3
Chris knew not to trust a pretty face—no matter how goddamn striking—he hadn’t joined the service just yesterday.
But he considered himself a better than average judge of human character, and there were things about his woman that didn’t fit together. At least not if she was a spy, infiltrator, or saboteur.
“May I ask your name?”
“Azadah. So true, is it not?” Despite her obvious soul-deep weariness, she was still capable of humor.
Her name: independent, free.
She struck him as a woman trapped…but not subdued. Qawi perhaps. The word meant both strong and powerful. But manda as well, so weary that she could scarce stand under her own weight.
He’d done many tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. Handled more than a few operations in places better not mentioned beyond the borders of Iran and
