Chapter One

Babeldaob Island, Republic of Palau

April

Age: early thirties. Accent: American, Boston—Southie, not Harvard, and trying to hide it. Looks: handsome but forgettable. Attitude: smug. The man fixed Ivy MacLeod with what he must believe was a charming smile, when in fact everything about him spoke of condescension. “If you find the Palauan president intimidating, just remember that the country only has a population of twenty thousand. He’s more like the mayor of a small suburb.”

Ivy didn’t let her party smile slip as she glanced over his shoulder, scanning the packed ballroom for an escape. Mark Frost seemed to think he was clever, when in fact he was merely smarmy, and she would bet her next paycheck that he hadn’t crossed the packed ballroom because he wanted to give her unsolicited advice on how best to deal with Palauan politicians.

He canted his head. “But then, look who I’m talking to. Your cousin is a US senator and your husband is…was…” His voice trailed off, then he cleared his throat as if embarrassed.

That confirmed it. He’d cornered her at the edge of the room because he wanted the ugly details of Patrick’s upcoming trial.

“Ex-husband,” she said, her jaw tight, then berated herself for responding at all. She took a sip of the drink she’d just gotten from the open bar and looked longingly toward the open door to the garden, which she’d been heading toward when Frost pinned her.

Ivy felt some relief when the governor of Melekeok nudged Frost to the side and held out a hand to indicate the Asian man at his side. “Ms. MacLeod, I wish to introduce you to Shiro Kimura, from the Japanese embassy.”

She flashed a smile as she extended her right hand. “Mr. Kimura, it’s good to meet you.” She knew her effort to appear unfazed fell short. It was a shame it was necessary here, but three days ago, that damn news article had outed her. Half a world away in a tiny country in Micronesia, and her ex-husband’s infamy had followed her thanks to the Internet. “I understand you have questions about my mapping of Peleliu and whether there will be any disturbance to the World War II battle site that holds wreckage and remains from both our countries.”

Frost jumped into the conversation before Kimura had a chance to answer. “Tonight is for celebrating. Save the work talk for later.”

She frowned at the man. He was wrong about the purpose for the evening. While the gala event was a celebration of another milestone achieved by the Compact of Free Association between the US and Palau, it was work for Ivy, her chance to connect with government officials, ease concerns, and stroke egos. And even though, as Frost had pointed out, the country was tiny, the largest employer in the Micronesian island nation was the government. Everyone who was anyone in Palau politics was in the ballroom.

She didn’t doubt that they all wanted to know the sordid details of her ex-husband’s arrest and upcoming trial. But that was just too damn bad. She didn’t speak about Patrick to anyone except the US attorney who was personally handling his prosecution.

Kimura cast a glare at Frost before facing Ivy. His handshake had been stiff, and while he was clearly irritated with Frost, she wouldn’t be surprised if some of his hostility was directed at her. Most people greeted her with hostility once they learned her ex had been an arms trafficker who bought weapons from Russian mafiosi and sold them to Islamist terrorist groups.

She could see the accusatory question in Shiro Kimura’s eyes: How could you not have known what your husband was? But all he said was, “How long will it take you to map the site, Ms. MacLeod?”

She took a sip of her sweet tropical drink. Passion fruit. Guava. Probably three types of rum, at least one of them coconut. Not bad. She’d have to ask the bartender what it was called again. She smiled warmly at Kimura. Or at least hoped it came out warm. Easy-breezy just like the drink. “The battle site is vast, but data collection is going well so far. I expect another week to ten days until I’ve mapped both the land and water wreckage.”

Even now she was itching to be back in the seaplane. She was a beauty, an old de Havilland Beaver, piloted by a Palauan who never made snide comments when they were in the air. When flying with Ulai at the controls, Ivy could get lost in her work. Data points and markers. Infrared readings layered with Lidar. The colors, lines, and numbers that filled her computer screen were even more beautiful than the incredible tropical landscape they flew over. This first field test of CAM’s abilities was exceeding her wildest dreams.

