“Don’t honey me. I need . . . I need just a minute here to wrap my brain around the fact that I’ve mourned you for years and you . . . you’ve been watching me like a stalker!”

“Not stalker. Worried father,” Pete said.

“Stalker. And you”—she had turned to Ranger—“you swear you didn’t know anything about this?”

“What? No.” He held up his hands. “Noemi, seriously. I . . . no. I grieved him too. I was at the funeral.”

Her mouth opened, and she turned to her father. “President White—he was just a senator then—was at the funeral. He was at the funeral. And he knew you were alive.”

Her father swallowed. Then, “I was at the funeral too.”

“Oh, no . . .” She shook her head. “No. You watched as . . .” She blew out a breath, glanced at Ranger. Then she whirled and walked out of the room.

Slammed the door behind her.

Ranger stood in the silence, ran a hand behind his neck. “Yeah, so she’s pretty mad.”

“I should go after her.” Pete turned.

“Nope.” Ranger stepped between him and the door. “I think she needs a full minute of reprieve.”

Pete took a breath. Then, finally nodded. He walked to the window, stared outside. “Beautiful place here.”

“Yeah.”

“Remote.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Pete turned. “You might need a stitch or two.”

“Maybe.” He met Pete’s eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”

A beat. Two, and with it, Ranger’s gut clenched. Then, Pete sighed.

“For the last year I’ve worked undercover as an agent for the Petrovs, moving weapons, gathering intel, and trying to figure out where they might be planning this attack. We know they’ve weaponized the smallpox. They’ve deployed it in a half dozen small communities over the world. It’s fast, it’s lethal, and it has a long incubation rate, and if we don’t get a handle on where they’re going to attack, this thing will be out of control before we can blink. I’m not sure if I’m blown or not, but I have to go back undercover. They might try to come after her again, so I need you to keep her safe.”

“I will. With my life.”

Pete considered him. “I always liked you. Don’t let me down.”

He looked at the man, the burled muscles, the wizened eyes, the years of battle in his countenance, and in that moment, he seemed . . . tired.

Overwhelmed.

As if the battle just might have cost him too much.

And it occurred to Ranger that maybe, given another decade with the teams, he might have worn the same look. Now, he met Pete’s gaze.

“I swear it on my soul, if it depends upon me, I will keep her alive.”