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  "I was his platoon leader, my last tour in Afghanistan. I think it was his first. Anyway, back to Coenen's warning. Who is the girlfriend he mentioned, and was she there, too?" He sat forward again.

  "Yes, she was, standing next to Tristan and clutching a stiletto while he watched the stingrays get fed," she added shortly. "And then, of course, he had to pet them. Her name is Irena Kapova—you know, the famous ballet dancer who defected from the Soviet Union in the mid-eighties?"

  Calhoun had covered his mouth with a hand as though to stop himself from commenting on Tristan's deplorable lack of awareness.

  "Coenen told me Irena used to be KGB."

  The lead's silver eyebrows shot to his hairline, and he dropped his hand. "KGB?" He looked like he might laugh.

  "I don't know if he was just trying to scare me, but it makes sense that Renata and Coenen would have ties to a Russian agent, right? Coenen lives with her in the Russian Hill neighborhood. Maybe they've known each other since the Cold War."

  "Did she act like she would knife Tristan right there in public?"

  Recalling the smirk on Irena's face, Juliet relived the fear she'd felt at that moment. "Yes. She momentarily showed it to me. Coenen said Irena would take great pleasure in slitting his throat or just shooting him." Juliet barely masked her shudder.

  "What does Tristan say about that?"

  "He doesn't know," she admitted after a slight pause.

  "Why not?"

  She had asked herself that question at least a hundred times in the last two days. "I don't want him getting hurt, that's all. As long as Tristan's not around me, he's safe," Juliet insisted.

  Her attention was drawn to Calhoun's long fingers as he drummed them on the edge of his desk. "If someone threatened to slit my throat, I'd sure as hell like to know about it," he stated.

  She swallowed down her rising guilt and didn't answer.

  Picking up a pen, Calhoun scribbled a note on a yellow notepad before looking up at her. "You've been very helpful, Ms. Rhodes." He laid down his pen and pushed his chair back.

  Realizing the interview was over, she handed Renata's bio back to Calhoun, shouldered her purse strap, and stood up. "Thank you for working on this."

  "I'll be in touch," he said, following suit and shaking her hand. "In the meantime, if there's anything you remember later, please don't hesitate to call." His firm grip conveyed a depth of concern and a sincere willingness to help. "Like I said, our primary suspect is Renata Blumenthal, but we'll look into your allegations and see what we can piece together."

  "Thank you." With a parting smile, Juliet retreated through the closed door to pick up the escort who'd waited patiently in the outer office. That woman walked Juliet through the process of turning in her badge and returning to her car in the visitor's parking area.

  As Juliet drove away from the facility, she had to admit it was nice to have the help of an inter-agency task force. Honestly, though, Hack and Hilary would probably find proof of Renata's connection to Hans Coenen before anyone else did.

  * * *

  Standing behind her office chair, Hilary watched in admiration as Stu filled all four of her monitors with photos and data pertaining to Irena Kapova. Not wanting to distract him, she kept her mouth closed and her eyes open. The tan length of his sturdy neck distracted her. Lured toward the clean scent emanating from his skin, she inclined her head and drew a deep breath. Stu tensed, then tipped his head to give her better access.

  They were supposed to be seeking evidence of Renata Blumenthal's and Hans Coenen's familial relationship. Upon her return from the NCTC an hour earlier, Juliet had delegated them that task and promptly departed for the gym to work out.

  Stu had balked. Pointing out that nothing short of an SNP-based autosomal DNA test could prove consanguinity, he'd suggested they test Coenen's assertion that Irena Kapova had worked for the KGB. He had promptly set about reconstructing Kapova's history.

  Hilary found the work tedious. She would much rather brush her lips over the jugular vein pulsing at the side of Stu's neck. Yielding to temptation, she flicked her tongue over the sensitive spot, pleased to find his skin both sweet and salty. At his sharp inhalation, she raked her teeth along the path she'd licked and felt him shiver. Her confidence soared. Tonight would be the night, Hilary decided. She had played the demure maiden long enough. Stu had overcome his inherent shyness. Their consummation of passion was inevitable.

  Taking advantage of Juliet's absence from the office, she ran her fingers through his thick hair and sighed. His dark gaze rose from the monitors to gauge her intent.

