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at the major until he couldn’t stand it any longer and shoved them to the back of his mind so he could focus on his mission.
    Paulson was going to hate that everyone believed Rick Jones was just a harmless neighbor. It was going to drive him up the wall and, considering the damage that had already been done to Paulson’s psyche, the major was actually a little worried about whether or not the man would hinder his mission.
    Paulson could blow it all to hell. He was the weak link in the plan. Chief Davis could present a problem too, but he wasn’t part of the SEAL team anymore and spent most of his time with his newfound family. The major didn’t think Davis was going to be a problem, but Paulson already was.
    The major sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes and tried not the let the guilt eat away at him.
    It had killed him to lock them up every night and watch the bastards rape that girl one after another. Part of him—a part he didn’t want to examine too closely—had shrugged it off as part of the job. But the other part was still human, and the man he’d once been had wept every time he’d seen Paulson and Harris bloodied and weakened. It wasn’t right. They were Americans, his own countrymen, and he hadn’t been able to do more than leave enough room in their handcuffs for them to escape if they broke their thumbs.
    The only saving grace—if there was one at all—was that he hadn’t been told to torture them. That, he couldn’t have borne. So he’d plugged along, making sure they got water and at least a little food every day, keeping their restraints barely tight enough to pass inspection. After nine long fucking months of it, Paulson had finally caught a break and made his escape.
    The major had helped, leading the hunting party in the wrong direction as long as he could without raising suspicion. It had worked, and he’d finally breathed a little easier.
    But that didn’t mean he could sleep at night. How many people had he hurt in his quest to eradicate terrorism? Was it worth it? His head said yes, but he still wasn’t sure. If Harris had been asked if her imprisonment warranted the intel he’d gathered, she would have said hell no. If she spoke at all. The major’s sources told him she was alive, but not really living: silent, unmoving, and unresponsive. Her family probably didn’t think it was justified either.
    And what had Chief Davis done to deserve a lost limb and the nightmares that still haunted him? That had been a huge oversight on the part of the major’s team, and they’d all been guilt-ridden over the lives lost in that particular fiasco.
    The major shook his head and tried to banish the remorse and depression. He was here to complete a mission, and he’d get it done no matter the cost. Because that’s what Black Ops did, and it was all the major knew anymore.
    * * * *
    Rebecca hummed softly to herself as she scrubbed her sink. She’d already cleaned it after breakfast, but she’d washed her lunch dishes and it was dirty again. She was a little obsessive about cleanliness, and her friends lovingly teased her about it. They didn’t understand why Rebecca dusted and vacuumed every single day whether her house was clean or not—and if she had her way, they never would.
    Rebecca didn’t want to be anything to them except a good, fun-loving, boisterous, fashionable friend that sometimes sold them beauty products. They didn’t need to see the ugliness and shame hiding behind a mask of exuberance.
    She scrubbed harder, trying to wash away the memories. Her soft hums became grunts as she put all of her strength into the task. She wouldn’t live in filth again. Molding, rotting food everywhere, stepping on trash, sleeping with rodents and bugs… Never!
    Her doorbell rang and with a short grunt of frustration she threw the scrubbing brush into the sink. Rebecca peeled the yellow rubber gloves off her hands, folded them carefully, and placed them in a