Joe stood in the briefing room of the USS Watkins, and tried to work out a plan to get SEAL Team Ten onto the Majestic, and the hostages off.

“Infrared surveillance shows the majority of the hostages are in the ship’s dining hall,” Blue reported. He pointed to the location on a cutaway schematic of the cruise ship that was spread out on the table among all the other maps and charts and photographs. “We can approach at dusk, going under their radar with inflatable boats, climb up the sides of the Majestic, and bring the hostages out without the terrorists even knowing.”

“Once everyone’s clear of the cruise ship,” Harvard said with a hard smile, “we kick their butts all the way to hell.”

“We’ll need air support,” Joe said. “At the first sign of trouble, Diosdado is going to split in one of those choppers he’s got on the deck. I want to make sure we’ve got some fighters standing by, ready to shoot him down if necessary.”

“What you need,” Admiral Forrest said, coming into the room, “is a go-ahead from the president. And right now, he wants to sit tight, wait and see what the terrorists do next.”

The intercom from the bridge crackled on. “We have a report from the Majestic,” a voice said over the loudspeaker.

“Another hostage is dead. The terrorists say they’ll kill one hostage every hour until they get either twenty million dollars or a shipment of long-range missiles.”

Another hostage was dead. Joe couldn’t breathe. God help Diosdado if he so much as touched Veronica. He looked around the room at the grim faces of his men. God help that bastard, anyway. SEAL Team Ten was after him now.

The telephone rang, and Cowboy picked it up. “Jones,” he said. He held the receiver out to the admiral. “Sir, it’s for you.” He swallowed. “It’s the president.”

Forrest took the phone. “Yes, sir?” He nodded, listening hard, then looked up at Joe. He spoke only one word, but it was the word Joe had been waiting for.

“Go.”

As the sun began to set, Mrs. McKinley was taken back to the dining room, leaving Veronica alone with Diosdado and one of his followers.

“Right about now, you’re wondering how you ever got into this mess,” Diosdado said to Veronica, offering her one of the cigarettes from his pack.

She shook her head.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You can smoke if you want.” He laughed. “After all, you don’t have to worry about dying from lung cancer, right?”

“Right about now,” Veronica said with forced calm, “I’m wondering what your head would look like—on a pike.”

Diosdado laughed, and touched her on the cheek. “You Brits are so bloodthirsty.”

She pulled her head away, repulsed. He just laughed again.

“They’re all going to die,” he said. “All of the hostages. You should be thankful your death is going to be painless.”

Joe met Blue’s eyes in the dimness of the corridor outside the dining hall. They both wore headsets and mikes, but at this proximity to the terrorists, they were silent. Joe nodded once and Blue nodded back.

They were going in.

The door was open a crack, and they knew from looking in that both guards had their backs to them. Both guards were holding Uzis, but their stances were relaxed, unsuspecting of trouble.

Joe smiled grimly. Well, here came trouble with a capital T. He pointed to Blue and then to the guard on the left. Blue nodded. Joe held up three fingers, two fingers, one…

He pushed the door open, and he and Blue erupted into the room as if they were one body with a single controlling brain. The guard on the left spun around, bringing his Uzi up. Joe fired once, the sound of the shot muffled by his hush-puppy. He caught the Uzi as the man fell, turning to see Blue lower the other guard, his head at an unnatural angle, to the ground.

The hostages didn’t make a sound. They stared, though. The entire room reeked of fear.

“Dining room secure,” Blue said into his microphone. “Let’s get some backup down here, boys.” He turned to the hostages. “We’re U.S. Navy SEALs,” he told them in his gentle Southern accent as Joe searched the crowd for Veronica. “With your continued cooperation, we’re here to take y’all home.”

There was a babble of voices, questions, demands. Blue held up both hands. “We’re not out of danger yet, folks,” he said. “I’d like to ask you all to remain silent and to move quickly and quietly when we tell you to.”

Veronica wasn’t here. If she wasn’t here, that meant…

“Veronica St. John,” Joe said, his voice cracking with his effort to stay calm. Just because she wasn’t here didn’t necessarily mean she was dead, right? “Does anyone know where Veronica St. John is?”

An older woman with graying hair raised her hand. “On the bridge,” she said in a shaky voice. “That man, that murderer, is going to kill her at six o’clock. They took the prince somewhere else, too.”

The clock on the wall said five fifty-five.

Joe’s watch said the same.

