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  "Who is she?" Gabriel asked his commander, leaning forward in his chair and propping his elbows on the small conference table in front of him.

  "Cate Bradshaw, freelance journalist extraordinaire. She's made quite a name for herself for such a young woman so new to the industry. Her human interest stories have gained a lot of attention and have been sold to many of the world's biggest media outlets." His commander, Colonel Joe Sanders, paced back and forth in front of the table and then stopped, bending over and placing his hands on top.

  "What was she doing in the middle of my op?" Gabriel fumed.

  "Apparently, she and her cameraman, Todd Whitfield, were there doing an undercover piece on human trafficking. They thought they were there to witness young men being auctioned off for slave work like farming and manual labor. They had no idea it would be women and children. They also had no idea that it was a terrorist who was doing the trading."

  "And you believe that?"

  "I have no reason not to. She had no idea he was a wanted man. She didn't even know who she was dealing with."

  "Well, that was dumb," Gabriel said.

  "She's a reporter. Not an intelligence operator. She goes where the story leads."

  Gabriel kept quiet. No need to go on about how stupid he thought the woman was for going into a situation she and her cameraman were clearly not prepared for. And he'd died. Had they been more than co-workers? Her grief seemed too heavy for them to have been just co-workers.

  "What's next?" Gabriel asked.

  "You'll stay here for a couple of weeks. See if we can get a bead on Tariq. If not, you'll go on to the next op." Gabriel nodded. He was used to the constant travel and upheaval. Lived for the next adventure.

  "That will be all. You're dismissed."

  Gabriel stood and exited the conference room. He stumbled back to his own room. It was the middle of the night—now early morning, actually—and he was ready to crash. His adrenaline had subsided, and he lay on top of his sheets, not bothering to shower. He could take one when he got up. Which was now two hours away.

  He sighed, rolling over on his side. His thoughts turned back to Cate Bradshaw and her whiskey-colored eyes. He wondered if she was ok, and the thought surprised him. Why did he care if she was ok? His part in this was done. He'd rescued her. Brought her safely to the base. Now it was someone else's burden to see that she got safely back to her home.

  * * * *

  Cate awoke the next morning stiff and sore from the events of the night before. She'd spent hours being questioned by the Navy. She'd learned that the men who'd rescued her were SEALS there to apprehend Tariq Ahmed Ben Ali, a terrorist wanted for trafficking guns to other terrorist organizations, as well as for trafficking men, women, and children into slavery and the sex industry.

  She shivered at the thought that she'd been in the hands of terrorists. People who hated America and wanted all its citizens wiped from the face of the earth. Cate couldn't understand such hatred, especially since it seemed so unwarranted. What had she done to anyone to deserve to die?

  She thought about Todd, and her heart broke, realizing she'd caused his death. No, she hadn't pulled the trigger, but he had warned her. He'd told her that they needed to abort this mission and leave. But she'd been stubborn, wanting the story regardless of the risk.

  Cate had never imagined it would end with her friend's death.

  She showered, leaving her hair to dry naturally. It was so long and so thick that it would take an hour to blow-dry it. She was grateful that it was stick-straight, though. At least it wouldn’t dry with kinks and waves in random places. She pulled it back in a long braid to keep her shirt from becoming too wet from the long length hanging down her back. She applied some mascara, a little blush, and lip gloss, and opened the door to her room.

  Cate wandered around the base, heading towards where she thought the chow hall would be. The colonel that had debriefed her the night before had given her basic directions, but she’d been so tired that she hadn't really processed them.

  Standing in the middle of the square, she looked left and right, trying to get her bearings. She had no idea where to go. She cocked her hip out and looked up into the sky, as if she'd find the answer there.

  "Need some help?" a gravelly voice said behind her.

  She yelped and spun around. A man stood there. He had shaggy hair, much shaggier than she'd expect a member of the armed forces to have. He wore dark blue fatigues—is that what they called them?—and a black t-shirt that was so tight, she could see the outline of his abs. His arms were muscled but not overly large. But it was his eyes. She would never forget their white-blue depths as long as she lived. They were the eyes of her rescuer. Her hero.

