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Bjorn’s suit jacket hung on the back of the office chair. Deciding she was already in too deep to balk at rifling through his pockets, she pulled a clean tissue from her own pocket and covered her fingers as she pulled out Anders’ wallet and his cell phone.

Checking on the garden through the window she opened his phone, relieved he didn’t have a passcode. She scrolled quickly through the last few calls he’d made and saw two to Montana’s number yesterday.

An FBI agent would know what to do…

He’d probably tell her to stay put and wait for the cops. The lump at the back of her throat grew as her anxiety mounted.

She didn’t want to go to jail. She wasn’t sure what to do.

Kurt sat slouched at a bar in Robert Gabriel Mugabe International Airport, the low murmur of servers and passengers humming in the background.

The Legat had been in Nairobi, so Kurt had dropped the weapon he wasn’t supposed to have with a contact from the US Embassy—one Martin “call me Marty” Sinclair.

Marty was officially a clerk, but it was obvious to him that Sinclair was a wet-behind-the-ears CIA officer with a too-white smile that didn’t quite reach his puppy-bright eyes and an agenda that was way above Kurt’s pay grade.

Kurt had worked with the type many times before.

He was gonna have words with one of his good buddies who now ran The Farm about the caliber of intelligence officers the CIA was putting out these days.

Marty had indicated the embassy was eager for him to get out of the country, which suggested Kurt had maybe rattled some cages with his questions about Hurek.

Who though?

He wished he knew.

Despite everything, he still didn’t have any goddamned answers as to the potential whereabouts of Darmawan Hurek.

Someone was helping him. Someone powerful.

Or maybe Hurek was sitting alone in a mud hut in the middle of nowhere, living off the land.

It pissed him off.

All the resources of the US government and its allies, but they couldn’t find one guy? At least he had this new lead to pass on. Dougie Cavanagh .

However, Kurt’s stint on this task force was at an end. His bosses wanted him back at HRT.

He’d spoken to Jordan Krychek briefly before he’d fallen asleep last night. His colleague had been stuck in Frankfurt airport and called for an update on the meeting with Anders, but the connection had been shitty, so they hadn’t spoken for long.

He’d see him soon enough.

He downed the last of his coffee, gathered his stuff then headed to his gate.

He was looking forward to getting home, despite the failed mission.

He wanted to see Daisy, who’d promised to come visit, and to catch up with the guys.

Convey his personal condolences to Grace over the loss of her husband.

Make sure she had all the support he and the guys could provide.

Someone was going to have to be in that delivery room.

Someone was going to have to be prepared to sleep over at Grace’s and help out with the newborn every so often to let Grace get some rest and recover from the birth.

He knew from experience that the first three months was a sleep-deprivation nightmare comparable to Selection, minus the long runs, heavy loads, and tests of marksmanship.

He narrowed his eyes.

They’d take turns.

They’d set up a schedule that worked for the team and for Grace.

By all accounts, Payne Novak had turned out to be a hell of a team leader, and Kurt knew it was time to step aside for the younger man to permanently take up his position as Gold Team leader.

He needed to accept the promotion he’d been avoiding for so long because he preferred getting his hands dirty to overseeing operations.

Ackers wanted to retire, but he didn’t want to go until Kurt was willing to step into his shoes.

Whether the new FBI Director accepted that was another matter entirely.

This op had been a disaster and not how he’d wanted to leave his active-duty roles at HRT. His mind drifted back to the woman with the flat tire last night. He hadn’t heard back on his request for more information about Rowena Smith.

If she was a player, she was a good one.

If she was innocent…she was going to get eaten alive.

Why was she following Bjorn? Kurt didn’t believe it was a coincidence she’d turned up at the Falls and then at the restaurant last night. Was Bjorn dirty? Or had the inquiries he’d been making on Kurt’s behalf stirred up the attention of someone protecting Hurek? Had he put his friend in danger?

On the surface, Bjorn’s business dealings had always been squeaky clean, but you couldn’t thrive in an unstable environment without greasing a few wheels.

Kurt knew Bjorn had attended the diamond mine conference in order to schmooze with some of the big international firms that sometimes wanted to venture into areas that had landmines left over from various conflicts—new and old.

Kurt was all for getting rid of landmines. It was innocent civilians who lost the most when deploying that type of ground warfare. But sometimes the people footing the bill weren’t doing so for humanitarian reasons. Another fucked-up fact of life.

He ambled slowly to the gate with his dusty hand luggage.

He and Krychek had sent their bigger bags and equipment back to the States from DRC with a buddy from DEVGRU who’d promised to drop them off at Quantico. Wanting to travel light, they’d then made their way to Rwanda and flown down to Lusaka, then driven to Vic Falls, and from there to Harare.

There were large blank spots in Hurek’s background and whereabouts for several years after he’d graduated from St. Andrews.

Kurt believed Hurek had spent some, if not all, of that missing time in Africa.

After weeks of subtle inquiries in the DRC, Kurt was convinced Hurek was, or at least at some point had been, involved with the illegal diamond trade.

Blood diamonds.

Despite efforts to clean up the diamond-mining industry, there were still concerns about violence, forced labor, child labor, and environmental issues.

Seeing that Russia and China were now the heavy investors throughout the region, those things weren’t likely to improve any time soon—not that the West had any moral high ground to stand on with regards to those issues.

Frustration gnawed at him, but there was nothing he could do about global politics. Fuck, he couldn’t even track down one Indonesian terrorist with all the might of the US government stacked behind him.

They called for general boarding to commence, and he stood, letting a woman and her baby go ahead of him in the queue. This first flight to Lusaka was packed. From Zambia, he’d fly to Dubai and then overnight to Dulles.

