Jacko’s voice murmured in his ear. “Do you guys need a lawyer? I heard she’s pretty good.”

Smartass.

After they searched the others and had them in zip ties, Mickey showed his military ID to the senior marshal. The questions took time, and they were pretty repetitive. He understood verifying intel, so he was patient. He had no intentions of leaving until Arizona was finished anyway.

It was late afternoon, and the news of a scandal involving indictments over Citadel—once known as Bulwark’s—involvement in the death of civilians and contractors overseas was already breaking on the wires.

How fast had they convened that grand jury? Their stock would tank, and a lot of people were going to be looking for new jobs. Mickey felt for the good ones, because they didn’t deserve the stain on their reputations their employment might earn them. But companies like Bulwark, while necessary, had to be held to the same standards as anyone serving in a theatre of war.

Period.

The knots in his neck didn’t relax while he waited. He’d sit there all night if he had to. The sun had descended on the horizon when Arizona appeared with her US Marshal escort, one she promptly abandoned to meet him on the steps.

The exhaustion in her eyes didn’t diminish the beauty in her smile as she clung to him.

“We did it,” she said, even as her arms came around him. Holding her tight, Mickey drank in the feel of her.

“I got us a place for the night. Are you free to go?” If she wasn’t, then he’d stay right here with her.

“I am,” she said, leaning back a little. “But we have to make one stop. I have to go see my mom.”

“Copy that.” He pressed a kiss to her lips. She’d already testified before the grand jury, and she’d turned over the papers. There might be other repercussions, but there was zero point in taking her out now. Still, he’d maintain his vigilance at least until they were in a more secure location. “How do you feel?”

Arizona’s smile dazzled him. “Free…and hungry.”

Arm around her, he walked her to where he’d parked. “Dinner?”

“It’s a date.” A firm commitment. The threat neutralized, it was time for a new tactical plan. They’d start with dinner, then her mom, and then he’d take her to see Pops. Foundation work for a campaign to secure Arizona forever.

Epilogue

The Remember the Arizona event was a black-tie and uniformed affair. Every guest was a descendant or related to one of the sailors who’d served aboard the vessel. Her dad used to go to these events with his mom—his father had survived, but his uncle hadn’t. There was so much history present—history and the promise of the future.

Arizona sat at a table with her mom, gripping her hand lightly. Ellie Kensington hadn’t wanted to let her out of her sight from the moment Arizona came home. The tears shed over the last few days been both heart wrenching and cleansing, at least for Arizona. She hadn’t lightened her hair to her natural color yet. Months of coloring with whatever was on hand meant she’d wanted to make an appointment to have a professional lighten it. That would come later—she once again had the luxury of time.

“Mom,” Arizona said, squeezing her hand. “You don’t have to hold on so tight. I promise, I won’t disappear on you again.”

Her mother’s wheat golden hair streaked by silver had been cut into a sleek bob, a far cry from the wild mane she’d had when Arizona left. The last year had left a mark on both of them. “You’re going to have to give me some time to get used to having you home again. You look beautiful, by the way. You’ve changed so much.” Those words had peppered every conversation over the last week. The only time Mom let her go was when Mickey came to pick her up.

“Thanks, Mom. You look pretty fine yourself. In fact, I think the silver-haired fox over there is checking you out.”

“Arizona!” Her mom laughed, but she released her hand and reached for a wine glass in order to glance toward the man in question. The rose in her mom’s cheeks was a good sign. They both missed Dad, but Arizona would rather her mom continue to enjoy life—especially after the last year.

Prior to the event, she and her mom had spent the day at a spa getting pampered and primped. After months on her own, the level of attention and noise was unnerving. Mickey got it. Mickey didn’t even question her when she’d rather go somewhere quiet or eat a room service picnic on the floor of their hotel.

The best evening though, he’d taken her to the beach, drank wine, and eaten cheese and watched the sunset. Then he’d coaxed her into a dance with music playing on his cell phone in his shirt pocket. It had been a fun night.

“All right, then,” her mom said, easing her chair back and lifting her glass of wine. “I shall go introduce myself to the gentleman, while you go see your young man.”

With that, her mother strode away, her deep blue dress sparkling under the lights.

“Well, you go, girl.” Twisting in her seat, Arizona found Mickey entering, pushing man in a wheelchair. Wearing service dress blues, with a hat tucked beneath his arm, Mickey looked stunning. His gaze locked with hers, and his smile revved her heart rate. Their relationship might have its roots in an adrenaline-fueled encounter, but every time she saw him, it reminded her how much she wanted him in her life.

Rising, she left her table to join him. The man in the wheelchair had to be his grandfather. “Petty Officer MacBride,” she greeted him and extended her hand. Like Mickey, he was in uniform. Thankfully, Mickey briefed her on the different emblems and bars. “It’s a pleasure to meet you sir.”