  "I do," she said with a smile, but he didn't return it. She thought back to their exchange on the helicopter. She'd smiled then, too, and he'd given her the same stoic expression.

  "What are you looking for?"

  "Some place to get some breakfast?" The phrase came out as a question.

  "This way," he said, nodding towards the direction of food and walking away. She followed closely behind.

  "I'm Cate, by the way," she said, scrambling to keep up with his long strides. Her legs weren't very long, so she had to take two steps to his one.

  "Gabriel," he said, not elaborating.

  "Nice to meet you, Gabriel."

  He didn't reply.

  "So, um, I never really got to thank you properly for rescuing me. I mean, if you hadn't come along, I'm not sure what I would have—"

  "Just doing my job, ma'am," he interrupted. Ma'am? He'd called her ma'am? Geez, that's what someone called their grandma.

  "It's just Cate," she said. He stopped, and she almost ran into his back. Her hand went up to catch herself, and she felt the muscles there. Wow.

  "What?" he asked, his expression hard.

  "My—my name. It's Cate, not ma'am." She stood as tall as she could, her chin lifted in defiance. He would not intimidate her.

  He rolled his eyes and shook his head, turning on his heel and walking away, back in the direction of food. She growled under her breath. Stupid man. She was just trying to thank him.

  She scampered behind him, almost having to jog to keep up with his frantic pace. Was there a fire somewhere or something? Good grief. It was all she could do to stick close to him. But maybe that was the point. Maybe he didn't want her close.

  "I'm sorry, you know." He didn't even spare her a glance. "The colonel told me that you were after Tariq. That he was a terrorist. I didn't know."

  He stopped again, turning around and facing her. This time, she wasn't so lucky, and her face ran smack into his hard-muscled chest. Damn, he was ripped.

  She rubbed her nose and looked up. Was that a twitch on one side of his mouth? But then his expression grew hard, and she thought she must have imagined it.

  "You didn't know. And yet you went in anyway. Getting yourself captured and your co-worker killed. Of all the stupid—" He stopped. Cate's face flamed as if she'd been slapped. And she felt as if she had. The guilt was overwhelming, and the tears she'd refused to cry last night in her bed floated to the surface. She blinked rapidly, trying to keep them at bay.

  Embarrassed, she dropped her head. "You're right. It's my fault Todd died. He didn't deserve that. He was my best friend."

  "Damn. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—what I mean is—dammit!" He put his hand under her chin and tilted her head back. The tears were now silently flowing down her cheeks. She had tried to keep them from coming, but it was all too fresh—too much.

  "Don't cry. I'm sorry. I'm an ass. And you're welcome to kick my butt right now, ok? Please don't cry."

  But she couldn’t help the tears that had started down her cheeks. There was no stopping them once they started. Everything was too near the surface.

  "Dammit," she heard him curse under his breath. Big, strong arms wrapped around her. She was drawn against a warm, hard chest. His smell was enticing as it wafted up from his cle
an skin and fresh clothes. She let the tears flow, feeling them dampen the shirt he wore.

  After a moment or two, she finally gathered herself and looked up into his piercing, light blue eyes. His hand reached up and wiped the wetness from her face, and his thumb traveled down her cheek to her bottom lip. His eyes followed, and suddenly he was staring at her mouth like a thirsty man who hadn't had a drink in years. He leaned closer, his lips finding hers.

  The kiss was gentle, not invasive. It was soothing, as if he knew she needed something tangible to hold on to, and he was giving it to her. Ending it way too soon, he pulled back.

  "I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry," he said. He stepped away and turned to walk towards the chow hall.

  Cate was stunned, momentarily rooted to the ground, unable to move. Her hand came up to touch her lips where he'd kissed her. She had felt that kiss all the way down to her core. It had been so simple. Just a light brushing of his lips against hers, but it was as if she'd been struck by lightning.

