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life he wished like hell he could forget.
    Baghdad International Airport, Iraq
March 5, 2004
    “What kind of name is Pentecost anyway?” Early asked. Like Pearce, he was dressed like a local and wore a three-day growth of beard on his chin beneath a bushy black mustache. He and Pearce leaned against a Humvee as they waited for the big C-130 to cut its engines in the predawn light.
    “Beats me.”
    “Sounds religious. Tongues of fire and all of that.”
    “You should ask her,” Pearce said. “Maybe she’s a fanatic.”
    “Don’t need any more of those around here,” Early grunted. “What else did Connor say about this hotshot?”
    “Straight off the Farm but first in her class. A premium Core Collector by all accounts.” The air was cool. The slight breeze coming out of the south put a chill on him.
    “Is that why she rates her own plane?”
    “Connor said she was eager. Wanted to get deep in the shit fast.”
    “She’s probably a Poindexter with a pocket protector.”
    “Connor knows what he’s doing,” Pearce said.
    The Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC) had authorized a special task force to deal with the recent wave of devastating IED attacks by Iraqi insurgents around the country. Connor had picked Pearce to lead a small hunter-killer team in Baghdad. Pearce chose Early, a first-rate gunfighter from the 10th Special Forces Group he had met during Operation Viking Hammer in 2003, along with an S-2 from Early’s unit. But after the intel officer was killed by a sniper, Connor selected Pentecost to fill the slot.
    The big four-bladed props on the C-130 finally spun down and the rear ramp lowered.
    “Here she comes,” Early said.
    The woman coming down the ramp could have stepped out of a recruiting poster for Southern California surfer girls—lean, blond, and blue-eyed. But apparently she’d swapped out her flip-flops and bikini for combat boots and black tactical gear on the ride over.
    Early’s jaw dropped. “Whoa.”
    “You must be Early.” She stuck out her hand. “Name’s Pentecost. Annie Pentecost.” She smiled. “Connor described you perfectly.”
    Early grinned, not sure if she was complimenting him or not. “Mike Early. Real nice to meet you, too.”
    Annie turned toward Pearce. Looked right through him.
    Those eyes.
    “Troy Pearce,” he said, offering his hand.
    She had a firm grip. Held his hand just long enough to feel the heat. “Annie Pentecost.”
    “Welcome to the shit,” Early said, trying to get her attention.
    “I think he meant ‘team,’” Pearce corrected.
    “Thanks. I’ve heard good things.”
    “So have we. How was the flight?” Pearce asked.
    “Hard seats, cold coffee. The usual. The pilot just told me another IED ripped inside the Green Zone an hour ago.”
    Pearce nodded. “Police station. Three Iraqi policemen killed. One of our guys wounded, too. A contractor. Critical.”
    “We’re supposed to find you a hot and a cot.” Early yanked open the rear Humvee door. “We can check it out first thing tomorrow.”
    “It already is tomorrow,” Annie said. “Let’s go find us some bad guys.” She tossed her duffel through the door and climbed in after it.
    Pearce and Early exchanged a glance. Maybe Connor was right about this one.
    And those eyes.
    Idaho Falls Airport, Idaho
    Pearce made his way into the state-of-the-art cockpit and dropped down into the plush leather passenger seat and buckled in. With the HondaJet’s flat-panel displays and touch-screen controls, Pearce felt like he was trapped inside of a video gamer’s wet dream instead of an actual airplane.
    Pearce pulled the headset on and adjusted the mic.
    Judy Hopper sat in the pilot’s seat with an unreasonably radiant smile for such an early morning. “Fresh coffee in the thermos,” she whispered in his earphones. She was a decade younger than Pearce, with a plain, honest face and clear eyes. She kept her hair pulled back in a ponytail and never wore makeup.
    “Good flight