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  On the other side of the bullshit river, Shay had been officially discharged from the green machine as AWOL. Her fury about that fact only made her more determined about holding on to him with every piece of her heart and grasp of her soul. Every morning before she left for the university, she wrote journal entries to him. At night, she looked to the stars and whispered to him, wondering if his night sky was the same as hers. She restocked her pantry every week with his favorites. The pretzels, Oreos, and apple chips—the soft kind, not crunchy—waited there for him. She did too…pleading with fate for the moment he’d come bounding through the door, sweaty from the gym, scarfing on the stuff like a puppy and kissing the back of her neck in thanks. She read everything she could get her hands on about loving a man in the Special Forces. Sometimes she pretended he was just away on deployment, out to run recon on bad guys and rescue kids before they stepped on landmines—until the memories returned, glaring and taunting, of what she’d seen in the hallway at Area 51.

  Then it all returned. Including the helplessness.

  Especially the helplessness.

  Nothing was good enough to bring him back. Despite the AWOL status, perhaps because of it, Franzen had helped her get files reactivated at both the CIA and FBI. Their new agents didn’t come close to Dan Colton, but it would be a long damn time before Dan donned his spook suit again. After months of burn treatment and therapy, the man was still unwilling to see anyone except Franz and even then for only ten minutes at a time. Despite that, Dan had turned in a detailed report about everything that had happened to Shay from the moment he signed on with Stock’s gang. Like all the first sets of his notes, the report went “missing,” conveniently deleted by CIA computer users who remained faceless, nameless…ghosts.

  Just like the ghost into which Shay Raziel Bommer was turning, as she watched without a damn thing to do about it.

  No. No.

  She couldn’t give up. She wouldn’t give up.

  “Ay,” she muttered while extending the handle on her rolling file bag. “Enough of the moping, damn it.”

  The edict would have to apply for at least the next few hours. Brynn and El had a dark week for the show, so they’d invited themselves—along with Ryder and his drapery sample book—over for a dinner designed to get her head out of all things Shay Bommer. Despite the thirty excuses she’d tried for getting out of the plans, her friends held her feet to the fire. There would be pizza and salad tonight. And wine. And drapery samples.

  When she arrived home, a couple of hours remained before the trio’s scheduled arrival time, but a dark-blue Ford sedan already occupied her driveway. Alarms went off in her senses, remnant angst from the night half the government agents in the country had descended on her house, but when she saw the G-tags on the car, her curiosity piqued.

  As soon as she parked her Prius, a man got out of the Ford. Bad suit. Classy haircut. Square shoulders. Proud chin. She’d met him once before, in his office at the FBI building downtown, and her impression was the same. Cary Grant had been reincarnated in the form of Caspar Menken, the agent for Shay’s case.

  Only what was he doing here, visiting her at home?

  No. Mierda. No.

  She approached the agent on legs that suddenly turned to icicles. When Caspar bypassed the pleasantries and went straight to “We need to talk,” the icicles shattered and gave way to complete paralysis.

  “Spare the damn sugar, Menken.”

  “Just Caspar, okay? And what the hell does that mean?”

  She gripped the handle of her file bag tighter. “Don’t give me platitudes, poetry, or pretty. If he’s dead, just tell me—and then forgive me if I don’t invite you in.”

  Caspar’s stare, a Caribbean blue that was almost too pretty on a guy who evoked Cary Grant, softened a little. He’d always been able to see the pain beneath her anger, and she was usually thankful, except misery had beaten the gratitude to her gut today. “Zoe…”

  “What?”

  “You need to invite me in.”

  Her heart burst at the same time it caved. She couldn’t make it through the door fast enough or wait the agonizing three seconds it took Caspar to step inside too.

  As soon as they got through the door, Fluffy ran to greet them. Over the months, the cat had simply become more Zoe’s than Ryder’s, especially with Ry leaving in three weeks to play house in New York with Rok. Nevertheless, kittah-girl instantly wrapped herself around Caspar’s leg, having been well-trained that men were the ones with all the best presents.

