THE BIG FIX

MARY CALMES
 CONTENTS

One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen

A Note From the Author

Also by Mary Calmes
About the Author
The Big Fix
Copyright ©2022 Mary Calmes
http://marycalmes.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and
retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a
book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the products of author
imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business
establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only. Any person depicted on the cover is a model.
Cover art Copyright © 2022 Reese Dante
http://reesedante.com
Edit by Keren Reed
Copy Edit by Brian Holliday
Beta Read by Will Parkinson
Proof Edit by Judy’s Proofreading
Created with Vellum
 DEDICATION

As usual, I have to thank my wonderful team, Keren, Brian, Will and Judy for
helping bring this book to life. Originally, there were way too many people in
this novel and pairing it down was painful. It was like murder… That may be
overly dramatic but it was hard! My friend Nathan also needs a shout out for
looking over my action sequences. It’s always important to respect the laws
of physics.
 THE BIG FIX

Philanthropist. Humanitarian. Soldier. Spy.

Jared Colter, the head of Torus Intercession, has a secret life he left behind,
one that only his closest confidants know about. Normally, the past keeps its
secrets, but not this time. Old ghosts come calling to the very doorstep of his
new life, when Owen Moss, the person closest to him, goes missing. A carrot
left dangling to lure Jared out and into the hands of an unknown enemy.
Owen Moss was once a scared, orphaned boy saved by Jared, but he’s no
longer a child even if Jared is having trouble seeing him that way. He’s
thirty-two now, in love with Jared, and as Jared’s obliviousness keeps butting
up against Owen’s desire, the tension between them keeps escalating.
Something has to give, and soon.
With a bounty on his head, Jared races through the brutal underworld of
Southeast Asia, in search of Owen. It’s a maze of treachery and murder,
where one false move means death. The answer is tied to the man Jared used
to be, taking him into the heart of the lion’s den, where he’s forced to face the
darkest questions about himself to save the man he loves.
 ONE

