The Fallen One

by Brittney Sahin

Genres: Action & Adventure Romance; Military Romance

Synopsis

From Wall Street Journal and Amazon Charts bestselling author Brittney Sahin, comes a sizzling love story between a morally gray hero who doesn’t believe in second chances, and the woman who will make him question everything.

Five years ago, a phone call forever changed my life as I listened to my wife being murdered half a world away.

Going rogue from the CIA, I became a man feared by everyone as I sought vengeance. Lies she’d told and secrets she’d kept, pushed me over an even darker edge.

With nothing to lose, I became unstoppable. A devil among men. Until justice was served, or so I’d thought it’d been . . .

Working alongside a team of veterans, trying to find my way back to the man I’d once been, another life-altering call came, drawing me back to the dark world I’d left behind.

The assignment should’ve been straightforward. Rescue a brilliant scientist working on a classified government project and save the nation from an attack while I was at it. But nothing in my life was ever simple.

When the missing scientist turned out to be the same off-limits woman I’d been obsessing over for months, saving her life was the easy part.

Not corrupting her in the process was the challenge. Especially when that gorgeous woman, innocent and untainted by the evils of the world, begged me to do exactly that.

Our past was complicated. The chemistry between us, undeniable. The desire to claim her as my own and never let go, unbearable.

My team may have been up against our most formidable threat ever, but there I was about to do something I never did. Lose my control.

Author’s Note: This is Carter Dominick’s book in the Falcon Falls Security Series. This romantic suspense novel may be read as a standalone.

Release date: March 14, 2024

Publisher: EmKo Media, LLC

Reader says this book is...: action-packed (1) emotionally riveting (1) happily ever after (1) satisfying ending (1) strong chemistry (1) terrific writing (1) unputdownable (1)

Sample

Chapter One (Carter)

Abu Dhabi, U.A.E. – November 2011

Maybe I should’ve been a pilot like Rebecca wanted me to be. I stared out the window at the F-22 Raptor on the base’s runway, noticing two Air Force guys chatting with a few of the U.A.E.’s men. The sophisticated warplane would be heading out tonight, same as last, with a wave of F-16 Fighting Falcons piloted by our allies, the Emiratis.

Not that the Pentagon had officially acknowledged Americans were operating alongside them from the Al-Dhafra base. No, as far as the White House was concerned, we weren’t even there. 

And for that matter, my team hadn’t been in Somalia the last two months, working to dismantle Al Qaeda’s foreign fighting trafficking network to Yemen.

“I know what you’re thinking.” I turned to face Griffin Andrews as we awaited our flight home with the rest of our teammates.

“Doubt it.” Hell, I don’t even know what’s going on in my head right now. “But I reckon you’re going to tell me.” Fatigue had set in, which had my Texas drawl sliding through. I did my best to abandon my accent whenever I wasn’t Stateside. Better not to let the enemies know anything about you. Clearly, I needed to get home. I also needed to fuck my wife. Relieve some tension.

Rebecca and I had been going through a rough patch ever since I went through Selection. She didn’t want me becoming a Tier One guy, and that was all I’d wanted since I’d watched Rambo, too young to know it was all sound effects and bullshit. So, she’d reluctantly agreed, but her yes had come with a cost—the cold fucking shoulder.

Speaking of inaccurate films . . . I looked across the room where some of our team was gathered around a movie. Instead of Griffin enlightening me with his sudden mind reading skills, the FNG getting hammered by a senior operator captured our attention.

“I’d rather you watch Jerry Springer than this BS. They’ve got SEALs HALO’ing in at night without NODs. What kind of garbage is this?” Dennison, our assistant team leader, remarked, busting Bradley’s balls. “Two things you don’t leave home without—night vision and your rifle. If you can watch this and not bat an eyelash at the inaccuracies, I have serious concerns about what you might do if your rifle jams up in a gunfight. Or hell, maybe you’ll try and exfil on your dirty side. Or . . .”

He kept going, but I stopped listening. Bradley turned off the TV and tossed the remote, doing a hell of a job sucking it up and taking whatever Dennison served him.

Up until six months ago, Griffin and I were the FNGs, the fucking new guys, in the Unit. We’d been happy to relinquish that title, especially given how young we were. Griffin hadn’t even punched over to this side of thirty yet, and I was only thirty-two as of June.

Griffin tipped his head, signaling for us to make a clean exit before we got roped into the conversation. And I had a feeling he was about to go Jerry Springer on me himself and wanted to do it privately. Probably attempt to get me to talk through my feelings. Acknowledge the fact that while my wife was pissed I’d joined the Unit, she wasn’t angry enough to withhold the few dirty photos she’d gifted me here and there to whack off to—thank fuck for that.

We’d almost made it to the door without drawing Dennison’s attention, when he snapped out, “Where are you two headed?”

“Outside for air.” And probably a lecture.

Dennison locked his arms across his chest. The man was on edge even more than normal, and I didn’t like the look in his eyes. The Secretary of State had called in a favor to JSOC—the Joint Special Operations Command—rerouting us here last week for an op instead of home as planned. The man probably needed to get laid, too.

“You’ve got to be the only billionaire in history risking his neck for the military,” Dennison drawled, his Southern slipping through the cracks, too.