  Zoe hoped she and Fluffy would be receiving great gifts tonight. To kick-start the good karma, she broke out the expensive cat food as dinner for the feline.

  She motioned for Caspar to come along to the kitchen so she could dish out Fluffy’s pseudo filet mignon. As she prepped the food, Caspar once more didn’t waste a moment to start speaking again.

  “First, I owe you an apology.”

  Zoe let her eyebrows dip. “Why? You didn’t come here to tell me Shay’s dead. We’re already off to a good start.”

  Caspar loosened his tie and readjusted himself on the chair he’d pulled out next to the dining table. “I…haven’t been completely honest with you.”

  She let the empty can and the spoon clatter to the floor. Fluffy jumped four vertical feet and then bolted for the bedroom. “Mierda. He is dead. You just didn’t want me to make a scene—”

  “For fuck’s sake, Zoe. He isn’t dead.”

  She huffed and retrieved the mess off the floor. “Fine. Then what? Dios, Caspar. Spit it out.”

  He curled his hand into a determined fist and tapped it on the table. “I’ve been tracking General Kirk Newport for about two years.”

  She almost let the can drop again. “What?”

  The agent nodded. “It was the reason I got assigned to Shay’s file when Captain Franzen came in, demanding we open one. We already knew about Newport’s connection to Cameron Stock. The two rammed their dirty peanut butter and chocolate together after meeting at some Hollywood grip-and-grin. Stock, of course, saw the immediate bennies of an evil partnership, especially when learning that Newport’s status could get him back into Melody Bommer’s panties.”

  Zoe grimaced. “Disgusting cabrón.”

  Caspar nodded more emphatically. “We knew all this in theory, but gaining enough evidence to put them both down was close to impossible. On the books, everything they both did was completely legit.”

  “Which was why you didn’t looked too stunned when Franz and I relayed our version of the mess to you.”

  A trace of a smile crossed Caspar’s screen-idol mouth. “The day you two came in was one of the biggest mother lodes of intel I’d landed in a long time. I was so over the moon, I damn near kissed your toes.”

  Zoe allowed herself to laugh a little. “Franz would’ve demanded worship for his own little piggies.”

  “Why do you think I held myself back?”

  She approached the table after filling a pair of water glasses. “I’ll forgive you for the subterfuge if you tell me this has led us somewhere productive.”

  “It has.”

  She was glad she’d gotten the water. It helped combat a pulse that kicked into aerobic mode and palms that were now humid microclimates. “So why do you look like depression on a stick again?”

  The agent took a couple of thorough breaths before flipping open his smart pad. “It’s a good thing you don’t like sugar, because this shit doesn’t have a grain on it.” If his words didn’t underscore the severity of his message, the new lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes were damn effective. “You ready?”

  She flattened her palms to the table’s surface, emulated his breaths, and nodded. “Sí.”

  Caspar swiped to a new page. “First, Adler may be a scientific genius, but he’s an operational moron—and that’s good news for us. After Shay gave himself up at the mining camp, it was pretty simple for us to track him back to his old haunts in the DC warehouse district.”

>   Zoe raised a hand, stopping him. “Wait. What? You’ve known where he took Shay and didn’t tell me?”

  “So you could do what with the information?” the agent calmly countered. “We could barely do anything with it. Knowing where they were through exterior intel gathering was one thing. Getting inside the damn place was another.”

  She didn’t want to let him off the hook. Not yet. This was like being the last one picked for high school PE because she was the smallest. “So when did all that happen?” she sneered.

  “Three days ago.”

  She blinked. “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Oh.”

  “And…?”

  Within a second, she saw they’d come to the hardest part of the conversation for Caspar. He studied the condensation on his water glass for a long moment. “I know you love him,” he finally murmured. “And that’s why I’m going to give this shit to you straight.”

  “I appreciate that,” Zoe returned. “I…think.”

  The man planted both his elbows on the table. “You know how you thought it would be bad for him?”

  Damn.

  “Sí,” she whispered.

  “Well…it’s been bad.”

  “Mierda.”

