He spoke, the baritone timbre coating her in a hurt she’d hidden years ago. “Nicola.”

She didn’t need to see his face. His voice shattered any semblance of strength she’d mustered. Nicola braced one leg back, prepared to attack. Ready to defend herself. But who was she kidding? If he laid one finger on her, it might be her undoing. All her suffering, pointless.

“Nicola,” he said again. Still as firm, but this time knowing. “What the fuck?”

This was bad news of the worst variety. She pivoted back toward the doors, ready to go back inside and hash out an emergency extraction strategy with Beth. No time to wait for tomorrow’s withdrawal plan.

Reaching for the doorknob, she willed herself not to run.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” he said.

Sweet Lord, why was Cash here? Why was the one memory she could never forget standing in the middle of her job? And why was he talking to her, armed and looking far more dangerous than the last time she saw him?

“Stop your sweet ass one second, and turn around, Nicola.”

She spun on her stiletto heel, knowing she’d never be able to get to the subcompact gun tucked on the inside of her thigh. Even if she could, she’d never hurt Cash.

“No, sir. You’re mistaken.” She put on her best Italian accent, knowing it wouldn’t fix this problem.

“Bull—”

The butler opened the door. “Gabriella, please come in. Everyone’s gathering in the main hall. It’s dangerous to be out here.”

Cash stood in the shadows. She knew the butler couldn’t see him. Yet, her pulse stuttered, and her throat tightened. She wanted to protect one man from the other. Nicola looked over her shoulder, and Cash was gone.

CHAPTER TWO

Cash ran through this mind-scrambling scenario as he pushed toward the semi-agreed upon location. He had two more minutes to scoot his caboose there before his spotter had one more thing to bitch at him about. Cash and Roman were tight. One hell of a sniper-spotter team, and best of bros. From boot camp to Titan Group, they’d been by each other’s sides, watching backs, chasing chicks, and fighting in the trenches.

With fifteen seconds to spare, Cash rounded a moss-covered boulder and ran smack into Roman.

“How goes it, dickhead?” Roman scowled. “Your mic not working? Your earpiece burn out?”

A rumble of tires put the pause on their conversation. The armored Range Rover barreled around a tight curve, and they jumped in before it came to a stop. Two doors shut. The driver tore down the road as Cash and Roman righted themselves in the backseat. Cash ignored Roman and waited for the shitstorm he knew was coming.

As if on cue, Roman turned his camo-painted face and stared hard. Cash started to peel off his ghillie suit, unzipping the outfit of fake leaves.

“Hold your roll, Cash.”

“Back off.”