“I do have concerns, Ms. MacLeod,” Kimura said. “I find it hard to believe you can map the ocean bottom from the air.”

The damn article that mentioned her disastrous marriage had ostensibly been about the Lidar-radar interface others had theorized but she’d managed to create. Maybe Kimura hadn’t read the exposé.

“I won’t bore you with the technical details, Mr. Kimura. Suffice to say I’ve developed a system that is capable of seeing through both jungle canopy and water.”

The official gave her a tight smile. “Won’t bore me? Or is that a way of covering that it wasn’t your invention and you don’t really know how it works?” His English was very good—on par with her Spanish and better than her Japanese—but he’d had enough to drink that it showed at the edges of his speech, and now he was saying things she had to wonder if he’d utter when completely sober. Not that he wouldn’t think them, just that he wouldn’t say them.

It was clear he’d read the article about CAM after all, but he believed her job at MacLeod-Hill had been a token gesture, in deference to her family tree and marriage to Patrick. She’d heard the rumors: she’d claimed invention credit to keep the patent out of government hands.

In truth, she’d spent five years developing CAM at the MacLeod-Hill Exploration Institute, the organization her Grandpa Cam had founded decades prior. Her father may have had the poor judgment to invite Patrick Hill to join the institute, but she was the fool who’d married the bastard.

When Patrick was arrested for treason and the government dismantled the institute she’d been born to run, she’d dusted herself off and brought her technological baby to Mara Garrett at Naval History and Heritage Command. So the argument that she’d lied to keep her patent out of government hands was ridiculous.

“Do you have great interest in learning about how lasers can be used to transport radio signals through water?” she asked. “Because I’m more than happy to get technical. Because light waves are packed more tightly, they outperform radio waves in their ability to transmit information. They’re faster, can carry more data, and even have stronger signal. For this reason, several labs have been attempting to embed radio waves into light waves, and with CAM, I have succeeded—are you following, or should I switch to Japanese?” She then repeated herself in his native language, to prove that she could. But instead of feeling satisfaction, she was irked with herself for rising to his bait. Kimura had been drinking too much, and she clearly hadn’t been drinking enough.

Next to him, Mark Frost grinned, and his eyes lit with respect. Maybe Frost wasn’t such a bad guy after all.

She took another sip. Coconut rum. Really, she should buy a bottle for an after-work cocktail now and then. Even snide comments were more tolerable when served with coconut.

“Dr. Patrick Hill is as likely to have developed CAM as you, Shiro,” a man behind her said. “And you still get lost in Koror with GPS.”

Kimura’s face reddened, yet he hadn’t flushed at Ivy’s take down.

She turned to see who’d managed that feat, and a frisson of recognition ran through her. She didn’t know him, but she’d seen him at the marina where Ulai and his floatplane lived. This man lived aboard a big yacht moored two slips away from Ulai’s hangar and living quarters.

A sign on the dock indicated the man’s boat, Liberty, was available for charter, but she’d ruled out hiring him for portions of the water survey because the gorgeous yacht would no doubt exceed her government budget.

Of course, she’d noticed the man as much as she noticed the yacht. While Liberty was sleek and luxurious, her captain was hot. Death-Valley-in-July hot. And it’d been forever since Ivy had thought along those lines about any man.

Tall and tan, with sun-kissed blond hair, he had thick brows, one of which was bisected with a scar, a wide nose, and a hard jawline. His receding hairline gave him maturity she found even more attractive. Unlike Frost, his features were distinct, imperfect, and memorable. He’d been scruffy the other day as he scrubbed his deck wearing nothing but low-slung shorts. Now he’d shaved and put on the requisite pants and shirt for this formal event. It didn’t matter; he was scorching hot either with or without a beard, dressed or half-naked.

Frankly, she preferred half-naked.