Here we go. “I’m not a billionaire.” I rotated my neck a bit, knowing I needed to suck it up, pull a “Bradley,” and shut my mouth. But, against my better judgment, I was about to get in the man’s crosshairs. “My wife inherited the money when her parents died. It’s not mine.”

Rebecca’s parents’ private jet crashed three Christmases ago, and now my wife helped run their business empire, which included everything from chain hotels to manufacturing. That was why she lived in Manhattan instead of with me near Ft. Bragg in North Carolina. Not that I was ever home for it to matter where she rested her head at night.

“Marriage means the money is yours, too, buddy,” Bradley said, deciding to break his silence for me since I still teetered on the border of FNG status. “It’s wild you’re here when you could buy yourself an island and chill. Billions, man. I can’t wrap my head around how much money that is. I mean, what the fuck is wrong with you that you don’t just go off-grid, buy your own helos, and maybe an island or two?”

“And miss all the fun with you guys?” I grabbed my Gatorz from my pocket, prepared to exfil out of there before Dennison or Bradley trapped me into opening my mouth.

“Your house in New York is seventy-five million,” Bradley went on. “That kind of money is—”

“How do you know how much my wife’s house is?” And it would always be my wife’s house in my mind. It belonged to her parents before they died, and I was more comfortable on a bed at base than taking a shit on a gold toilet—and fucking hell, there really was a gold-plated toilet in the primary bathroom.

“I was bored. Googled it. Curiosity—”

“Killed the cat,” Dennison cut him off, and thank God for that. He cocked his head, giving me the green light to go before Bradley said anything more relating to my wife or her family.

With how wiped out we all were, I might forget we were teammates and working to become friends. I’d take a bullet for the man, but I didn’t know him well enough to trust him with my secrets.

Once Griffin and I were outside, I turned to face him. “Spit it out. What’re you tiptoeing around?” Sunglasses on, I shoved my hands into my pockets in preparation for what was coming next. Another conversation I didn’t want to have.

“I heard you might be leaving us to work for the Company.”

Shit. “Who’d you hear that from? I’ve barely got my feet wet with the team here, why would I leave for the CIA?”

“Because that’s what Rebecca wants,” he said bluntly. “She’s got contacts. Friends at the White House. A lot of them because of her parents. And they’re squawking on her behalf. It made it down the pipeline to Dennison, then to Lopez.”

“All the way to everyone but me, huh?” The idea our team leader, Master Sergeant Lopez, had heard rumors I might up and leave for the Agency was a gut shot I couldn’t stomach right now. I’d need to confront my headstrong wife about the dinners she was throwing with her Washington friends “on my behalf.”

“It was going to get back to you at some point, I’d rather you hear it from me.”

“Learn that my wife is poking around behind my back trying to get me to leave the Army?” Lifting my hands from my pockets, I tore my fingers through my hair. I loved the woman, but damnit . . . “I’m barely ten years in. I have a list of shit I want to accomplish and another ten, at minimum, to give. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You say that, but she’s your wife. And maybe you can hide it from the rest of the guys here, but I can see what this is doing to you. The fact she doesn’t support you being part of this team is fucking with your head.”

He had a point. If I wasn’t a hundred percent, distracted by the guilt hovering like a dark cloud, I could get someone hurt. “What would you do?”

“You’ve known Rebecca for nearly half your life, right?”

“Eleven years.” But it felt like I’d known her forever. “Met at Columbia while I was a senior and she was a freshman. Became friends.” She pushed me to join the Air Force, but at the last minute, I joined the Army instead. “Didn’t start dating seriously until I was a year into my service. Married after she finished grad school.” Recounting the bullet points wasn’t necessary. Not for Griffin. But apparently my conscience needed the trip down memory lane. The reminders of the life we’d shared and how far we’d come.

He slapped a hand over my shoulder. “It’s hard work doing what we do while keeping it together at home. Not that I’d know, being I’m single, but I have eyes and ears. I see and hear what y’all married guys go through.”

“You can’t seriously be recommending I quit and join the Agency because Rebecca wants me to.”

“I’m just saying do what makes you happy. And as long as she’s not happy, you’re not happy.”

I bowed my head, unsure what to think, but leaving the Unit was the last thing I wanted. Well, the last-last thing I wanted was to lose Rebecca. Fuck. He removed his hand from my shoulder. Unfortunately, it didn’t lessen the weight his words left there. “Do me a favor and come spend Christmas with us next month in New York.”

“To help persuade Rebecca you should stay or convince you to quit?”

“To keep me sane when she hosts her fancy dinner parties with her fancy elitist friends in her fancy fucking house.”

“You really hate fancy shit, huh?” He laughed. “Won’t you have Camila there to keep you from going off the deep end?”

Outside of Rebecca, Camila was the only family I had left. The daughter of my parents’ best friends, she’d become like a little sister to me. Always ready to bust my balls and save my ass a time or two. 

“No, she won’t be there. She’s got a work thing.” Spy shit. “So, do me a solid and come.” I cursed at the sight of Dennison waving us back in before Griffin could respond, and I pocketed my sunglasses.

“Guess we’re not making it home for Thanksgiving,” Griffin said as we made our way inside.

“We have an emergency situation at the U.S. Embassy here. This is going to be brief, so listen up. We need to head out now.” Lopez was in the room now, and the first to speak. “Truck bombing outside the embassy. Marines and DS are under heavy fire. The ambo didn’t make it to the safe room. She’s being held hostage inside. Same with her daughter who’s in town visiting—but they’re separated on different floors.”

