“Then let’s just get this over with,” Rose said. She kept her gaze trained upward, right out the window, as if daring the marksmen to kill her. “I assume you are part of the team sent in to handle the hostages. For them to warrant a GhostWalker extraction, they must be pretty important.”

“If I sit you down in the chair, will you stay put? Not do anything stupid?”

She turned her head for the first time to look up at him over her shoulder. His heart jumped when her dark gaze met his. Steady as ever. Cool under fire. That was Rose. But he was shocked at the exhaustion marking her face. He was equally shocked at how not just his body but everything in him responded to her. His every protective instinct, his animalistic side, the alpha male in him—everything male.

He forced his voice under control. “You’ve been sick.”

She nodded. “I haven’t been able to keep much food down,” she admitted, all the while searching his expression, trying to decide whether to trust him. “That’s made me fairly weak, and staying below Whitney’s radar means moving all the time.” She sent him a humorless smile, just a flash of her white teeth, but it was enough to act as a warning. “I will get the baby to safety, and anyone in my way isn’t going to live very long.”

Kane knew her quiet statement was more than an idle threat. Rose would fight if necessary, and as small as she was, she had psychic abilities and survival skills that made up for her size. He had come to know her in the brief time they’d been forced together. Dr. Whitney, head of the psychic experimental program, had gone rogue, determined to breed supersoldiers. Rose had been forced into his breeding program, but that brief time in his breeding program hadn’t stopped any of the women there from training daily. The men tended to forget the women had undergone training almost since birth, while they had joined the military later. The women actually had an edge, although they were smaller in stature.