The newly taken air base had sustained a direct hit yesterday, compliments of the French, in an effort to keep Nheshal from enlarging his territory. With so much civil unrest in that region, it was anyone’s guess if Nheshal remained in power or not.

Harry’s new mission in Scotland was a far cry from the heat and flies of Lebatu. He hadn’t visited Scotland since his former trainer had sustained an injury.

Trainer. He snorted under his breath. Agent Elise Taylor was more than that. Once upon a time, the daughter of the Marquess of Roxbury, a Scottish aristocrat, had been Harry’s university girlfriend—a woman he had loved with his entire soul.

At uni, they had clicked within moments of meeting. Her title and his lack of substance hadn’t factored into their relationship. Then, almost as swiftly as their pairing, she had called it quits.

Nine years later, when Harry had hired on with MI6, Nigel had assigned him to Elise, one of his top agents, for training. After working with her, Harry could see why. Elise was part bulldog once she sank her teeth into a mission. Despite their past and competitive natures, they operated surprisingly well in the field together.

As his training advanced, Harry had tumbled right back into love with the gorgeous redhead, often finding it difficult to suppress his true emotions. When their mission had demanded they impersonate a couple, he had taken great pleasure in stealing a few unexpected kisses from Elise’s luscious lips. She had snarled and spat, like an evil-tempered cat, but as far as he was concerned, any reaction from her was better than that aloof professionalism she exuded whenever they spent time together.

Turning down the corridor, he made for the garden exit. Seated nearby, on a grouping of sofas and chairs, a thick mane of long red hair caught his eye.

Elise.

His breath suspended, and the old attraction sizzled through his blood, the pull every bit as intoxicating as the last time he had seen her. He paused mid-stride and debated whether to approach her or not.

Harry hadn’t laid eyes on her in four months, not since her latest injury that had put her in the hospital. They’d exchanged a few texts, always initiated by him—her responses cordial, even friendly—until he’d left the country.

Elise sat in a corner, unmoving and looking fragile, or as fragile as a six-foot-tall woman could appear. Her pale-blue eyes stared unseeing at the floor, and the gold freckles that pelted her skin appeared lighter than normal. In fact, her entire lack of movement was so out of character that Harry changed direction and approached the “green space” at an angle, his shoes quiet on the commercial-grade carpet.