“This is a hostage rescue operation,” Dennison chimed in. “We have a five-story building without many windows. The shape is angular, almost pyramidal, and it’s not ideal for fast-roping in. So, we’ll need to breach another way.”

“What about local police? SWAT? Any help until we can get there?” I asked, already on the move for my weapons bag. One that’d been prepped for a flight home, not for an op.

“That’s the problem,” Dennison answered as I strapped on my plate and vest. “Al-Qaeda members were dressed as local PD, which is how they infil’ed the embassy. And one Marine security guard opened fire on one of the real police officers trying to get in to help after the explosion in the parking lot, creating a fucking mess on top of things.”

 “Great, so we can’t tell the good guys from the bad guys when we do get in.” Fucking perfect. I holstered my secondary at my side, a Glock 19, then went for my HK416 carbine, a better rifle for close-quarters combat because of the shorter barrel length. “So, don’t shoot until we’re shot at first.”

Lopez nodded. “CIA intel’s suggesting this is payback for the Bin Laden kill this year, and they’re planning to hit other embassies today, so they’re locking every other site down.”

“Could’ve used that intel before they attacked the embassy,” Griffin grumbled. He wasn’t a fan of the CIA, making my decision to possibly join one day, because of Rebecca’s insistence, that much more painful.

“The Marines are reporting the ambo’s daughter is on the fifth floor being held hostage by two tangos, possibly in explosive vests. Ambassador Mackenzie is on the second floor with an unknown number of tangos armed with AKs and explosives as well,” Dennison shared, eyes on me. “You’ve got the daughter.”

“How old is she? We talking a kid? Five or six?” Fuck, that made my stomach turn. If the guy clacked off his vest, or there was a bomb somewhere inside—screw coming home for Thanksgiving, we wouldn’t be coming home at all.

“Name is Diana Mackenzie, and she’s not a child. She’s twenty, a college student here for Thanksgiving with her mom,” Dennison said while kitting up. “She’s also the Speaker of the House’s daughter. Joshua Mackenzie’s not here, but he’ll have our heads if his ex-wife or his daughter dies today, so don’t let that happen. We clear?”

“I have every intention of saving her regardless of who the fuck her father is,” I said, forgetting my place for a moment. “Sir,” I tacked on. 

I met Griffin’s eyes and gave him a nod. It was go time.

 

Chapter Two (Diana)

On a scale of one to ten, this is . . . unscalable. How do you even rate this kind of nightmare? Had I nodded off while reading? Ugh. Why was I hot? And what was that in the air? My entire body did that weird jerk-move from startling when you fall in your sleep, and I—

“Don’t move. Not an inch.” An unfamiliar voice curled around me as the weight of something heavy banded across my waist.

Who’s holding me? Wait . . . not a nightmare. “What—what’s happening?” I started coughing, or maybe choking, on what felt like burnt, ashy air as it filled my throat and lungs.

Finally managing to pry open my eyes, the realization of what a bad idea that was had me sealing my lids tight. Was the floor missing inches from where I was lying? Or was this some bizarre fever dream?

Then it hit me. The memories. 

I snatched answers from the foggy part of my brain before they could retreat in terror and self-preservation. The hit to my head from the blast had rattled my thoughts and knocked me out.

“The floor is unstable. You need to be careful.” There was that voice again, coming from behind me. “I need to shift you to the other side of me before you fall.”

Fall? I did my best to force the fear to vacate my body so I could get a handle on the situation and reopen my eyes.

“You okay? Injured?” he asked.

“I—I don’t think so. I feel fine.” That was something. Based on the mystery guy’s steady tone, he sounded okay, too.

But there were wires exposed. Crumbled plaster. The building was . . . well, I shouldn’t have been able to see into the room next door, but there it was—a wide-open space with no floor between myself and the Deputy Chief of Mission’s office.

“This can’t be from that guy’s vest.” I knew a thing or two about chemistry. Enough to know the explosives those two assholes had strapped over their clothes couldn’t tear a hole in the room like this.

“There was an explosive device in the office next door. Took out that room and most of this one, including the floor.” The deep, slightly muffled voice slid across my skin, hitting the shell of my ear again. 

I’d learned the names of every Marine and security officer in the building since I’d arrived. Spoken to each of them multiple times. I would’ve remembered a raspy tone like this one had I met him before.

“You got to me in time,” I said as it came back to me, remembering more of what happened before it’d been lights out.

The man behind me had to be the military-looking guy who’d shown up just before the blast. Rifle in hand, most of his face masked aside from his eyes, he’d taken out the two men who had me hostage. And then . . . boom. 

And now I was on the ground about to fall through what was left of the floor. Maybe a twelve-foot drop wouldn’t be that bad, but what if I landed on glass or something sharp or jagged, and—

“There’s nowhere for us to go,” he said, cutting off my panicky thoughts. “We have to wait for an extract. But I need you on the other side of me, okay?”

“What do I do?” At the feel of his hand on my midsection, I tried to turn my head, hoping for a glimpse at the man sent here to save me. Instead, I went still, terror sliding in and taking hold of me as the remaining floor wobbled beneath us. “I don’t want to die.”

