Prologue

Riverside, Oregon
New Year’s Eve, 8:00 p.m.

SWAT team door kicker Conall O’Rourke studied the blood under his fingernails. He’d scrubbed his hands, but blood under the nails was always a bitch to get out. How’d he end up butt-deep in bullets and blood anyway? He’d started the day off with a promotion, and had planned to cap it with a long-overdue marriage proposal. Today was supposed to be one of the happiest of his life. Instead, he was grimy, battered and exhausted.

Trapped like a rat in a maze.

His chest tight, he stared down at Bailey dozing beside him in the cold gloom of the canvas tent. She trusted him to keep her safe—enough to sleep in the middle of combat—and he wouldn’t let her down. Her long, coppery eyelashes rested against her creamy cheeks, and delicate blue veins traced under her eyelids. Her pulse fluttered evenly in her throat. She was beautiful, but he’d never been big on dating women for their looks. He was far more intrigued by what went on inside them. What made them tick. And he’d chosen well. Bailey’s tender emotions warmed his aching heart like flickering candlelight in a dark room. And without her quick intelligence, he might not be alive right now.

His girl only looked fragile. Only thought she was weak. Deep down, she was made of sturdy stuff. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have triumphed over tragedy with her spirit intact. Wouldn’t have won freedom from her oppressive mother. Wouldn’t be the caring woman he loved. He stroked her red-gold curls, and she breathed a soft sigh. If the worst happened, and Bailey had to live without him, he hoped he’d given her enough tonight to sustain her.

And if she died?

Wrenching pain stopped his heart. Then it resumed beating, steady and determined. He would do anything to make sure that didn’t happen. Give everything.

Even his own life.

He was grateful she’d finally succumbed to fatigue. At least he didn’t have to fake it anymore. It was damned hard to project strength when he was afraid clear to his bones. To stay upbeat, when the odds were so long against them, that even he, an incurable optimist, wouldn’t bet on himself in the coming battle.

He could no longer pretend confidence, when every instinct he possessed screamed they were all going to die.

If it were only his life at stake, he wouldn’t be worried. He’d launch a tactical assault, and accept the risk. But how was he supposed to keep the woman he loved and three hostages alive against six Uzi-toting bank robbers? With no way out, no backup and armed only with a baseball bat. Wait, make that five bank robbers. He’d taken one down earlier in hand-to-hand combat. Still, five Uzis against one Louisville Slugger wasn’t such hot odds.

Eerie silence crept over him, prickling the hair on the back of his neck, and he glanced up, straining to hear the slightest noise. Being hunted had honed every sense to a razor’s edge. Careful not to disturb Bailey, he tore open a pack of cinnamon gum. Chewing gum helped him focus on the way to an incident site, and in the midst of long sieges. During an assault, the spicy taste overrode the smell of gunpowder and gore. Right now, he needed the boost to his concentration. All his focus. Four other lives depended on him.

He needed every scrap of wits if they were to survive until dawn.