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  As Maria entered the bedroom, she heard loud male shouting coming from the next room. At least three men. Two had accents she couldn’t place, but one man she recognized. She hadn’t even realized he’d be at the party. She wanted to say hello but was too ill to face anyone and the shouting was escalating.

  A low hum of panic threaded through her veins as the shouting suddenly increased in volume. She couldn’t make out the words, but then everything got quieter. Curious and worried, she hurried to the shared wall and pressed her ear against it.

  “You cannot bomb the Freedom Tower last,” the familiar voice said, anger punching through each word.

  “We can and will. It is symbolic,” an accented voice growled.

  “No, the tower is a landmark. If you try to wait it won’t work. The police, the FBI, and everyone hunting you will . . .”

  Maria wavered on her feet. Bomb the Freedom Tower? Panic gripped her with sharp talons, digging into her chest until it was hard to breathe. Blood rushed in her ears and she shook her head, trying to clear her panic so she could hear better. Straining, she held her breath as a man talked about bombing other Miami landmarks and individual residences. Some names she recognized well. Then there was a vile curse about hating the United States and all it stood for.

  When everything suddenly went quiet, she pushed away from the wall. What the hell had she just heard? Terror was like a live thing inside her, pushing back most of her nausea. She had to tell someone what she’d just heard. While she didn’t recognize two of the voices, she knew the third one. And it scared the holy hell out of her that a man she knew, a man she trusted, was involved with . . . whatever was going on.

  Her gaze landed on the door, but she backed away from it. There was no way she could exit through it. What if she ran into one of those men in the hallway? Looking around the unfamiliar room, she hurried to a double panel of ceiling-to-floor curtains. Peering behind one of the thick silk panels, she realized the curtains covered two French doors.

  When she untwisted the lock, the sound seemed overpronounced in the stillness even though she knew no one could have heard it. As she slipped outside onto the small balcony, the cool air rushed over her skin and a chill snaked through her that had nothing to do with the weather or her sickness.

  Glancing around the expansive moonlit acreage, she looked for a guard or any signs of life. Are you freaking kidding me? The place had to be crawling with extra security.

  Maria slipped off her heels and hurried across the small stone patio outside the room she’d been in. Immediately her feet hit grass. It was cool under her toes, but nothing could calm her right now. Pure panic raged through her as she hurried across the yard. Even through all the trees, on all sides she could only see a wall of hedges engulfing this place. Heading east across the yard in what she thought was the direction in which Nash had originally parked, she picked up her pace. She still felt shaky and nauseated, but nothing could stop her now. The hair on the back of her neck rose as another fear set in. What if someone had seen her leave that room? Or was watching her right now?

  Those men had been serious about the destruction they meant to cause. She had to get help.

  When she reached one of the giant hedges, a small sliver of relief slid through her. It wasn’t an actual wall, just thick bushes, which she could slip through. At this point she didn’t care what was on the other side. She just had to escape from this place and get to the limo. Her phone should be there, and more important, Nash would be able to help.

  As she tried to find an opening large enough that she could shove through, a rumble, then a horrific blast filled the air. She spun around, heart in her throat. Not truly comprehending what she was seeing, she felt her stomach pitch when a giant ball of orange flames tore through the sky, engulfing the west and east side of the mansion.

  Another rumble ripped through the air as the place started crumbling in on itself. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out as the knowledge that her mother had been in there pierced through her numbed mind. Darkness edged her vision, but she started to run toward the fire, needing to get to her mom, when another ball of flames tore through the night sky. Her entire body trembled under the impact, heat warming her despite the distance from the building. She blindly reached for something to hold her up but collapsed to her knees as her legs gave way. Tears streamed down her face as, unable to help, unable to breathe, she watched the place implode on itself.

  Though she tried to fight it off, the darkness that had threatened to overtake her earlier suddenly claimed her as she passed out.

  Chapter 2

  Agent: a person officially employed by an intelligence service.

  Maria held her phone to her ear as she listened to her dad talking and tried to rein in her tears. The sheets of the hospital bed beneath her were surprisingly soft, and the scent of flowers from the two dozen bouquets and baskets filling her large room gave off a too-sweet aroma. All of it made her want to throw up. And it had nothing to do with her previous flulike symptoms, which her body had finally kicked.

  Her mother and hundreds of people were dead, she was in the hospital because the doctors had been worried she might have a concussion—though they’d now ruled that out—and she was barely keeping it together. She also couldn’t remember anything from before the explosion. Hell, she couldn’t remember much of anything from yesterday. Not even leaving for the fund-raiser. But she knew she’d been there because she’d woken in a rumpled formal gown as paramedics lifted her up on a stretcher, talking about how it was a miracle she was alive. Waking up like that had been a nightmare of confusion and panic. Of pure freaking terror.

  But the real nightmare was learning her mother was really gone. She’d already lost her older brother in Afghanistan. To lose her mother too . . . she swallowed hard. God, why couldn’t she remember anything? The doctors said her mind was blocking out what she’d seen as a defense mechanism and that she might eventually get her memories back. Eventually wasn’t good enough.