“I’m not letting you die. My people will find us in time.” 

I attempted to cling to the promising sound of his voice, instinct and hope (maybe even a bit of faith?) telling me we would be okay, but the rational part of my brain clamored for attention. Facts and random information that didn’t serve any purpose, except maybe to heighten my anxiety, cut through as I started hacking on the smoke again. Science couldn’t get me out of this mess, but maybe the guy with his hand on my stomach could.

“I’m going to slowly pull you on top of me, then around to my other side. The floor is a bit more stable behind me. There’s only a foot of space, but you’ll be against a wall, and there must be a support beam right below keeping us from going down like the rest of the floor.”

I latched on to his strong, calming tone and did as he asked, managing to complete step one: straddle a stranger.

My hands rested on top of his chest—well, on top of the vest stuffed with ammo—and he held a firm hold of my hips, keeping me safely tethered on his lap. Only his eyes were visible, but it was too dark to make out the color of them. I leaned in closer to him, feeling safer already. Feeling better, even. “Oxytocin,” I muttered.

“What?” he asked, somehow remaining patient with me.

We both started coughing, and I waved at the tendrils of smoke in the air with one hand, then found his eyes again. “I feel safe like this, and my body must be releasing oxytocin as a result, lowering my cortisol levels. So, basically, I’m less panicky now.”

“Ahh, okay. Well,” he began, his deep voice continuing to reassure me, “you’ll be even safer on the other side of me, and then maybe you’ll release a lot more of that oxytocin.”

“Okay.” Yet, I didn’t budge.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he added, sensing my hesitancy about moving again. “What else releases oxytocin? Talk to me while you move.”

Jeez, he was good at distracting me. “Aside from physical touch, like hugging, labor can trigger its release. Breastfeeding.” I set my hand to the ground on the other side of him, beginning to slide over. “An erection, sex, masturba—” I cut myself off a little too late.

He cleared his throat, doubtfully from the smoke that time. “Lie next to me,” he said casually, acting as though I hadn’t said what I’d said, and that we weren’t on the verge of joining the fourth floor.

I carefully finished following orders and shifted to my right side, bending my elbows and forcing my hands to fit between us.

After a few more bouts of coughing racked through both of us—hopefully just enough to joggle his brain and clear away the memory of my rambling—he started talking, but based on what he was saying, he wasn’t speaking to me. The only clear word I overheard was, “Break.”

“Break,” I echoed, not actually expecting him to explain what that meant.

He kept his head tipped back, eyes on the ceiling. No movement aside from his finger resting on something near his throat. It had to be his communication device to his team.

“I have the package. We need immediate exfil.” He gave off specific information about our location, but how would anyone get to us? Cut a new hole but through the roof and drop a rope down?

At the visible rise and fall of his chest, I asked, “Everything okay?”

“My teammates are good. And your mom is safe,” he shared. “We were the only ones on the fifth floor aside from the bad guys. And the fourth level had already been cleared out.”

In the chaos of it all, I couldn’t believe I hadn’t asked about my mom. “What about the others? There was so much gunfire before you arrived. Is the staff okay?” Thankfully, with Thanksgiving around the corner, there’d only been a handful of people there.

“I’m not sure on other casualties, ma’am.”

“Ma’am is my mom. Not that it matters what you call me, I suppose.”

“Sorry.” He slowly faced me. “Diana.” 

He gestured for me to lift my sweater up and over my mouth. Not easy to do in the cramped space, but I managed to get my hands to the neckline and cover my lips and nose. Now it was just eyes on eyes.

“Who are you? I overheard Mom on the phone with the Secretary of State this morning. Something about diplomacy didn’t work. So, a team of Delta operators were brought in last week for a quick assist even though they were due home already, and now you’re here, so—”

“Your mom needs to do a better job at not talking where someone can eavesdrop. Not even for her daughter to hear.” Despite the shit lighting, I could make out the visible snap of his brows drawing together. “Especially not near her daughter. Knowing things can be dangerous.”

“Can’t be more dangerous than being taken hostage and having a bomb nearly kill me,” I blurted. “Technically, given the floor might disappear beneath us any moment, we can still die.” My arms began cramping from being trapped between my body and his. “So, you’re Delta, right? Although you all have a few names. CAG. The Unit. Not that you can officially speak on any, right? But at least your people aren’t in the media’s spotlight, unlike the SEALs who took out Bin Laden earlier this year and are now under a microscope.” I needed to stop rambling stat. “Can you give me your name, at least?”

He was quiet for a moment, but then he asked, “Do you need a name?” There was a smooth edge to his tone instead of the typical roughness I would expect from a Delta operator.

“I’d like one, but I’d like a lot of things right now. Doubt I’ll get any of them.”

“Like what?” Ah, he was trying to distract me again.

“Mmm. Room to breathe, for one. Clean air would be nice, too.”

“At least we’re not on fire,” he said, a touch of humor to his voice.

“Well, now that you mention it . . .” I went through a few chemistry notes in my head, trying to determine why the room wasn’t a post-bomb inferno.

“You can call me Dom,” he said, his words snapping through the chemical equations flying through my mind.

“Like Dom as in dominant, or Dom as in Dominic Toretto from Fast and Furious?” Did I really just ask that?

