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R owena’s tears were like stabs to the heart.

Thankfully, she’d managed to stop crying before they were dragged noisily out of the vehicle and hauled into this dank room that smelled of sweat and desperation.

Not that Kurt begrudged her some heart-felt tears, but every noise she made, every movement, drew these men’s attention to her. And that he fucking hated.

The rain had burst through the clouds on the drive here. Only about ten minutes from the warehouse, so still in Beira.

They kept him and Rowena tied up on cots on opposite sides of a small office-like room in a heavily shadowed adobe building. Three men were in the room with them.

Two men sat playing cards at a small table to one side.

The man Kurt figured for the leader sat behind a big, old mahogany desk, going through Kurt’s backpack and examining everything carefully before putting the contents neatly back inside.

Except for the knife, which he kept. He sent him a long look as he slipped the blade into his desk drawer.

He was short with sharp eyes and close-cropped hair.

His skin was deep brown and glistened with sweat.

He spoke Portuguese so was probably local.

These guys seemed like a street gang, rather than mercs. Perhaps he could persuade them with reward money from the US government. What would he be worth, Kurt wondered?

Not even a Business Class airline seat on an average day, but this was different. This was an assault on the whole organization, and he intended to make sure someone paid.

So would the FBI.

The other gang members had dispersed around the building. Perhaps as guards. Perhaps sleeping. They seemed to be waiting for something to happen. Maybe a phone call? Or for darkness to fall?

They’d removed their black hoods, which meant he could at least keep an eye on Rowena, but Kurt wasn’t sure it was a good thing they could both identify their captors’ faces. He would do everything to imprint them on his memory and bring these motherfuckers to justice.

He caught Rowena’s muted green eyes. Tried to convey the depth of his remorse that she’d been taken with him, the depths of his feelings for her.

Didn’t matter he’d told her not to get involved.

She’d been trying to protect him. He understood her motivation.

Respected it. Even as he hated the fact she was now being held captive with him.

He wasn’t sure what he could do if these men attempted to hurt her, but he’d die trying to protect her.

And then she’d probably be dead too, or living in sexual slavery.

No.

Surviving was the most important thing even if it meant short term pain. Getting her out. And then making sure every motherfucking one of these bastards paid with blood and tears.

“If it’s money you want, give me a phone. I can get you money in a few hours. No questions asked.”

The leader’s glance flickered suggesting he spoke English, but he didn’t respond.

Kurt had counted eight men so far. Seen six AKs, multiple Glocks glued to skinny hips or lying around like the one on the desk in front of him, more tempting than a naked woman to an incel. At least he knew what to do with a gun—and a woman—once he got his hands on one.

He looked at Rowena, and their gazes meshed. A quiet connection that bolstered him. She was stronger than she knew, and he respected the hell out of her.

Loud laughter came from the two playing cards as one scooped up his winnings. Every one of their abductors also carried a large hunting knife.

The room was crumbling old yellow brick on three sides and exposed wattle and daub on the fourth side, with a large double door open onto some kind of courtyard that had a broken stone fountain at the center.

Old, colonial Portuguese architecture. Beautiful, grimy, decaying.

Ruined by time and neglect. Mother Nature reclaiming her due.

Two vehicles were parked inside the courtyard.

The dirty window behind him was large and ornate, glass missing from half the panes. Water spat at him through the broken shutters. The rain was still pouring down.

One of the men playing cards kept sending Rowena hungry glances as she sat with her nose pressed to her knees. Her eyes were either on the floor or on Kurt.

The man’s glances were sly.

Predatory.

The leader seemed to know what his men were thinking when they looked at Rowena but, so far, he hadn’t allowed them to do more than touch her with their eyes.

Which made Kurt want to snap bones.

Mosquitoes buzzed, and Kurt wished he and Row had both taken a malaria tablet that day.

Stupid but he’d been distracted by more obvious dangers.

The antibiotics Marianne had given him were still in his back pocket, although they’d found the burner and SIM card in his shirt pocket and placed it in his backpack.

Smart in some ways.

Sloppy in others .

Sloppy not to search him properly. Sloppy to tie his hands in front on him and not bind his ankles.

Sloppy to leave handguns scattered carelessly on the desk.