She offered her hand. “Ivy MacLeod,” she said with her first genuine smile since Frost had cornered her.

His warm blue eyes held hers as he lifted her knuckles to his lips. “Jack Keaton. It’s nice to finally meet. Ulai said you’re keeping him on his toes.”

She laughed as she extracted her fingers, feeling strangely fluttery from the press of his lips. She’d been kissed on the hand before and never thought twice about it. Perhaps Jack Keaton had the power to resuscitate her long-dead libido.

It was an intriguing thought.

“Highly unlikely. I have a hard time keeping up with him, and I’m half his age.”

It was his turn to laugh. “So do I.”

She doubted that, given what she’d viewed of his physique.

She eyed the open double doors to the garden, seeking a breeze. Despite her light silk evening gown, she sweltered in the heat of the room. The air-conditioning in the new grand resort’s ballroom couldn’t keep up with the press of bodies.

She turned toward the governor, embassy employee, and…she wasn’t sure what Frost was—he’d never offered up a reason for being in Palau or at this event. “I’m afraid I’m overheating. I’m going to escape into the garden.” She turned to Death Valley. “Join me, Mr. Keaton?”

“Jack, please,” he said and presented his arm.

She gripped his bicep, knowing it would be rock hard and thick. She’d been a shameless voyeur whenever he worked on his boat sans shirt.

The soft breeze hit her as she stepped outside, fragrant with tropical blossoms. The quiet, empty garden was a relief after the full-to-bursting ballroom.

The night was lit with tiki torches and moonlight, which reflected off the sea that stretched out beyond the low-walled garden. A mangrove swamp bordered the manicured grounds to the right, while a path to the beach curved around the garden to the left.

How tempting it would be to follow that path and escape the party. Pay homage to the turquoise Pacific that embraced the archipelago. The water here was exquisite, a scuba diver’s paradise. She’d have to ground-truth several underwater wrecks to make sure CAM was as accurate as she believed. Maybe Jack was a diver?

She discarded the ridiculous notion before it could take root. He’d done nothing more than help extract her from an awkward conversation. She’d charter a legitimate dive boat and partner when the time came.

Waves splashed below, the soothing sounds faint. She had the insane urge to lean against the stranger at her side. He was tall, slightly taller than her in her three-inch heels, and she was five-nine without them.

Between his height and broad shoulders, he made her feel downright dainty, when nothing about her was petite. She probably should stop cataloguing his attributes, but this was the most fun she’d had all night.

She’d known he was American at first glance, even though his features hinted at a northern European background. He wore his American-ness like he wore the dress shirt. His posture, the tilt of his head, even the way he smiled. He had Montana bearing—and as a cartographer and anthropologist, she fully believed there was such a thing. She was endlessly fascinated by the connection of people to place, even, at times like this, when far removed from their birthplace.

“Well, that was unpleasant,” she said, breaking the quiet.

“Shiro was being a prick.”

“He’s not alone in his beliefs. He was just drunk enough to express them. A blogger for a well-known online scientific journal recently said—to my face—‘Hard to believe a woman designed something so technical by herself.’ When I complained to his boss, he all but said I was reading too much into the statement and being overly emotional. You know, because I was a woman and called the guy on his condescension.”

“If you were a man,” Death Valley said, “you’d have been called ‘forceful in your beliefs,’ and your strength in not backing down would have been lauded.”

Her grip on his bicep tightened. He smelled good and said the right things. The party was becoming less of a chore by the minute. “Exactly. The president of Harvard once made a statement that men outperform women in math and science due to biological differences. The president. Of Harvard. And he was surprised by the backlash. Sexism is rampant in the sciences. It’s not even a dirty little secret. It’s blatant.”

One reason she loved her new job with Naval History and Heritage Command: she worked with several damn smart and strong women.

