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“That’s okay,” I said. “I appreciate the offer but—”

“Besides,” the soldier added. He was still smiling innocently. “There’s someone here you’ll want to see.”

He motioned me toward a tent flap only a few steps away. Warily, I moved in that direction. I was supposed to stay put. I was supposed to wait for Dakota.

And then I saw inside… and my heart soared.

“KYLE!”

I ran over to him so fast I almost tripped! He put his hands up defensively, wincing in anticipation of the impact as he lay in some tiny, uncomfortable-looking cot. I could see his right leg was splinted and raised. Wrapped all the way from below the knee up to his thigh.

“SAMMARA?”

His face was a mask of elation and confusion. Like someone reaching out to touch an obvious mirage and suddenly finding it to be real.

“What the—”

I kissed the rest of his sentence away, then kissed his face all over. I continued showering him with kisses, even as he recoiled in pain.

“W—What happened to you?”

I finally looked down. Half his face was covered in dozens of tiny lacerations! They were healing nicely though. And he had good color. Good everything.

“Shrapnel,” Kyle explained, as if it were nothing. He was talking quickly. “Leg’s fine. No broken bones. Shell fragments, that’s all. They got most of it out.” He took a fast, deep breath. “And Sammara! How the HELL did you GET here?”

“Dakota.”

His face twisted into a scowl. “Dakota? He brought you here!” He sat up so quickly, I thought he might jump off the tiny cot. “Where is he? I’m going to break his neck!”

“No, no, it’s not like that,” I said. “It’s… it’s…”

“What she’s trying to say is it’s complicated.”

We both whirled in unison, and there was Markus Ladrone. He stood casually against one of the tent’s wooden support beams, trimming his nails by biting them.

Kyle grabbed for his pistol, on a nearby table. I parried his arm away.

“STOP!”

We both watched as the pistol went skidding to the floor. Markus glanced down at it impassively. The look in Kyle’s eyes was murderous.

“Sammara, what in the fuck is going—”

“Relax,” Markus interrupted in an intentionally-infuriating tone. “Maybe sit back and listen for once, Murphy,” he added. “And let your girl speak…”

Thirty-Seven

KYLE

She told me everything. Everything from the moment I’d left until Dakota returned, their trip to Iowa, the wild idea of enlisting the help of Markus Ladrone — of all people — to come here and find us.

It was wonderful, seeing her in the flesh. Holding her in my arms, feeling the softness of her lips, pressing themselves against my skin.

But Markus stood there on the other side of the tent, watching us. Arms folded. Smirking at us as we talked…

And yet something had changed. There was a malevolence in him before; a look of disdain and contempt back when we first had trouble with him. All that seemed to be gone now. Markus seemed more casual, more focused on other immediate goals. We’d wrested his beloved mercenary company Di Spatia out of his hands, blackmailing him with his own misdeeds in order to drive him away.

And yet, here he was, standing casually in my tent helping us. Of all the possible scenarios, this wasn’t one I would’ve expected.