Special Forces Rendezvous. Elle Kennedy

“Everyone. I’m a freelancer, so I’m constantly traveling the world, searching for stories.”

      As of three days ago, anyway.

      He decided to keep that to himself. He couldn’t very well come out and say, “Hey, guess what? I used to be Special Forces, but now my own government wants me dead.” The kid probably wouldn’t believe him anyway. It did sound farfetched as hell.

      Unfortunately, it was the cold, hard truth. For the past eight months, he’d been hiding out with the two remaining members of his former unit. What had once been a nine-man team had been reduced to a paltry three. Six dead—one during that ill-fated mission to San Marquez, but the five that followed? Those deaths were no accidents. After the unit had been recalled back to the States, those men had been systematically killed off, presumably because they’d seen too much during that last op.

      Sebastian had nearly died himself, which was why he’d promptly connected with Nick Prescott and their commanding officer, Captain Robert Tate, and the three of them had gotten the hell out of Dodge.

      Up until two months ago, he would’ve insisted there was nothing off about that mission to rescue Richard Harrison, the American doctor who’d been held captive by rebel fighters. But as it turned out, nothing was as it seemed—the doctor hadn’t been a hostage at all, and the dead bodies Sebastian’s team had found strewn all over the village? Those villagers hadn’t died at the hands of the rebels but from a virus Dr. Harrison was testing on innocent people.

      Unfortunately, that was about all Sebastian knew. The key to finding out who authorized the killing of his unit was in discovering who authorized the manufacturing of a virus he still knew nothing about.

      Hopefully that would change today. For the last couple of months, he and the others had kept their eyes and ears open to any unusual medical developments in San Marquez, and last night they’d hit pay dirt.

      He didn’t know if these malaria cases in Valero were related to Richard Harrison’s virus, but he was damn well going to find out. Tate and Nick had agreed it was worth the risk for Sebastian to leave their safe house in Ecuador to investigate, and although he hated being out in the open like this, he was determined to make use of every second.

      “So what are you doing here, kiddo?” he asked in a conversational tone. “You’re clearly too young to be a volunteer.”

      “My dad works here.” Simone stuck out her chin proudly. “He’s a surgeon.”

      “Impressive.” Sebastian smirked. “So he just lugs you along during his travels? He doesn’t think school is important?”

      She glared at him. “I’m homeschooled. But FYI, there are more important things than school. Like saving lives.”

      He couldn’t argue with that. Saving lives was important. So was staying alive, which was his one and only goal at the moment.

      Simone led him to the very end of the hall to a door that swung open the second they approached it.

      The slender brunette who’d slid through the threshold stumbled in surprise, then let out a laugh as her gaze met Sebastian’s. “Mr. Stone, I presume? I was just coming out to meet you.”

      “No need. Simone was gracious enough to escort me to you,” he answered with a charming smile he’d perfected over the years.

      The brunette snickered. “Simone, gracious? I’d like to see that.”

      Rather than object, the teenager simply shrugged. “You know me too well, Doc.” Then she lifted her nose up and frowned at Sebastian. “Later, dude.”

      As Simone bounded off, Sebastian gave the brunette a wry look. “Nice kid.”

      She grinned. “She can be a handful, but her bedside manner is surprisingly remarkable. She’s wonderful with the patients.” The brunette stuck out a hand. “I’m Julia Davenport.”

      “Sebastian Stone.” He leaned in for the handshake, and the firmness of her grip surprised him, especially because her hands were so small and dainty.

      In fact, everything about this woman was dainty. Delicate, even. She was average height, but skinnier than she ought to be. He didn’t mind a willowy figure on a woman, but Julia Davenport could definitely afford to put on a few pounds. She wore a blue tank top that clung to a pair of small breasts and outlined the unmistakable ridges of her ribcage. Her legs weren’t quite scrawny but, again, could have benefited from some extra curves.

      Though she did have a surprisingly plump ass, he had to concede, his gaze honing in on that round bottom when Julia turned to reenter her office.

      Because he’d always been an ass man, the tantalizing sight stirred his groin, serving as a reminder of his eight-month-long stint of celibacy. Getting laid wasn’t something he’d given much thought to since going into hiding. Granted, it was easy not to think about sex when your only company was two bad-tempered soldiers and a case of watery South American beer.

      “How was your flight?” Julia asked.

      “Uneventful.” And nonexistent—he’d arrived on the island by boat after bribing the captain of a cargo vessel to give him a ride and drop him outside the harbor where he wouldn’t encounter any customs officials.

      “Have a seat,” she said, gesturing to a very small, very uncomfortable-looking plastic chair.

      While Julia rounded a narrow metal desk and sat down, Sebastian crammed his six-foot-two-inch frame into the tiny chair and tried to get comfortable.

      His shifting and sliding earned him another grin from Julia Davenport, and now that he focused on her face rather than her too-skinny frame, he realized just how pretty she was. Not classically beautiful by society’s standards, but her features were interesting. A wide, generous mouth that seemed to contradict with her slightly angular jaw, a straight aristocratic nose and a pair of big hazel eyes that gave her that perpetually fragile and doe-eyed air.

      But he suspected there was nothing fragile or doe-eyed about this woman, which was confirmed when her expression suddenly turned shrewd. “Okay, what do you want to know?” she asked, getting right down to business.

      “Eager to get rid of me?” he couldn’t help but tease.

      “Actually, no. I would love nothing more than to sit here with you for the next two frickin’ weeks. I’m exhausted, hungry, cranky and I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation with someone who wasn’t sick or dying.” She let out a heavy sigh. “But what can you do? I knew exactly what I was getting into when I signed on for this gig.”

      Her blunt tone and frank words intrigued him. When he’d set up this bogus interview, he’d expected to hear a bunch of praise for the Doctors International organization and heartfelt speeches about saving the world and making a difference and all that jazz.

      “Sounds like running this clinic is a tough task,” he remarked.

      “Tough is an understatement.” A beat. “Aren’t you going to take notes?”

      Right. Notes. That was what journalists did.

      He bent down and removed a notebook, ballpoint pen and mini tape recorder from his messenger bag. Holding up the recorder, he met Julia’s big hazel eyes and said, “Mind if I record this?”

      “Not at all.”

      As he set up the recorder and opened his notebook to a fresh page, Julia shot him another one of those no-nonsense looks. “I read some of your articles online this morning. You’re a good writer.”

      Thank you, Eva.

      Sebastian made a mental note to be nicer to Tate’s fiancée next time he saw her. He hadn’t been Eva Dolce’s biggest fan when the woman had come into their lives. Then again, when a mysterious chick showed up asking your commanding officer to risk his neck and kill a man for her, were you really expected to bust out the trust parade?

      But