If he’d been alone, he might have gone for one.

If they attacked Rowena, he still might.

Two steps would take him to the desk. Glocks had no safety to worry about, and he could probably finish off the kidnappers in this room before they could get off a shot.

But Rowena was directly behind the leader and in the line of fire.

Somehow Kurt didn’t think that was an accident.

The man was cleverer than he first appeared, and Kurt had to wonder if this setup was a test.

Why?

To see if he attacked, or to see if he was a kitten.

He was happy to pretend to be a kitten. For now.

Was it the classic kidnap-for-ransom scenario where they would be moved regularly until someone negotiated their release? That could take months or years. If it was, he planned to do what Quentin Savage had done with Haley Cramer and claim Rowena was his wife in the hopes it would protect her.

Presumably they wanted Kurt alive as he was the one they’d targeted.

The fact Rowena was in danger made him crazy, but the fact she’d tried to save him also moved him deeply. It was the sort of thing he would have done for his daughter, for his team. The sort of thing he’d have done for her…

If it wasn’t a classic K&R, was it Gilder, Spartan, and Hurek tying up those loose ends?

If so, why not shoot him on the spot? Why take him and Rowena captive? Were they searching for the photographs? Did they even know about them?

Had Marty fucking Sinclair betrayed him? Sinclair had said there was a US Navy frigate three hours out from port when he’d spoken to him from the warehouse bathroom. Had Gilder somehow picked up that call from the burner? Traced it. Was this all Kurt’s fault ?

Or had one of those kids running around the warehouse been shown a photo and told to be on the lookout for him? Easy enough to spread the word to gangs like this along the coast while offering a large reward. The gangs would put the word on the street.

Or had some drone or satellite picked him up somewhere, somehow, and notified Gilder or Spartan who’d then mobilized this little gang of hired thugs?

Or, worse, had Marianne delivered them into the arms on the enemy?

Somehow the idea of that betrayal seemed even worse than some dirty CIA officer.

Kurt could offer these abductors more money or threaten them with FBI reprisal, but he’d wait to see what they wanted first. Never make the opening offer. He knew enough about negotiation to know that.

He hoped this was a run-of-the-mill kidnapping because as soon as they demanded money from Daisy, the whole FBI would be alerted to the possibility he was still very much alive. And at least they could stop mourning him and concentrate on finding him.

Delta Force or DEVGRU or HRT could track him down and take these motherfuckers out in a firefight. The only worry was Rowena getting caught in the crossfire.

The most dangerous time for any hostage was during a rescue.

But if this was a simple K&R, the mercs who’d been chasing him and Rowena through the Eastern Highlands would likely hear about the kidnapping via the criminal network long before any rescue attempt and have zero qualms about making sure these men never told anyone who they’d caught in their net.

Which meant he and Rowena had to escape sooner rather than later.

Preferably tonight. If there was a frigate off the coast, he could find a way to contact the ship and get him and Rowena onboard.

If there wasn’t a ship, he’d steal a boat and get into international waters before calling for US assistance .

The guy at the desk turned on a lamp that cast a warm yellow glow over the weapons.

The sun had disappeared. Sounds outside suggested there were people in the street, dodging the rain and living normal lives.

His Portuguese was a little rusty, but from the tone of the conversations, these men belonged in the community.

Running away wasn’t going to be a breeze.

The rotary phone on the desk rang, an old-fashioned strident noise. The leader snatched up the receiver, listened carefully, then slammed it back down in the cradle.

Those eyes glittered as they stared at him.

“ Vamos !”

Let’s go.

The other two men dropped their cards and picked up the AKs and dragged Kurt to his feet. He stared at Rowena and braced for a fight. No way was he leaving without her.

“ Os dois .”

Both of them.

He relaxed a little. They shoved him toward the vehicle, the butt of the AK digging into his kidney in a way that made him want to return the favor—with a blade. He refused to say a word. Refused to give them an opening to use as an excuse to hurt Rowena.

They forced him back into the SUV, but one of the men tried to drag Rowena into the back seat with him and his friend.

Kurt stiffened.

The leader cuffed his subordinate and pulled Rowena out of the car and shoved her beside Kurt in the cargo area.