He turned to look at Blue, who was already speaking into his headset. “Harvard and Cowboy, get your fannies down here on the double. We’ve got to get these people off this ship, pronto, and you’re the ones who’re gonna do it.”. With Blue only a few steps behind, Joe slipped the strap of the Uzi over his shoulder along with his HK machine gun and headed back down the corridor at a run.

“I’m sorry,” Diosdado said into the radio, sounding not one bit sorry. “Your promise to deliver twenty million to my Swiss bank account isn’t enough. I gave you plenty of time to get the job done. Maybe you’ll do it before the next hostage is killed, hmm? Think about it. This communication has ended.”

With a flick of his wrist, he turned the radio off. He took a sip of coffee before he faced Veronica.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Your government has let you down. They don’t think you’re worth twenty million dollars.”

“I thought you wanted missiles,” Veronica said. “Not money.”

It was 6:01 p.m. Maybe if she could keep him talking, maybe if she could stall him, something, some miracle would happen. At the very least, she’d live a few minutes longer. She’d already lived one minute more than she’d thought she would.

“Either one would be fine,” Diosdado said with a shrug. He turned to his guard. “Where is our little prince? I need him in here.”

The man nodded and left the room.

Veronica felt incredibly calm, remarkably poised, considering that, miracles aside, she was going to get a bullet in her head in a matter of minutes.

She wasn’t going to see another sunrise. She wasn’t going to see Joe’s beautiful smile, hear his contagious laughter again. She wasn’t going to get a chance to tell him that she’d been wrong, that she wanted him for however long he was willing to give her.

Facing her own death made her see it all so clearly. She loved Joe Catalanotto. So what if he was a Navy SEAL. It was who he was, what he did. It was quite probably the reason she’d fallen in love with him. He was the best of the best in so many different ways. If by being a SEAL, he had to live on the edge and cheat death, so be it. She would learn to cope.

But she wasn’t going to have a chance to do that. Because of her own fears and weaknesses, she’d pushed Joe away. She’d given up the few moments of happiness she could have had with him. She’d given up a lingering kiss goodbye. She’d given up a phone call that could have been filled with whispered “I love you’s” instead of stilted apologies and chilly regrets.

How ironic that she was the one who was going to die a violent and horrible death.

Four minutes past six.

“What could be taking them so long?” Diosdado mused. He smiled at Veronica. “I’m so sorry, dear. I know you must be anxious to get this over with. I’d do it myself, but when Prince Tedric comes in, we’re going to play a little game. Do you want to know the rules?”

Veronica looked into the eyes of the man who was going to kill her. “Why do you do this?” she asked.

“Because I can.” The eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re not afraid, are you?” he asked.

She was terrified. But she was damned if she was going to let him know that. She replied, “I’m saddened. There’s a man that I love, and he’s never going to know just how much I really do love him.”

Diosdado laughed. “Isn’t that tragic,” he said. “You’re just as pathetic as the rest of them. And to think, for a moment I was actually considering sparing you.”

Five minutes past six.

He’d never had any intention of sparing her. It was just another of his head games. Veronica didn’t allow any expression to cross her face.

“You didn’t let me tell you about this game we’re going to play,” the terrorist continued. “It’s called ‘Who’s the Killer?’ When Prince Tedric comes in, I’ll put a gun on the table over here.” He patted the tabletop. “And then, with my gun on him, I’ll order him to pick up that gun and fire a bullet into your head.” He laughed. “Do you think he’ll do it?”

“You aren’t afraid he’ll turn and use the gun on you?”

“Prince Tedric?” Diosdado blew out a burst of disparaging air. “No. The man has no…backbone.” He shook his head. “No, it will be your brains on these nice windows, not mine.”

The door was pushed tentatively open, and Prince Tedric came onto the bridge. He was still wearing his cowboy hat, pulled low over his face. But his jacket was unbuttoned. That was odd—surely a sign of his despondency. Veronica had never seen him look anything but fastidious.

“Your Royalness,” Diosdado said. He swooped low in a mocking bow. “I believe you are familiar with Miss Veronica St. John, yes?”

Tedric nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I know Ronnie.”

Ronnie?

Veronica looked up at Tedric in surprise—and met Joe’s warm brown gaze.

Joe! Here?

The rush of emotions was intense. Veronica had never been so glad to see anyone in her entire life. Or so frightened. Lord, please, don’t let Joe be killed, too—

“Get down,” Joe mouthed silently.