W e were fighting. Again. Or more specifically, Owen was fighting, and

I was trying to figure out, again, for what felt like the hundredth
time, what category he fell into. The question was, did I try and
reason with him like a friend, man-to-man, or did I treat him like an
employee, which technically, he was. Since showing him respect and telling
him I’d listen didn’t seem to be working, I fell into boss mode, which
accounted for the crossed arms and scowling I was exhibiting at the moment
as I waited for him to come up with a reasonable explanation for his
behavior. We’d been at it for over an hour, me trying to get him to see my
point of view in this argument we were rehashing, and him responding that
he was in the right no matter how things looked.
“I’m not a child, Jared!”
“Yes, I know,” I yelled back, my patience frayed. “You’re thirty-two
years old, which is why I was worried about you going to prison!”
“Prison?” He sounded snide. “Really?”
Only he could push all my buttons. “Yes,” I railed at him. “Which, as you
recall, you had a pretty close brush with before.”
He narrowed his eyes. “So you’re throwing ancient history in my face?”
Back when he was eighteen, when he was a self-professed white-hat
hacker and the FBI had him firmly in their sights, I had stepped in and saved
him, vouching for his character and, more importantly, taking responsibility
for any of his future failings. If he messed up again, it was my ass on the line,
not his. Flash forward fourteen years and, thus far, I had never regretted my
decision. But that didn’t mean this latest trespass wasn’t a doozy.
 “It doesn’t seem like you learned anything the first time,” I said, because
I was already too entrenched in the argument to back down.
The look on his face told me I might have gone too far. He threw up his
hands. “It was an honest mistake, but you always blow everything out of
proportion because you never listen to me.”
“That’s not true,” I said defensively. “I always listen to you, but you have
to realize that despite the end result being a good one, the road to get there
was wildly illegal. Contrary to what you believe, the end does not justify the
means.”
“Oh my God,” Owen muttered, chuckling. “I’m not insane. I know I
crossed the line, but you need—”
“You hacked into the DEA database, and the only reason you’re not on
your way to prison is because I called in some huge favors!”
He nodded. “So you came to the rescue again, and you want me to do
what, grovel?”
“I want you to be safe and—”
“Because that’s how you are?” he asked pointedly, staring holes through
me. “Because you never put yourself in danger to find the truth or for the
good of others?”
“It’s not the same. You knew it was wrong, but you—”
“You know things are wrong when you do them too, Jared, but you do
them anyway because it’s the right choice.”
Suddenly, I didn’t want to have the fight and wanted to let it go. I was
irritated as soon as I walked in the door, and I had no idea why.
He growled at me, angrier than I’d seen him in a while. “I helped the
DEA find out that one of their agents was missing, and in the end, they said
thank you.”
“The thank you doesn’t at all forgive your trespass,” I insisted, driving it
in, unable to stop. “Make no mistake.”
“That’s what you want, though. For me to be perfect and never make any
mistake. Ever.”
“Listen—”
“No one is perfect, Jared. Not even you.”
There was a lot of venom in his words, and I had to wonder why. He
knew he’d messed up, so why was I getting so much attitude?
“And, I found a guy they didn’t even know they lost, so…I should be
forgiven. But even though they have, even though they’ve asked me to do
some consulting with them, you’re not satisfied. You want me to writhe in
despair over my trespass, self-flagellate for good measure, and repent.” He
was glaring at me when he finished. “Well, you know what? Fuck that. I
chased a lead, I went too far, it’s over, I’ll really try not to do it again, but in
the meantime, you can take your sanctimonious bullshit and—”
“Owen, it’s not about me needing you to writhe in agony, though some
self-reflection might not be a bad idea. But—”
“You want me, and everyone—and I mean everyone who works for you
—to share your vision of service and making the world a better place. The
thing is, if the help we give, the help we offer, isn’t done in the way you
would do it, you can’t handle that.”
“You’re so wrong about—”
“You were Army Intelligence, for fuck’s sake. You have to realize that
not everything is perfect.” He sounded both angry and defeated at the same
time. “Life is messy, and sometimes we do imperfect things that end up being
right and give us the best result possible.”
“I’m not arguing that outcomes can be for the best even when getting
there was bad. What I’m telling you is that instead of just diving in, you have
to look first and figure out what the hell you’re doing.”
“Oh, now I don’t know what I’m doing?”
“That’s all you got from that?” I was indignant. “Are you serious?”
“It’s just one more fucking thing for you to use!” he snarled at me.
“What are you—”
“I can’t take this anymore,” he yelled, pacing on his side of the kitchen
island. “I’m not perfect, so I’ll keep screwing up, and you’ll keep seeing me
as the little ten-year-old boy you rescued, and I—”
“I don’t think of you as a ten-year-old boy,” I corrected him, “or even as
the eighteen-year-old who needed saving for the second time in his life. But
maybe that’s where I fucked up, because I thought you had more sense.”
Owen blew out a long breath, standing there, shaking with fury, hands
fisted at his sides. I was surprised that steam didn’t shoot out of his ears, as
pissed as he was.
“I see you as the young man you are,” I added, hoping to ratchet down his
anger.
“You don’t!” he roared back. “I’m thirty-two years old, for fuck’s sake,
but you only see me as your dead friends’ son.”
Why were Ronan and Sara Moss being thrown in my face? “I don’t know
what’s going on with you right now, and I’m sorry I screwed up your date,
but—”
“David was not my date,” he said through clenched teeth. “I can’t date
anybody until I figure out what I’m doing with you!”
It took a few moments for that to sink in. He’d roared the words at me. “I
don’t understand.” There was no intuitive leap to be made. He’d completely
lost me.
“And that’s the problem. You don’t get it because you don’t see me,
Jared.”
“Of course I see you. What are you—”
“Not how I want you to,” he said miserably. “Not how I need you to.”
I shook my head. “Please tell me what you’re talking about.”
But instead, he charged out of the room.
Nothing made sense.
I’d come home and heard him and a young man talking in my kitchen—
well, his too; he’d lived here since he was twenty-four, when he’d returned to
Chicago to work for me after getting his master’s degree.
I’d tried to be quiet, give them space, and was on my way back out when
he’d called to me.
“I forgot I had to see friends,” I’d yelled back and was almost to the front
door when he caught up with me, having had to jog. It wasn’t a small house
—close to six thousand square feet, all one level, built in a U-shape, with a
flower garden and patio in the middle. My bedroom faced the kitchen, and
the space from the kitchen to the front door would have normally allowed for
my escape. But he’d run.
“Where are you going?” he’d asked, and already, he was scowling.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt—”
“You didn’t. David brought me files I needed from Aaron Sutter’s office.
I’ve been doing some contract work for him.”
“I know, but c’mon,” I’d teased him, “it looks like dinner to me, kid. I
can get lost so you can make—”
“No,” he’d snapped, pivoting and returning to the kitchen, where he told
