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and was thick and wavy and surprisingly blond. His skin was fair—too fair—and he was nearly always sun- or wind-burned, with ruddy cheeks and a peeling nose.

    But the respect shown to him by his men and the officers in his SEAL team wasn’t because he looked like someone you wouldn’t necessarily want to meet in a dark alley. No, he was respected because his men knew that he would fight to the death for them, if it came down to that. No, he would even fight from beyond death for them, because not even death could stop mighty Senior Chief Wolchonok.

    The man was a problem solver. A miracle worker, who expected as much—more—from himself than he did from his men.

    And as she sat there, Teri found herself staring back at him. His scowling gaze flickered across the restaurant, landing briefly on Joel Hogan.

    Oh, shoot, she’d been wrong. She forced herself to look down at her sandwich, feeling her cheeks heat. Someone had seen Joel cop a feel in the food line. Stan Wolchonok had seen.

    God, how humiliating.

    She choked down several more tasteless bites of her sandwich and finished her soda. Gathering up her trash, she said another quick thanks to Kate and headed outside, out of the building and toward the water, hoping that the fresh ocean air would help her regain her steadiness and calm.

    But she heard the door open, as if someone were following her. Please don’t let it be the senior chief. Please don’t let it be—

    “Hey, Teri, where you going in such a hurry?”

    Well, that was a lesson in “be careful what you wish for.” It wasn’t Stan Wolchonok. It was Joel.

    Evade and conceal.

    Keep distance between them.

    Run away.

    Teri put her head down, pretending she hadn’t heard him, and kept on walking.

    The April morning should have been glorious. Crisp and clean with a bright blue sky and a breeze that proclaimed spring was finally here.

    Helga Rosen awakened early with the strange sound of airplanes buzzing overhead. Lots and lots of airplanes.

    She lingered in her room until eight, and then, like every other day, she went downstairs for a bowl of Fru Inger Gunvald’s porridge, ready to curl up in a warm corner of the kitchen to enjoy her breakfast with a book. If she was lucky, she could get in at least an hour and a half of reading before she had to leave for school.

    And if she was really lucky, Fru Gunvald would have brought her daughter Marte with her and they’d play one of Marte’s marvelous make-believe games out in the yard.

    Two years older, Marte was Helga’s best friend in all the world.

    But this morning Fru Gunvald was late. The kitchen hearth was cold, the room was empty.

    Poppi was still home at this hour, arguing with Hershel.

    Hershel! Helga ran to him. “What are you doing here?”

    Her brother gave her a swift hug. “We’ve been invaded, mouse. The Germans are in Copenhagen. Classes are canceled.”

    “Invaded!” she gasped.

    “Don’t scare the child,” her father scolded.

    “Someone besides me ought to be frightened.” Hershel turned back to her. “It happened in less than two hours, Helga. German soldiers came in on a coal ship before dawn. They’re everywhere in the city now and the king surrendered with hardly a fight. It’s bad news for all Danes.” He grimly looked up at their father. “Worse for Danish Jews.”

    “Helga, go upstairs to your mother.” Poppi’s face was turning pink as he glared at Hershel. “Don’t talk like that in front of her.”

    The sound of a wagon clattering out in the yard made them all jump. Helga’s heart pounded. She’d read accounts of the roundups of Jews in Germany and Poland from underground newspapers Hershel had gotten at university and passed on to her, whispering to hide them from Poppi.

    She ran to the window, but it wasn’t Nazis in the yard. It was only Herr Gunvald. Marte’s father.

    He leapt down from his wagon, a big, broad-shouldered man, much taller than Dr. Rosen. He was a laborer,