“Three fire departments have responded and are battling this incredible blaze. As you can see behind me,” she reported as the camera panned, “little is left of this once-beautiful home. With me, I have a neighbor.” The reporter shifted and the camera turned.

  Max grabbed the sides of the TV, staring …. That. Was it his home? It was! No, this couldn’t be possible.

  “What is your name, sir?”

  “Mike Brookshire.” His neighbor!

  “What can you tell us, Mr. Brookshire, about this home and the people who live there?”

  Disbelief froze Max. His home, the one he’d shared with Sydney, lay in ruins. He sprinted to his room and grabbed his keys and jacket, his heart jack-hammering. Ripping across town on his Hayabusa, he pushed 120. Couldn’t get there fast enough. Was she dead? Had the explosion killed her?

  The bike wobbled. Front tire skidded, but he pulled it straight.

  God, if You’re still listening…just let her be alive.

  A hard right brought him onto the street. Emergency personnel blocked the road, redirecting traffic and ordering onlookers to stay at a safe distance.

  “Sorry, you’ll have to turn back,” an officer told Max.

  “I live here,” Max said. “I think it’s my house.”

  “What address?”

  “Seven-hundred Morning Sun.”

  The cop’s face paled. “Go ahead, but stay out of the way.”

  Max’s stomach churned. A thick plume of smoke billowed down the street, snaking over homes and yards. As he neared, he spotted a red F-250 and guided his bike to the curb. Bryce. He should’ve known her brother would be here already. Why hadn’t anyone called him?

  Because you’re not part of the family now.

  But by law, she was still his wife. Max hoofed it the last fifty yards. Four fire trucks crammed into the tiny curve in the street where the house sat. A black body bag sat on the sidewalk, two techs bent over it.

  His knees buckled. God, no!

  “Come over this way. There’s not as much smoke, Mrs. Jacobs.”

  Max jerked up, spotting a swarm of emergency workers around a woman—Sydney. A large fire jacket hung on her narrow shoulders, devouring her. Cheeks marred from the ash, she slumped into her brother’s arms. Rivulets of tears marked their path with stunning clarity against the gray smudges.

  “I’m terribly sorry about your mother,” a woman crooned as she brushed Sydney’s hair back.

  Her mom? Only then did he see the white Chrysler 300 sitting in the drive, mangled and blackened. What happened?

  Without hesitation, he darted toward her. “Sydney!”

  She shoved to her feet, face awash with—could it be? She looked relieved to see him.

  He reached for her, surprised when she came into his arms willingly. “Are you okay?” He pressed a kiss to the top of her smoky-smelling hair.

  She clung to him. “She’s gone. My mom is dead.” Even in his arms, she struggled to remain on her feet, so he eased her down to the back of the ambulance. “It should’ve been me; it should’ve been me.”

  “Don’t say that,” Max urged, kneeling before her.

  “The investigators said it looked like an accident, Syd,” Bryce added, his heated glare never leaving Max.

  Said it looked like an accident. Max studied his brother-in-law for a moment. Bryce the Detective knew something, something he didn’t want to voice in front of Sydney.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Bryce finally grumbled.

  Max had expected as much. The man was right—the protective order. Turning his attention to Sydney, Max stilled. He didn’t want to leave her, not like this with their home burning—the last symbol of their marriage.

  “You should leave,” she mumbled, more tears spilling as she gripped his hand. “I don’t want another fight.”

  “A fight?” Did she really think he’d start one here? Now? With all this?

  “You heard her.” Bryce moved closer.

  Max tensed, his muscles flexing.

  Sydney reached out, her hand touching his cheek. “I …” She looked down at her lap, then brought her tormented gaze to his.

  “Syd.” He swept her face, aching.

  “Leave now,” Bryce said, shouldering his way into the moment, “and I won’t have you arrested or file a complaint.”

  Max hung his head, the volley of fury barreling up his chest.

  “Please, go.” She sniffled then stood and walked away.

  An IED wouldn’t have done more damage.

  He couldn’t just let her go. Inclined to follow, he started forward, but Bryce cut into his path. Max took a step back and watched as a paramedic handed Sydney an oxygen mask.

  “You never did know when to leave well enough alone,” Bryce said.

  “What’s going on?” Max glanced around the scene. “Why did she say it was supposed to be her?”

  Bryce stared at him for several long seconds, the whirring of engines and sirens deafening, but distant to the chaos engulfing Max now. “A gas leak.”

  Max’s eyes darted to the house, where the crumbling fireplace stood lonely, a smoking sentry amid fallen comrades. “Some leak.”

  A nod. “They’ve called an arson investigator.”

  He watched Sydney being tended in the back of an emergency vehicle. “Is she hurt?”

  “Shock.” Bryce took a step back. “Stay away, Max. She’s putting her life back together. I won’t let you hurt her again.”

  “It’s not your decision.”