“I’d like to laugh right now, but I’m worried the floor can’t handle it.” He reached for his mask and lowered it to reveal his face, clearly wanting me to see his smile, as if seeing it would somehow help ease my nerves. Because if he was smiling, he couldn’t be too worried we’d plummet to our deaths, right?

But also—wow, what a nice face. I bet even better in the light.

“Dom as in Dominick.” He re-covered his mouth as he spoke. “The guys on the team call me Dom. And the bad guys call me the devil.”

You hardly seem like a devil. But ohhh . . . if he was taking their souls to hell, then I could see that nickname. It made sense.

“I’m going to hold on to you. That okay?” His brows rose in question, and when I nodded yes, he quietly set his hand on my jeaned hip.

“And what does your family call you?”

“How about I ask you a question instead?”

“Distract and deflect. Keep me talking so I don’t have a panic attack?”

“That’s the idea.” I could hear the smirk in his tone; he didn’t need to lower his mask to confirm he was smiling again. “Did your mom name you after the princess?”

“How in the world did you know that? Your brief had to have been pretty, well, brief. Those details wouldn’t be included.”

“You know a lot about the military, don’t you?”

“Hard not to when your dad was career military before getting into politics. He was a Teamguy, and I grew up all over the world, surrounded by operators,” I admitted. “So, Mr. Art of the Dodge, how’d you know my parents named me after Princess Diana?”

“A wild guess.” 

The building rumbled around us, and my heart skipped into my throat. His gloved hand drew me so close we’d soon be sharing a heartbeat.

“Not an answer.” I swallowed, my nerves distracting me as the walls continued to groan. “And also, I do not want to die like this. I have plans. Big ones. Turning twenty-one in January, to start. After that, saving the world.”

“We’ll get you to twenty-one, I promise. And all the birthdays between then and your plans to save the world.”

“Save me so I can save the world. That your plan?”

“Sounds like a perfect fuc—” He paused for a moment as if not wanting to swear in front of me. “Sounds like a perfect plan to me.”

Hmm. “Back to my name.”

“Back to it.” There was that humorous tone again. Not-a-care-or-worry-in-the-world kind of attitude from the sounds of it. I wondered if it was an act for me, or if, like my dad, he used comedy to neutralize tense situations.

“You’re a funny guy.”

“Not the compliment I usually get.”

“Who said it was a compliment?” Was I seriously teasing at a time like this?

“Having a sense of humor is usually a good thing.”

“True.” I smiled, nearly dropping the fabric covering part of my face. “You are making me forget I could fall to my death. Thank you.”

“Anytime.” He closed one eye for a second. “On second thought, let’s keep it to this one time.”

“Good point.” Another unexpected smile started to settle on my lips, interrupted by a short coughing fit. My sweater was not keeping the shit air from infiltrating my lungs. I should have kept the talking to a minimum, but the distraction of our conversation was keeping me from imagining all of the less attractive outcomes of our situation. And I had grown a bit attached to hearing his voice. “So. My name.”

“Ah, yes.” Instead of going on with that thought, he touched the device at his neck and went quiet, focusing as if someone was talking to him. He let whoever was on the line know we were still alive but short on time.

Short on time? Great, there go my nerves again. Flying away.

“Your mom is the ambassador. Your dad is the Speaker of the House. Celebrities and politicians give their kids weird names or iconic ones.”

And just like that, I’m distracted by his voice, those eyes on me, the proximity. The spot-on assessment, too. “Not just a door kicker, are you?” I teased, knowing he’d get the joke. “You’re perceptive. Clearly, smart.”

“All that from a comment about your name, huh?” He chuckled, and the sound went straight to that sweet oxytocin center of my brain. “But I’m gathering you’re not just a twenty-year-old daughter of politicians, are you?” He threw that “just” right back at me with the perfect amount of sarcasm. And I liked it. Just not the age part.

“Almost twenty-one-year-old daughter of politicians who named me after a princess as if that’d somehow make me one.”

He laughed again. Just barely, but it happened.

“I can see the headlines now,” I went on, deflecting from the flash of embarrassment cutting through me. At least it sent fear to the backseat. Fear, always the worst backseat driver, so my dad liked to say. “Hero fails to save the ambassador’s daughter after she triggers his awkward sense of humor with her own, sending them crashing through the floor.”

“My sense of humor is perfectly on point.” He fake-grunted. “Speak for yourself, kid.”

Kid. Ugh, I’d rather be ma’am’ed. “You really are pretty slick at the whole keeping-me-sane and helping-me-forget-the-‘I’m on death’s doorstep’ thing.” I went to lower the sweater from my face, but he lightly shook his head, a directive to keep it up. “Or in the hands of the devil. Of course, the devil was an angel before he fell. But I get the feeling you’re—”

“About to become your second-favorite guy, because my teammate is about to extract us, and he’ll be your new hero.”

“Wait, really?” My sweater fell, and I choked on some of the disgusting air.

He lowered his mask, revealing his lips. Lips I’d love to kiss as a thank-you. but that’d be crazy. And what was wrong with me?

“They just sent word. The embassy is secure from enemy fire. Our EOD man confirmed there are no more explosives inside. They’re thirty seconds out from rescuing us,” he said, presumably relaying whatever had been told to him over his earpiece.