Jack paused when they reached the overlook, but instead of looking out toward the sea, he gazed at the mangrove swamp that abutted the garden. “I read your paper in Scientific American, detailing your use of Lidar to calculate the loss of mangroves in Indonesia due to rising sea levels. If anyone bothered to look at the research you’ve published, they’d know you’re the real deal and were the brains at the institute.”

If Jack hadn’t woken her libido before, he did now. Was there anything better than having a hot man call her brainy?

She smiled. “Thank you. I’m proud of that project. It was one of the last ones I completed before MacLeod-Hill imploded.” Her research had been funded by a National Institutes of Health grant and yielded solid data on the hazards of climate change. She’d miss being able to work on studies like that.

She glanced toward the nearby mangroves. The hotel developers probably wanted to take out that habitat, but mangrove swamps were vital to the ecosystem, and they were rapidly disappearing, which she’d proven in the multiyear study. That this mangrove remained, partially blocking the ocean view of the new hotel, could be, in part, thanks to her work.

“Is CAM an expansion of the technology you used for the mangrove study?”

She had to be careful how she answered. While it was public knowledge that NHHC had finally gotten the long-awaited funding to map the battlefield, only a select few knew exactly what CAM was capable of. The technology was, in all likelihood, better at gathering intelligence than the CIA and MI6 combined. But that also meant that in the wrong hands, her baby could be dangerous.

“Yes, for the most part. With a few enhancements.”

Mapping the Battle of Peleliu was the perfect test for CAM: terrain known to hide tunnels—on land and underwater—with plenty of historic wreckage to pinpoint, and the ability to ground-truth the data to calibrate accuracy.

He gazed down at her, his eyes lit with interest. On another man—like Frost—the sexy stare would look rehearsed, but on Jack, it came across as natural smolder. “Is this your first visit to Palau?” he asked.

It was crazy how the simple question combined with stare made her flush with excitement.

Hello, libido. I didn’t even know I missed you.

He reminded her of the actor who played Captain Kirk in the new Star Trek movies, with his blue, blue eyes. “Yes,” she managed. “How long have you been here?”

“A few months.”

“What brought you to Palau?”

He turned and faced the sea, his jaw tight, but then a corner of his mouth turned upward. “Do I need a reason to move to paradise?”

She frowned at his evasive answer. Evasion reminded her of Patrick and all the signs she’d missed in their four-year marriage. “Most people do.”

“I suppose that’s true. Either running away from something or running to it.”

“And you?”

“Neither.” His gaze slid to the side, just meeting hers as they faced the water. “My reason is private.”

She had to respect that. The one thing she’d lacked in her life since last August was privacy.

“Are you enjoying paradise?” he asked.

“Very much,” she answered, then paused. “Well, I was, before that article about CAM was published. Now everyone except Ulai looks at me differently, and often they’re outright rude.”

“They think you were complicit in your ex-husband’s treason.”

She tried to read his gaze. Did she see salacious curiosity in his eyes? Was he just like the others, only smoother?

She took a step backward. She was done fielding probing and frequently offensive questions from total strangers. No thickness of biceps or blueness of eyes could make up for the pain of insulting interrogation. “I should get back inside.”

Before she could turn, he caught her arm. “Wait. I didn’t mean I believe it—” His gaze caught on something over her shoulder. In a smooth but quick motion, he slipped a hand around her waist and pulled her close against him.

She pushed at his shoulders. Awakened libido or not, this was abrupt and as unwelcome as questions about her ex. “At least buy me a drink first.”

His arm locked, a vise twisting closed, bringing her against the hard plane of his chest. Alarm shot through her, and she braced her hands against his pecs. She took a deep breath to scream.

His mouth covered hers, muffling the sound. She moved to bite him, but he pulled back just enough to say, “There are three men who’ve just jumped the garden wall. They’re armed with adzes and machetes.” He moved his lips to her neck as he continued speaking. “This is the best way to get both of us deeper into the shadows without letting them know I’ve seen them.” He ran his lips over her jaw. “Play along.”