He showed his passport and boarding card to the gate agent and headed out onto the tarmac. It was a beautiful day. The sun was bright, sky a clear crystalline azure. Temperature a perfect 77°F, although it was climbing fast, and the afternoon forecast was for monsoon rains.

’Twas the season.

The weather back home in Quantico was far different so he slowed to absorb a few more solar rays. He wasn’t looking forward to being jammed into coach for the next thirty hours.

Unfortunately, the FBI refused to spring for business class even though he’d more than earned it. He’d bet a month’s salary Ackers never traveled coach. Another reason to take that promotion.

His cell rang.

Bjorn.

The flight attendant waved him forward, and he thought about ignoring the call. He was tired of being here, tired of being jerked around, and wanted to go home.

But if the guy had something for him, the least he could do was take his call. “Bjorn?”

“It’s n-not Bjorn.”

Rowena Smith. The girl from the bar last night. He frowned, hesitated, then wheeled around to stand in the shadows of the terminal building. He narrowed his gaze across the shimmer of the airport runway. “What are you doing with Bjorn’s cell phone?”

“H-he’s dead.” It sounded as if her teeth were chattering.

Shock ?

“Where are you?”

“Standing in your friend’s office looking at his dead body.”

What the fuck? Was she telling the truth or was this some elaborate trap designed to get him to stay in Africa? For what purpose ?

“I don’t believe you.”

A notification on his phone indicated a photo coming through. He opened it and winced as he took in the ugly state of his friend. Emotions welled up inside. Bjorn had multiple knife wounds and was tied to a chair so he wouldn’t have been able to fight back. Blood soaked his shirt.

“Did you check his pulse?”

“Y-yes. In his neck.” The words were shaky and low. “He doesn’t have one, but he is still warm.”

Sadness rushed through him. Bjorn had been a good man who’d spent his life making the land and people safer. His wife and children now had to mourn a husband and a father.

Who’d killed him? This woman? Why?

Kurt glanced around. The attendant was urging him forward, but there were plenty of other passengers still queuing up to get on.

He waved in acknowledgment and turned away. “Did you kill him?”

“No!”

Did he believe her?

Why should he?

“Why are you there then, especially as you claimed not to even know him yesterday?”

“I don’t know him. But I needed to ask him some questions about my father.”

“Who’s your father?”

“I don’t know.” She sounded as if she were crying.

Dammit.

Sincere or bait?

He couldn’t tell.

He shifted his weight. “Why call me?”

“I found your card on his floor. You work for the FBI.” That her tone was accusatory was rich. “I figured you’d want to know your friend had been murdered but maybe that’s my naivety showing through again. Apologies if I interrupted your morning. ”

“Why are you using his phone?” But he already knew the answer to that.

“Because that way I thought you’d pick up.”

“Who are you working for?”

“ Working for ? I don’t understand.” The confusion sounded real.

“Come on. You’ve been following Bjorn for at least ten days that I know about. And now you claim he’s dead.”

“Claim?” Her voice crackled with emotion. “You think this is some kind of elaborate ruse?”

Kurt didn’t trust her one iota, but he was torn. Bjorn certainly looked dead. He stared at the aircraft. “Who’s paying you?”

“ Paying me ? For what?” She sounded astounded by the suggestion, her English accent growing stronger with each word. “Forget it. I thought you’d know what I should do, but I’ll just call the police?—”

“Wait,” Kurt warned sharply. If she was innocent, and God help him he couldn’t help believing she might be, the local police were the last people she should contact. Not that they were all corrupt, but some of them definitely were. “If you didn’t kill him, do you know who did?”

“No. Well, I’m not sure.” Her voice dropped even lower.

“I was building up my courage to talk to Mr. Anders when I saw a black SUV drive inside the gates. It drove away about thirty minutes later, and they left the front gate wide open. I took the opportunity to walk right in—I never imagined… I didn’t see anyone else.

I don’t know if anyone else is alive in the whole building.

I’m too chicken to look and worried the killer could still be here…

” That explained why she was speaking in a low, terrified whisper.

That did not sound good. Had Bjorn been killed because of the questions he’d been asking on Kurt’s behalf? Was Rowena Smith telling the truth? He had the feeling that even if she was innocent, she was connected in some way to what had happened.

“Did you touch anything? ”

A sob tore out. “A few things. I didn’t realize it was a crime scene until it was too late.”

“Wipe down anything you can easily reach and then get the hell out without anyone seeing you.” It didn’t sit well with him that he was telling her to interfere with evidence, but until he knew who was involved, he was following his gut.

“You have a vehicle?” He’d eased back further into the shadows and, when the flight attendants were distracted, strode quickly around the corner of the building and headed around the terminal.

“I have my uncle’s car. The one from last night.”

She needed to get out of the country ASAP.

He should tell her to go to the British Embassy, but they might throw her to the wolves if they thought she was guilty or if they didn’t want to disrupt their fragile relationship with a former colony over one young woman who may or may not be guilty of murder.

She could be stuck there for years.

Whereas the US would be thrilled he was about to possibly cause an intentional incident. But only if he was caught. And he had no intention of being caught.

He had a feeling Rowena Smith had information that might prove useful to the FBI. And that information was all he cared about. That, and finding out what had happened to his old friend, Bjorn, and whether or not Darmawan Hurek was involved.

“Meet me at the front entrance of the Epworth Balancing Rocks. Pull up on the side of the road and wait for me there. You know where that is?”

“I can find it.”

“Bring Bjorn’s cell phone and wallet if you see it. Keep your head down. Don’t talk to anyone. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”