Colt rounded the back and pulled his duffel out of the SUV, put it over his shoulder. Tae came up beside him, her gaze on the house. “Wow.”

“I know.”

Roy strode up behind them and grabbed Zoey’s bag. Colt wasn’t so thickheaded that he couldn’t see the way Tae’s friend looked at the guy, her eyes sorta glazing over at his big muscles.

Okay, rein it in, Colt. It was just that some guys got it all—looks, height. Clearly Roy didn’t make his living sitting in the back of a Humvee, eating dust, and trying to keep some rich humanitarian doctor alive in the darkest reaches of Africa.

Roy certainly wasn’t Brad Pitt or anything, but fine, he could probably be called good-looking. Dark hair. Built. He could certainly handle himself. But Zoey should probably notch it down a little because Roy put off a “here today, gone tomorrow” James Bond vibe that should send any woman running.

Then again, here was Tae, holding on to Colt’s hand. And he certainly wasn’t a home and hearth guy either.

Or maybe he was.

“Was it worth it?” Her question had settled inside, tugged at him.

To keep her safe? Yes. Anything. Absolutely.

To leave her behind? He was starting to doubt the answer.

“Is that a pool?” Tae asked as they headed up the marble steps to the double teak doors. “I need to go shopping, pronto.”

“That can be arranged,” Roy said, glancing over his shoulder.

She stiffened, her eyes widening.

“I’ll go with you,” Colt said quietly and tightened his hand as they walked into the house. Clearly Roy still gave her the willies.

He still gave Colt, well, if not the willies, then at least he put him on edge.

He had secrets. A past. And way too much clandestine knowledge in his head to be trusted fully.

Laughter echoed off the polished marble floors and nudged something familiar.

Wait—

The hall opened up into a great room with a soaring two-story ceiling, grand windows that allowed light to pour into the space. Teal walls, a stone bar with stools lined up against one wall, a huge gray sectional facing an impressive flat-screen on the other. And seated on the chairs and the sofa were a cadre of men, most of them dressed in cargo shorts and T-shirts.

“You brought in Jones, Inc.?” Colt said to Roy, but his gaze went to Hamilton Jones, the former SEAL and current owner of the SAR/security team. He wore his blond hair short, had on a pair of shorts and a black collared T-shirt, the word UNDAUNTED written on the breast pocket. He stood up from his stool, his hand outstretched. “Colt. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

He pulled Colt in and thumped him on the back, and again, Colt was aware of how much space Ham took up in a room.