She didn’t know what to think. He’d seemed sane enough just seconds ago. Another thought slammed into her.

What if he works for Patrick’s terrorist buddies?

“Bullshit.” She shoved at his chest again.

“Look,” he said against her mouth, the sound a muted whisper. He turned their bodies ever so slightly. “Use your peripheral vision.”

She did…and saw the men, just as he’d described. They were dressed in traditional Palauan garb, but their faces were covered with latex masks that were decidedly not Palauan: Captain America, Ironman, and the Hulk.

The Avengers had arrived, and they were armed with razor-sharp adze blades hafted to sticks and long, vicious-looking machetes. Their choice of weapon made sense—guns were illegal in Palau—but the way they carried the tools did not. They weren’t intent on carving wood or hacking vines. No, they looked intent on carving up the VIPs inside the hotel’s grand ballroom.

Jack planted his lips on hers again as he twisted around so he faced the men. She did her part to make the kiss look real but had no doubt the shiver that ran through her was more fear of the Bizarro-World Avengers rather than triggered by the fake kiss from an utter stranger. No matter how hot the man was, he couldn’t compete with unbridled fear.

He ended the fake kiss as he positioned her at the edge of the manicured grounds next to the mangroves. They stood just feet from the brackish water. Ten yards separated them from the open ballroom doors, but they were as far as they could get from the hotel without entering the swamp.

Her belly roiled at the idea of the men attacking the guests inside the ballroom. “I don’t have my cell phone,” she said. “I can’t call the police.”

He frowned. “Mine’s in my car.”

A shout sounded, followed by the crash of breaking glass.

She considered the people in the ballroom, the political officials and dignitaries, and didn’t remember seeing any obvious security detail for the president. “Surely the president has a security team in plainclothes?”

He shook his head. “This is Palau.” His worried gaze fixed on the ballroom. “I have to go back.”

“You aren’t armed.”

“I was in the military. I can fight.” His jaw was firm. “Wait here.”

She nodded. It wasn’t like she had a better plan. She hadn’t served in the military and wasn’t trained to fight. And, contrary to the song, it wasn’t possible to blind someone with science. Well, unless you had a laser. Which, technically, she did, but they were attached to CAM.

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I’ll come back for you once it’s safe.” The gesture was sweet and surprising, but it made an odd sort of sense. They were strangers who’d crossed an intimate line even if it had been fake, and he was setting off to take on three armed men.

He moved through the shadows with the ease and grace of a panther, then crossed the open garden as though moving in for the kill.

She wove through the trees, the ground soft under her feet as she went deeper into the mangroves. She found an angle from which she could see into the ballroom, but remain hidden behind a sturdy tree trunk. She could just see one of the masked men holding the arms of the president of Palau while Hulk waved a machete in front of his face. She could hear voices—shouts, really—but couldn’t make out the language they spoke or their words. She had no idea what the masked men demanded from the president.

A woman’s shriek rose above the buzz and clicks of insects in the mangrove swamp. Both Hulk and Captain America turned in the direction of the sound.

Jack came into view. In a flash of movement, he pinned Ironman to the floor and snapped his forearm.

Hulk lunged for Jack.

Why isn’t anyone helping him?

But then, a man did. Shiro Kimura took a blow to the face from Captain America but got his own punch in in the process. Jack disarmed Hulk with a spinning kick. He shoved Hulk into Cap, helping Kimura evade the swing of an adze.

Jack wasn’t kidding when he said he could fight. He was like Jason Bourne, with rapid, hard jabs that showed no mercy.

Swift, smooth, and violent. It was a brutal, vicious ballet.

She dug her fingers into the tree trunk, struck by both the horror and beauty of it. Who was Jack Keaton?

Part of her was repulsed, while another part…wasn’t.

There was so much power and strength there.

The rustle of leaves followed by a muffled curse was the first hint she wasn’t alone in the grove. She turned to see Spiderman wielding a machete, coming straight for her.