“We’re going to play a little game,” Diosdado was saying.

“I’ve got a game for you,” Joe said in Tedric’s Ustanzian accent. “It’s called ‘Show-and-Tell.’ ”

He pulled the biggest machine gun Veronica had ever seen in her life out from under his open jacket and aimed it at Diosdado.

“I show you my gun,” Joe finished in his regular voice, “and you freeze. Then tell your army to surrender.”

Diosdado didn’t freeze. He lifted his gun.

Veronica dove for the floor as Joe opened fire. The noise was incredible, and the smell of gunpowder filled the air. But just as quickly as it started, it stopped. And then Joe was next to her on the floor, pulling her into his arms.

“Ronnie! God, tell me you’re all right!”

She clung to his neck. “Oh, Joe!” She pulled back. “Are you all right?” He seemed to be in one piece, despite all of the bullets that had been flying just moments earlier.

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Veronica shook her head.

He kissed her, hard, on the mouth and she closed her eyes, pulling him closer, kissing him back with as much strength and passion. She welcomed his familiar taste, giddy with relief and a sense of homecoming she’d never experienced before. He’d come to save her. Somehow he’d known, and he’d come.

“Well,” Joe said, his voice husky as he drew back. “I guess this is probably the one situation where you’d be indisputably glad to see me, huh?” He smiled, but there was a flash of remorse in his eyes as he took off Tedric’s jacket, revealing some kind of dark uniform and vest underneath.

He was serious. He honestly thought the only reason she was so happy to see him was because he had come to save her life. “No, Joe—” she said, but he stopped her, standing and pulling her to her feet.

“Come on, baby, we’ve got to get moving,” Joe said. “In about thirty seconds, this place is going to be crawling with tangos who heard that gunfire. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Joe—”

“Tell me while we’re moving,” he said, not unkindly, as he pulled her toward the door. She hesitated only a second, glancing back over her shoulder at where Diosdado had stood only moments before.

“Is he…?”

Joe nodded. “Yeah.” Holding her hand, he led her gently down the corridor. She was shaking slightly, but otherwise seemed okay. Of course, it was entirely possible that the shock of what she’d just been through hadn’t set in. Still, they had to move while they could. “Can you run?” he asked.

“Yes, ”she said.

They set off down the corridor at an easy trot.

She was still holding his hand, and she squeezed it slightly. “I love you,” she said.

Joe glanced at her. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but she managed to smile as she met his gaze. “I didn’t think I’d get the chance to tell you that ever again,” she explained. “And I know we’re not out of danger, so I wanted to make sure you knew, in case—”

Veronica was right—they weren’t out of danger. They were at the opposite end of the ship from the extraction point, and the tangos had surely been alerted to the fact that there were intruders on board. They had surely noticed that their hostages were missing and their leader was dead. SEAL Team Ten had stirred up one hell of a hornet’s nest—and Joe and Veronica were still in the middle of it.

But Joe wasn’t about to tell Veronica that. They could pull this off. Damn it, they would pull this off. He was a SEAL and he was armed to the teeth. Several dozen terrorists didn’t stand a chance against him. Hell, with stakes this high, with the life of the woman he loved at risk, he could take on several hundred and win.

Joe slowed, peering around a corner, making sure they weren’t about to run head-on into a pack of terrorists. Veronica loved him, and even though she didn’t love him enough to want to marry him, he didn’t care anymore. He honestly didn’t care. If he’d been five minutes later, if that evil bastard Diosdado hadn’t wanted to play games with his victims, if any number of things had been different, he would have lost Veronica permanently. The thought made him crazy. She could have been killed, and he would be alone, without her forever and ever.

But she hadn’t been killed. They’d both been given a second chance, and Joe wasn’t going to waste it. And he wanted to make his feelings clear to her—now—before she walked away from him again.

“When this is all over,” he said almost conversationally, “after you’re off this ship and safely back onshore, you’re going to have to get used to me coming around to visit you. You don’t have to marry me, Ronnie. It doesn’t have to be anything permanent. But I’ve got to tell you right now—I have no intention of letting this thing between us drop, do you follow?”

Silently, she nodded.

“Good,” Joe said. “You don’t have to go out with me in public. You don’t have to acknowledge our relationship at all—not to your friends, not to your family. I’ll keep sneaking in your back door, baby, if that’s the way you want it. You can just go on slumming, indefinitely. I don’t give a damn, because I love you.” To hell with his pride. To hell with it all. He’d take her any way he could get her.

