“I know it’s been a rough day. But you’re running out of time.”

She sensed she was running out of time in other ways. Someone else could die.

Had Chad died because of—

“Alright.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll tell you about my last assignment. The one that brought me all the way back to Montana. I’ll share as much as I can, anyway.”

That got her attention, which she imagined was his point—to save her from the trauma of today. She opened her eyes and watched him lean forward. Elbows against his thighs, he hung his head.

Whatever happened to put the pain in your face, that defeated demeanor across your shoulders, I’m so sorry, Alex.

Maybe she didn’t want to hear it, after all, but she wouldn’t back out now. She might never get another opportunity.

“I was on a temporary assignment in a small country you probably haven’t even heard of.”

Seriously? “Try me.”

“You don’t need to know those details. This isn’t public knowledge, so don’t share with anyone.”

Mackenzie sat forward to focus on this story only a privileged few knew.

“I was an RSO on a PSD.”

“Excuse me, English please.”

“Right. RSO stands for regional security officer. Here in the States, we’re called DS SA—diplomatic security special agent. Overseas it’s RSO. We’re assigned to US embassies and consulates all over the world on a PSD—Protective Security Detail team. Regardless of where we serve, we have atypical assignments.”

“You mean, you do regular special agent stuff plus more than a regular federal agent?”

Surprise lit his eyes, and he rewarded her with a crooked, dimpled smile. “Exactly.”

Alex sat up and angled his head as if listening to a noise in the house. Or outside. Mackenzie heard nothing except for continued dripping and a few buzzing insects. He relaxed. False alarm. Then he focused his attention on her again.

“I was assigned a team, the AXLE Team 3-5. All teams were designated AXLE with numbers assigned.”

“Is that the real name?”

Half his cheek hitched again. “No. I’m changing the names to protect the innocent. To protect you. I ran high-profile missions into what I’ll term an unsecured zone.”

She almost wished she hadn’t asked, because it seemed that by telling the story, the pain in his eyes had increased. If only she could comfort him in some way. She longed to reach over and cup his cheek, somehow wash away the pain.

“High-profile details took us into high-threat regions.”

“The unsecured zone.”

“You’re listening.”

“Of course.”

“It means driving an armored Suburban mounted with large ECMs—”

“Wait. What’s an ECM?”