  She shook her head and rushed to follow him, wondering why she felt as if that kiss had just changed everything.

  * * * *

  Mount Vesuvius sat in the distance, danger lurking just under its hulking figure. Kind of like the danger that Cate Bradshaw posed to Gabriel, Mount Vesuvius was a disaster just waiting to destroy the lives of millions of people that lived in the region.

  Gabriel took a sip of his beer, grateful for the reprieve of a few days to gather his emotions. Something about Cate got to him. Never in his life had he been compelled to comfort a woman. And never had a simple kiss rocked him to his very core.

  He'd seen the surprise in her eyes and knew he wasn't alone in the intensity of the attraction he felt. And he realized that that attraction could be dangerous, because it wasn't just Cate's body that he was attracted to—oh, no. It was all of her.

  At breakfast, she had gushed over the members of his team sitting at the table with them. She'd thanked them not only for saving her life and bringing home the body of Todd Whitfield, but also for their service. For risking their lives. She'd asked if she could do an exposé on them, chronicling the day in the life of a Navy SEAL, and they'd all readily agreed. She was so excited sitting there at the table, her face radiant with the wonder and excitement of a new story. And then her face had fallen. It had changed in an instant to one of regret, guilt, and grief. He'd known she was thinking about her cameraman, Todd. Her friend. And Gabriel had just poured on more guilt, moments before, by calling her stupid and reckless.

  He took another long pull on his beer, fiddling with the bottle cap between his fingers. The picnic table, at the small park within walking distance from the base, was old and rugged, but the view was out of this world. He looked out on Mount Vesuvius again. He'd been planning to hike there tomorrow with his team, but they had all decided to head out to the Amalfi coast until they were to report back after the weekend. Maybe he could invite Cate.

  He wasn't sure what had prompted that thought. Cate wasn't his girlfriend. She wasn't even his friend. He barely knew her. And yet, he was drawn to her somehow. Since he'd never felt anything like this for any other woman, it was exciting and terrifying all at the same time.

  Footsteps kicking up the dirt behind him caught his attention, and he whirled around with a start. Cate was walking towards him, a beer in one hand and a camera in the other. Startled by his sudden movement, she stopped in her tracks.

  "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize…"

  "It's fine." She didn't move, and he realized she was waiting for an invitation.

  "Join me?" he asked.

  She nodded, walking over to sit next to him on top of the picnic table, their knees inches apart. He could feel the heat from her skin so close to his.

  "It's beautiful, isn't it?" she asked. He'd learned, just from the few interactions he'd had with her, that she liked to talk. A lot. But he didn't mind since he wasn't much of a conversationalist. Better to let her carry the burden.

  He nodded, but she waited expectantly, her eyebrows lifting as if in question. As if to say, Is that all you've got?

  He sighed. "It is."

  She smiled then, and went on. "It's amazing how something so beautiful can be so deadly."

  He didn't think that needed a response, and he felt as if what she’d said was almost prophetic. She herself was beautiful and yet so deadly to him—to that hard-as-coal lump in his chest that was supposed to be his heart. He could feel it crumbling into pieces, leaving behind this fleshy, beating pulp. He wasn't sure he liked it. Because a tender heart could be damaged irreparably. It was why he'd developed the calluses around it for so many years, never allowing anyone to get too close.

  But tonight, he was tired of not being close to anyone. Oh, sure, he had his brothers in arms. He was close to them—would die for them. But they still didn't know his story. They didn't know him.

  He felt her gaze on him, and he turned to find a puzzled expression on her face.

  "What?" he asked, feeling very uncomfortable under her scrutiny. He resisted the urge to fidget and squirm.

  "Nothing," she replied, shaking her head and turning back to face the mountain. He wasn't sure what she'd seen. Did it repulse her? Make her want to run from him?

