Four years ago. Washington, D.C.

The pads of my nearly frostbitten fingers skimmed over the cold metal. The shiny black pistol fit in my hand like it had been made just for me. It was practically pitch black inside the building, with the exception of a few thin rays of moonlight streaming in from the busted out windows. The silence was so deafening, I felt that I might succumb to the maddening ringing in my ears and slip into unconsciousness. But I couldn't. I had to keep moving. I had to keep listening to the sound of my breathing coming in slow, even pants as I crept through the empty corridor. It was the only sound filling the void besides my thundering heart.

I'd been slinking along the walls, pacing my steps and swallowing my fear, staying as silent as a mouse, just like I'd been taught. The gunfire had died down an agonizingly long ten minutes prior, but I knew it wasn't over yet. It wouldn't be that easy. It never was.

I squinted to check for any movement in the shadows. I strained to listen for any signs of my enemies. To both my relief and dismay, I came up empty with every peek around a corner and every glance behind my back. It would seem that I was alone in the eerie, abandoned warehouse, but I knew better than to trust the silence.

The building was littered with pounds upon pounds of illicit drugs that were intended predominantly for transatlantic sales. This wasn't marijuana either. These were the worst kinds of substances that were manufactured solely to generate money from addiction and ruin lives. My team was there to capture the leader of the drug trafficking ring, Enrique Bellucci, and take out any henchmen that accompanied him. We'd been directed to bring Bellucci back to headquarters, where he would be interrogated in hopes of getting information out of him that was pertinent to another ongoing case that A.R.T. was investigating.

The Alpha Reconnaissance Taskforce, headquartered in the nation's capital and operating out of the U.S., U.K., and Australia, was an elite, private agency dedicated to bringing down criminals of all kinds, internationally. We were the team that politicians, celebrities, and powerful businesspeople all over the globe turned to for the discreet handling of cases which they did not want to chance the public – especially the media – getting wind of. We were also allies of and occasional partners with the F.B.I., C.I.A., Interpol, Mossad, and N.S.A., among others. A.R.T. operated independently from any nations' governments, however; only assisting in investigations in which our expertise was requested.

Enrique Bellucci was a well-known, successful drug trafficker and murderer. He was known as Public Enemy Number One with the Italian government. They'd been trying to locate him and bring him to justice for over six years to no avail. Bellucci was one of the more intelligent criminals A.R.T. had come across. He always had a way to cover his tracks. On numerous occasions, authorities had thought they were on the cusp of finally catching him, only to discover that he always had a Plan B. As soon as you thought you had him, he disappeared again. Bellucci was notorious for sending himself on elaborate vacations after every time that he evaded capture, seemingly celebrating his victory and making fun of anyone who thought he was stupid enough to make that one wrong move we were all crossing our fingers for. The bastard was just too slick – or so he thought.

The Alpha Reconnaissance Taskforce had spent nearly a year searching for Enrique Bellucci. We'd finally pinpointed the location of the warehouse where he was currently keeping his supply. He regularly moved it, knowing not he nor his operation could stay in one place for too long. The irony was that the F.B.I. had been actively pursuing Bellucci for quite some time and it turned out that his drug haven was only a few miles east of the J. Edgar Hoover building. Maybe he'd chosen that spot to mock the F.B.I., but he'd finally slipped up and made a move that was too brazen, even for him.

My team had waited until the sun went down to move in, knowing Bellucci would be there. The mission was simple: capture Bellucci and kill all his minions. It was a seemingly easy task for our five-person team of covert agents. We'd handled far larger and more dangerous situations than this on many occasions. We were each confident and calm as cucumbers going in. But then it all changed. Everything went wrong.

Bellucci was there, alright. He was parading around the drug-stocked warehouse with a despicable grin on his face as he overlooked his inventory. His right hand man, a short, pudgy blonde, was relaying information to him regarding recent sales in Chicago and Miami. Their next shipment was set to depart Washington that night, headed to Phoenix. Bellucci was in bed with the Mexican drug cartels, too, no doubt.