“Slumming?” Veronica echoed, surprise in her voice. “What—”

“Beg your pardon, Romeo,” came Blue’s voice over Joe’s headset, and Joe held up his hand, cutting Veronica off, “but I thought you might want to know that I’ve extracted with my royal luggage. Ronnie’s the last civilian on board. The tangos know something’s up, so move it, Cat—fast. The USS Watkins is moving into position, picking up the IBS’s with the hostages. I’m coming back to the Majestic to assist you—”

“No,” Joe interrupted. Veronica was watching him, with that look on her face that meant she was dying to speak. He shook his head, touching his headset as he spoke to his XO. “No, Blue, I need you to stay with the prince,” he ordered. “But make sure there’s a boat waiting for me and Ronnie at the bottom of that rope at the bow of this ship.”

“You got it,” Blue said. “See you on the Watkins.”

“Check,” Joe replied.

Veronica watched Joe. Slumming? What had he meant? Then her words came back to her. Different worlds. She’d talked about their different worlds when she’d turned down his marriage proposal. She’d been referring to the differences between his matter-of-fact response to danger, his thrill for adventure, and her fears of letting him go. Had he somehow misunderstood her? Had he actually thought she’d been talking about their supposed class differences—assuming something as absurd as class differences even existed? Could he actually have thought she was put off by something as ridiculous as where he came from or where he grew up?

Veronica opened her mouth, about to speak, when suddenly, from somewhere on the ship, there was an enormous, swooshing noise, like a rocket being launched.

“What was that?” Veronica breathed.

But Joe was listening again, listening to the voices over his headset.

“Check,” he said into his microphone. He turned toward Veronica. “The T’s are firing artillery at the hostages. Return fire,” he ordered. He listened again. “You’re gonna have to,” he said tersely. “We’re down below, outside the game room, but that’s gonna change real soon. I’ll keep you informed of my position. You just use that high-tech equipment and make sure you aim when you shoot. Fire now. Do you copy? Fire now.”

“My Lord!” Veronica said.. Joe had just given an order for the men on the USS Watkins to return fire at the cruise ship—while she and Joe were still on board!

A deafening explosion the likes of which Veronica had never heard before thundered around them. The missile from the USS Watkins rocked the entire ship, seeming to lift it out of the water and throw it back down.

Joe grabbed Veronica’s hand and pulled her with him down the hallway.

“Okay, Watkins,” he said over his headset. “We’re heading away from the game room, toward the bow of the ship.” There was a flight of stairs leading up toward the deck. Joe motioned for Veronica to hang back as he crawled up and peeked over the edge. He motioned with his hand for her to follow him. “Heading toward the recreation deck,” he said into his microphone as he climbed up the steps and got his bearings, hanging back in the shadows and looking around. Veronica wasn’t sure what he saw, but it didn’t make him happy. “We’re not going to make it to the extraction point,” he said. “We’ve got to find another way off—”

Then Joe saw it—the perfect escape vehicle—and smiled. Diosdado’s helicopters were sitting there, waiting to be hijacked. But this time by the good guys.

They were twenty yards from the helicopter. Twenty yards from freedom.

“Heading for the choppers up on the deck,” he said into his mike. “Keep those missiles coming in, but keep ‘em clear of us.”

Fifteen yards. Ten. God, they were going to make it. They were—

All hell broke loose.

It was a small squad of T’s—only about five of them—but they came out of nowhere.

Joe had his gun up and firing as he stepped in front of Veronica. He felt the slap of a bullet hit him low in his gut, beneath the edge of his flak jacket, but he felt no pain, only anger.

Damn it, he wasn’t going to let Ronnie die. No way in hell was he going to let her die. Not now. Not when he was so close to getting her to safety…

His bullets plowed through the terrorists, taking them down, or driving them away from him to cover. But the sound of gunfire drew more of them toward him.

His mind registered the first sensations of pain. Pain? The word didn’t come close to describing the white-hot, searing agony he felt with every step, every movement. He was gut-shot, and every pounding beat of his heart was pumping his blood out of his body. It wouldn’t be long before he bled to death. Still firing his gun, he tried to stanch the flow. He’d been trained as a field medic—all SEALs were. He’d been trained to provide first aid to his men, and even to himself. He needed to apply pressure, but it was tough with a wound this size. The bullet had penetrated him, leaving an exit wound in his back, through which he also bled.