“Mm. Well, I suppose you can be my second-favorite, not-just-a-door-kicker-but-humorous, Delta Force–operator hero.” That was a mouthful.

As the seconds ticked by while we awaited our rescue, he began smiling again, and it did something funny to my insides. Made me warm. Feel like I was bathed in the light of an angel, and definitely not in the hands of the devil.

“What are you thinking?” I couldn’t help but ask him.

His smile reached his eyes, and I could actually see his face, light finally shining on us from somewhere and eliminating the shadows that had surrounded him.

“Just happy to have a hand in saving the girl who plans to one day save the world.”

 

Chapter Three (Carter)

New York, New York

There were too many people at my wife’s holiday party. One short of two dozen to be exact. Unfortunately, Griffin hadn’t been one of the guests, so I had no one there I wanted to talk to other than my wife. And Rebecca was busy entertaining people—from dignitaries to dipshits.

One thing was for certain, she was in her element as Rebecca Barclay of the Barclay billionaires, not Rebecca Dominick. Not the wife of a guy who made less in a year than she made in a day. That was probably being generous. She more than likely topped my yearly salary in an hour.

At the sight of more people crowding in from the private elevator, I decided to bail for a few minutes to get some air.

It was starting to snow and arctic cold out, so I put on my coat and took the back steps to the rooftop terrace overlooking Fifth and Madison. Given the less than accommodating weather, I’d thought I’d have the terrace to myself. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one willing to brave the elements for a momentary escape.

The woman had her back to me. Blonde hair pinned up. A long wool coat wrapped around her small form. Eyes either shut or taking in the view of the city.

I didn’t remember meeting her downstairs, but maybe she’d come in while I’d been pouring myself a scotch from my private stash hidden in my wife’s office.

I contemplated finding somewhere else to have that minute alone I needed since I could only do so much fake smiling and handshaking without losing it. My skin was practically on fire, though, so the snowflakes and cold air were essential.

“Excuse me.” Maybe I could get her to go. She turned slowly, lifting her hands from her jacket pockets, then startled back. Damn—please don’t fall over the railing. And, fuck, was that . . . Diana? “Careful.” Worried she might fall fifty stories, I quickly joined her at the edge of the rooftop.

“You,” she mouthed, the word soft and barely audible. Her eyelashes fluttered in shock. “It is you, isn’t it? Your beard is gone, but . . .”

Why couldn’t I hide the smile that managed to sneak up on me? The woman was staring at me, starstruck. Like I was some celebrity. It was cute.

After Griffin had rescued us that day at the embassy, I’d barely had a chance to say goodbye to Diana—never even saw the ambassador. My team had been rushed away from the scene, so the media didn’t get eyes on us.

“It’s me,” I finally answered, getting out of my head. “Rebecca invited your mother to the party, I assume?” I hadn’t seen her down there, but why in God’s name would Rebecca do that? I wasn’t allowed to tell my wife classified details about certain operations, and she had no idea I’d been in Abu Dhabi last month. I didn’t bother to tell her I’d been part of the rescue team at the embassy, and she hadn’t asked. Hell, why would she? She’d believed I’d been in Africa at the time of the terrorist attack. So Diana and her mother weren’t at the party because of me.

“Wait, you know Rebecca Dominick?” She shook her head. “Of course you do, or you wouldn’t be here.” But then her eyes went wide. “Dom . . . inick.” Ah, she just put it together. “You’re Carter Dominick?” 

Her startled step back had me flying closer and snatching her waist, worried she’d go woman-over-building in a second. And fuck, I’d go right after, forgetting I couldn’t fly.

When I was confident she wouldn’t fall, I let go of her. “Yes, I’m her husband.”

“Dom,” she said under her breath, still appearing shocked.

I didn’t know what else to do other than shrug. “How are you doing? Been okay since . . . well, what happened?”

She stared at me for a solid ten seconds. I counted, using the time to center myself while I figured out how to navigate this situation. I rarely met people I’d rescued after ops, so I didn’t know what to do. Okay, that was a lie. I never ran into anyone I’d saved. This was my first time, and it needed to be my last.

“No PTSD, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m good.” She clutched the lapels of her coat, tugging them together while visibly shivering. “On break from college. Just visiting Mom’s temporary spot in New York while she waits for a new assignment.” 

Right. The embassy was closed for the time being, so of course the ambassador would be reassigned. “So, where do you go? What’s your major?” The art of small talk was actually a skill I’d acquired in the Army’s Tier One division. Came in handy more times than I could count. 

“I’m at Stanford. Getting my BS in environmental science with a minor in chemical engineering. And I dabble in nuclear and quantum physics.”

“Oh yeah? You know, I happen to dabble in quantum physics in my spare time, too,” I joked, grinning like a fucking idiot. What in God’s name is wrong with me?

When she laughed, it was the first time tonight I found myself enjoying talking to one of my wife’s guests. The kid had a good head on her shoulders. And damn was I glad I’d saved that head—and big brain of hers—last month.

“So, your mom knows my wife? Or do you?” I was still trying to put together how Ambassador Mackenzie wound up at our home. Not that I’d checked the guest list. Rubbing elbows, shoulders, or any body part with anyone other than my wife wasn’t something I was interested in. I wanted to spend every second on leave with Rebecca. Make up for lost time. Find a way to bridge the gap joining the Unit had placed between us.

