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second– and third-degree burns from an IED blast. Scars now covered Nate’s nose, right cheek, and jaw, disappearing down his neck and beneath his winter coat, but he was alive. More than that, he seemed . . .
happy
.
    Javier held out his hand, the lump in his throat making it hard to speak. “Damn, brother, you look good!”
    Nate grinned. “It’s good to see you, too, man.”
    They clasped hands—one hand dark, the other scarred—and drew together, slapping each other hard on the back while they embraced.
    Nate was the reason Javier had come. Javier had wanted to see for himself that his brother in arms had recovered and was doing as well as his e-mails said he was. He’d gotten married this past summer to some sweet
mami
, but Javier had been downrange and had missed the wedding. He hoped to make up for that now.
    They drew apart, both of them grinning, neither able to speak just yet.
    Nate broke the silence. “I heard you got hit pretty bad.”
    “Yeah.” There was no denying it. “I pulled through.”
    Not all of his men had been as lucky.
    “Thank God for that.” Nate studied him for a moment, a frown on his face, then gave a nod. “How long can you stay?”
    Javier had spent three weeks of his two extra months of leave with his family, and had a little over four weeks left. “Trying to get rid of me already?”
    Nate laughed, pointed at Javier’s guitar case. “If you play that thing, Megan might just throw you out.”
    “Hey, I’ve gotten better, man.” But Nate’s ribbing didn’t bother him.
    The smile on his buddy’s face lifted a weight from Javier’s shoulders that he’d carried for three long years. He’d been the first to reach the burning wreck of the transport truck, had pulled Nate out of the wreckage, held his uninjured hand, waiting with him for what seemed an eternity for evac. It had crushed Javier to see him in such agony, his body charred and shaking, his eyes wild with pain and shock.
    Nate West had been a natural leader, one hell of a warrior, and a true friend. Now he was Javier’s hero.
    “Let’s load your shit in the truck and get you up to the ranch.” Nate reached for Javier’s duffel, but something on the television caught his eye.
    Javier followed his gaze.
    The recycled news footage of Laura again.
    “I wish the media would leave her the hell alone,” Nate grumbled, slinging the duffel over his shoulder. “She’s been through enough.”
    “You got that right.” Javier wanted to say more but couldn’t.
    No one who wasn’t part of that op would ever know that Javier had been the one to find and recover her. OPSEC—operational security—was just a part of his job. He didn’t talk about his missions with anyone who hadn’t also been a part of them.
    “She works at the
Denver Independent
with Megan’s sister-in-law, Sophie. We’re having a barbecue this weekend to introduce you to some of our friends, and we’ve invited her. She mostly keeps to herself, but we’re hoping she’ll show.”
    Laura Nilsson? At Nate’s ranch?
    ¡Anda pal carajo!
Holy shit!
    Javier stared after Nate for a moment, then grabbed his guitar and, ignoring the ache in his thigh, followed him out into the chilly morning.
    * * *
    HANDS CLASPED IN her lap to stop them from shaking, Laura did her best to hold herself together. No matter that the queasiness in her stomach had become a sharp ache or that she’d dissolved into tears twice or that she couldn’t stop shaking. She’d come here to bear witness to Al-Nassar’s crimes against her, to stand up to his cruelty, to make certain that he went to prison for the rest of his life.
    She’d made it through two hours of grueling testimony so far, her secret still intact, her composure less so. She’d tried to prepare herself emotionally to see Al-Nassar’s face again, to feel his gaze on her, to hear his voice. But what she hadn’t prepared for—what she hadn’t even
known
to prepare for—was her
body’s
response. She