Archer returned a careful nod. “Respectfully speaking, it seems Sage is capable of making that decision for herself.”

“As you brilliantly mentioned two seconds ago, she just spent a year running in the wilds of Africa and then the jungles of Thailand, not sure who to trust or where to go. I don’t think the woman knows what she wants for breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“Ah, but you do. And now that you’re ‘taking a break’ from each other, you know that even better.” The guy tilted his head with that unnerving Zen-like concentration. “Respectfully speaking, of course.”

It was official. Garrett now wanted to put his fist into Archer’s perfect face more than the plane’s wall. He could practically feel Shrink Sally popping up on his shoulder, pen tapping her chin, ready to “process” crap like misplaced aggression and sideways control issues.

He gave the doc a mental shove. And firmly refocused on Runway. “You want to bring respect into this?” he snarled. “Good. Go ahead. Respect her—from as far the fuck away from her as you can get.” He unfurled his hand from the guy’s shirt. With less decorum, he jerked open the bathroom’s door. “After you’re done fixing your makeup, plant your ass in my old seat. I’ll watch over Captain Weston from here on in.”

“Yes, sir.”

He ignored the little lip twitch Archer added, knowing it would take his ire to places it shouldn’t be. Not that it wasn’t there already. Not that, deep inside, he didn’t admit that every note of the guy’s subtext hit the nail on its damn head. Not that he didn’t know he was using protectiveness as an excuse for every emotion he had and every asshole move he made—a pair of lists that seemed to be swelling by the hour.

Sage’s perturbed sigh broadcasted that fact as he claimed the seat next to her. But when he twined his hand into hers, she didn’t resist. He waited a minute. Tightened his hold. She shifted a little but didn’t pull away.

He turned and narrowed his gaze, not hiding his curiosity. She kept her eyes fixed on the in-flight movie, her brows quirking at the action on the screen. “I had no idea Stallone could still run that fast.”

He snorted. “Some things haven’t changed.”

She leaned her head back. “I guess not.”

He looked down. “Hands,” he murmured. “Not elbows.”

The corners of her mouth quirked. He was talking about their hold on each other. Usually they twisted themselves together all the way to their elbows. It was a tiny detail she probably thought he’d forgotten.

“I remember,” he whispered into her ear. “I remember everything, Sage.” He drew back a little before going on, “I also remember this usually meant I was deep in the doghouse.”

Her lips lifted a little higher. “You have a good memory, mister.”

Garrett glowered. “Fine. I was an ass to Archer. I’ll apologize.”

“I’ll give you that.” Her gaze didn’t waver from the small village getting blown up on the overhead screens. Garrett watched the orange and yellow colors reflected in her eyes, though he seriously wondered how many of those fireballs were due to the movie. “But that’s not why you’re in the doghouse, and you know it.”

He forced a deep breath in. And back out. “Zeke talked to you about what really happened at the Half-Moon, right? You at least listened to him, yes? Didn’t he explain—”

“I got the whole Zeke Hayes special, okay? You drank. You drank some more. You drank even more. You passed out. You moaned my name.”

“A lot.”

“Fine. You moaned a lot.”

His gut twisted. “And you believe that as much as Stallone doing all his own stunts up there.”

Her face contorted. Garrett leaned in, taking it as progress. “I believe him, Garrett, okay? I do. It’s just…oh, God!”

“Ssshhh.” Though his voice was comforting, his intestines still felt like goddamn knots. “It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right.”

“Okay, so…what is it?”

“What is it?” Finally, she jerked her glare at him. As shitty as the look felt on his gut, part of him rejoiced. At least this was her honesty. “What isn’t it, Garrett? You left me in that room at the embassy, wondering what the hell was going on, while you went to that shithole and drank yourself into a stupor…” She trailed off, looking ready to punch him. Clearly, the fact that he’d dreamed of her in that stupor didn’t make a damn bit of difference—and to be fair, why should it?

“I’m sorry.”