  They sat in companionable silence for a few moments. He was sure that was a miracle for her. She didn't seem the type to do silence very often. And then she turned, her knees bumping up against his leg.

  "Let's hike it!" she said, her excitement bubbling over and coloring her face pink.

  "What are you talking about?" he asked, his thoughts far away from hiking.

  "Mount Vesuvius. Let's hike it."

  He didn't answer immediately, and he heard the puff of air that released in a quick exhale, as if she'd been punched in the stomach. Her dejection and frustration were obvious, and she started to get off the table.

  His hand shot out, stopping her. She looked at him, really looked at him, and, once again, he felt the urge to squirm under her prying eyes.

  "Ok," he said simply.

  "Ok?" she asked. He rolled his eyes at her barely contained enthusiasm.

  "Ok." She threw her arms around his neck, and he was completely caught off guard. His hands wrapped around her waist, and, as if she'd been stung, she pulled back. She must have realized what she'd done, but before she could pull away completely, he dipped his head, capturing her lips with his. She tasted sweet, like beer and honey. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, and she parted for him, opening like a flower to the sun.

  His tongue tangled with hers, the desire flowing through him with each stroke. Before things got out of hand, and he laid her out on top of the table to more thoroughly explore her mouth, he broke the kiss.

  Her eyes were clouded with desire and confusion, and both his hands came up to cup her face. Her cheeks were pink, and the faint sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose made him want to kiss every single one. He shook his head. Who the hell was he, thinking of kissing her damn freckles?

  She stepped off the table and turned towards the base.

  "Bye, Gabriel," she said, waving her hand and tossing the words over her shoulder as she walked away, her hips swaying in the short denim shorts that hugged her hips as if they'd been made especially for her.

  "Bye, Cate."

  He sat there for a long time, trying to figure out how this girl had wiggled her way into his life. The ice around his heart melted a little more. A sense of foreboding that this wouldn't end well niggled at his mind, but he pushed it away. He'd been living in fear all his life. It was time to take life by the horns and kick its ass.

  * * * *

  One week later

  The ringing of the phone by her bed jarred Cate awake. She propped herself up on one elbow, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. Three o'clock in the morning. Who in the world would be calling her in the middle of the night?

  She cleared the gravel out of her throat and answered.

  "Hello?
"

  "Cate Bradshaw?"

  "Yes. Who's this?"

  "That's not important. What is important is that you have exactly one hour to collect your things and get to the airstrip before your passport is revoked, and you'll be stranded in this country with no credentials and no way to get home."

  "I beg your pardon?" she asked. Why would her passport be revoked? "Who the hell is this?" Anger ran through her veins like hot oil, scorching her nerves and giving her a boldness she otherwise wouldn't feel.

  "I told you that wasn't important. I've heard about your little disaster in Libya. If you want to continue to be a journalist, and if you ever want to go home, you'll report to the airstrip in one hour. You will not speak to anyone. Is that clear?"

  "Why can't I talk to anyone?" she asked.

  "You will report to the airstrip in one hour. There are two MPs standing outside your door right now. They will ensure your cooperation. If you try to notify anyone, they have orders to arrest you."

  The line went dead.

  "Hello? Hello? Dammit!" She slammed the receiver down on its base and jumped up. Running to the door, she threw it open, finding two men dressed in military police uniforms. They stood with their arms at their sides, their faces impassive.

  She slammed the door and scrambled to get her things back in her bag. She hadn't planned to leave until she'd finished her story. She'd spent the week interviewing the SEALS, taking pictures of them with Todd's camera, and recording their stories.

  And she'd also spent the days with Gabriel. Gabriel, who was so hard and impenetrable when she'd first met him. They'd spent hours walking in Naples, hiking, dining, and staying up all night talking. This was one of the first nights she'd hit the sack before dawn, and it was only out of necessity that she wasn't still at their park in his arms.

  It had been wonderful. The best week of her life. And now she had to leave him. Without so much as a goodbye.

  She took out her cell phone and punched in his number.