  “As you know, Shay negotiated some things into his surrender to Adler. One of those things was the release of all the other Big Idea subjects into his mother’s care forever…so Shay’s been it in terms of test subjects for the man.”

  “Ay Dios mio.” She locked her own fist to her mouth, but the sorrow welled and spilled anyway. “That higueputa doesn’t deserve to be pissed on by a rabid gutter rat.”

  “I can’t do any better than that, so I won’t try.” Caspar waited a second before reaching to grab one of her hands. “But Zoe, we also have firsthand accounts that he’s been heavily sedated through most of it. I know that’s not much help, but stop and take a breath. At least he’s been out of it. They’ve kept him in a nearly vegetative state a great deal of the time. I don’t think Adler wanted to risk another escape attempt, despite the presence of Stock’s guards on a round-the-clock basis.”

  “It does help, Caspar. Thank you.” She wasn’t lying. The knowledge that Shay wasn’t cognitive of his torture made the news a little easier to bear. A very little.

  “Wait.” Caspar winced. “I’m afraid the roller coaster’s just starting.”

  “Of course.” She drenched it in grim sarcasm.

  “Giving him the sedation for so long has been like keeping a drug addict on a constant fix. They’re not sure what it’s done…to his short-term memory.”

  Zoe yanked her hand back. The entire center of her chest felt rammed by an I-beam. She was so stunned, even her tear ducts refused to function. “H-How short term?”

  “Like I said, they’re not sure. And we won’t be sure, either…until we get him out of there.” He waited through the moment it took Zoe to wrench her head up. Then spike him with a don’t-bullshit-me stare. “Yeah. We’re going in as soon as we can get the mission together, including the undercover operatives for it.”

  Zoe nodded. Correction, swung her head like a spastic bobble head. “Oh. Okay. Good. Good.”

  But she glanced away, biting her lips. Who’s really the bullshitter of the night, girlfriend? Did she truly believe this was “good”? What would she do if they broke Shay out again but he had no recollection of who she was or what they’d shared? “Short-term memory” sounded like a damn accurate description of a few shared days of passion before he went back under Adler’s knife…

  Caspar’s grip, now wrapped around both her hands, yanked her back to the roller coaster. The agent gave as good as he promised. This was a premium ticket ride, for sure.

  “Zoe. I’m telling you all this…because we want you on the op too.”

  One upgrade to the superpremium ride, please.

  “Me?” Her echo sounded as foggy as she felt. “Wh-What? How? Why?”

  She reconsidered her thought that Caspar was at his most stressed a minute ago. As the agent closed the cover on his smart pad and then folded his white-knuckled hands on the table, Zoe could’ve sworn she saw red start to bleed up his neck. “The conditions of Shay’s surrender… How much did Tait really tell you about them?”

  The fog in her brain thickened. Or maybe it couldn’t escape past the tribe of heathens pounding a strange refrain through her heart. She shook her head, unable to understand the feeling. She should be jumping up and hugging Caspar. He was offering her the chance to be there when they rescued Shay. Hell, she’d hold open the car door if that’s what they needed.

  Even if he doesn’t recognize you? Or remember what he shared with you?

  “Why would Tait leave anything out?” she finally challenged. “I don’t under—”

  “What did he tell you, Zoe?” The question was gentle, but Caspar’s face was raw demand.

  “Everything, I guess. I wasn’t exactly in the best emotional state when we talked, you know.”

  “Good. So you know about Adler’s plans for the breeding.”

  The air left the room. Which then tilted and swam behind the field of fuzz that conquered her vision. “The… The…”

  She swallowed, battling to focus on the act to ground her senses again. No use.

  Breeding.

  Had she heard the word wrong? Right. Because this anguish was exactly what her imagination would have thrown together as the bomb she wanted Caspar to drop. Because she was so keen to remember the weeks that followed Tait’s visit, telling her about the ambush at the mining camp and all its horrible fallout. Two of Melody’s nurses, dead from the explosion. John Franzen with a bullet in his leg and Ethan with a rough graze on the shoulder. Dan Colton in an intensive care burn unit.