Armed guards were stationed at every entrance and exit of the building. Three more followed Bellucci and his assistant around as he surveyed the premises. We were outnumbered. Eleven to five. It was nothing out of the ordinary for any A.R.T. team, though. We were used to being outnumbered, and we were used to walking out, victorious.

Bristol, our team leader, was the first to fire. She easily took out three of the door guards. The five of us were hidden safely out of view on the second story of the building, overlooking Bellucci's ground floor operation. The men below quickly scattered in search of the gunshots' origin while Bellucci and his cohort ran for cover, shooting erratically in our general direction. Matt, Brian, and Tess, our other team members, all scattered as well.

The warehouse was huge, despite appearing relatively small from the outside. There were creaky floors and obstacles to dodge nearly every step of the way. It was almost impossible to keep quiet.

One by one, bodies hit the ground. Matt slipped passed me, skidding to a halt against the wall, and fired six rounds around the corner without looking. Seconds later, a man cried out in pain and we heard his gun clatter to the floor. Matt disappeared around the corner while I stayed in place, trying to get a clean shot at Bellucci. I didn't want to kill him, of course, but it would be much easier to apprehend him if he'd been wounded. My body was concealed behind a pile of cinderblocks as I peeked down from the railing at my target. He was crouched down behind a small mountain of packaged heroin, reloading his pistol. Easy prey. I positioned my gun where my bullet would hit him in the leg and started to squeeze the trigger.

Just then, I heard Tess yelp in agony. She'd been hit by a stray bullet. Brian rushed to her aid but was shot, too. I watched in horror as Bristol was hit next. Holding my team's safety of higher importance than capturing Bellucci, I abandoned my post and started dragging myself across the floor on my stomach toward my teammates, doing my best to stay out of sight. I could tell before I even reached them that Bristol and Brian were already dead, and Tess was barely clinging to consciousness, bleeding out right in front of me. I didn't know where Matt was. I couldn't see him anywhere. I didn't know if he was even still alive. The realization hit me that if I couldn't get Tess out of the warehouse in time, I might be the only A.R.T. team member left. Not to mention, I didn't have a body count on our enemy. I didn't know how many thugs I might still be facing, and I wasn't about to try bringing in Bellucci on my own.

Upon reaching Tess, I quickly helped her apply pressure to the wound in her lower abdomen. The round had hit her at an angle right where her vest ended. It appeared to have traveled up inside her body. Blood was already soaking the concrete beneath us. I tried to keep quiet while attempting to keep her coherent, lightly patting her cheeks and whispering for her to hang on and stay strong for me. Tess was a fighter. She would pull through. She had to. She was one of the toughest ex-federal agents I'd ever met. This wasn't the first time she'd been shot. Tess was invincible in my eyes.

Shots rang out again and I positioned myself in front of Tess to shield her from any stray bullets. I prayed my bulletproof vest would absorb the impact. My teammates hadn't been so lucky.

Bellucci had reloaded and was firing off rounds again. Sparks flew when one of his bullets hit the metal railing a few feet in front of me. I eyed one of Bellucci's men hunkered down behind another pile of drugs. I raised my pistol and fired, hitting him first in the shoulder and then in the chest. Another man crept alongside the towering main stock of cocaine. As soon as he poked his head around the corner, I took him out, too.

Tess mustered up enough strength to fire at Bellucci, but her shots missed their target. I couldn't get a clear shot at him for his rapid movements. It's true what they say about it being harder to hit a moving target. I knew I could hit him while he was darting around, but I couldn't be sure that it wouldn't be a kill shot. I couldn't take that risk. We needed him for leads on another case. The information he had was too vital.

Seemingly out of nowhere, another of Bellucci's men appeared from around the corner. Tess noticed him before I did and raised her gun to shoot, but it was too late. He shot her first and then turned the gun on me. I felt overpowered, crouched on the floor with Tess's blood all over me while the man was standing, practically towering over me with his gun pointing at my face. I had only one chance at this. I couldn't afford to lose. I fired. He fired. We both hit our targets.