“Damn right you are.”

“It was a crappy thing to do.”

“Damn right it was.”

A long moment passed. Another. Finally, he sucked up his shit, lifting his free hand to her face. He swiped out his thumb, wiping several salty drops from her cheeks. “I am sorry.”

She sniffed. “I know.”

Another full breath later, he plunged on. “But I’m not sorry for what I said when I came back. I meant what I said yesterday, Sage. I’m going to protect you, even if I have to protect you from me.”

She shook her head. Her face told him she didn’t understand, but he knew what filled the gaze he gave her in return. Knew it in every corner of his soul, every beat of his heart. He’d only have a few more moments to convey it to her, courtesy of the dress blues rules they were already shattering on top of the general “fraternization gray area” bullshit, but if he got ten violations slammed at him, it’d be worth it. For a year, he’d dreamed of this. For every dream orgasm he’d had with her, there were ten fantasies of this. Of having her near, holding her safe, flooding her with a stare full of his love…

He’d walk through a thousand more slimy jungles for this. He’d throw down his life for this.

If he lost her again, he’d want to be dead anyway.

* * *

In true Pacific Northwest style, the Seattle-Tacoma weather gods broke out one of their best downpours in honor of the girls’ homecoming. It was another lucky twist of fate, because when Heidi was finally reunited with her daughter and the TV cameras zoomed in for their close-ups of the mother and daughter sobbing on each other, nobody paid attention to one Sergeant Hawkins behind them discreetly wiping “rain” off his own face. Rayna had a similar reunion with her brothers, who could easily fill out most of an epic movie cast—even with two of their seven out on deployments. Zeke kept careful watch nearby until something outside the terminal window caused a thunderhead to cross his face, making the clouds outside look like cartoons.

After making sure a Sea-Tac security officer was instructed not to take his eyes off Sage, Garrett snuck behind the camera crews and stepped next to his friend. “Dude, you look like you saw the spawn of hell himself.”

Zeke’s lip curled, exposing pure rancor. “I did.”

“What’re you—”

His friend cut him short with a rough grunt and a curt nod. Garrett followed the trajectory of that move, looking outside. Their plane had taxied to a gate at the end of the terminal, adjacent to what looked like the airport’s main security operations. Considering who they’d just shuttled home, the move wasn’t surprising. His scrutiny took in a one-story building with a mess of communication equipment on its roof and a swarm of people in dark-blue uniforms both inside and out. There were four standard-issue police cars present, flanking a black van that looked anything but standard.

Because it wasn’t.

Standing in the rain outside that van, his wrists and legs chained and his elbows bracketed by two FBI suits, was the man he’d last seen kneeling in jungle grass, busted in the act of trying to broker women into slavery.

King.

If blood could really scream, Garrett was certain his did. As if beckoned merely by the strength of that silent chaos, the asshole below raised his head—and instantly zeroed in on the spot where Garrett and Zeke stood. Like a slow-motion demon, King turned up a knowing grin in greasy increments before licking his lips as if finishing off a juicy steak.

“Evil” was too good a term for the bastard. So was “worm in the sewer of humanity.”

Garrett barely controlled the craving to pound the window. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

“I don’t know,” Zeke rumbled. “But I’m gonna damn well find out.”

“Good.” It was agonizing to take in a breath. “Good.”

“I’ll call you.”

“You sure as hell will.”

“In return, I need a favor.”

“Make a list of options for killing the guy?”

Z grunted. “Well, that too. But for right now, Rayna and Sage don’t get told about this, okay?”

Garrett whooshed out a long breath. “Dude. I’m only out of the doghouse by half a step.”

“And I need you with me on this right now, G. Please.” His friend tensed, making his body seem like a mountain atop an earthquake. “For fuck’s sake. They both just got back into the States, where they don’t have to jump at every movement in the shadows, or guard their food like they’re prison inmates, or be afraid of breathing for fear of what that asshole has in store for them next.”