  "Sorry. Am I distracting you?"

  His gaze dropped from Hilary's eyes to her mouth, driving a shaft of desire through her. The air seemed to thicken as he realized, perhaps, that her restraint had reached a snapping point. Juliet would be at the gym for at least another hour. They could have sex right there.

  "I don't think Kapova was ever KGB." Stu clung to his purpose with commendable tenacity. "She wouldn't have had the time. All she ever did, from the age of four on, was dance."

  Nothing could deter Hilary from her sensual exploration. Moving her hand to the front of Stu's shirt, she released the top button, then the next one. "Maybe the Irena who defected is an imposter."

  "Doubtful." Stu's voice deepened. "She looks the same at sixty as she did at age ten."

  Sliding a hand under his shirt, Hilary zeroed in on a stiff male nipple and circled it intently. "Maybe the real Irena had an evil twin who took her place."

  Stu's concentration visibly disintegrated. Without warning, he hooked an arm around Hilary's waist and hauled her across his lap. She gave a squeal of approval. The chair rocked beneath their combined weight but didn't fall over.

  His impulsive response aroused her beyond bearing. "Stu," she exclaimed, planting fevered kisses along the hard line of his jaw, "I really can't wait much longer. Please take me!"

  His grip tightened. If the hard column riding the curve of Hilary's thigh was any indication, Stu couldn't wait much longer either. Capturing her lips with his, he bestowed a kiss so blistering her toes curled, and her panties became wet.

  "Lay me down," she whispered. "Lay me on the carpet and take me." Peeking through her lashes to measure Stu's response, Hilary caught him sneaking a peek at his watch.

  He lifted his head with a look of raw regret. "I have to go," he said.

  "What?" Surely she had misheard.

  "I told Tristan I'd pick him up at the airport. His flight lands in thirty minutes."

  Hilary froze. Stu hadn't mentioned Tristan's name since making the Unbreakable Vow. "You waited until now to tell me this?" Her voice rose in proportion to her plummeting disappointment.

  "I'm sorry." But Stu's tone made it clear he was sticking to his plans.

  Suddenly indignant, she struggled free, gained her footing, and planted herself before him, arms akimbo.

  "Have you forgotten what you promised?"

  He shook his head, avoiding her gaze. "Nope."

  "What are you not supposed to tell Tristan?" Hilary demanded.

  "That Coenen threatened Juliet."

  "Right." A portion of her indignation waned.

  "I won't tell him," Stu pledged.

  Mollified by his calm assurance, Hilary reconsidered the evening's potential. "So you're just picking him up at the airport and taking him somewhere, and that's it?"

  Stu hesitated. "Not exactly. First, we're meeting Jeremiah for drinks. When we leave, I'll drive Tristan to Juliet's to get his motorcycle. He left it in her parking garage."

  Hilary pressed a fist to her aching stomach. "You're going out with the guys," she stated.

  When all Stu did was sit there, she whirled away from his gaze to conceal her devastation. The wishing stone on Juliet's file cabinet resembled a couple locked in a passionate embrace.

  Behind her, the office chair squeaked as Stu rolled out of it. Coming up behind her, Stu tentatively encircled Hilary with his arms. Tears sprang to he
r eyes.

  "I have to go," he said.

  Part of her wanted to yell Don't bother coming back, but Hilary wasn't ready to end their affair before it even began. "Remember your promise," she begged him.

  Glancing at the tears that rimmed her lashes, Stu dropped a kiss on her lips and released her. On his way to the door, she saw him check that his phone was in his belt clip and his keys were in his pocket.

  "How am I supposed to get home?" she asked as he reached the door.

  Given the look on his face, he hadn't considered her need for transportation.

  "Forget it. Juliet can give me a ride. Just go, or you'll be late." Hilary waved him away so she could cry alone.

  With a guilty nod, Stu turned and let himself out.

  Hilary hugged herself as the door closed behind him. She'd never been the type to demand that a boyfriend abandon his friends and devote himself exclusively to her. Besides military men were especially close-knit, sharing a bond that rivaled matrimony for its intimacy. She would not begrudge Stu that.