The man fell to the ground, instantly dead, while I was forced backwards by the impact of his round slamming into my vest. My chest hurt like a motherfucker, but I quickly assessed the situation, making sure that I wasn't actually wounded, and hopped up to locate Matt, the only team member that might still be alive.

The gunfire came to a halt, as did any shuffling around and labored breathing. In a matter of seconds, it was excruciatingly silent throughout the warehouse. It seemed like I was alone as I sneaked around corners and peeked through the darkness. Someone had shut off the lights just before the last round of shots rang out. It was too dark to see ten feet in front of me, but I was trained to pick up on the slightest sound that a human could make. Even the shallowest of breaths I could almost always hear just in the nick of time.

Time seemed to slow to a snail's pace, and without my adrenaline pumping to the rhythm of gunshots, I was becoming increasingly aware of how cold it was in the warehouse. It was the middle of winter in Washington, D.C., and it was a miserable six degrees outside, which meant it wasn't much warmer inside. Most of the windows were busted out and there was no functioning heater in the building. My bare hands started to feel chapped and a numbness was settling in my fingers. The freezing air with every breath I took felt like knives slashing at my lungs. The silence was piercing.

Then I heard it. Movement. A sharp intake of breath. Someone was close. Too close. Likely just around the next corner where it was too dark to see anything. I'd have to wait for the person to come around the corner before I could make a move.

"Doe? That you?" Matt whispered the nickname he'd shortened my last name to.

I mumbled a "yes" and my last living partner slipped around the corner to meet me, gun in hand and eyes scanning our surroundings. He frowned as if he was wondering where everyone else was. I didn't have to say anything. He could see it all over my face. We were the only two left. This was an unprecedented nightmare in the entire history of the Alpha Reconnaissance Taskforce. Never had any A.R.T. team lost more than one member on a mission. Ever. We were the first, and we couldn't even call for backup because it would give away our position.

Matt gestured for me to follow him in the direction he'd come from, away from our partners' dead bodies. We turned the corner, guns drawn, ready for combat. It was only a matter of time before we ran into one of the last surviving gunmen or Bellucci, himself.

The darkness finally lessened just enough for us to be able to see Bellucci, who was still hiding out behind a mound of his inventory. His second in command lay dead a few feet from him. There was no sign of any more of his bodyguards. Now, two against one, it would be pretty easy to take Bellucci into custody.

Matt pointed a finger down the path to where the metal staircase was and I followed close behind as he inched his way toward the structure. There was a large wooden crate beside the staircase. We covered ourselves behind it and paused a moment to reassess our surroundings. Just as Matt was preparing to shoot Bellucci, someone else fired their weapon. Bellucci stayed in place, seemingly unharmed, though the shot appeared to have been intended for him. Matt and I knew our teammates were dead and we didn't have any friendlies involved, so it had to be Bellucci's last henchman either turning on his boss or trying to give off the impression to us that he was on our side. Regardless of his reasoning, he was in the way and needed to be eliminated, too.

I quickly climbed over Matt and made a beeline down the staircase, ducking for cover behind a bunch of packages of cocaine stacked on top of each other. Two more shots rang out but I couldn't tell who they'd come from. I heard footsteps. Heavy boots on the concrete. I couldn't see the person for the darkness, but I knew it was the lone gunman because Bellucci hadn't moved.

In the blink of an eye, I leaped up from my concealment and fired three rounds, each one hitting the man in his torso. He let out a throaty gasp and clenched his stomach, stumbling at first and then falling to his knees, still holding his gun. I kept my pistol pointed at his chest, waiting for him to make another move. He kept a white-knuckled grasp on his revolver, but made no attempt to shoot me. Something was wrong.

The man groaned and it sounded all too familiar. He leaned, placing his palm on the ground to keep from falling forward, and the moonlight shining down through a busted skylight illuminated his face just enough for me to make out his features.

The man I'd shot wasn't one of Bellucci's men. He wasn't an enemy at all. He was the man I was hopelessly in love with.

It was Dallas David.