  “Oh yeah, it is.” Bryce’s chest rose, the threat obvious. “She gave you everything and every chance, and you threw it away. You didn’t deserve her six years ago, and you don’t deserve them now.”

  Nothing on earth compared to being in his arms. The burst of comfort and relief when Max had taken her into his embrace had been sudden and unexpected, so natural, that Sydney couldn’t hold back. Warmth bathed her fears and grief. He smelled so good, felt so strong.

  “I think you should let them take you to the hospital,” Bryce said as he returned.

  Hadn’t he been talking to Max? Sydney’s gaze roamed the chaotic scene for the black leather jacket. There. By his bike across the street, watching and probably listening. He was close enough. But could he hear with the chaos simmering around them?

  Her stomach knotted when Max met her gaze. “No, I’m not ready to leave. I want to know what happened.”

  “Syd—”

  “No.” She whipped around. “Someone threatened me. Told me it was my only warning. Now our mom is dead. I want to know if someone murdered her.”

  “A threat?” A cop stepped forward, the fire from the neighbor’s house dancing off his gold badge and the buttons on his shirt. “What kind of threat?”

  Sydney let out a huff. “A phone call earlier today. It was a man. He said, ‘First and only warning. Leave it alone.’”

  The cop glanced at another man dressed in a blue suit. “And what was he asking you to leave alone?”

  “He didn’t say,” Sydney said, praying they wouldn’t ask her to elaborate. If she did, if she was right about this, no doubt Bryce and a million others would order her to leave the “For Human Sake” story alone. But she couldn’t.

  “But you know what it is.” The suit slid his hands into his pockets, acting far too casual. “Is that right, Mrs. Jacobs?”

  “I have a suspicion.”

  “And?”

  She let go of the idea that she wouldn’t have to tell them. “I’m working on a story for the Virginia Independent. I think it might be related to that.” Sydney scratched her stomach beneath the fire jacket that still kept the chill at bay.

  “Why are you being evasive?”

  She flashed her eyes to the man. “First, I don’t know who you are. Second, it’s my story, and I don’t want you, or anyone else, telling me to back off when it’s so important someone is killing people over it.”

  Bryce touched her shoulder. “Sydney, it’s not worth your life.”

  “What if it is?” The hot, fire-driven wind tossed her hair in her face. She batted it away, tasting the grit of the ash raining down. “What if this story means someone else stays alive? Or an entire village?”

  “I don’t understand.” The suit still hadn’t volunteered his identity.

  “It’s a human interest story. I interviewed a refugee woman from Namibia. She said a group of elite soldiers stopped Janjaweed troops from terrorizing and destroying her village.” Her breath caught, realizing how much of her story she’d just divulged. She had to turn this away from the details. “When I started digging, it upset a lot of people.”

  Bryce glowered. “Define upset.”

  She cast a guilty look at her brother. “My boss got chewed out by the Pentagon, who accused me of harassing their employees.”

  “Were you?”

  Sydney itched to slap the smug look off the suit’s face. “No. I wanted answers. They weren’t willing to give them.” Her gaze flicked to movement nearby. She frowned when she realized it was Max. He’d apparently sneaked closer but now jogged down the street. Why was he in such a hurry?

  “So, you think your little column in the paper has brought out an assassin?”

  She snapped her eyes to the suit. “Mock me, whoever-you-are, but the pieces seem to fit. Tonight I’d been to the home of a woman who survived the Mozambique raid. She was terrified of something, wouldn’t talk to me. Her aunt insisted I had the wrong information.”

  “Maybe you did.”

  Her pulse quickened. “Maybe I didn’t. I saw a picture her son drew. It looked just like a symbol the first woman said the soldiers wore. By the time I get home, my mom is dead, my house is in ruins, and you have nothing better to do than to call me a liar.”

  The cop stepped forward and motioned her toward the EMT. “Why don’t you let us take you to the hospital?”

  She jerked out of his hold. “I’m fine.”

  “Syd, let them check you out,” Bryce said in a low voice. “At least to make sure the baby’s okay. You’ve had a bad shock.”

  Yes, it wasn’t every day you come home to find firefighters dragging your mother’s crispy body out of your burning home. Tears sprang to her eyes almost instantly, her heart thundering. “Mom won’t get to see my baby.”

  A sob rattled through her as Bryce took her into his arms, leading her into the ambulance and onto the white mattress. She stared out the back window as her entire existence smoldered in a heap of ash and charred wood, only remotely aware of the two techs checking her vitals.

  Was there anything left for God to destroy? Her hand automatically went to her belly. Please, no.

  And for the first time, Sydney yearned for this new life, new beginning.

  “Get me Olin.”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” Legend said, his words sluggish and terse. Had Max woken him?

  “I don’t care. Someone just tried to kill my wife.”

  “Now hold up.”

  “Give me Olin, or I’ll find him, and I guarantee there won’t be much left.”

  “I’ll page him to your number.”

