French flipped a few switches and nodded. "I think we'll get there in one piece."

Ava was shoved into the holding room. The door slammed shut before she could turn. The bolt sc.r.a.ped into place, locking her in.

"Let me out!" she yelled, banging frantically on the door.

Shouts came from beyond the walls, seeping fear through the cracks. What had happened? She'd knocked the man out. But he got up after only a few minutes. That had never happened before. He broke out of his bindings like they were nothing more than a few worn threads.

She pressed her ear against the door, straining to hear. A strangled cry filled her with dread. Natan said she did something to cause this, but what? She'd only defended herself.

Shouting grew closer. The walls pulsed from the battle just outside her door. He was coming for her.

Ava scurried away to stand behind the metal chair. It wasn't long before the sounds were on top of her. She gripped the chair as the door splintered and the man with the scary eyes ripped through. He came at her fast, his fists already striking.

Ava barely dodged his first swing. She backed away, bringing the chair with her. She had hoped to defend herself with it, but he had already caught her. She flailed as he raised her into the air by her shoulders, not even blinking when she kicked him.

He had changed. In the short time since she had first engaged with him, he'd become different. His strength was off the charts. Had he been holding back before? It wasn't possible; Ava would've known. Something was making him stronger.

Injured guards filed through, their rifles pointed. Ava scrambled to get away, but she couldn't free herself from the man's grip. She didn't know who the guards were planning to shoot, but Ava was in the line of fire either way.

Natan charged in, cradling his arm. He spoke rapidly, giving orders that Ava couldn't understand. The guards stayed put, guns aimed and ready.

Natan spoke again, this time directly at the man who had Ava in such a tight grip she thought he was going to start snapping bones. The more she struggled, the tighter the grip. She finally stopped, feeling as though she was literally at a breaking point. She cried out, hoping for relief.

Her pain threshold was past its limits, sending her into a fading blackout. Natan spoke calmly, attempting to reason with her captor, but it was as if the man couldn't hear; as if he was in his own blackout.

A shot rang out, and Ava felt the weightlessness of a free fall before contacting the floor, jolting her out of her stupor. She jumped to her feet as another shot was fired. The masked man swung back from the force of the bullet, but it didn't stop him. He was bleeding from both legs, and yet he still stood, his eyes reflecting demons that hadn't been there minutes before.

"Get behind me," Natan shouted at Ava.

She did as he ordered and flew over to him.

"If I give you an opportunity, will you be able to knock him out again?" he asked, keeping his eyes and gun aimed on the other man.

Ava was bruised and beat; she could hardly lift her arms. "I can try, but it hardly affected him."

"All I need is a few seconds."

"I can give you that." She hoped.

"Wait for my signal," he said, shoving his gun over to one of the guards. He stepped forward into a defensive stance, but as the other man came at him, Ava realized Natan wasn't trying to fight. Natan was shoved up against the wall. It crumbled around him as he was pushed farther into it. He held on, but Ava could see the pain he was in. There was no way he could give a signal.

Running over to the metal chair, she swung it strategically onto the floor. She had to be above the man for an effective knockout. As she jumped onto the chair, the man turned to block her attack. He knocked her from the chair, sending her tumbling to the floor. He stepped on her leg, grinding it. She screamed as pain exploded.

But then, he stopped; his expression glazed over. Ava scooted away before the man toppled, a syringe poking out of his thigh.

Natan looked down at the unconscious man and shook his head, his eyes moistened. With one flick of his hand, the guards hauled the man away.

"This is your fault!" he growled at Ava.

"My fault?" she clipped. "I realize terrorists have to get their muscle from somewhere, but your recruit is your own problem."

"If you hadn't escaped, he wouldn't have changed."

"If you wouldn't have locked me up, I wouldn't have had to escape!"

His jaw clenched as he looked down at her, still on the floor. Her leg ached, but she wasn't going to let him see her in pain.

"You have no idea what you have done!" he shouted again.

"I defended myself."

"You don't understand. He'll only get . . ." Natan shook his head and stormed from the room, not bothering to secure the door. It would have been a futile effort anyway. The door was shredded.

No one was left in the room. Was she free to go? Ava used her elbows to drag herself over to the wall, biting her lip to keep from crying. She'd need the solid surface to help her stand. Taking a breath, Ava put pressure on the wall as she inched her way up. Her leg gave out, sending her back to the floor.

She groaned as a shockwave burst through her leg.

Now she knew why no one bothered to secure her; she wasn't going anywhere for a while. Sprawled on the floor, glaring up at the peeling ceiling, Ava cursed.

Greyson paced the study, his strides long and quick. It was a good sign. David knew that Greyson was...o...b..ard. Now David just had to get a small favor from him.

"I want to help," Greyson said, "but I'm not sure how. I don't have the resources available to me like I used to. If you need money, I'll give you all that you need."

"I don't need money, but I do need your connections."

Greyson stopped pacing. "My connections?"

"You had told me about trying to open a casino in Turkey with a partner, but you decided against it."

"That was because I found out he had terrorist connections. He was going to use the casino as a front."

"I need you to contact him again."

"I reported him. I'm pretty sure he'd rather kill me than talk to me."