  But if he told Tristan what he'd sworn to keep secret, she would know she'd never be his first priority. And that would break her heart.

  "Please keep your promise," Hilary whispered.

  * * *

  Juliet tapped out the old combination at her door only to recall that she had changed it the morning after her return from California. Regret pierced her. So much for the hope that Tristan was sitting in her apartment with his feet propped up on her coffee table, waiting to demand that she take him back.

  At this point, sleep deprived and lonely beyond words, Juliet probably would take him back. Luckily, since he didn't know the new code, there would be nothing to test her resolve.

  Tapping out the new number sequence, she shoved her door open. Silence filled the dark rooms beyond the foyer. Her blinds had remained closed all day because she hadn't had the desire or the energy to open them before heading to the office.

  Rolling her eyes at her pathetic moping, Juliet flicked on the lights as she shut and locked the door behind her. She hadn't realized when she'd walked away from Tristan how much she'd come to rely on his sunny disposition to brighten her day.

  Work was her only refuge from loneliness. In fact, she might have stayed at the office all night if Hilary hadn't informed Juliet—rather huffily—that Stu had gone to fetch Tristan from the airport, so she needed a ride home. Hearing that Tristan was in the vicinity and planned to swing by her building to pick up his bike had made Juliet's heart beat erratically all evening.

  What if Tristan stopped by to see her? Then, again, why would he? He had made it clear at the aquarium that he would never come crawling to her. This was what she had wanted, to be left alone.

  Stepping out of her pumps, she plodded barefoot to the kitchen, dumped her purse on the counter, and opened the refrigerator. Why was she now hoping Tristan had changed his mind?

  "I'm not," Juliet insisted while she glared at the paltry contents of her refrigerator. Breaking off their affair was the best possible thing for Tristan. Juliet was moody, inflexible, and secretly insecure. Tristan deserved better than her. If he had any sense of self-preservation, he would grab his motorcycle and ride away.

  Still, she hoped he wouldn't.

  Juliet grabbed a Dr. Pepper from the fridge before flopping down on the sofa in her living room, where she recalled the thrill of a stubborn Tristan tossing her upon it.

  That day, he'd gotten what he wanted—to spend some of his vacation with Juliet. Look how that had turned out. She couldn't be his other half. It didn't matter that they looked good together. That they were good together. Juliet lacked the faith it took to believe that nothing bad would happen to him.

  Her fear went beyond the thought of what an aging KGB agent could do to him. Life had a way of throwing curve balls, and Tristan's career was dangerous enough as it was. Fear that he would be snatched away from her as violently and unexpectedly as her parents dwelled deep within her psyche, and it would never go away.

  "God, I have issues," she sighed, taking a swig of her soda.

  A rap at her door put an end to her lamentations. Only Tristan would have knocked that hard.

  With a cry of hope, Juliet set the drink can on the coffee table and raced for the door. Emotions collided in Juliet—relief, anxiety, contrition, joy.

  Maybe Tristan would give her one more chance. Maybe she could get counseling for her issues. Afraid he might change his mind if she took too long, she flipped the lock without glancing through the peephole and hauled the door open. "Tris—" Her smile of welcome fled.

  Standing before her, holding a large, flat, rectangular object wrapped in brown paper, was Renata Blumenthal. The woman looked far less welcoming wearing a pair of black slacks and a black knit top. Renata's pale eyes noted Juliet's response as she reached for the door jamb to counteract her shock.

  "Ms. Blumenthal," Juliet exclaimed.

  "You missed our appointment this morning," the woman stated with a tight smile. "So I came to you, instead." Producing a silenced 22-caliber pistol from behind the package, Renata aimed it at Juliet's pounding heart. "The least you can do is invite me in, dear."

  Chapter 19

  "So, Hack, what have you and Hilary been up to?"

  Tristan's question, accompanied by a lascivious grin, intensified Stu's guilt, prompting him to snatch his beer off their pub table—only to recall he was the designated driver. His one beer needed to last all evening.

  Tristan's grin intensified as he waited for an answer. Stu glanced at Jeremiah, who seemed more interested in Stu's reticence.

