She leaned her forehead to his, her tears dripping onto his face. “What are we going to do?” she whispered brokenly.

“We’re going to make the exchange.”

Honor looked at him in shock.

“We’re going to set it up so that it looks exactly as it should. And then my men and I are going to take out Maksimov. I will not give you to him, Honor. Do you understand that? Do you trust me? I will not give you to him.”

She swallowed, the beginnings of hope blossoming, and she tried, oh how she tried, to tamp them down because hope was such a dangerous and delicate thing. So easily broken and yet so easily nurtured.

“I trust you,” she said without hesitation.

He leaned in and kissed her.

“Then trust me to do this. I have to go now. I want you to rest. Really rest. And Honor, if you don’t, I will have Conrad sedate you. I have to get with my men because we now only have a little over twenty-four hours to come up with a completely different plan.”

She smiled ruefully. “After the bombshell you just dropped on me, you better go ahead and go get Conrad, because there is no way I’ll sleep. I’ll just stay up and worry . . .”—her voice trailed off to a whisper, as if by saying the last too loudly she’d somehow jinx them—“. . . and hope. I’m afraid to hope, Hancock.”

“My name is Guy,” he said quietly, surprising her with the abruptness in the change of topic. “No one but my family calls me that. Well, really only Eden, my sister. Foster sister if you will. My foster father and my two foster brothers mostly call me Hancock. I’d like you to call me by my name, but only when we’re alone.”

“Guy,” she said, testing the sound on her lips. “Guy,” she said again. “It suits you. I like it far more than Hancock.” She paused a moment before staring at him, locking gazes with him, allowing everything she felt into her eyes, hoping he could see.

He swallowed visibly, mirroring emotion simmering in his own expression.

“I like it far more because you shared it with me,” she added quietly.

She caressed his jaw, staring at him with the love she felt and hoped he saw it, because she couldn’t—wouldn’t—say it. Not now. It reeked of emotional manipulation and they weren’t out of the woods. Things could go terribly wrong. She would do nothing to make things worse.

He kissed her again even as he was rising to pull on a pair of jeans. “I won’t let you down,” he said fiercely. “I’ve let you down time and time again, Honor. But not this time. Not ever again. I know I’m asking a lot when I ask you to trust me. I’ve betrayed that trust. I don’t deserve it from you, but I’m asking anyway. It matters to me. It matters a lot.”

She gave him the words, unreservedly, her eyes never leaving his, the words directly from her heart. She might as well have said I love you for the way she gave the words. And judging by the fierceness that entered his eyes, she thought he heard the echo of that I love you when she told him she trusted him.

And for her, trust was love. Love was trust. They were one and the same for her.

CHAPTER 29

“YOU want to run that by us again, boss?” Viper asked, clear bewilderment in his eyes.

His other teammates wore similar confused expressions, but one common thread he found in every reaction he studied was . . . relief. In Conrad’s face he found not just relief but fiery satisfaction. He looked like he wanted to physically react and do something absurdly uncharacteristic like throw his hand up and do a fist pump. Conrad, who liked no one, had been won over by a woman with more heart than ninety-nine percent of the men they’d served with. She had his respect and now his protection. Of all the men, Conrad’s relief was the most pronounced. It had eaten at him that a woman who’d saved his life was being served up as a sacrificial lamb and he was participating in that repulsive act.

“You heard me,” Hancock said curtly, no patience for restating what they’d all clearly heard. “The mission has changed.”

“Good mojo,” Mojo said, with a more animated voice than his usual monotone. The man actually looked happy.

“Not that I remotely object and if I were still in the military, I’d be saying hooyah,” Cope interjected. “But do we get a clue about what changed since our last meeting a little over twelve hours ago?”

“Everything,” Hancock snarled. “We aren’t going to use the torture and murder of an innocent woman to finally take Maksimov down. I’m fucking tired of the good of the many creed and I swear to God, I’ll have the balls of whoever says it in my hearing again.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Conrad snapped.

“Good mojo.”

“Rock the fuck on, bro,” Henderson piped up.

Viper and Cope both nodded their agreement.

“We’re going to take Maksimov out by making it appear we’re giving him what he wants. And then we take him and any other threat out. I don’t give a fuck how messy or clean. And I don’t give a shit about dismantling his empire. For once, someone else can clean up the goddamn messes.”

“You’re on it tonight, man,” Conrad said in a dry tone.

“Tell me how Bristow died,” Hancock asked abruptly, his tone turning lethal.

Conrad shrugged. “He might still be alive. Or not. I figured a few hours, but he’s a pussy. I doubt he lasted more than an hour. More’s the pity.”

The other team members muttered and expressed their disgruntlement at the idea he would die so quickly.

“His instructions were to drug her for the delivery,” Hancock said, turning the conversation back to its original subject.

Conrad’s brow lifted. “Is that what you’re doing?”

Hancock uncharacteristically paused. Usually his responses were quick, assured. Situation completely in hand and on point. His men picked up on it. He would have been pissed if they hadn’t, even as it pissed him off that he’d allowed himself that brief show of uncertainty. His men had been trained to pick up subtleties. It was the smallest of details that saved one’s ass.

Hancock sighed. “I am.”

The others looked at him in surprise.

“If I thought the other option was the best option, then I wouldn’t drug her.”

No one asked the obvious question, but it was there in every single face and in their eyes. They waited in silence for their team leader to explain.

“Honor can’t know that we’re actually pretending to deliver her, and she can’t be conscious for more reasons than the fact that Maksimov made it a condition. She’s simply too honest. All you have to do is look at her face, into her eyes, and you see the truth. Maksimov would never believe her to be what she should appear as. A scared, beaten-down captive about to be turned over to a monster. So I have to drug her, and . . . I have to fucking lie to her.”

He said that last with blistering rage, a bitter taste filling his mouth. It was a necessary evil, one that would save her life and, if they were lucky, take Maksimov out in the process. But it didn’t mean he liked deceiving her. Again. He fucking hated it. Especially after what they’d shared the night before. And even more, she’d given him her unconditional trust. The mere thought that for even one moment she could think he’d betrayed her made him sick to his soul.