She caught a snowflake with her tongue, such an innocent thing to do. “My mom knew her parents, and I guess she stayed friends with your wife after their death. I know Rebecca, too. Kinda-sorta, anyway.”

“Oh?” I pushed my hands into my coat pockets, trying to warm them up. I told myself it was because it’d be bad for my trigger finger to get frostbite, but part of me was also worried I might reach out for her again.

“My mom said the Barclays wanted Rebecca to have some real-life experience or something like that, so they had her babysit me a few times when I was younger.”

You’re still young. I kept that thought to myself and instead went with, “Small world.”

“The smallest,” she said with a nervous chuckle. When she took a step back, because she apparently enjoyed worrying me, I realized it was because we were no longer alone. “Congressman Paulsen,” she said through her teeth, and I turned to the side to put eyes on whoever was there.

“What are you two doing up here alone?” I didn’t appreciate the accusation in his tone. He made it sound like I was doing something indecent. On my own fucking rooftop terrace.

“We both had the same idea for fresh air. Well, cold air,” I said as his loafers tracked through the freshly fallen snow, coming closer to us. At the feel of Diana’s hand on my back, I stole a look at her. The tension in her expression told me everything I needed to know—she was using me as a shield. Not a good sign. 

I fully faced Paulsen, moving so Diana was sheltered completely behind me. “I think you should go inside. Too cold for your California blood,” I added, remembering where he’d said he was from when my wife had introduced him earlier tonight. Apparently, my wife had also donated to his last congressional campaign.

Paulsen angled his focus around me, trying to put eyes on Diana. The guy wasn’t much older than me, but he was far too old for her.

“You really should go back to the party.” If he hadn’t heard the threat in my tone, he’d see it in my motherfucking eyes. I had a feeling this asshole had made Diana uncomfortable before, and if I found out he’d touched her without her consent, he’d be the one slipping and falling fifty stories.

The congressman locked eyes with me before nodding. He didn’t want to dance with the devil tonight, which meant he had some sense in him. “I’ll be heading home. Good to see you again, Diana. My door is always open to you in San Francisco if you ever need anything.”

“Put a lock on your door. Don’t let so many people in,” I said, knowing he’d read between the lines to never bother her again. Once he smartly walked away without a word, I turned toward her. “You okay? Did he—”

“I’m good. And thank you for that. So far, he’s always taken no for an answer when hitting on me. But he makes me uneasy.”

“I’m sorry he was invited, and that he ever made you feel that way.” Shit, I needed another drink. I had to deal with bad guys on the regular. I didn’t need them at my wife’s party. I’d be making sure she removed him from future guest lists, too. No more donations, too. “But if he ever does bother you in the future, you let me know, okay?”

She rubbed her gloved hands up and down the sleeves of her coat, blue eyes flying to my face in surprise.

Wait, what am I offering? It wasn’t like I could give this girl my number in case she needed help. That would be awkward, bordering on inappropriate. “Your mom or dad. Tell them, I mean, and they can handle him,” I said before she could respond, because who the fuck was I, Batman? “We should probably go inside,” I suggested when she only kept staring at me. Don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea, particularly my wife. 

I’d never cheat on her, but Rebecca liked to push my buttons and ask me if I fucked around while deployed. It always made my stomach turn knowing she’d think I’d do that.

“Right.” She gave me a sweet smile. “Thank you for saving me in Abu Dhabi. I think I said that then, but in case I didn’t because of all the rushing post-rescue—”

“You did, and you’re welcome. You were strong. Kept it together when most wouldn’t.” With the snow starting to fall heavier now, I motioned for her to walk, intending to make sure she got down the stairs safely before I disappeared to a closed and locked room. I needed away from everything.

We only made it three steps toward the door before Rebecca found us up there. “Ahh, good, you two met. I was hoping you would.” Rebecca’s reaction shocked me, thankfully not giving me her signature what-the-hell eyes. “Diana’s mom didn’t bring her to our wedding, or Mom and Dad’s funeral, but we go way back, and I wanted to introduce you two.”

“The ambassador was at our wedding?” The funeral, too? My memory wasn’t that bad, was it? Then again, I’d met hundreds of her acquaintances over the years, and it was hard to keep everyone straight. Our wedding alone had at least four hundred guests.

“Susan wasn’t an ambassador then.” Rebecca didn’t have a coat, so I removed mine and draped it over her shoulders. “But wait, how’d you know her mom’s an ambassador? I didn’t see you talking to Susan tonight.” Her eyes flashed to Diana. “Oh, of course, you told him while up here, right?”

Diana peered at me as if surprised I hadn’t told my wife how I really knew her mother, and her, for that matter. “I did.”

“Thank God Diana wasn’t hurt last month. Did I tell you she was in that bombing? A miracle no one innocent died that day.” She pointed to Diana, then gestured for us to head back to the party. “She’s a whiz kid. A genius. One of the smartest people I know, and I know a lot of people.”

“I’m really not that—”

“Don’t be modest,” Rebecca cut her off as we descended the steps, the two of them walking ahead of me. Rebecca hooked her arm behind Diana’s back in a comforting and guiding gesture. Damn, my wife would make a good mother one day.

If only you wanted kids. 

“I’m going to get a drink. Want anything?” I asked the two of them once we were back in the main party area, the room flooded with people. “Shit, you’re not twenty-one yet, right?” Next month?

