Some people measure life in hours. Days. Weeks. He measures his in kills. A covert military mission gone wrong robbed him of his memory and any link to his past. He executes and survives: nothing more, nothing less. And he was ready to write Isabel Foster's name in his ledger of unfortunate souls until she uttered the one word that could stop the bullet meant for her. Tristan. She knows his name, his face. She knows him. Now nothing is simple. He's not the man she thinks he is. He can't love her. And sparing her life puts them both in the crosshairs.