The nightmare was horrific. She was standing in the center of a large room and totally engulfed in flames. Tamara repeatedly screamed for Terry but no one came. She gasped, the heat and fear were unbearable and suddenly it all shifted, altered as dreams are wont to do. It was the smell that alerted her. Odd, she never remembered smelling anything in a dream, but now the space she occupied smelled distinctly of hospital; dangerous, life-threatening, desperate hospital smells that nearly gagged her. Terror soared through her heart. Who was hurt? Who was dying? Pressure slammed like a tornado, shaking her to the soul and again she cried out. “Terry!”

Dino and Henry, both gimps, one with crutches and the other a walker, still reached her bedroom before the others. Both could see the obvious. She was not coping with it all very well. “I’ll take the first shift, son. Go get some sleep.”

Dino sat on a chair dragged near the bed and held Tamara close while she sobbed. “Now how sure are you about living this kinda life beside him, Tammy?”

“All I care about is that he still has a life,” she sniffled. “One step at a time, okay? I’ll deal with this. I will.”

***

Of General Hartford’s original ten man team, Gila Solome found herself now a part of a rather paired down band of hopeful rescuers. Seven were seriously wounded and on their way to the American Military hospital in Bahrain. Her uncle Haithem, dead. Kashi’s wounds were surprisingly minor; three bullet grazes, two across a shoulder and one across his hip; torn clothing and a little blood, nothing more. The General and Wildcat had escaped injury all together. Gila’s only wound was her pride.

She’d spend years studying law enforcement, international law and training for the field. A solid and committed CIA employee, she’d sacrificed everything to be a field operative and she believed it had finally happened when Gomez noticed her. The fact that he took her to bed during her second interview was a big red flag, but sometimes a woman had to take every foothold available to her in that business. This one did not pay off.

She was lied to and duped, a pawn used simply for her ability to look and speak Arabic. She trusted her superior who was obviously one of the bad guys and suspected her peers who were the good guys … and one of those good guys had a curious psychic skill. Her eyes shot up to see Andy Wilder not only watching her from across the room, but grinning like he knew exactly what she was thinking. Decision time. Would she hate him for it, or accept him for it? Under the circumstances, she had little choice.

“So what,” she hissed.

“Right, just so you eventually end up on the right team, baby.” Wildcat’s grin was maddening and she stood to sit in another chair, not quite in his direct line of vision. She wasn’t sure if it would help. The man was psychic for Christ’s sake. He probably knew what everyone in the room was going to be doing in the next eight hours, what they’d choose for dinner and whether they’d survive the mission or not. Hell, he knew what was going on with some people far outside that room too.

They were in her deceased uncle’s house, hidden tight in a private wing along with her mourning aunt who was a real trooper. She fed and cared for everyone and only let out an occasional sigh of profound sadness. Did Andy know what was in store for her auntie? Probably not. They were all hoping he could focus on Terry and Rehema at the moment. Gila leaned her head back and blinked away a tear. She liked her uncle Haithem a lot.

“Next year,” Wildcat said quietly, looking directly at Gila. “When she lives with you on the Upper East Side, you’ll see … she’ll be happy again.”

Gila moved to sit at his side. “You see that? What else do you see?”

Wilder leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I see me in your bed … but that could be just wishful thinking.”

She slammed an elbow into his rib and returned to her chair just as Hartford grunted into his.

“Gentlemen and lady,” the old man groaned, shifted and leaned elbows on knees to eye them all. “We’ve got our work cut out for us. And, we’re way undermanned so let’s get to it. Griffin,” he pointed his chin to the quiet hulk of a man. Griffin was years younger than Wildcat, even younger than Gila. She suspected he’d done one tour of duty, probably in the Middle East then moved directly into K&R, thanks to a generous offer from Thorne and his partner. Griffin squared his shoulders and looked for a moment like he’d leap from his chair and stand at attention.

“Yes, sir!”

Gila watched Andy Wilder do something she’d seen him do before. He simply stood and walked out of the room. The General made no comment. She understood that sometimes Wilder needed space and quiet, distance from the activity to do his thing, but weren’t there important strategies to work out? Strategies he should hear? Hartford simply focused on Griffin.