God, the pain.

Through it all, he kept going. If they could reach the chopper, he could still fly Ronnie out of here. If they could reach the chopper, bleeding or not, dying or not, he could get her to the Watkins.

The door to the bird was open—God was on his side—but Joe didn’t seem to have the strength to push Veronica in. “Dear Lord, you’re bleeding,” he heard her say. He felt her push him up and into the cockpit. And then, damned if she didn’t grab his extra gun, and turn and fire out the open door, keeping the T’s at bay while, through a fog, Joe started the engine. He could fly anything, he told himself over and over, hoping that the litany would somehow make his brain respond. They didn’t make a chopper he couldn’t handle. But his arms felt like lead and his legs weren’t working right. Still, he had to do it. He had to, or Veronica was going to die alongside him.

And then, miracle of miracles, they were up. They were in the air and moving away from the ship.

“We’re clear of the Majestic,” Joe rasped into his microphone. “Launch a full-scale attack.”

The world blurred for a second, and then snapped sharply into focus.

That was smoke he saw coming from the engine. Sweet Jesus, the chopper must have sustained a direct hit. Somehow, Joe had gotten the damned thing up, but it wasn’t going to stay in the air too much longer.

“Tell them you need a medic standing by,” Veronica said.

“We’ve got bigger problems,” Joe told her.

She saw the smoke, and her eyes widened, but her voice didn’t falter as she told him again, “You’ve been shot. Make sure someone on the Watkins knows that, Joe.”

“We’re not going to make it to the Watkins,” Joe said. He spoke into his microphone. “Blue, I need you, man.”

“I’m here, and I see you,” Blue’s familiar Southern drawl sounded in his ears. “You’re leaving a trail of smoke like a cheap cigar, Cat. I’m coming out to meet you.”

“Good,” Joe said. “Because I’m going to bring this bird low, and Ronnie’s gonna jump out into the water, you copy?”

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” Veronica said, adding loudly, loud enough for Blue to hear, “Joe’s been hit, and he’s bleeding badly.”

“I have a medic standing by,” Blue said to Joe. “Is it bad, Cat?”

Joe ignored Blue’s question. “I’m right behind you, Ronnie,” he said to Veronica, knowing damn well that he was telling her a lie. “But I’m not going to ditch this bird until you’re clear.”

He could see her indecision in her eyes. She didn’t want to leave him.

God, he was getting light-headed, and this chopper was getting harder and harder to handle as he hovered ten feet above the water’s surface. The combination was not good.

“Go,” he said.

“Joe—”

“Baby, please…” He couldn’t hold on much longer.

“Promise you’ll be right behind me?”

He nodded, praying to God for forgiveness for his lie. “I promise.”

She slid open the door. “I want us to get married right away,” she said, and then she was gone.

The water was cold as ice.

It surrounded Veronica, squeezing her chest as she surfaced and tried to take in a breath of air.

But then a boat was there, and hands reached for her, pulling her up.

Veronica ignored the cold as she turned to watch the chopper, hovering above the waves, its whirling blades turning the ocean into choppy whitecaps. Someone wrapped a blanket around her— Blue, it was Blue McCoy, Joe’s executive officer.

The plume of smoke from the helicopter was darker, thicker. And the chopper seemed to lurch instead of holding still.

“Why won’t he jump?” she wondered aloud.

Before she finished speaking, the helicopter jerked forward and down—into the water.

She could hear shouting—it was Blue’s voice—and she couldn’t believe that the noise—some noise, any noise, wasn’t coming from her own throat.

The helicopter was sinking beneath the waves, taking Joe with it, taking all her hopes and dreams for the future away from her.

“No!” she cried, the word torn from her raggedly.

“I’m going in after him.” It was Blue. “Pull this boat closer.”

“Sir, I can’t let you do that,” said a young man in a naval uniform. His face was pale. “If the chopper doesn’t pull you under, the water’s so cold, it’ll kill you. You won’t last more than five minutes before hypothermia sets in.”

“Pull the damned boat closer, Ensign,” Blue said, his voice as cold as the Alaskan water. “I’m a SEAL, and that’s my commander down there. I’m going after him.”

The water was cold as ice.

It roused Joe from his fog as it splashed him in the face.