  “We’re leaving now, sweetheart. I’m sorry I’m not there with you. . . .” His voice broke, her normally rock-solid father faltering.

  “I know, Dad,” she said, her own voice thick with unshed tears. “Just get home safely. Nash is here, so don’t worry.” Well, he was outside the hospital room, not with her. She closed her eyes as if that could block out the reality of the situation.

  Her father said something else, but it barely registered. After they said their good-byes, she hung up and laid the phone on the bed next to her thigh. Her chest ached so bad she just knew it was about to crack open. Her mom . . . no, she wouldn’t even think about what had happened.

  Not here. Not when she was about to have a breakdown of epic proportions.

  Forcing her body to obey her when all she wanted to do was curl into a ball and cry until she passed out, she got up. Cool air rushed over her exposed back and backside as her feet hit the chilly linoleum floor. She wasn’t wearing any panties and the hospital gown wasn’t covering much of her. She didn’t care.

  Right now she didn’t care about much at all.

  Sometime when she’d been asleep her dirty, rumpled gown had been removed from the room. And someone had left a small bag of clothes on the bench by the window. No doubt Nash had brought her something to wear. He’d been in to see her a few times, but she’d asked him to leave each time. She felt like a complete bitch because she knew he just wanted to help, but she didn’t care. Nothing could help, and being alone with her pain was the only way she could cope right now.

  Feeling as if she were a hundred years old, she’d started unzipping the small brown leather bag when the door opened. As she turned to look over her shoulder, she found Nash, a uniformed police officer, and another really tall, thuggish-looking man entering.

  Her eyes widened in recognition. The tattoos were new, but the thug was Cade O’Reilly. He’d served in the Marines with
her brother. They’d been best friends and her brother, Riel, named after her father, had even brought him home a few times. But that was years ago. Eight to be exact. It was hard to forget the man who’d completely cut her out of his life after her brother died, as if she meant nothing to him.

  Cade towered over Nash—who was pretty tall himself—and had a sleeve of tattoos on one arm and a couple on the other. His jet-black hair was almost shaved, the skull trim close to his head, just like the last time she’d seen him. He was . . . intimidating. Always had been. And startlingly handsome in that bad-boy way she was sure had made plenty of women . . . Yeah, she wasn’t even going there.

  She swiveled quickly, putting her back to the window so she wasn’t flashing them. Reaching around to her back, she clasped the hospital gown together. “You can’t knock?” she practically shouted, her voice raspy from crying, not sure whom she was directing the question to.

  “I told them you weren’t to be bothered, but—”

  The police officer cut Nash off, his gaze kind but direct. “Ms. Cervantes, this man is from the NSA and needs to ask you some questions. As soon as you’re done, the doctors will release you.”

  “I know who he is.” She bit the words out angrily, earning a surprised look from Nash and a controlled look from Cade.

  She might know Cade, or she had at one time, but she hadn’t known he worked for the NSA. After her brother’s death he’d stopped communicating with her. Her brother had brought him home during one of their short leaves, and she and Cade had become friends. Good friends. They’d e-mailed all the time, for almost a year straight. Right near the end of their long correspondence, things had shifted between them, had been heading into more than friendly territory. Then after Riel died, it was as if Cade had too. It had cut her so deep to lose him on top of her brother. And now he showed up in the hospital room after her mom’s death and wanted to talk to her? Hell no.

  She’d been harassing the nurses to find a doctor who would discharge her, and now she knew why they’d been putting her off. They’d done a dozen tests and she didn’t have a brain injury. She wasn’t exhibiting any signs of having a concussion except for the memory loss, but the doctors were convinced that this was because of shock and trauma at what she’d apparently witnessed.

  Nash started to argue, but the cop hauled him away, talking in low undertones, shutting the door behind them. Leaving her alone with this giant of a man.

  Feeling raw and vulnerable, Maria wrapped her arms around herself. The sun had almost set, so even standing by the window didn’t warm her up. She just felt so damn cold. Because of the room and probably grief. And now to be faced with a dark reminder of her past was too much.

  Cade took another step toward her and nodded politely, as if he barely knew her. “I know it probably means nothing coming from me, but I’m sorry about your mother.” His voice was deeper than she remembered. Masculine and oddly soothing.

  Her first instinct was to snap at him that he was right; it didn’t mean anything. But her mother had raised her better than that and she didn’t want to lash out at everyone she came in contact with. It made her feel even worse. She knew that was why she’d been doing it to everyone. If she was in pain, she wanted the world to be in pain too. But that was wrong. Plus, she wanted to know why Cade was in her hospital room. “Thank you. . . . So you’re with the NSA now?”

  Nodding, he took a few steps closer and pulled out something that looked like a wallet. He flipped open the black leather holder to show her his identification. As if she needed the proof.

  She looked at it, then at him. Even if it was fake, she would have no clue, but she doubted a Miami police officer would have escorted him into the room if he were a liar. She had a ton of questions for him, like why the hell he’d fallen off the face of the earth eight years ago, but knew now wasn’t the time. “Why does the NSA want to talk to me?” She’d talked to the police and even Homeland Security, but she knew nothing about the NSA or why they would possibly want to talk to her. She couldn’t remember anything about last night.

