"Ava got to him first," Remy answered.

David frowned. "I only held back because there were women present."

"Like Ava?" Boyer asked.

"No. Like my wife, who happens to be pregnant."

Boyer smiled, though his eyes were dimmed. "Congrats, my friend." He stood to walk to the kitchen nook, where he cracked open an olive-green refrigerator. After pulling out three bottles of beer, he returned with his haul and popped off the caps using the marred coffee table.

Remy took the cold bottle offered to him and sipped the watered-down p.i.s.s that Jared confused with beer. Ignoring the skunky aftertaste, Remy took another swallow and placed the foul beer on the coffee table where Boyer's large booted feet now rested.

"When's the baby due?" Boyer asked, his beer half gone in one gulp.

"I want to say four months," David said, his brows pinched together.

"You don't know?" Boyer questioned.

David sighed. "I'm going to screw this poor baby up. I've already warned Mya."

Boyer chuckled.

"If it's your offspring, the kid didn't have a chance either way," Remy said. "Have you thought about the security director job? At least if you were out of the house working the kid might have a chance."

"I will kick your a.s.s," David warned.

Remy motioned for him to come and try.

"What's this about a security director gig?" Boyer asked.

"I'm going to give my notice at my job," Remy explained. "With Ava on the move, I'm running out of leave."

Boyer scratched his stubbly wide jaw. "I'd be interested, but even in retirement I seem to have my hands full."

David kicked his feet on top of the table, mirroring Boyer. "I'm quite content with my unemployed status."

Boyer's mouth broadened into a wide smile. "Yeah, we already know you've been enjoying yourself."

Remy cleared his throat, shifting in his chair to lean forward. "Can we get back to Ava? I have to find out what she's up to and where she is. For her to ask for my help, she's either stupid or desperate. We know she's not stupid. So, what has her so desperate that she'd seek me out?"

Boyer frowned, looking down at his boots. "You know, I've always wondered what happened that day. I read the file, but I don't understand why you were the only one taken prisoner."

"To be honest, I don't know. I've been trying to forget my time there," Remy admitted. "But over the last few weeks it struck me that this was planned. I think the attack was a cover. But I don't understand why."

"What happened while you were imprisoned? Did they ask for information? What were their demands?"

Remy clenched the beer bottle in front of him and downed the disgusting liquid. He hadn't spoken of his imprisonment, not even to David. Sure, David was the one who rescued him. David had seen Remy's condition, but he never asked what had happened and Remy never told. Some things were better left unsaid-even six years after the fact.

If it was David alone who was questioning his imprisonment, Remy might have answered. But with Boyer, Remy didn't want to talk. Maybe he didn't want to seem weak in his eyes. Maybe he wanted the past to stay where it was.

Whatever the reason, Remy stayed silent until Boyer prodded him again.

"Well?"

Remy sat back, his hands white-knuckled on his knees. "It's the same s.h.i.t at any enemy prison, right? They starve you, beat you, torture you." Remy stopped. The pain was coming back, and it wasn't just emotional remnant bull c.r.a.p. Real physical pain seared his skin. He could feel every slash and scar as if he was reliving the experience. He breathed, pushing away the ache.

He was used to flashbacks; he'd had them constantly in the beginning. But with each episode, Remy gained more control and was able to contain it quicker.

The not-so-funny thing was, by the end of his imprisonment, Remy no longer felt any pain. He'd no longer felt anything at all, like his body was no longer his; it belonged to a stranger. The only thoughts in his head were of death. No body. Just a broken mind that made bargains with G.o.d, the devil, or whoever might be listening.

"They also interrogate," Boyer added, ripping Remy from his thoughts.

Running his hand down over his face, scrubbing the last memory away, Remy nodded. "Yes, they interrogated."

"What did they ask?" Boyer slipped his feet off the table as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

"I didn't understand them," Remy answered. "None of them spoke English."

Boyer frowned. "I don't get it. Why go out of your way to capture a man and then not be able to speak to him?"

Remy shook his head. He often wondered the same thing. He remembered repeating, "I don't understand," until it became a mantra. But there was a word they repeated, a word Remy understood even through their butchering accents. Months after David had rescued him, Remy searched for connections to this word-if only to get it to stop echoing in his mind-but there was no ulterior mention of it in any web search, and all of his regular leads were dead-ends. He even contacted linguists with Middle Eastern dialect knowledge, wondering if he had heard an Arabic word with English ears and got it all wrong. No one could give him the answer.

But somehow it seemed familiar. As if it was always a part of him. As if it was permanently etched into his DNA.

Venom.

To say Ava was agitated would be an understatement. In less than three days, she had to find Brock, get him on a plane to the East Coast and then onto a boat. She could almost see his reaction now. If she wasn't in danger before, she definitely would be after she spoke with him.

If he'd even let her speak. He wasn't too receptive the other day. Not that she blamed him.

This was spiraling out of control. Rarely did she have all of the information when she started a job, but now she only knew coordinates.

And that Brock was to be the transfer.

She didn't like the sound of that. But she couldn't very well stop what was already set in motion. There was too much at stake. Ava had to play along and follow the bread crumbs.

But one man could tip the odds in her favor.

Jared Boyer.

Chapter 6.

Remy watched as Boyer stood and stared out the window, his hands behind his strong back, his shoulders square, and his head tilted up. Moments before, Boyer had received a call and was clearly affected by it. Remy watched as his expression shifted slightly as the call progressed. It was enough to make Remy wonder who was on the other line. Boyer's few grunts and ah-hems left many gaps.