Damn, he’d gone down. He didn’t remember going down. All he remembered was Ronnie—Ronnie telling him that she wanted to… marry him?

The last pocket of air bubbled out of the helicopter cockpit.

No way was he going to die. Ronnie wanted to marry him. No way was he going to drown. Or bleed to death, damn it.

The water was cold as hell, but it would slow his bleeding.

All he had to do was get his arms and legs to work.

But he hurt.

Every single cell in his body hurt, and it took so much god-dammed effort to lift even a finger.

This was worse than anything he’d ever experienced, worse even than Hell Week, that torturous final week of SEAL training that he’d lived through so many years ago.

He’d never wanted anything as badly as he’d wanted to be a SEAL. It had kept him going through the nonstop exertion, through the pain, through the torturous physical demands. ‘’You got to want it badly enough, “ one of his instructors had shouted at them, day after day, hour after hour. And Joe had. He’d wanted to be a SEAL. He’d wanted it badly enough.

He’d wanted to be a SEAL almost as much as he wanted Veronica St. John.

And she was there, up there, above the surface of that freezing water, waiting for him. All he had to do was kick his legs, push himself free and he would have her. Forever. All he had to do was want it badly enough

Veronica stared at the water, at the place where first the helicopter and then Blue had disappeared.

Please, God, if you give me this, I’ll never ask for anything ever again

Seconds ticked into one minute. Two. Three…

Was it possible for a man to hold his breath for this long, let alone search for a wounded, drowning man…?

Please, God.

And then, all at once, a body erupted from beneath the surface of the water. Veronica peered into the area lit by the searchlights. Was that one head or…

Two! Two heads! Blue had found Joe!

A cheer went up from the sailors on board the boat, and they quickly maneuvered closer to the two men, and pulled them out.

Dear God, it was Joe, and he was breathing. Veronica stood aside as the medics sliced his wet clothes from his body. Oh, Lord, he’d been shot in the abdomen, just above his hip. She watched, clutching her own blanket more tightly around her as he was wrapped in a blanket and an IV was attached to his arm.

“Cat was coming up as I was going down after him,” Blue said, respect heavy in his voice. “I think he would have made it, even without me. He didn’t want to die. Not today.”

Joe was floating in and out of consciousness, yet he turned his head, searching for something, searching for…

“Ronnie.” His voice was just a whisper, but he reached for her, and she took his hand.

“I’m here,” she said, pressing his fingers to her lips.

“Did you mean it?” He was fighting hard to remain conscious. He was fighting, and winning. “When you said you’d marry me?”

“Yes,” she said, fighting her own battle against the tears that threatened to escape.

Joe nodded. “You know, I’m not going to change,” he said. “I can’t pretend to be something I’m not. I’m not a prince or a duke or—”

Veronica cut him off with a kiss. “You’re my prince,” she said.

“Your parents are going to hate me.”

“My parents are going to love you,” she countered. “Nearly as much as I do.”

He smiled then, ignoring his pain, reaching up to touch the side of her face. “You really think this could work?”

“Do you love me?” Veronica asked.

“Absolutely.”

“Then it will work.”

The boat was pulling up alongside of the USS Watkins, where a doctor was waiting. From what Veronica had gathered from the medics, they believed the bullet had passed through Joe’s body, narrowly missing his vital organs. He’d lost a lot of blood, and had to be stitched up and treated for infection, but it could have been worse. It could have been far worse.

Joe felt himself placed onto a stretcher. He had to release Ronnie’s hand as he was lifted up and onto the deck of the Watkins.

“I love you,” she called.

He was smiling as the doctor approached him, smiling as the nurse added painkiller to his intravenous tube, smiling as he gave in to the drug and let the darkness finally close in around him.

Joe stared up at the white ceiling in sick bay for a good long time before he figured out where he was and why he couldn’t move. He was still strapped down to a bed. He hurt like hell. He’d been shot. He’d been stitched up.

He’d been promised a lifetime filled with happiness and Veronica St. John’s beautiful smile.

Veronica Catalanotto. He smiled at the idea of her taking his name.

And then Blue was leaning over him, releasing the restraints. “Damn, Cat,” he said in his familiar drawl. “The doc said you were grinning like a fool when he brought you in here, and here you are again, smiling like a fox in a henhouse.”

“Where’s Ronnie?” Joe whispered. His throat was so dry, and his mouth felt gummy. He tried to moisten his dry lips with his tongue.