  "Well, we've been keeping busy, doing research." Stu winced since his answer suggested that they were still after Coenen, which he wasn't supposed to admit. Instead of catching Stu's gaffe, Tristan clapped him on the shoulder.

  "Atta boy," he praised the team's computer guru in a loud voice. "I knew you'd hit it off with her. Glad you're keeping busy."

  Stu's ears heated at the implication that he and Hilary were busy in bed. Luckily, the dim lighting of the crowded Irish pub concealed his embarrassment, except to Jeremiah who saw what everyone else missed.

  Tristan smothered a burp. "Did she talk to the task force guy yet? Isaac Calhoun—I knew I recognized the name." Tristan included Jeremiah in the conversation. "'Cept we called him Ike. Dude was my squad leader the first time I played in the Sandbox. Toughest SOB I've ever met." He turned back to Stu. "Has Juliet called him yet?"

  Considering Tristan had warned them only moments earlier not to mention Juliet's name in his presence, the question caught Stu off-guard.

  "Yeah." Stu pretended fascination with the bubbles in his beer. He nodded. "She met with him at the NCTC today."

  "And?"

  Stu swallowed hard. Withholding information from a teammate went against every tenet drilled into him by the instructors at BUDs. "They decided that Renata Blumenthal is really Bergit Coenen, Hans's sister."

  "What?" Tristan nearly elbowed his mug right off their small table as he leaned closer to Stu. "Holy shit, are you kidding me?"

  Stu shook his head. Tristan rarely cursed except when he was drunk, and Stu had counted five swear words already. Keeping the rest of what he knew to himself, he watched Tristan fold his arms across his chest and brood over the latest development. The Golden Boy's broad shoulders slumped.

  "I don't know what that woman said to her," Tristan groused. "One minute everything was fine between us. Juliet gets a phone call from Renata and, next thing I know, she's telling me she's folding her investigation and flying back to Virginia without me."

  Watching the animation fade from Tristan's face, Stu realized his buddy's boisterousness up to that point had been a façade, the same way Juliet's surliness concealed her hurting heart.

  Blinking furiously, Tristan picked up his mug and drained the contents.

  Stu and Jeremiah shared an unspoken thought over the tabletop. They would do whatever was required to get their friend through the even
ing. Stu theorized that would first entail talking Tristan off a ledge. Once they managed to hustle their rip-roaringly drunk friend out of this establishment, they would have to find him somewhere safe to sleep. It would probably be closer to dawn than to midnight by the time he set foot in Hilary's apartment. Damn it.

  An alternate plan occurred to Stu. Regret skewered his heart because he had given Hilary his word not to say anything. A man's word was his bond. Once broken, that bond could never be mended.

  In effect, she had given him an ultimatum: Choose him or choose his teammate. In Stu's mind it was one thing or the other. There were no shades of gray, no loopholes, no shortcuts.

  He and Tristan, Jeremiah and all of his other brothers in Echo Platoon were fully committed to each other's well-being. Tristan was miserable. Knowing he could alleviate Tristan's pain by sharing a few vital pieces of information obviated Stu's quandary. Loyalty dissolved the guilt clogging his throat. Ignoring his disappointment over the loss of a relationship with Hilary, Stu accepted what he had to do—break a promise.

  "Tristan," he started quietly.

  His friend's empty mug struck the table top as he lowered it and searched Stu's face through bleary eyes. "What?"

  "I know what happened at the aquarium."

  "What d'you mean?" Tristan's words ran together.

  "You weren't the only ones there. Hans Coenen was there, along with Irena Kapova. He spoke to Juliet while you weren't looking. He threatened her."

  The lenses of inebriation seemed to drop from Tristan's eyes. He looked suddenly, starkly, sober. "What the fuck?"

  "Kapova was standing right behind you holding a stiletto. Coenen told Juliet his girlfriend would slit your throat, or hunt you down and shoot you, if she didn't leave the past alone."

  Tristan's mouth fell open. His eyes were on Stu, but he was visibly filling in memories with the details he'd just received. "Why the hell didn't she tell me that?" His irate question drew looks from the other tables.

  Jeremiah put a restraining hand on Tristan's shoulder. "It's obvious, bro. She was trying to protect you."