  Max slammed the phone against his bike. Sick and nauseated that Sydney had been tracing the team responsible for Namibia and Mozambique, he tried to grapple with the reality that she’d been hunting Nightshade. Me.

  Lambert vowed that he was the only one who knew their identities. Which meant the only person who could’ve called in an asset against Sydney was Olin Lambert.

  And Max would kill him.

  DAY FOUR

  Shouts crawled through the muddled space of Jonathan’s mind. A needling sensation worked into his wrist. Exhaustion pressed down on him, willing him back to sleep. In the hopes of ridding himself of the prickling, he flicked his hand. Tiny daggers of fire knifed through his arm.

  His eyes shot open.

  Blinding light stabbed his corneas. He snapped his eyes shut, squeezing them tight against the sun-bleached landscape. Where am I? What happened?

  Slowly, he opened his eyes again. Dirt spread out before him. Soft puffs bursting before his face with each labored breath. A large shape stood nearby, but he couldn’t make it out with his vision waxing soft.

  To push himself up off the ground, he dragged his arms. A hollow metal clanking ensued. Vision blurring, he spied black and red wrapping around his wrist. He pulled his arm closer—

  Pain chomped through his arm and shoulder. With a howl, he slumped to the ground. His head thudded against the hard earth, reverberating with shouts that erupted around him. The nearby object moved—a boot! As fire slithered through his neck and shoulders, immobilizing him for a second, he watched a man running away from him, shouting.

  Where am I? Jon shook his head, trying to clear his vision. The movement felt like an anvil had attached itself to his neck. Still, his sight slowly focused. He looked around, surprised to find a dozen camouflaged huts around him—outside a wire fence. With a groan, he shifted on his side and cupped his arm. At that moment, he felt the thick stickiness. He narrowed his eyes as he looked at his arm. Swollen nearly twice its size, a portion stuck out. Stomach heaving, he lurched as his body unloaded the contents of his stomach—bile and foam.

  How long had he been out? Where was he?

  He groped for a connection to the pain, the disorientation. The village. He closed his eyes and wracked his brain. What …? Warmth crept in amid his thoughts. And like the floods during rainy season, it came rushing back to him. Datu, the hike to …

  Higanti.

  Jon looked up, still cradling his arm. The perimeter fence was not a fence. He was imprisoned! Beyond the cage, several dwellings were built into the jungle, hidden and yet in plain sight. His gaze raked the canopy. No aerial photos or satellite images would capture the truth of what went on under the palms and other trees.

  He’d been right. Datu had walked them straight into the Higanti. Where were his wife and daughter? What had happened to them?

  Hope sagged like a wilting date palm. Sweat dribbled down his temples as the pain radiated throughout his body.

  Kimber! He plunged forward, frantically searching what lay beyond the tangled wire for any sign of her. “Kimber!” He gripped the metal with his good arm and rattled, sending shards of pain ringing through his body. Electrified!

  He stepped back, his fingers tingling. He swallowed, his tongue feeling dry and metallic. Pushing past the stinging sensation, he focused on searching for his family. “Kimber, can you hear me?” His shouts echoed and bounced back to him.

  Fear tormented him, knowing all too well what could happen to his wife and daughter. He’d seen the results firsthand with Kezia. The poor girl!

  God! Father of all that is merciful and good—protect them!

  Jon dropped to the ground. Rocks and dirt dug into his knees. Defeat clung to him like a rotting corpse. He tossed his head back, face to the heavens. “Kimmmbberrr!”

  CHAPTER 10

  The darkened interior shifted as the door opened; then the young man in black slumped against the leather seat across from him.

  “This is most unusual, Mr. Jacobs.” Olin quickly noted the balled fists. Trembling signaled the fury bubbling under the frayed edges of the man’s control. A wrong word would ignite the highly volatile chemical mixture churning in the man’s gut.

  Heat blazed from the dark eyes, shadowed by anger and sleepless nights. “So’s trying to kill my wife.”

  Max lunged.

  Olin held up a hand. “I did not try to kill your wife.” He gauged the former Navy SEAL. “Tell me what you know.”

  “You’ve been good to me, so I’ll play your game.” Max scooted to the edge of his seat, stabbing a finger at Olin. “Someone threatened her. Told her she had one warning. Less than twenty-four hours later, my home is blasted to hell, and my mother-in-law is dead.” He inched closer, his arms on his knees. “So cut it straight, or I’ll shove those platitudes down your throat.”

  Olin studied the young man. He wouldn’t come half-cocked, even with his penchant for rage. And Olin wouldn’t have met with him if this very scenario weren’t plausible.

  Apparently, the Joint Chiefs chairman hadn’t kept his agreement. Since Olin was the only higher up who knew the identities of the Nightshade team, that meant the chairman had no idea he’d just tried to eliminate the wife of a team member.

  “You said you were the only person who knew who we were. So tell me how someone tracked down my wife.”

 

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