My body goes taut with instinct, my training kicking in, preparing to engage in battle. Someone is coming who is not a friend of the guard outside my door and I’m going to assume is my friend. There are still four very dangerous men in here with me, and I suspect somebody is going to be coming through that door any second.

  While the men surrounding me may be violent and willing to do whatever is asked of them, they are in no way trained to protect themselves at this moment. Not a single one of them reaches for a weapon but merely crowd closer to me. They mutter to each other in Spanish, wondering which gang is coming and whether they should throw me out as an offering. This takes no more than a few seconds to discuss, valuable time they could’ve used to pull weapons to defend themselves, but they don’t understand what I heard.

  A bullet muffled by a silencer, which isn’t gang style at all.

  Then it happens.

  Another whiffing sound. And another. And another. And one more.

  The sound of wet, tearing flesh, and then all four men fall. I expect each one has a bullet in his brain.

  Unfortunately, the light in the room is extinguished when the phone flashlight clatters to the floor.

  I tense slightly as I feel someone in front of me. Hands are on my wrists, and a man whispers, “Going to cut you down.”

  “Is there anyone else with you?” I whisper back.

  The man growls low. “Be quiet. We don’t have long before they start the generator and the lights come back on.”

  I’m able to piece together a few things as my wrists are cut free and the rope is pulled away. I know that whoever is standing before me is a good guy, I assume CIA.

  While he didn’t answer my question about whether he has support, I’m going to assume he does because you can’t mount a rescue operation against this many people on your own.

  I also assume he’s well-equipped with night vision goggles because he’s able to see what he’s doing, whereas I can’t. The man grabs one of my hands, places it on his shoulder, and I can feel the edge of his bulletproof vest. I automatically curl my fingers into it and grip hard, knowing he’s going to lead me out of here.

  CHAPTER 5

  Ladd

  I lead Greer from the cell, anger and adrenaline causing my blood to flow hot. In shades of muted green, my night vision goggles helped me see clearly enough that Greer was in a bad spot when I arrived. Had I been just a few minutes later…

  I don’t want to think about it, and I can’t afford to think about it. I’ve got very little time to get us out of here before the power comes back. Prior to entry, I surveyed the propane generator on the north side of the building and have to assume it’s operational, as long as it’s been properly maintained.

  We move quickly from the cell, and Greer is able to keep pace, even though she’s blind and trusting my lead. I know this woman, and while she’s tough as nails, I know she’s also feeling vulnerable.

  Not because she’s walking through a dangerously dark field with no bulletproof vest, but because she’s wearing nothing but a T-shirt, panties, and tennis shoes, which they didn’t bother taking off her when they removed her pants. I’m guessing a knife was used.

  My kill count is up to six, including the guard who was at the door. I had to take him down quickly and silently, so I cut into the chain-link fence just out of his sight on the side of the building. It was precarious because some of the men out loading one of the trucks could have seen me had they looked closely. But I made it through and was able to sneak in soundlessly and squeeze off a silenced bullet into the guard’s head.

  He dropped, and I gave Bebe the go-ahead. “I’m ready to go in.”

  She replied, “It’s dark. Go.”

  I opened the door to blackness, lowered my goggles into place, and entered, shutting the door and extinguishing the outdoor light. Immediately, the guards stumbled around, hands reaching for walls to try to feel their way to safety. The benefit of having no windows in this warehouse was that only I could see.

  I dropped another guard on the way to the cell as Bebe followed the building plans and guided me via my earpiece.

  The four gang members were a pleasure to take out for their evil intentions. My only regret is I didn’t run into Mejia, and I have no clue where he is. I can’t worry about that now—my main goal is to rescue Greer.

  I have no clue how many others are waiting for us, but I move stealthily to the end of the hall, which ends in a T. To the left is the main warehouse where the open dock doors allow light in. While it’s dusk, there is still plenty of illumination for us to be seen.

  I cut right instead, which leads to the back door I came in through. I expect to find the door open, but it’s not. I expect guards to be coming our way, but they don’t.

  It’s a clear exit, and I don’t know what I did to appease the man upstairs, but I’m grateful our path out is unencumbered.

  But then the lights flicker on, and our time of stealth is over.

  I don’t hesitate and order Greer, “Hang on. We’re making a run for it.”

  The exit door looms, and I push through it, the flash of light in my goggles momentarily blinding me. I yank them off, just as someone behind us yells, “Detenganse!”

  Stop.

  Not fucking likely.

  I spin fast, which dislodges Greer’s hand on my shoulder. Turning one hundred and eighty degrees, I’m facing her and whoever just yelled is right behind her.

  A man in his thirties, oddly wearing a light gray suit with a tie. He raises the gun in his hand.

  I barely catch a glimpse of Greer’s face as she looks at me with stunned recognition, and then I’m firing. One more bullet whiffs out of the silencer—one more head shot—and the man crumples to the ground.

  Greer turns to see, but I’m reaching for her hand and pulling her along.

  “That’s Diego Mejia,” she gasps as she runs behind me. “Hugo’s son.”

