"Jules," Sam started, but he didn't have to say it. Jules said it for him.

"I'll call you back as soon as I hear anything. Good news or bad."

"Thanks." As Sam hung up the phone, the news anchor made a joke about a pop star who was getting married. It was absolutely surreal.

How could anyone laugh when Alyssa might be dead?

He turned off the TV, but then turned it back on, flipping to the other news stations and then back, hoping for something, anything that would let him see just what Alyssa was up against.

If there were any way to survive this, Lys would find it. Of that Sam had absolutely no doubt. She was strong, she was skilled, and she had the heart of a warrior.

But if her team was badly outnumbered by their attackers, if it was a handful against several hundred, they would soon be overpowered. And all of the skill, strength and heart in the world wouldn't keep her alive.

Sam splashed water on his face, then dried it with his towel. It was one of the blue ones that he and Alyssa had picked out when they'd moved into this little house together, a few weeks before their wedding.

"Blue is all about serenity and tranquility," she'd told him as they stood in the department store, when he'd suggested they get brown because it would hide the dirt and stains.

But she was serious, which had surprised him. And as they'd decorated their house she'd paid a lot of attention, for someone so down to earth and practical, to the mood created by color, as well as to something called feng shui. Which was all about furniture placement and good vibes and all kinds of touchy-feelie New Age voodoo.

Of course, maybe there was something to that feng shui c.r.a.p, because Sam had never been happier and more at peace in his entire life than he had this past year, living here.

Then again, he'd be beyond ecstatic living in a cardboard box, as long as Alyssa was with him.

Please, G.o.d, keep her safe.

Sam took a deep breath, then opened the bathroom door.

The phone rang again, and Joan DaCosta, the wife of SEAL Team Sixteen's Lieutenant Mike Muldoon, picked it up out in the living room.

As the news of the downed choppers spread, friends and relatives were calling him to find out details and offer their support. But it had quickly gotten overwhelming. "I'm sure Alyssa's all right. I'm sure she's fine," they rea.s.sured him. But they wanted him to say it back to them, too.

And truthfully, as optimistic as he usually was, in this case, he wasn't sure about anything. And no one really wanted to hear how he was scared s.h.i.tless, and that this sitting still and waiting for news was driving him freaking nuts.

No one, that is, except for Joan and Savannah and Meg, the long-suffering wives of his three best friends from his days as a Navy SEAL.

Meg Nilsson-Johnny's wife-had been the first to arrive. She'd just opened his front door and walked inside his house, G.o.d bless her, announcing, "Hey, it's only me. I didn't ring the bell-I didn't want you to think I was someone bringing you bad news."

She'd brought her two daughters-Amy, a teenager from her first marriage, and four-year-old Robin, who had Johnny's eyes.

Amy possessed a maturity and sensitivity far beyond her years. She'd ushered both Robin and Haley outside, where she kept them occupied and entertained. Even now, hours later, Sam could hear their laughter from the backyard.

Shortly after Meg arrived, Chief Ken "WildCard" Karmody's wife Savannah pulled into the driveway. Mikey's Joan was right behind her.

They'd each given him a hug and told him they weren't going to let him go through this alone.

"Joan'll let me know if it's Jules on the phone, right?" Sam asked now, as he went back into the kitchen, where Meg and Savannah were sitting together at the table.

At first glance they seemed to be unlikely friends.

Savannah was a high-powered attorney who had just made partner and opened a law office in San Diego, after years of a bicoastal marriage. She came from money and worked not because she had to, but because she wanted to. Sam suspected that, if and when the time came to start a family with Kenny, she would throw herself into it with the same wholehearted devotion.

Kind of the way Meg did. A brunette to Savannah's elf-princess blonde, Meg Nilsson worked part-time from a home office. Her standard uniform was very different from Van's lawyer clothes-T-shirts and shorts, sneakers on her feet-better for chasing after little Robbie.

And yet Savannah and Meg were friends. They both loved their husbands-who willingly traveled to war zones and other places that were hazardous to one's health.

They both knew that their husbands might be injured or even killed in the line of duty at any given moment.

They knew what it felt like to carry around that anxiety, to live for those overseas phone calls that usually came in the middle of the night: I'm sorry it's so late, but I have cell service-it's weak, but it's there-and I'm not sure when I'll get it again ...

Four days ago, before the helo crash, he'd gotten a call like that from Alyssa. And for five minutes while he spoke to her, he could breathe again. She had been safe, and he knew it.

For those five minutes.

It ended far too quickly, and as soon as he hung up the phone the anxiety came screaming back.