Either way, it was none of Remy's business. He made it a rule never to pry into another person's affairs.

Boyer rubbed the back of his neck. Something was clearly bothering him. Remy looked over at David, who raised a brow in question. Remy jerked his head in Boyer's direction, giving David the cue to say something. David shook his head and pointed back at Remy.

Remy declined. He'd quietly sit here for a month before opening his mouth.

Boyer cleared his throat and turned to face them. "So," he began and then paused a moment. He shook his head with a small laugh. "You'll never guess who was on the phone."

Both Remy and David remained silent, waiting as Boyer stopped to collect his thoughts.

"It was Ava," he finally said.

Remy sat perfectly still as though the words didn't affect him, as though the air hadn't been swept from his lungs.

"What did she want?" David asked.

Boyer scratched his jaw. "My help. It seems she's hunting big game." He looked over at Remy, whose vision was splintering. "It seems you're in demand. Should I tell her yes?"

David shot up from his chair. "For the love of G.o.d! Will she stop at nothing?"

"If you boys want to find out what she's up to, you may as well play along. If she thinks she has the upper hand, she might be more willing to talk."

David threw his hands into the air, disgusted.

"What do you suggest?" Remy asked.

"I'll tell Ava that I can help, but . . ."

"What?" David prodded.

"If Ava came to me for help, then whatever she's working could be military sanctioned. She knows I wouldn't help her otherwise. If she's the traitor you say she is, then she's not the only one. Someone is giving her orders."

Remy had the same thought, but to hear Boyer second that thought didn't make him feel any better.

"I'll do whatever you want," Boyer said. "Just know that I can't help once this is set into motion. I'm retired. I have no way to help you from the inside."

Remy nodded. He knew that better than anyone.

"So, we just surrender, then?" David scowled. "We just let her have her way and go along for the ride?"

"I may go along for the ride, but I won't be the one surrendering," Remy promised.

Ava hauled the last of the provisions onto the boat she'd rented. She didn't know the boat cla.s.sification-she was never particularly fond of them in general-but it reminded her of a tugboat: a squatty tub with a wheelhouse at the top and a cramped galley and bedroom below deck. While it was a large boat, it wasn't big enough to make her stop worrying about surviving any storms they might encounter. She prayed they wouldn't be in that situation. There was a reason she was Army and not Navy.

Thankfully, this should be a short trip. They would sail out about two hundred miles or so, following the boat's navigation system, and then head back. It might be one really long day if they were lucky. Two or three if they weren't.

She dreaded this journey, not knowing what she was sailing into.

She dreaded seeing Brock, being confined on a boat with him. There'd be no escape for either of them.

Ava had flown to Florida, traveling down to the Keys after she had spoken with Boyer. He promised he would have Brock to her by the time they needed to sail. If Boyer came through on his promise, Brock would arrive at the designated rendezvous spot at six the next morning.

Ava and Boyer had always had a good working relationship. She had served under him many times. She was thankful for his help, but there was something that made her nervous too. He was quick to help. Almost too quick. And he didn't ask many questions, just the basics: where and when.

She chalked her hesitancy up to nerves. But there were moments like this when she felt as if she were walking into a trap of her own making.

Shaking it off, she began stowing the food and necessities below deck. The plans were already in motion. Even if she wanted to re-strategize, she couldn't. She was running out of time, and there were too many forces at work.

She was only a puppet on very long, chafing strings.

Remy boarded the red-eye flight despite David's very physical protests that left them both a little worse for wear. He was going alone and, unfortunately, without his gun. The duffle bag he packed was light, filled only with necessities and a few changes of clothes. He may as well have not packed anything at all. He felt naked without his sidearm.

With only a location and time that Ava had given Boyer, Remy didn't know what he was walking into. He didn't know if Ava would be there or if it was a trap . . . most likely a trap. But he couldn't turn back. He wanted answers, he wanted justice, and he wanted . . .

h.e.l.l. He wanted a lot of things that might never happen, but at least he could get answers.

Remy found his seat and silently cursed.

Middle seat.

He squeezed past a younger man who looked as if he'd just crawled out of a bar.

Holy h.e.l.l!

Remy cringed as the smell of booze, sweat, and puke filled his nostrils.

Stepping over the man, Remy wedged into his seat, his shoulders hunched forward, his knees jammed into the seat in front of him.

A willowy forty-something woman near the window shifted, giving Remy a little more room.

"Thank you," he said, his voice gruffer than he intended, sounding more like a growl.

She pressed her hand to her throat, eyes wide.

Dammit. This always happened. Women were either terrified of him or eager to hop into bed with him. There was rarely a middle ground. He knew he was large and could look menacing at times, but he wasn't an ogre. Although, he was told he acted like one sometimes.

The only woman he ever related to, who he thought he understood, was Ava. But look how that turned out.

Women were nuts.

He didn't have to look at the woman to know she sat stiff like a statue. He could feel her nervous energy. Remy didn't care. It was late, he was jammed into an uncomfortable seat, and he was flying into the unknown. At least he wasn't subjected to some asinine polite conversation with a nitwit.

Something hard hit his shoulder. He looked over to find the man had pa.s.sed out, Remy's arm now the man's pillow. He shrugged hard, letting out an annoyed growl, bobbing the man's head away. The woman squeaked.