I sure did.

Josh must have, too. His eyes are a lot older than his body.

She had seen too many men like him while she worked as a case officer in places where local wars made headlines half a world away, innocents were blown to bloody rags, and nothing really changed.

Except her. She’d finally gotten out. Tribal wars had been burning along before she joined the CIA. The wars were still burning just fine without her. World without end, amen.

Until Alara had dropped into St. Kilda’s life.

She has to be wrong, Emma told herself. God knows it wouldn’t be the first time intel was bad.

But if she’s right…

The thought sent a chill through Emma that had nothing do with the cold water just inches away.

Seven days.

Automatically she hung on as the Zodiac bounced and skidded on the wake of a ship that was already miles behind them, headed for Elliott Bay’s muscular waterfront. She pulled her thoughts away from what she couldn’t change to what she might change.

Emma tapped the driver and shouted over the roar of the huge outboard engines. “Shut it down.”

He eased off the throttle. The boat slid down off plane and settled deeply in the steel-colored water. Like a skittish cat, the inflatable moved without warning in unexpected directions.

“You okay?” Josh asked.

“As in not wanting to hurl?”

He smiled crookedly. “Yeah.”

“I’m good.”

He gave her a slow onceover filled with obvious male appreciation and nodded. “Sure are.”

She laughed. “Thanks, darlin’, but no thanks.”

Josh looked at her eyes for a moment, nodded, and waited for his next order. No harm, no foul.

Emma wished she could say the same about her own job. Shading her eyes against the bright afternoon overcast, she looked west, toward the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Swells from the distant Pacific Ocean, plus choppy wind waves, batted at the twenty-foot-long Zodiac, lifting and dropping the rubber boat without warning. Some of the waves had white crests that streaked the gray water.