Intense

Not around him. He was too attractive, delicious, strong. Not to mention the memory of what he did to my body still lingered. Even though that was my first real experience with sex, I knew it was extraordinary just from talking with people I knew.

He was an incredibly capable man in everything he did, and he drove me absolutely wild.

Emory Rush, my mystery man, my SEAL.

What the hell was I going to do?

10

Emory

It was a beautiful Sunday morning in the suburbs as I tracked dangerous terrorists through the well-manicured front lawns.

Fortunately it had rained the night before, which meant they had left tracks. Not easily visible, but enough for me to get a sense of their general direction.

They had cut across her neighbor’s lawn and headed through that backyard, cutting across to the street behind Tara’s. There they went onto the sidewalk and fortunately left a few muddy boot prints on the concrete.

From there they cut across another lawn, left more footprints, but the trail eventually went dead another street over. They probably got into a car at that point and drove off.

I looked around. There was a single house on the corner, a cute little thing with a single old car in the driveway. I headed up its front path and knocked on the door.

I waited a minute, and slowly the door opened.

A little old lady with frizzy white hair was looking out at me.

“I’ve already found Jesus, if that’s why you’re here,” she said.

I grinned at her. “No, ma’am, that’s not why I’m here.”

“Good,” she said. “I always hate turning religious folks away, but I’ve got a cup of coffee to drink and a paper to read.”

“I just need one second, if you don’t mind.”

“Talk fast, young man.”

“Was there a car parked out front of your house? Maybe left between five and ten minutes ago.”

“As a matter of fact, there was,” she said, sounding annoyed. “A big white van. If they were your friends, tell them they’re not welcome to park out front of my house.”

I repressed a smile, keeping a serious face. You had to hand it to the elderly; they were cranky and curious, which meant they were great for spotting out people and things that didn’t belong.

“Can you tell me anything about them?”

“Just saw one boy driving. Looked like an Indian fella. He just sat in the car. Then I heard the doors open and shut, and then they drove off.”

“Did you see how many there were?”

“No, I didn’t. Are you done?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m done. Thanks for your help.”

“Have a great day.” She slammed the door in my face.

I grinned to myself as I headed back to Tara’s house.

Although I hadn’t caught them, I had learned a few important things. First, I was reasonably sure that Omar wasn’t working alone. It was my guess that Omar was the one the old lady had spotted behind the wheel. Omar would stand out too much in a white, middle-class neighborhood like this one, especially in a place like Indiana. There probably were only a few thousand Indians in all of Indiana, and people tended to take notice of people who looked unfamiliar.

Which meant that the three separate boot tracks leading up to and away from Tara’s house were likely Omar’s accomplices’. I couldn’t be sure that Omar only had three people working with him, but he’d definitely brought three this morning.

Finally, I knew he was being careful. He knew I was around, which meant he couldn’t risk any more obvious and direct actions. Dropping a picture off at the front door and then running away was probably the extent of his confidence.

Still, this situation was getting worse. Omar was definitely working with a local cell, probably local people who could blend in pretty easily.

This whole thing felt strange as I made my way back toward Tara’s house. Why was Omar coming after me through this girl? He knew who I was and where I lived. I understood that he likely didn’t want to risk coming at me directly, since I wouldn’t be such an easy target. He wanted to go after the girl, since right now she was my biggest weakness.

But why get an entire local cell involved? He was taking an enormous risk just to get some revenge. Sure, I’d killed plenty of his comrades back in Pakistan, but he was a smart man. He knew that he was more valuable to the cause alive, and coming after me was begging to get killed.

Plus, he was risking local American jihadists, which weren’t exactly common. Every natural-born American who was turned toward jihad was an enormous success for The Network, and although there were many of them out there, there weren’t enough that they could risk any of them getting captured, killed, or identified.