  And Shay…gone.

  She’d waited, counting the days, praying her body had already started to grow a part of him. But like clockwork, on the twenty-eighth day of her cycle, her period had started. It had been the day before Thanksgiving.

  It had been a really shitty Thanksgiving.

  Ry had forced her out of the house for the day-after sales, helping her redecorate the bathroom she’d obliterated in her grief.

  “Okay.” Caspar laced his fingers as he gritted his teeth. “So Tait didn’t tell you everything.”

  She gulped again. “Guess not.” Caspar’s answering silence was a gift—not easily given. She could feel the urgency in his energy, sensing they were scrambling the mission fast, but he allowed her a long minute to push through her tumult of shock and pain. “So Adler plans on using him as a stud horse? That’s the deal?”

  “You have a pretty good grasp of words.”

  “I also have a good grasp of not being okay with this.”

  Caspar meshed his fingers tighter. “But you might have to be, Zoe. At least for one day.”

  “Caramba. En tus sueños. Beso mi culo!”

  “Do you want to get Shay out of that place or not?”

  She pushed up from the table, unable to sit still with rage roiling like this. While refilling her water, she rebutted, “Why me? You planning on sneaking me in as his fuck buddy? If that’s the case—”

  “She’s already been selected.” The red inched farther up Caspar’s neck. Zoe would’ve called out the shit and enjoyed embarrassing the crap out of him if it weren’t for the more pressing matter at hand—the concept of Shay with his cock inside anyone but her.

  “Of course she has.” She took a long drink of water. That was supposed to help in the whole composure recovery thing, right? “And let me guess. She’s as tall as an Amazon with legs to her neck, breasts like a pin-up, and big, brown Bambi eyes. Wait. Her name is Bambi.”

  “Her name is Buffy.”

  She snapped her fingers. “Damn. So close.”

  “And yeah, she’s blond. And actually, a pretty nice girl…for a high-end hooker.”

  Screw the water. Zoe jerked the fridge open and reached for the Chardonnay. “This just gets better and better. So what’s my role in thi
s whole op, Agent Menken? Do I get to hold the bimbo’s purse and makeup kit while she mounts the man I love?”

  She watched Caspar debate his answer to that. He even glanced to the front door, obviously considering the choice of accepting her version of no fucking way and leaving. At this point, Zoe verged on agreeing with that decision. Undercover operatives. She’d be there in the pretense of someone else, having to conceal her feelings. She wasn’t certain she’d be capable of success.

  In the end, Caspar stayed put and continued on. “They won’t let the woman be alone in the room with him. They want an impartial observer to accompany Buffy, to ensure that full consummation happens.”

  That did it for Caspar’s blush. As the red rose to his forehead, Zoe repeated, “Full consummation? You mean…they want somebody to report back that Shay…”

  “Performed his duty. In…a matter of speaking.”

  Zoe downed the whole glass of wine. Then poured another. “And you want me to be this…watcher…person? Why?”

  Caspar reopened his smart pad. Zoe suspected the motions were just for something to do, but how could she fault him? This was one hell of a strange conversation. “When the breeding takes place, they have to pull Shay off of many of his sedatives. We’re not sure how he’s going to respond to the change. He’ll be close to fully alert for the first time in months. If he gets agitated, he may resist our efforts at extracting him, and we won’t have a lot of time to pull this thing off. We need him to be as calm and cooperative as possible.”

  “So you think I can somehow calm his beast?”

  “If it comes to that, yes.”

  “Even if he doesn’t remember me?”

  “He’ll know the idea of you, Zoe. Though your face and name may not be familiar, he’ll recognize your scent, your voice, your touch. Tait informs me that he’s never seen his brother more connected to a woman. Though I’ve never had the pleasure of seeing you and Shay together, I’m inclined to believe that.” The ends of the man’s lips kicked up again. “You love him. I saw it, felt it, knew it from the moment you walked into my office. If Shay returns even half of what you feel for him, then you are the best ‘operative’ for this gig.”