Alyssa was scheduled to be away for just a short amount of time. SEALs, however, often went out for months. Sam absolutely couldn't imagine living like this for more than a few weeks.

"Jules said it would be a while before he called again," Meg gently reminded him.

"Have you tried cleaning the refrigerator?" Savannah suggested. "I've found it helps a little if you just keep moving."

Sam sat down, wearily rubbing his forehead. Jesus, his head ached. "I did the fridge the night Alyssa's flight left," he said on an exhale. "Then, in the morning, I took an ax, went out in the yard and removed this old stump we'd been talking about getting rid of." He'd chopped the c.r.a.p out of it in about four hours.

"I usually stick to cleaning out closets." Savannah was impressed. "I've never tried anything that involves an ax."

"I have," Meg said dryly. "Don't bother. It doesn't help."

Nothing helped.

"If you want," Savannah suggested, "we could help you organize your closets. It'll keep you busy. And you'll also win big bonus points when Alyssa comes back."

When Alyssa comes back. They were sitting there, all three of them, pretending that if Alyssa comes back wasn't what she really meant.

G.o.d, he hated this. But the alternative was sitting in his kitchen by himself. Or trying to fool Haley into thinking everything was all right, and sneaking into the bedroom every ten minutes to turn on CNN, see if there was any new information that made it to the cable news station first.

So he told Savannah, "I did the closets on the second night. It took a while, but I wasn't going to sleep, so ..."

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Meg asked, clearly working to keep the conversation going. "Just how much junk two people can acc.u.mulate in a short amount of time ...?"

"Yeah," he agreed. "I found this old hat-a baseball cap-that I thought I lost years ago and-" He broke off. "I can't do this. I'm sorry, I can't stand it. I'm just sitting here, so freaking helpless-I can't do a thing to help her. Even if I got on a plane ..." It would take him at least forty-eight hours to get to Ikrimah. He closed his eyes. "Right now, she could be dying. Right now. Right now. And I can't help her."

Meg took his hand. "I know," she said quietly. "It's hard, isn't it?"

Sam looked at her, and he knew that she knew exactly what he was feeling. "How many times have you done this?" he asked.

"Thought John might not be coming home?" she clarified. She didn't wait for him to respond. "There've been, oh, I guess three or four times somewhat similar to this situation. But, you know, every time he's out there and there's some news report about a helicopter crash or a suicide bomber or ..." She laughed as she shook her head. "Believe me, there's a lot of prayer involved when you're married to a SEAL."

"And a lot of really clean refrigerators," Savannah added.

"Pristine closets."

"Well gardened yards."

"You see, John knows where he is when he's on an op," Meg told Sam. "He knows when he's safe and when he's at risk. But all I know is he's somewhere dangerous and ..." She shrugged. "It sucks."

No kidding. "I had no idea," Sam admitted. "Before this, I just ..." He shook his head. When he'd gone wheels up with the team he'd understood that it was no picnic for the wives, girlfriends, and significant others they left behind. But he'd had no clue just how awful it could be.

Joan appeared in the doorway, cordless phone in her hands. "That was Mike," she told them. "The team's training exercise'll be over in an hour. He and John and Ken'll bring dinner when they come."

The phone rang again, and Joan retreated toward the living room. "Starrett and Locke residence," Sam heard her say. But then she gasped. "Oh, my G.o.d!"

Sam was up and out of his chair, and he nearly collided with her as she came racing back into the kitchen, thrusting the phone at him.

"Jules," he said as he clasped it to his ear. Please G.o.d, let this be good news. "What's the word?"

"It's not Jules," Joan said, but he waved for her to be quiet, because all he could hear was static, and then ...

"Sam, it's me. I'm all right," Alyssa said-beautiful, wonderful, vibrant, and so-very-alive Alyssa-her voice suddenly clear as day.

"It's Lys," Joan announced, which was good because try as he might, Sam couldn't get the words out.

"Ah, Jesus, thank you, G.o.d" was all he could manage, and even that was little more than a whisper.

Meg and Savannah both leapt to their feet. Meg pulled one of the kitchen chairs behind him, and Savannah tugged him back into it, Joan pushing his head down between his knees-as if they thought he might actually faint.

"Hey!" But, s.h.i.t, he was dizzy and on the verge of falling out of the chair, so maybe they were onto something there. But before he could thank them, they all left, hurrying out into the backyard to give him privacy.

"The SAS came in and ... Gordon MacKenzie, remember him?" Alyssa asked. "His team pulled us out. He remembers you. He wants to know what you think of his SAS boys now."

