Kara didn’t have to study their faces to believe them. She had this overwhelming sense of commitment from these men, commitment like she’d not even felt from her own FBI unit, a sense of family coming together. A sense she hadn’t felt in a very long time and, unbidden, her eyes started to burn. “Thank you,” she whispered, and damn—the burn was getting worse and it seemed to have spread from her eyes to her chest. “And, for the record, I’m not going to let Blake sacrifice himself either.”

Blake moved in front of her, his back to his brothers, his eyes meeting hers. He took the gun from her and set it on the bed. “Kara,” he whispered softly, wiping away a tear that had slid down her cheek. “We’re going to save her.” There was shuffling behind them and a murmur before Kara heard the door shut and knew they were alone.

She never cried, but she felt a waterfall coming and the last thing she needed was Blake thinking she was weak. He’d use any excuse to keep her out of this thing with Alvarez, and she wasn’t letting that happen.

Kara cut her gaze from his. “I need to shower and put my clothes on.” She started to scoot off the bed. “There are too many men running around here.” Darting toward the bathroom, she didn’t look back, thankful Blake actually let her escape. The minute she was inside, she shut the door and turned on the shower, impatiently waiting for it to heat. She wanted under the water where her tears would be hidden. Where, for just a few minutes, she could let go.

Stepping under the hot water, emotions erupted and she sobbed. Body-shaking, intense sobs she couldn’t control. Her sister was all she had. She couldn’t lose her. She couldn’t lose her.  But she knew the chances of getting her back were small. So very small. It hurt. It hurt so much and she fought against the memories of losing her family. She didn’t think about it. She didn’t go there.

Abruptly, the shower curtain ripped backwards and Blake, now naked again, stepped inside and pulled her against him. “Kara—”

“You can’t die,” she croaked in a sob, her fists balling on his chest. “You made me care about you when I haven’t let myself care about anyone but my sister. You made me care, and damn it, you’re begging to die. And don’t say you aren’t. You are. You feel guilty about something. You want to die and feel like you did it making some assumed wrong right.”

He stroked wet hair from her face. “I’m here.”

“For how long? How long, Blake?”

He studied, and then softly prodded, “How old were you?”