Blue turned away, murmuring something to the nurse before he turned back to Joe, lifting a cup of water to his friend’s lips. “She’s getting checked by the doctor,” he told Joe.

Joe’s smile disappeared, the soothing drink of water forgotten. “She okay?”

Blue nodded. “She’s just getting a blood test,” he said. “Apparently she needs one.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m hoping to get married,” Ronnie said, leaning forward to kiss him gently on the mouth. “That is, if you still have that ring. If you still want me.”

Joe gazed up at her. Her hair was down, loose and curling around her shoulders. She was wearing a sailor suit that was several sizes too large, white flared pants and a white shirt, sleeves rolled up several times. She was wearing no makeup, and her freshly scrubbed face looked impossibly young—and anxious—as she waited for his answer. “Hell, yes,” he somehow managed to say.

She smiled, and Joe felt his mouth curve up into an answering smile as he lost himself in the ocean color of her eyes. “Do you still want me?”

Blue moved quietly toward the door. “I guess I’ll leave you two a—”

Ronnie turned then, looking up at Joe’s XO and best friend. “Wait,” she said. “Please?” She looked back at Joe. “I’ll marry you, but there’s one condition.”

Blue shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“Anything,” Joe said to Veronica. “I’d promise you anything. Just name it.”

“It’s not something you can promise me,” she said. She looked up at Blue again, directly into his turquoise eyes. “I need Blue’s promise—to keep Joe safe and alive.”

Blue nodded slowly, taking her words seriously. “I’d die for him,” he said, matter-of-factly.

Veronica had seen them in action. She’d seen Blue dive into the icy Alaskan waters after Joe, and she knew he spoke the truth. It wasn’t going to make her fear for Joe’s safety disappear, but it was going to make it easier.

“I didn’t want to marry you because I was—I am—afraid that you’re going to get yourself killed,” she said, turning back to Joe. “I knew I couldn’t ask you to leave the SEALs and…”

She saw his eyes narrow slightly as he understood her words. “Then…”

Veronica felt more than saw Blue slip from the room as she leaned forward to kiss Joe’s lips. “I wasn’t ‘slumming.’” She mock shuddered. “Nasty expression, that.”

He laced his fingers through her hair, wariness and concern in his eyes. “I can’t leave the SEALs, baby—”

She silenced him with another kiss. “I know. I’m not asking you to. I’m not going to quit my job and become a career navy wife, either,” Veronica told Joe. “I’ll travel and work—the same as you. But whenever you can get leave time, I’ll be there.”

As she gazed into Joe’s midnight-dark eyes, the last of his reservations drained away, leaving only love—pure and powerful. But then he frowned slightly. “Your ring’s back in Little Creek,” he said.

“I don’t need a ring to know how much you love me,” Veronica whispered.

Joe touched his chest, realized he was wearing a hospital gown, then pressed the call button for the nurse.

A young man appeared almost instantly. “Problem, sir?”

“What happened to my uniform?” Joe demanded.

“There wasn’t much left of it after the medics cut it off you, sir.” The nurse gestured toward a small table just out of reach of the bed. “Your personal gear is in that drawer.”

“Thanks, pal,” Joe said.

“Can I get you anything, sir?”

“Just some privacy,” Joe told him, and the nurse left as quickly as he had come.

Joe turned to Veronica. “Check in that drawer for me, will you, baby?”

Veronica stood up and crossed to the table. She pulled open the drawer. There were three guns inside, several rounds of ammunition, something that looked decidedly like a hand grenade, a deadly-looking knife, several bills of large denominations, a handful of change…

“There should be a gold pin,” Joe said. “It’s called a ‘Budweiser.’”

A gold pin in the shape of an eagle with both an ocean trident and a gun, it was Joe’s SEAL pin, one of his most precious possessions. He’d gotten it on the day he graduated, the day he became a Navy SEAL. Veronica took it from the drawer. It felt solid and heavy in her hand as she carried it to Joe.

But he didn’t take it from her. He wrapped her fingers around it. “I want you to have it.”

Veronica stared at him.

“There are two things I’ve never given anyone,” he said quietly. “One is this pin. The other is my heart.” He smiled at her. “Now you got ‘em both. Forever.”

He pulled her head down to him and kissed her so gently, so sweetly, so perfectly.

And Veronica realized again what she’d known for quite some time.

She had found her prince.

END