Gordon MacKenzie ...?

"Gordie told me his SAS team did some training exercises with SEAL Team Sixteen, back a few years," Alyssa continued as Sam desperately tried to regain his equilibrium. "He said they learned a lot from you-that you used to rate them on a scale from one to ten. But you never gave them anything higher than an eight."

Yeah, he remembered that. MacKenzie had gotten in his face and accused him of being a hardnosed a.s.shole. Actually a.r.s.ehole was what he'd said in his quaint Scottish accent. Sam had countered by standing his ground and saying he'd give them a ten when they f.u.c.king deserved a ten. And no sooner. Maybe they'd earn it next year, he'd told MacKenzie when the exercise had ended.

"Sam, are you still there? Can you hear me?" Alyssa was saying through the phone.

"Yeah," he said. "Yes. Lys, are you really all right?" Frickin' Gordie MacKenzie's team had helped save Alyssa's life. Next time he saw the dour b.a.s.t.a.r.d, he'd kiss him on the mouth. "Where are you?"

"The helo just landed on an aircraft carrier," she said. "We're safe." She sounded exhausted, and she exhaled hard. "Those of us who made it out alive."

"Are you hurt?" he asked, heart in his throat.

"Just a little tired," she told him-she always had been the queen of understatement. "Well, yeah, okay, I could use a few st.i.tches-just a few, don't get upset, I'm fine. We're pretty dehydrated, though. They've got us all on IV drips."

"I am so freaking glad to hear your voice," he told her, and she laughed. "You have no idea."

"Yeah," she said. "Actually, I do. Although, don't be jealous. I have to admit, as glad as I am to talk to you, I was even more glad to hear Gordie MacKenzie's voice this morning."

No kidding. "Tell Gordie that I love him," Sam said.

Alyssa laughed again. "Those aren't the three little words he's longing to hear from you, Sam. Seriously, what they did was ... It was remarkably courageous. We were trapped and ... I honestly didn't think anyone was coming for us-that anyone would be able to ... I thought ... It was bad," she said quietly.

Sam had to put his head back down between his knees. Alyssa, who never gave up, who wouldn't dream of quitting, had honestly thought she wasn't going to survive.

"He doesn't need me to give him a ten," Sam told her. "He knows."

"Still ..." There was a storm of static. "... ignal's fading-I have to go. Sam-"

"I love you," Sam told her. Thank G.o.d, thank G.o.d, thank G.o.d ...

"I know." Alyssa's voice was fading in and out, but he could still make out her words. "There was a point where it would have been easier to, you know, just ... have it over and done, but ..."

"Thank you," he said, hoping she could still hear him. "For not giving up."

"How could I?" She sounded as if she were a million miles away. "You were with me, you know. Every minute. I could feel you by my side." Sam could just barely hear her laughter over the static. "Ready to give me s.h.i.t if I so much as faltered. Gordie told me you have a permanent spot on his shoulder, too-whispering into his ear. And here you thought you were taking it easy, sitting around the kitchen with your feet up."

Taking it easy. She had no idea.

"I love you," he heard her say right before his phone beeped.

He looked at it and yeah, the signal was gone.

Sitting around the kitchen ... He'd been on dozens of dangerous missions. He'd risked his life more times than he could count.

None of it had been as hard as the past few hours.

Sam dialed Jules Ca.s.sidy's phone number, left a brief message. "Alyssa called. She's all right."

Through the kitchen window he could see Meg and Joan and Savannah out in the backyard with Haley and the other girls.

Sam punched Johnny Nilsson's cell number into his phone. The SEAL lieutenant was still out on a training exercise, so he left a voice mail. "Alyssa's safe. I just got off the phone with her. But that's not the only reason I'm calling. I think it would be smart if you brought your wife an armload of flowers when you came home," he told his friend. "Tell Mike and Kenny, too. Not just tonight, but every night for the rest of your lives."

It was already a half hour past Haley's bedtime when Sam sat on the edge of her bed. He'd promised she could watch a little bit of the football game with him, only it had started later than he'd thought.

"You want Duck or Hippo in there with you tonight?" His daughter frowned, and he quickly added, "Or both, on account of it being a special occasion."

"Because Alyssa's okay?" Haley asked.

"Yeah," he said, smiling into her anxious blue eyes. "And because she'll be home the same day as your momma."

Haley nodded, taking that in. "Amy said we had to stay outside in case you wanted to cry and say bad words," she told him. "Did you?"

"I think I said a few," Sam admitted. "And, yeah, I might've cried a little."