  “Don’t give a fuck,” I snap, cutting around the corner of the building and making a sprint for the chain-link fence. Greer’s long legs have no problem keeping up.

  When we reach the split I made with bolt cutters, I pull back the edge for Greer to precede me.

  Instead, she glares. “What in the hell are you doing here?”

  “I’ll explain later,” I reply harshly, putting a hand on top of her head and pushing her down to crawl through the opening.

  She thankfully scrambles through with no further questions, and I dive behind her. We sprint for the tree line ten yards away, just as shouts of Spanish reach my ears. They’ve come out the back door and no doubt seen Mejia’s son lying there dead. Bullets zing past us.

  Greer takes off into the forest, and my legs pump to overtake her. I grab her arm, pulling her to a halt and then jerk my head to the left. “We need to go this way.”

  “No, we need to go this way,” she replies, indicating the direction she was going. “Your way heads back toward the warehouse.”

  “I know,” I say, pulling her along. “But we need to slow down the other guards who are going to come after us, especially if I just killed Mejia’s son.”

  My words seem to be enough as I let her go, and she follows close on my heels. I run along the perimeter of the property, about twenty yards into the tree line where we can’t be seen. I have no doubt soldiers will follow us into the forest, but we have enough of a head start for me to do what I need to do.

  I reach the spot where I’d stashed the compound bow and quiver that holds only three arrows. I push the gun into Greer’s hand. “Cover me.”

  Without acknowledging a response, I move closer to the edge of the tree line where I can see the loading dock just a hundred yards away. I position myself with a clear path between the trees. Guards are running around and shouting. Some are moving toward their vehicles, and others are bringing stacks of munitions out of the warehouse and loading them onto one of the trucks.

  Carefully, I place an arrow in the bow, pull the string back to my ear, and sight my target. I take a slow breath, and after a full exhale, I let the arrow fly.

  It makes impact with one of the boxes labeled BALAS and explodes. Dozer outdid himself with these arrows. Bullets heat and explode, firing out in all different directions. Guards drop to the ground, flat as can be, and cower for safety.

  I thread another arrow and let it fly, aiming for the front of the other truck. It connects with the grill and explodes, catching the engine on fire. I don’t wait for the secondary explosion from the gas before I’m sending the last arrow flying at the large propane tank that fuels the building. It explodes in a massive fireball that rolls slowly into the sky.

  I take off running again, and Greer doesn’t need any encouragement as she follows me.

  We circle almost three-quarters of the way around the building before cutting due east. When we reach the Jeep, I order Greer into the passenger seat as I quickly stash my gear in the back. I nab a second backpack and toss it to Greer when I climb in behind the wheel.

  I start the engine and peel out of the hiding spot. “There are some sweatpants in the bag.”

  Without a word, she finds the gray pants and pulls them on over her tennis shoes. They’re far too big for her, but she uses the drawstring to cinch them tight. With that task complete, she puts on her seat belt and leans to the side a bit to look in the passenger mirror. “No one’s chasing us.”

  I glance in the rearview mirror, half expecting to see vehicles on our tail, but so far, so good.

  Glancing at Greer, I have to know one thing. “Did anyone…”

  My words trail off, and her head snaps my way. She frowns. “Did anyone what?”

  Never one to beat around the bush and unwilling to ever sugarcoat things, which is something I know she’s always appreciated, I ask bluntly, “Were you raped?”

  Greer shakes her head in dismissal, twists in the seat, and looks out the back window, again checking to see if we’re being pursued. “You came in the nick of time.”

  My stomach rolls knowing just how close I cut it.

  “Do you have an ex-fil set up?” she asks, turning back in the seat to look at me.

  “I’ve got a plane at the airport.”

  “We need the USB drive that has the intel on it,” she replies firmly.

  I nod in agreement. If we’ve got the ability to grab it safely, then we’re getting it. “Where is it?”

  She gives me a grim smile from across the console. “On the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I need something a little more specific than that,” I mutter.

  Greer directs me where to go, and I ask her to tell me how things went down.

  She shakes her head, the blond hair that I’m not used to falling across her forehead. “I honestly thought I’d gotten away clean. I’ve been working for a couple of months in Mejia’s house as a maid. I’d worked up enough trust that I had free access to all the rooms, including his office. I’d cleaned it daily for weeks, always keeping note of schedules and how long I could spend in there without someone popping their head in.

  “This morning, I took my chance. Mejia was eating with his family, which is always at least an hour-long ordeal. There were a few armed guards around, but they didn’t see me as a threat.”

  “But you got caught?” I surmise.

  Greer sighs with frustration. “Just as I was pulling the USB out of the laptop with the information I’d downloaded, one of his goons walked in. Stupid sort of fellow. It took him a second to realize what he was seeing and in that time, I was able to tuck the flash drive in my pocket and lay him out with a well-placed kick to the groin.”

  I wince involuntarily.

  “He obviously gave chase, along with a few others.” She grins, clearly reminiscing about the danger and adrenaline, all things that always fed her soul when we were working together. “I stole a motorcycle off a side street, and there was a gloriously harrowing chase out of the city and into the countryside. On a particularly windy road when I was briefly out of their sight, I pulled the flash drive out and tossed it to the side. I wasn’t about to get caught with it on me.”