“Get communications set up. I want contact with Dino at HQ, like yesterday.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ms. Solome, sorry to say, I’m gonna need to use you the same way Gomez did. You have to be my eyes and ears outside this house. You do the marketing with the cook today, do everything to appear like a house servant. Don’t be seen with your aunt and don’t leave or enter through the front door.”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded. At least Hartford was up front about his intentions. “And if I learn something?”

“I know you want to move on it but unfortunately, we’re too small a team not to play as a team. So, you report and we jointly decide on a plan of action.”

“And Wilder?” she said, a bit harsher than she intended. “When does he have to play on the team?”

“He’s doing it all the time, girly. What Wildcat does is complicated but he never acts alone. Like you,” grinned the General, “he’s out collecting intelligence. He just does it a little differently. Now,” the leader’s eyes shifted, “Kashi. You in or what? I have to know how strong this team is, how many arms I have, how many eyes and how many committed souls. Where are you?”

“In, General Harford. You say Thorne has Dino looking for my son … I’m in. You say Gomez is behind this whole scam … I’m in. You say I was set up to look like a double agent and I have a chance to prove otherwise … I’m so in it fucking hurts. Uh, sorry Ms. Solome. I’m in as deep as you need.”

“The injuries?”

“Scratches.”

“Wait,” Gila interrupted. “How can we trust him?”

Kashi scratched his balding head and sighed. “Gomez used me just like he used you, lady. He lied and manipulated. He kidnapped my son and he’s the reason your uncle was murdered. I’d think you’d trust me. We have a common enemy. The government will handle Gomez, we can put Rehema away for good and get Thorne free. Gomez fucked him too, you know.”

“Solome?” Hartford asked, knowing full well if he didn’t have trust on the team, he had nothing he could count on.

She rubbed her temples and thought hard. Everything he hated about Kashi came from Gomez. What basis did she have not to trust them man? “Fine with me, sir. What now?”

“We wait.” The General turned toward the door Wildcat had exited. “We get prepared and we wait. Solome, get out on the streets. Kashi, I need your input with these maps and Griffith –”

“Yes, sir!”

Hartford fought a grin. “Stand down soldier. Keep doing what you’re doing. I need to talk to HQ, and I need to do it now.”

***

“Clean him up and bring him to me.”

Terry recognized the voice. Rehema. Was he back in Egypt or had she really screwed the pooch and stepped foot in Arabia? Nothing about the woman surprised him. She had more balls than any bloke he’d ever known.

His eyes were swollen shut. He’d received a beating per hour as far as he could count. If they weren’t slamming him around like a rag doll, they were force feeding him food so rancid and spoiled he couldn’t swallow it or keep it down. Cheap poison. If it wasn’t that, it was worse. They dispensed physical and mental anguish like candy. Trick or treat, your son is dead, see the headlines. Trick or treat, we’ve had a hit man on Dino; he’ll never step foot out of the hospital. Trick or treat, Tamara Fillmore is being held captive; raped, damaged, bleeding. Trick or treat, bend over and meet your new lover. Trick or treat … again and again and again. It was a blur of torture, back to back and each round more creative than the last.

And suddenly, with a few words from Rehema, it all stopped. He was dragged from the filthy cave-like basement and into the light. From there, up a flight of elegant stairs and into a bathroom so big and shining white it hurt to look at it. He was bathed and his open cuts were treated, but he was denied water to drink. When he opened his mouth to catch the shower spray, an elbow to the nose sufficiently completed the swelling and bruising on his face. Now he was completely unrecognizable, so said his reflection in the mirror. It wavered and blackness crawled in from all corners. He was down.

Terry woke on a velvet sofa, stretched out long and comfortable, wearing clean jeans and a black tee shirt. His fingertips were wrapped with gauze as were his feet to the ankles. If not for the raging hunger and thirst, he’d have felt pampered. Rehema was reading a book, seated across the room, her spectacular legs crossed. Terry blinked and groaned his way up to sit.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” he said, his voice strong and clear, even though his muscles quivered with weakness and his body swayed until he leaned against the sofa backrest. “I was this fuckin’ close to getting’ your goddamn rifles. Is my son dead?”

Rehema slowly closed the book and removed her diamond studded reading glasses. “You were about to betray me.”

“What? Are you crazy? Is my son alive? Is Henry … alive?” Terry was playing it for all he was worth. He believed Gila and Wildcat that Henry was safe and well, but it was important to make Rehema think he was still willing to do anything to save Henry’s life.