“Wow, you two really talked a lot, huh?” Rebecca spun around, handing me back my jacket.

If there was ever a time to tell you . . . “The embassy bombing,” I muttered under my breath, letting her connect the dots.

Rebecca’s eyes widened, and she peered back and forth between us.

“Is it such a shock?” I tossed my coat on a nearby leather armchair. “You know what I do.”

“Will you excuse us?” She gave Diana a polite smile, and I tipped my head to the girl before letting my wife lead me wherever she wanted to go.

“I thought you were in Africa,” she huffed in an exasperated tone once we were in her father’s old office. Flicking on the light, she made a beeline for the bar and poured us both a drink.

“I was.” I closed the door. “We were brought to Abu Dhabi for a quick op. We were about to come home when the call came in about the hostage situation at the embassy.”

“You could’ve died. Diana’s mom told me her daughter almost did. Along with the operator who was with her. And that explosion could’ve—”

“I’m fine.” When her worried eyes remained fixed on me, I set a fist to my chest to emphasize the fact my heart was still beating. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“So, you were the operator with her? Susan asked for his name, but she was told it was classified. No wonder Diana had stars in her eyes up there. You’re her hero.” She shoved the glass in my hand and gulped back her scotch.

Staring at her without taking a sip, I couldn’t help but ask, “Are you upset I could’ve died or that I didn’t tell you I almost died?”

“Both?” She arched her brow. “But this is all the more reason you should leave and join the Agency.”

My turn to drink. “You know if I join the Agency, I’d be out in the field. No desk job. You get that, right?”

“But no more long deployments, which means we could make love more.” She slid her free hand up my chest, and I wrapped my fingers around her wrist, tightening my grip just enough to make sure I had her full attention. 

“What is it you really want?” How fucked up was it that part of me hated I loved her so much I really would do whatever she wanted if she pushed hard enough? 

I’d convinced her to agree to Selections, but she’d assumed the ninety percent fail rate would’ve stopped me from joining the Unit. She was wrong. I’d had Griffin at my side ensuring I made it through along with him. So here we were, at a crossroads. Part of me not wanting to give up something I’d worked so hard to achieve, something I was good at. The other part not wanting to lose the life we had together, a life that was increasingly impacted by a job she resented. 

“My parents put so much pressure on me while they were alive.” She sighed. “I still feel the pressure now that they’re gone. Like we need to—”

“No.” I shook my head and let go of her. “They wanted us in the White House one day. Senate, then the presidency.” I circled my finger like a helo blade spinning. “Is that what these parties are about? Connections to get us there? Because I don’t want that.” Please, fucking please, don’t try and push me to say yes to that. “I also don’t think you really give a damn about the White House. You just feel the guilt and burden of wanting to make them happy.” I went to the desk, abandoned the empty glass, and began working up the sleeves of my white button-down shirt. “Besides, I’m not sure tattoos are the preferred accessory in the Oval Office.”

“First time for everything.” My wife dragged her palm down her collarbone to her cleavage, distracting my efforts at deflection. She had on a stunning full-length red silk dress. Her blonde hair was pinned to the side with a barrette, and her green eyes were intense and focused on me.

“You could be POTUS one day, by the way. Why does it have to be me?”

“As nice of an idea as that sounds, I don’t want the job. But I do want to help people. Change the world. And I think between the two of us we could do that. But not if you die. We can’t do anything if you’re dead.”

“I could die in the CIA,” I pointed out.

“No, you’d have people protecting you there. I just have a bad feeling is all. If you don’t leave the Army, I’m worried I’ll lose you forever.” She set her glass next to mine, and I pulled her into my arms.

“You’re not getting rid of me, I promise.”

“No trading me in for some younger girl half my age, either?” She looped her arms over my shoulders and drew herself closer. “Diana’s gorgeous. Surely you noticed.”

I rolled my eyes. I saw that comment coming a mile away. Surprised it actually took her that long to make it. “I’m not the one with a celebrity hall pass. That’s you.”

She smirked. “I’ll never meet mine. Don’t worry.”

“I am worried.” Well, not really. I knew she’d never use that “hall pass” even if she did meet her crush. I’d also never share her, not with anyone for any reason. “Surprised you didn’t invite the actor to your party. He would’ve said yes for you.”

“I did.” She shrugged. “He was busy. Another billionaire’s event to attend.” She stuck her tongue out at me, the little vixen. “Buuut back to what we were talking about . . . what if we put some of this money to better use?”

“Any ideas how?” I leaned in, my lips hovering near hers.

“One or two.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve giving money to assholes like Congressman Paulsen, I’m open to suggestions.”

“Since when is Paulsen an asshole?”

“Has he hit on you before?” I asked her instead, and at her blush, I frowned.

“Forget him and all the men who hit me up for—”

“Better be only for your money and not for anything else.” I slid my hand around to her backside.

“Mm. Why does it turn me on when you get possessive?” She chewed on her lip. “Make love to me.”

“Here?” I grunted. “It’s your dad’s office. And someone could walk in.” I tightened my hold of her ass, reveling in her quiet moan—a dignified moan if there ever were one. “I don’t want anyone seeing my woman. Not for a second.”

“It’s my office now. And what are locks for if not for keeping people out while you screw your wife?”