"He has information I need. If he has connections, he'll be able to lead me to Venom."

"Venom? As in poison?"

"No, as in the man who took Remy. The one who pumped him so full of chemicals Remy thought he was in an enemy prison." David scrubbed his hand over his face. He should have told Remy everything when he had the chance. At the time, Remy was so far gone, he couldn't even understand his own name.

"He wasn't in prison?"

"He was a prisoner," David said. "But it was his mind that was the jailer."

Remy grew impatient. They had been to two remote villages, and every villager denied knowing of Venom or any missing men. Even though the language barrier didn't help matters, he could tell they were lying. Their eyes showed fear.

French was ready to move on, but Remy knew they'd have the same problem wherever they went.

"Are you sure this is the right village?" Remy asked.

"It's either this one or the one we just left. These are the only two villages in a hundred-mile radius."

"Something spooked them," Remy said.

French nodded. "We could back off and watch."

"We're running out of time."

"But if we push, they're liable to turn on us. You could probably take on an entire enraged village, but I'd rather not."

"Between the two of us, we might stand a chance," Remy said, knowing he wouldn't attempt it either way. These people were scared; they weren't the enemy. Plus, he would never hurt a woman or child.

A vision of Ava, flat on the mat, flashed through his mind. But she was a soldier, not a woman. Well, until she made a move that had him at instant surrender. He forgot everything as her lips pressed to his. It was as if the world had reversed polarity. He felt upside down. His life was never the same again.

Remy shook her from his thoughts. These women weren't Ava. They wouldn't be able to defend themselves like she could. Didn't they understand that Venom would be back for more?

A tingling sensation at the back of his neck alerted Remy. Someone was watching them. Remy scanned the dusty dirt roads, searching for the person.

"We're being watched," Remy said.

French looked around. "Three o'clock."

An older man peered through a windowless opening. He stepped out of view when he realized he was spotted.

"He knows something," Remy said, heading to the crumbling house, which was no better or worse than the other dwellings in the village. They were poor. A roof over their heads and walls to shield them from sand storms was better than nothing.

It was a preying ground for filth like Venom.

French clamped a hand on Remy's shoulder. "He will come to us."

"We don't have time."

"If we spook him, he won't talk. Let's go find some water and let him come to us."

Remy curled his fingers, clenching them into a fist.

"He won't talk if we pound on his door," French reasoned.

"What door?" Remy gritted, looking at the faded cloth hanging in the doorway. He knew French was right, but it didn't ease the tension practically choking him.

"Come," French said, heading the opposite direction. "He will follow us and confront us when he feels comfortable. I'm sure he doesn't want the rest of the village to see him talking to the outsiders."

Remy walked alongside French. "I still don't understand your reasoning for your work or the life you've led, but thank you for your help."

French laughed. "You'll probably never understand, but you're welcome anyway."

"I had thought you'd changed, but I still see a little bit of French Fry."

French's mouth gaped. "I haven't been called that since . . . well, it's been a long time."

Remy nodded. "It has been a long time. Thanks for looking out for Ava," he added. The words, while honest, had a nasty aftertaste. It should have been Remy not French.

French glanced uneasily at Remy.

Was French worried Remy took exception to their relationship . . . whatever it was? He should say something, ease French's mind. But he couldn't. The claw of jealousy dug its talons in.

"Your impression of me keeps wavering," French finally said. "But I'm no longer French Fry. And I didn't look out for Ava, at least not how you think. My motives are purely selfish; motives you wouldn't understand."

Remy heard the annoyance and frustration in French's words. He didn't feel the need to smooth any ruffled feathers. Remy was awkward enough in these situations; he didn't need to make it worse by offering words that could be twisted. He would leave it alone.

"There might be a well around here," French said. "I doubt they have running water."

Remy sidestepped a group of chickens pecking at the ground. He briefly wondered what they were eating. He could only see dirt. Just like the village, made out of the same earth and rock. No trees to provide shade. No speck of hope in the war-battered locals' eyes.

"There," French said, pointing to a well just beyond the village.

It was on the tip of Remy's tongue that they had enough water in the jeep, but in this heat, he'd take the spare moment and fill his reserves. His tongue already felt coated with dust.

Remy sat down near the well and eased the pack from his back. Remy hadn't felt comfortable leaving his pack behind in the jeep. Vehicles and gear were stolen all the time. He didn't want his own gun pointed at him.

"At least this one has a pump," French said. "The open-water reservoirs that are sometimes used aren't safe for some stomachs, especially mine."

"My son," a wavering voice said.

Remy and French looked up to find the older man had indeed followed them. He held out a sketch pad, the edges worn.

"My son," he said again, pointing to the book.

French took the notebook from the man and flipped through the pages. He stopped suddenly. Lifting the notebook so the man could see, he asked, "Your son?"

The man shook his head. He chewed his lower lip, finding the right words.

Remy wished he could help. He was never good with foreign languages. What little he did know was forgotten long ago.

"Gone," the man said.

French frowned and pointed to the open notebook again. "Who?"

Tears welled in the man's eyes. "Gone."

"What's in the book?" Remy asked.