  I can just envision Greer, blond hair flying in the wind, bent low over the handlebars, urging the motorcycle faster. I bet she probably laughed with glee when she tossed the USB drive, which was the smartest thing she could have done. If they’d found her with what she had stolen, she’d already be dead.

  “I didn’t count on them being so well organized,” she says in a low, thoughtful voice. “Mejia must have people all over the place because they chased me right into a trap in the middle of the road. Cars blocking it off, machine guns leveled at me. I had no choice but to stop the motorcycle, but I broke one guy’s nose before they were able to subdue me.”

  That’s my girl, I think.

  And then immediately chastise myself.

  She’s not your girl.

  “I assume we can retrieve the drive fairly easy?” I ask.

  Greer nods. “We’re about twenty minutes away.”

  “Then we’ll head straight to the airport. If we’re lucky, we can be in the air in thirty.”

  Now that I’m up to date, it turns silent, other than the occasional direction Greer gives me. Awkwardness hangs heavy between us.

  Greer finally asks, “What are you doing here? We’re out of immediate danger, and I think I deserve an explanation.”

  I ignore her as a sudden rush of anger sweeps through me. I’m torn between the relief I got her out safely—just minutes before she was going to be raped—and a fury that’s been buried deep for the past twelve years, one I thought was permanently put to rest. Apparently, seeing her again has ripped all the scars wide open.

  “Ladd,” she snaps, and I turn my attention from the road briefly to look at her. “Why in the hell are you here? You’re not with the Company anymore.”

  I’m surprised she even knows that. I never would’ve thought she’d keep tabs on me. “You’ve been disavowed,” I tell her.

  She knew that had to be a possibility, especially if her identity had been compromised, but a flash of hurt still crosses her face that she’d been abandoned after what she’d risked for our government.

  I look again in the rearview mirror—still no one behind us. Greer stares blankly out the windshield. “They hired the outfit I work for to come get you.”

  “And you came alone?” she asks dully.

  Another rush of anger toward her, born of the hurt she inflicted on me all those years ago. “This wasn’t a mission I felt worth risking my teammates’ lives on and I figured I could handle it on my own. Besides, I owed you.”

  That was a shitty thing to say, and it strikes her deep.

  “You didn’t owe me anything, asshole,” she snarls.

  And that offends me. That she can’t just be grateful, despite the fact I just said her life wasn’t worth enough for me to bring in help.

  “So, you would rather me leave you there, to be raped, tortured, and eventually killed?” I demand.

  Greer lifts her chin defiantly, because her pride is in danger of being demolished. “If it meant not having to deal with you again, I think that would’ve been the better option.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Greer

  It’s fairly easy to retrieve the USB drive, considering I chucked it as hard as I could during a high-speed chase in a place I wasn’t familiar with. But I’m trained to be observant and to remember things. As I was flying around a corner, I spotted a cluster of white sapotes, which are fruit trees, and the only reason I knew that was because Mejia had them in his courtyard garden at his El Salvador home. I threw the USB in that direction and hoped I would be back later to get it.

  It takes about fifteen minutes of searching once we find the copse, and then we race to the airport. It’s tense, not because of our awkward reunion—that can wait—but because at any moment, we expect Mejia’s forces to find and cut us off.

  But they don’t, and at the airport, Ladd flashes credentials that earn us passage to a private hangar where a jet sits gassed up and ready to go. After boarding, it takes no more than twenty minutes to get us in the takeoff queue, and then we leave El Salvador behind.

  It’s not until we reach cruising altitude that my adrenaline fizzles and I feel like I’ve been hit by a freight train. I feel disgustingly filthy, not just from sweat and dirt but from what could have been done to me. I feel vulnerable in my T-shirt and too-big sweatpants borrowed from Ladd. I’m on edge having him back in my life after twelve years, and I’m confused as to why he’d bother.

  It’s a maelstrom of emotions, and despite my exhaustion, I sit up straight in the seat. The jet is clearly owned by the CIA—I’m sure it’s one of a few kept at Camp Peary for just such uses. It accommodates ten, and Ladd and I sit opposite each other in facing seats with a table between us. He’s currently surfing his phone, probably doing his best to avoid interaction, and I’m staring out the window at a darkening sky, also doing my best not to have to interact with him.

  The flight to Langley, Virginia, is a little over four hours. We’re going straight to the CIA headquarters to be debriefed and turn over the intelligence I almost lost my life to obtain. I’m hoping shortly thereafter, I’ll have my status changed from disavowed to active, and they can point me to my next mission.

  Which I know won’t be right away. After what I went through, there will be mandatory time off, psychological evaluation, and possibly some desk duty, but I’m anxious to get back to work in whatever capacity. It’s not only the foul memories of being captured that I want to leave behind by focusing on something new. I’d like to put to rest the shock of Ladd McDermott strolling back into my life. The sooner I get back into the clutch of things, the sooner he’ll become a distant memory again.