  How many times did she have to explain that? Instead of returning to the bed she sat on the bench and crossed her legs. She felt ridiculously small compared to him when he remained standing, but she didn’t have the energy to walk back to the bed.

  “I just want to go over the events of last night, Ms. Cervantes.”

  Tears burned her eyes as she glanced down. “Really? You’re going to call me Ms. Cervantes? That’s lame, Cade.” Not to mention that hearing “Ms. Cervantes” made her think of her mother, which made her want to cry.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Maria. What do you remember about last night?”

  “Nothing. It’s a giant blank, so I’m sorry you’ve wasted your time.” She was tempted to ask him why he even wanted to know, but at this point she figured asking questions would invite more conversation. And that cop had said when they were done, she could go home. Right now she couldn’t handle this glaring blast from her past on top of everything else. It was too surreal that the man who had hurt her so badly, the man she’d lost many tears and sleepless nights over, was in her hospital room.

  He watched her carefully for a long moment before sliding a plastic chair a couple of feet in front of her. He turned it around and straddled it, the almost relaxed position putting her at ease, though she wasn’t sure why. There was something about him that was calming, which was weird because of his large size and her residual anger. She glanced at his tattoos, watching the muscles and tendons flex when he crossed his arms over the back of the chair.

  “Tell me what you do remember.”

  She took a deep, ragged breath and was glad her voice didn’t shake when she answered. “I remember waking up in what looked like a war zone. Or what I imagine one would look like. Everything around me seemed to be burning. The Westwood mansion was . . . in ruins and two paramedics were putting me in the back of an ambulance. They put an oxygen mask on me and I must have fallen asleep or passed out again, because the next thing I remember I was waking up in a hospital room to find a doctor shining a tiny flashlight into my eyes.” She wrapped her arms around herself.

  “What’s the first thing you remember before that?”

  She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate. “I remember . . . throwing up.” She opened her eyes then. “I was sick for over a week and staying home from work. The last week I’ve been at home and miserable and my last memory is clutching onto my toilet at home and hurling.” A gross image, but he didn’t seem to mind and she didn’t care what he thought. She started to stand then, needing to get the hell out of there and away from this man and his mesmerizing eyes. And she was pissed he was in her room after he’d ignored her for almost a decade.

  When he didn’t make a move to get up, fury detonated inside her. Her mother was dead, her father was still out of town, and she had a lot of arrangements to make while she tried not to fall apart. She had nothing to tell the authorities that would be of any use. How could Cade not realize that? If she knew something she’d tell them. Anything to bring her mother’s murderer—or murderers—to justice.

  “Why were you outside out of the blast zone when the bombs went off?” he asked calmly, still not moving.

  Something about his tone rubbed her the wrong way. “What? If I don’t even remember being at the party, how the hell would I know why I was outside?” Now she was definitely shouting.

  The question was insulting, like something those stupid news reporters asked people after they’d suffered a tragedy. Like “How do you feel now that your home is destroyed and you’ve lost all your earthly belongings?” Did they really expect people to say, “Great, freaking fantastic!”? Her hands and voice shook as she turned to her bag. She didn’t give a crap if she gave him a show of bare ass.

  Maria was going home right now. Unstoppable tears started falling down her face as she tore her bag open
and yanked out a pair of jeans. Not bothering with underclothes, she managed to tug them on beneath the hospital gown as sobs racked her body.

  He was saying something in that deep voice, but all she could think was that her mom was dead and she’d never see her again. Never get to tell her good-bye or how much she’d loved her. Never get to feel her mom’s warm embrace around her. As Maria pulled out her sweater, she heard the chair squeaking against the floor behind her.

  “Maria—”

  She whirled on him then, her sweater clutched to her chest. She couldn’t see him clearly through her tears, but she lashed out with her top, slapping him in the shoulder with it. It made a soft smacking sound. “Fuck you! You show up after eight years of silence the day after my mom dies with no explanation about . . .” She trailed off, unable to formulate any more words. Her throat clenched impossibly tight as she tried to stop the avalanche of pain.

  “Fuck, I’m sorry. Maria, I just—”

  Covering her face with her hands, she collapsed onto the bench and didn’t bother trying to stop the tears. It was impossible now. She’d known once she let them loose it would be like a hurricane of grief. And she didn’t want this man, of all people, to see her so weak. She just wanted him gone.

  Taking her completely by surprise, two strong arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her into a tight, comforting embrace. Beyond being able to feel embarrassed, Maria buried her face in Cade’s chest and sobbed until her throat was raw and she was simply shaking.

  She wasn’t sure how long she cried like that, clutching him like a lunatic, but she eventually became aware of him rubbing her back in soothing strokes as he quietly held her. Though she knew her tears weren’t dried up completely, part of her edginess had eased as she pulled back from him. Probably because she was now utterly exhausted.