“The pleasure is all mine, young lady.” His wizened hand engulfed hers. If he were standing, she’d imagine he was easily as tall as his grandson. “Stubby did good finding you, and we’re both glad to have you with us.”

Stubby? She flicked a quick look at Mickey, but the indulgent smile curving his lips pulled another grin from her. “Yes, he did, and he saved my life—twice.”

“I like her, Stubby. You keep her around.” Mr. MacBride released her hand, then reached for his wheels. “Go take your girl for a dance. I’m going to say hello to some friends before we begin.”

Alone with Mickey, she stepped right into him and smiled when he dropped a kiss on her lips. “Is he okay?” From everything Mickey had said, she’d pictured a vigorous older man.

“He’s fine.” Mickey touched a hand to her lower back and moved her to his left side as they circled the room back to their table. “His blood pressure is acting up, and he had to promise the doctor to use his chair tonight. He’ll be up and running around tomorrow. We’re taking you surfing.”

“Your grandfather surfs?” Oh, there went any excuse she might have for not being up for it.

“He taught me,” Mickey said, pulling out her chair and waiting for her to resume her seat before settling into his. It was the first time she realized his chair backed to a wall, and she was on his left with no one seated on his right. Would he always be so tactically minded? Would that be the rest of his life? “He always believed that if you do something, you do it right.”

“Sounds like my dad.” She’d never known her grandfather, but her dad used to quote similar gems of intelligence. Maybe it came from having sailor fathers. “You and your grandfather are close…Stubby?”

Chuckling, Mickey leaned over and kissed her. “He’s the only one who gets to call me that, Crash.”

Suppressing a giggle, she nuzzled his lips and then sighed when he leaned back, but kept possession of her hand. Every moment with him sparkled just a little brighter. “You take my breath away.”

“Good thing I know CPR.” His expression softened, though, and he raised her hand to his lips. The kiss he pressed to her palm sent a shiver through her.

“I may need some later if you keep doing that.”

“No problem.” He sobered. “Have you heard anything yet?”

“Probably be another week,” she assured him. “The committee will review my actions, and they’ll offer their recommendation. I’ll either still have my license or I won’t. I don’t care. I can do anything, and it was worth it to put those men behind bars.” Indictments had been handed down for most of the senior management behind Citadel, not to mention several of the men working for them. They were facing an array of charges, and the report she’d turned over along with the video evidence were the lynchpin in the case tying them all together.

“Some of the attorneys at your old firm are also facing indictments.” Was he going somewhere with this?

“They’ll likely be compelled to testify under the crime-fraud exception, and face their own censure issues with the bar. In the meanwhile, I go on with my life.” Curling her fingers against his palm, she asked, “Are you worried about something?”

“Always going to be worried about you, babe,” he said with a smile. “Maintaining situational awareness. Remember, anything coming for you is going to have to go through me.”

They wouldn’t get through him. Of that, she had no doubt. Squeezing his hand, she said, “You know I’ll have your back, too, right?”

“I do. So do the guys. In fact, once we get your law license sorted out, the guys have a job offer for you.”

A job offer?

“We like to keep it in the family, and they want to hire you to be their lawyer.”

Her heart squeezed. “Their lawyer?”

“Yep. I’ll be doing some part time stuff for them, helping out when they need me. Like they helped us out. You make sure we all stay on the up and up.” It was a sweet deal, and it sounded fun.

“So, surfing…job offer…date…is there anything you can’t do?”

The smile on his face grew. “Stick around until we figure that out?”

From what she already knew about him? “That could take a really long time.”

“I’m not busy. You?”

She was still laughing when his grandfather made his way up onto the stage and the music quieted.

“At 7:55 a.m., Hawaii time, on December 7, 1941, Japanese fighter planes attacked the U.S. base at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, and changed our lives forever…”

A chill skated over her skin. There was so much sadness that day. So much terror. Petty Officer MacBride’s tale kept them all riveted. It didn’t matter that she knew the story, or had seen depictions of it over the years. The man on the stage had been there; he’d lived through it. He carried those memories with him every day—a living connection to their past.

“…tonight, we gather to not only remember the Arizona and everyone we lost—the friends, family, and brothers who still rest beneath the waves—but also her legacy, living on in every one of you here. You thank us for our service. Tonight we thank you for remembering.”

Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. The past never felt so real. With Mickey at her side, she rose to applaud and the future never felt so filled with hope.

“Hey, sailor,” she murmured as they took their seats once more.

“Hmm?” He raised an eyebrow.

Too soon? Not soon enough? Oh, to hell with it… “I love you.”

His grin took her prisoner, and she never wanted to be free. “I was going to wait until after we went surfing, but if you want to leap, I say let’s jump.” Around them, the applause continued for those on the stage. But it all faded as she melted into his arms, and his mouth closed on hers. “I love you, too.”

She’d run for her life and found love.

Reckless. Impulsive.

Perfect.

About the Author

USA Today bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.

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