Come As You Are. Amy J. Fetzer

put her in isolation and darkness. Well, partial darkness. Small eyeball lights plastered her shadow over the rim of crenulations that earned the nickname, the Citadel. She kept herself between the lights and through mini binoculars, watched as the three men were stripped of weapons. She held her breath when the troops yanked off the hoods.

      Logan. It was him.

      Good God, this was way up there on the weirdo meter.

      Ramos with a new face, and then Logan here? Not good, not good at all. What was Ramos pulling her into? She suspected he’d set her up for that, but what the hell was with that leather thing? She could feel it against her stomach, tucked flat and sweaty. She winced as a soldier drove the butt of his rifle into the back of Logan’s skull so hard he dropped to his knees. Oh, jeez, that had to hurt, she thought, and it was her fault. She didn’t wonder why he was there. He was a SEAL and Ramos with a different, older face said a lot. Whatever it was, it was mega-classified. But when the soldiers forced the men back into the residence, she tried to speculate where they’d take them and how she could get in. The troops were crowding the area, congratulating themselves before leaving two guards standing post. The others left to check on their fake VP.

      She lowered to the roof, her gaze flicking over the raised garden and seating area. An escape across a lighted lawn, what were they thinking? And just how did Logan get in? A HALO jump?

      She hadn’t heard a helicopter, and although the roof was the easiest route in, if that exposed risk was their retreat plan, it stunk. And so did hers, she thought, realizing she was trapped. As far as she could see, the only way off the roof was down through the residence already swarming with police.

      This has been such a bad week, she thought, tipping her head back. Dancing with natives already felt like months ago.

      Shoulda never answered the phone.

      On his knees, the back of Logan’s head throbbed, his body stiffening against the next blow. It didn’t come and he glanced to the side. Between the soldiers surrounding them, he saw a man striding across the lawn, shouting orders. A soldier yanked him to his feet, blood flowing warm on his neck as he forced Logan around.

      At his feet, Max lay in a heap, moaning, and Sebastian didn’t look up to speed either. Christ, what a fuckup. He was going to kill Ramos for blowing this.

      He glanced to the side and saw a man pushing his way between the soldiers. A few moments later, someone jerked his head back. He stared into a pair of dark eyes and knew this wouldn’t be pleasant. Within moments, the team was dragged into the residence, down two flights of stone stairs to what felt like a wine cellar. It was cooler, the corridors narrow, the baked walls crumbling as the soldier forced them below. Then three men circled them with weapons drawn as they cut their bonds.

      One pulled open a door, then shoved Logan into a small room.

      Logan turned sharply, his path blocked by a soldier who had to be a foot taller and wider. A good thing, since Max was slung over his shoulder. He levered him forward and Logan rushed to catch Max, but the giant dumped him on the stone floor. He flinched when Max’s head bounced. Max groaned lowly, then went still. Logan knelt to check his wounds as Sebastian stumbled inside.

      He caught the wall, then lowered to the floor. “What’s with all the shoving?”

      Logan tried to revive Max, rolling him over.

      “Just kill me now,” Max groaned.

      “Keep your mouth shut next time. Though the German accent was clever.”

      “I’ve never been captured,” Max said. “What do we do? Is there a course in this?”

      “For Crissake,” Logan said, backing off.

      “A good pistol whipping is always fun,” Max said as he tried to sit up and then just sank back on his elbow. He tested the cut on the back of his head, then pulled out a handkerchief and held it there. Sebastian rested his forearms on his knees. Logan lowered to the floor and cradled his skull, ignoring the blood dripping down his temple.

      “Logan…up there—?” Max said quietly. “It was her, wasn’t it?”

      “I’m not sure.” But he was. Some people you don’t forget and Tessa was one of them. A half dozen feelings ricocheted inside him, but he couldn’t focus. Because the last time he saw her, she was running with Ramos, seconds before an explosion that killed her.

      Tessa pushed off the ground and moved away from the roof lights toward the seating area. She stepped over poles and canvas meant for shading and descended the stairwell. The landing was elaborate, a wide, curved staircase, slanted enough that it was effortless. Her escape plan wasn’t contingent on Ramos’s health. She’d planned to walk out of there with him. She stood at the door, listening to the voices on the other side. It wouldn’t be long before they’d search up here.

      She quickly stripped out of the skin suit. The tight spandex microfiber shrank down to nothing and she stuffed it in her pack, then unhooked the straps and changed it to look more like a purse. Doable. She stood and smoothed the skirt and scoop neck top that clung enough to be a distraction if she met up with anyone male. Expose the boobs and they don’t see the face. She adjusted everything into its best display, thanking her grandma’s heritage that she had enough to work with, then slipped on sandals.

      The doorknob rattled and she thought, I’m done. Then she suddenly turned back to the furniture and sat on the patio sofa. Think, think.

      When the men hurried up the staircase like a team of horses, she was posed and squinting in the dark. “Estavan? Is that you?” she asked in breathy Spanish. “I heard awful noises.”

      The guards lowered their weapons, thumbing on flashlights and gliding the beam over her. As decadently as she could muster, she slid off the couch and came toward them.

      “What’s wrong?” She stared between the men with her best dazed and confused look. “Estavan told me to wait here,” she kept on in Spanish, referring to the Vice President.

      The men smiled to themselves, one ordering another to escort her out, then arranged his men so she wouldn’t be seen. Apparently, Estavan had been a naughty boy before. Oh, lucky me. Tessa paused by the oldest, looking him over like he was a Godiva chocolate before she followed the other men out. They took her down the servants’ staircase, the halls void of anyone. A soldier gestured to the door down a corridor lined with storage rooms, and she smashed any urge to throw them a wink, and slipped outside.

      Releasing a long breath, she hitched her bag on her shoulder and started putting as much distance behind herself as she could without running like hell. She was near the road when she glanced back. Guards lined the walkways near the entrance, yet there weren’t many near the rear. She started to turn back to get inside and find the guys, but just as she took a few steps, she heard a sound like the slow beating of wings. The noise increased and helicopter lights speared through the trees. Okay, not an option, she thought, and turned away. She walked briskly toward the road.

      She had to get out while she could. If they caught her with the leather map, life was over. She’d worked too hard to get hers back and keep it. She’d be damned if a bunch of stupid men would threaten it. But that wasn’t getting Logan or Ramos out.

      And now more people knew she was alive.

      Paul Ramos felt hands on his shoulders, and he breathed through his mouth, his sinuses swollen shut. Fucking Chambliss. Someone pressed an ice pack to his face. He grabbed it, glaring through stinging eyes. The room filled with soldiers, and he waved them off. “I’m fine,” he said. “Look elsewhere.”

      Tessa was out, he was sure of it, and if not, he’d see her in a moment in handcuffs. But Chambliss? He hadn’t been a SEAL for over ten years and the fact that Chambliss showed up told him someone powerful had him over a barrel. He liked the sound of that. But his next thought was, Was he here to rescue me or kill me?

      CIA was desperate. He hadn’t made contact but not for lack of trying. He didn’t expect any help. Jacobs