"Debriefing was a lot of bullshit. Sam wanted to leap out of his seat and go find his woman. He'd never actually had a woman to come home to, and now that he did, he had to sit like a kindergartener, wiggling around his chair, anxious to see her--inspect her--and make certain she didn't have so much as a scratch on her. Fucking Whitney, attacking the compound when there were just a few men and women to defend it. She wasn't hurt . . . "Sam, you with us?" Ryland asked. He wasn't the only one with a wife. Ryland had to be just as anxious. His son had been a target. He scowled at Ryland. "He's got ants in his pants." Tucker snickered. He's got somethin' in his pants," Gator mocked, shoving at Sam's boot with his foot. "And I don' think it's ants." "Go to hell," Sam said good-naturedly. "Like all of you aren't just as antsy." Ryland sighed. "Our women fought off Whitney's men while we were in the field. It's getting a little old." He looked at Sam. "Get out of here." Sam's nod was barely perceptible. He leapt out of the chair and rushed from the room, an arrow shot out of a bow. Laughter followed him, but he didn't give a damn. Nothing mattered but to get to her. Azami. His."