“Your son is dead. They showed you the papers. I want those rifles or you will find others you love joining young Henry in the graveyard.”

The images that swept though him drew tears. Real or imagined, he couldn’t bear much more of this. He had to get his arse in gear. “Who?”

“Does it matter?”

Terry rolled his neck and rubbed a hand down his damaged face. “No.”

“Where are my rifles?” Her voice was like soft tar, cushioned with ominous blackness, laced with evil. It was time for Terry to put his plan into play.

Of course he had a plan. It was how he held himself strong against the assaults, against the lies and the thirst. His plan and love for Tamara, Henry and Dino were all rolled into one impenetrable suit of armor. All he had to do now was call that plan from the recesses of his melting mind and spit out the words. He rubbed his aching eyes harder, stood to pace but couldn’t put weight on his soles. So he walked, back and forth on the sides of his feet. It worked. Slowly all the details floated to the surface. It would be tricky, but he knew it would work. All he had to do was THINK the plan to Wildcat. At least, that was his hope.

“I know where the rifles are.”

She stood, glared eye-to-eye with Terry. “But you had no time to speak to Kashi.”

“Kashi isn’t the only one who knows where they are, Rehema. Have you ever known me to trust the most predictable resources?”

She blinked. “Continue.”

“I know where they are. Feed me, give me water and meds for whatever fuckin’ food poisoning you’re soldiers gave me, then I’ll simply go in and get them all.”

“You think me a fool,” she chuckled. “You were with a CIA operative, and that young man who was with you in Egypt, Andy Wilder.”

“So? You think CIA and Army don’t like profit as much as the next bloke?” Terry was trembling but he stood strong, staring her down.

“What profit? I pay you nothing but the safety of those you love. It is you who is the fool.”

“Perhaps,” Terry turned with an impressive swagger and lowered to the sofa as steady as can be. “AK74’s aren’t the only bloody hidden weapons in that warehouse, Rehema.” And so his elaborate lies continued, piling one on the other and convincing her all the same. Warehouse? He spied one smack in the middle of Ryiadh, if he was lucky and Wildcat’s radar was working, maybe he’d have backup there. More than rifles? Seemed plausible. Why the hell not? It wasn’t like dealing weapons was a picky trade. He could tell by how shallow her breath had gone that she was buying it all, lock, stock and barrel.

She’d gone silent, her eyes focused on the profits she could gain. Time for his next move. “I get these rifles, we’re done, right? Everyone’s safe, right?” No need to worry if he sounded pitiful enough, he knew he did. His voice was shaking as hard as his hands.

“No. These weapons were for Henry’s safety. Henry is dead because you showed wavering commitment.”

“Then get your own bloody guns.” He dropped his head back for dramatic affect.

“But,” she said quietly and he looked up, permitting a tear to roll down his face. “This will protect the woman … if she’s survives the captivity. Such a foolish woman, your girlfriend. Going to the press? Very foolish.”

“I’ll have a long talk with her when I get back.”

“Ah, but you will not return until I have finished with you. There are tanks in Kazakhstan that I want.”

“For what? What’s that gonna fuckin’ get me?”

“Your partner. We will not kill your partner. Does this sound fair?”

Terry groaned, doubled over in pain. “Fine. Fine. Then we’re finished?”

“Oh no, Mr. Thorne.” He looked up. She was close, so close his nose nearly touched her crotch, less than an inch from her tight skirt. “There is more I want from you.”

More cards to play. Terry always had an ace up his sleeve. With surprising strength, his arms wrapped around her and he pulled her close, nuzzled erotically then looked up. “Yeah, I remember that time, Rehema. Can’t forget fuckin’ like that. Not ever.”

She didn’t struggle or push him away, simply clapped her hands and two soldiers scurried into the room. Terry nuzzled again and listened carefully.

“This man is to receive antibiotics, food and water. He is to be cared for. I must have him strong in two days. Go! Get out!”

Terry cupped hands on her arse cheeks and squeezed. “Won’t take me two days to get strong, love.”

“No, it will not. I’ll have you in my bed tonight … and in Ryiahd in two days … after I’ve finished with you. The AK74’s, the tanks … and this. Then … we are finished.”

“I can count on that?”

“You can, Mr. Thorne.”