David how much he appreciated the files being dropped off, basically
excusing the handsome young man from our home. I would not have let him
go if I were Owen’s age. He was pretty, and as he walked to the front door,
he gave me a smile.
At fifty-six, I had no business even looking at men that young. Forty was
as low as I went, and even that made me slightly uncomfortable. A twenty-
year age difference shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did. For starters, there
was the whole issue of my musical preferences, and that was only the tip of
the iceberg. Dating someone younger was fraught with challenges, and I
honestly didn’t have the energy. At this point in my life, I wanted to exert
energy in the field, not in my personal life. The exception, of course, being
Owen. I would turn myself inside out for Owen.
Standing there now, alone, I ran everything back in my brain, trying to
figure out what I’d done to elicit the reaction I got. I’d brought up the DEA
hack because it had been weighing on me for months. We hardly ever talked
anymore, but since he was pissed at me anyway, I thought why not go for the
teachable moment. I should have known better, though usually he took it just
like the others who worked for me. But suddenly he turned on me like a feral
cat, defending himself and attacking me at the same time. My normal was to
try and coach instead of blame, but he was decidedly not accepting the
constructive criticism like he usually did. I couldn’t imagine what I could
have done to piss him off. There was no moment I could point to where I
could see the night taking a turn. All I’d done was walk through the goddamn
door. When had my home become such a battlefield?
Most of the time, to help mitigate any kind of disagreement, I followed
him. I would knock on his door, and when he gave me permission to step
inside, only then would I enter. I’d take a seat in the wingback chair in his
room, put my feet up on the ottoman, and we’d talk and figure out whatever
the problem was.
It hit me suddenly that I was living in the past. How long had it been
since the last time I’d done that?
Walking down the hall to his room, I knocked gently and waited.
“I’m going out,” he said through the door. “I’ll see you later.”
“Owen,” I said softly. “Please, let’s just talk. We’ve always been able to
talk.”
The door was thrown open, and he had a backpack and a jacket on. It was
the end of September now, so the temperature was starting to drop a bit. “I
don’t wanna talk to you,” he admitted sadly. “I’m all talked out.”
“How? We hardly ever talk.”
“No,” he disagreed, biting out his words. “We talk all the time, but you
don’t hear me. You never listen.”
But that wasn’t me. “I always listen to you,” I insisted. “Please, let’s go
get pie or something and you can explain about whatever this is.”
His eyes went so cold, I was startled. “I’m not a child. I’m more than man
enough.”
“Man enough for what?” I barked at him.
“For you,” he said flatly, his eyes searching mine before he charged down
the hall. I heard the front door slam and his Mustang roar to life a moment
later.
I stood there, unsure of what had just transpired and having no idea what
to do. What the hell was “for you” supposed to mean? Did he want me to see
him as combat ready? Did he want to go into the field with me? Was he
waiting for an invitation to accompany me on ops where I sometimes
partnered with the military that were insanely dangerous and where he could
be killed? Because if so, that was never going to happen. I’d lost his parents,
who’d been close, dear friends of mine, and if he thought I would let them
down by not keeping their son safe—forever—he was insane. And since
Owen could never be accused of that—crazy was not something he was—and
as he’d never even alluded to wanting to fight by my side… I really was lost
in the tall weeds. But perhaps it was best to ask. At least then I would know.
Of course, when I called him, it went directly to voice mail. I left one,
asking if that was what this was. If his man-enough comment had something
to do with combat. Perhaps he thought I considered him weak or something
else equally ridiculous.
I checked to see where his phone was, and there was nothing. He’d turned
off the location feature. When I checked my backup, the GPS I had on his
phone and car, both were dead as well. It wasn’t surprising; if Owen wanted
to still be on the grid but look like he was off, he could. He was very gifted,
and he’d had many legitimate—as well as criminal—offers for his services
over the years. I was always impressed with his skills, but now they were
being used against me, and I was not a fan. It made no sense that he would
want to worry me. His rage made no sense. This was Owen, my friend Owen.
My murdered friends’ kid.
I had saved him when he was ten, then kept an eye on him after dropping
him off with his grandparents. I suggested he see a therapist, told them to
contact me for any emergency, physical or financial, and they had
appreciated my concern. But the truth of the matter was, their daughter had
been killed because of their son-in-law Ronan’s work. As mine was
technically the same, they really didn’t want me involved in Owen’s life. It
made sense, and I didn’t begrudge them their choice. The hard, cold facts
were that I could not have been a parent or guardian to Owen. I was
entrenched in my life with Army Intelligence and had no time for anything
else. I certainly couldn’t have taken care of a traumatized ten-year-old boy.
Eight years later, when I got the call from his grandmother that Owen was
in trouble—terrible, life-altering trouble—I was there immediately. I’d been
surprised to find FBI agents at the jail in St. Paul, Minnesota. Owen Moss
was a wanted hacker, and he was going to jail for twenty years at the very
least. They were trying to prove more of the crimes they suspected him of,
hoping to put him away even longer. But I had enough clout not to let them.
After that, with some guidance, Owen had turned into a well-rounded,
smart young man. He got a master’s degree from MIT in Computational
Science and Engineering, and he was funny, tender-hearted, could quote
poetry, and his head was full of so many facts, I always told him he’d be a
winner on Jeopardy! He was fluent in five languages—I was most impressed
with the Japanese, having tried and failed myself many times. He had a
TikTok with four or five million followers who religiously watched his
videos about different kinds of tech. Owen would break down everything
from video games and consoles to spy cameras and computer hardware.
Since we had amazing gadgets we used almost daily, he was always showing
people how things worked.
His Instagram was devoted to his second-favorite interest, which was
travel. The account was full of his trips, where he traveled to and the
economical way he’d done it, as well as the people he met and the kindness
he received. There was food, and off-the-path hidden gems, and so many
glorious pictures of sunsets and castles and cottages lost in the woods. He
was simply a wonderful man, and more than that, he was fun. He was an
extrovert, and there was no possible way that anyone could say no to Owen
Moss. He could talk about anime and Wicca, the stock market, education,
different law-enforcement agencies, conspiracies he truly believed in, the
possibility of alien life, and computer coding. Owen could talk for days about
how he could make a computer sing. That, of course, led to hacking, which
was what we’d been arguing about.
Last December, he’d hacked into the DEA database because he’d been
looking into a person of interest a client of ours had come in contact with,
and whom we had reason to look into ourselves when Owen realized that
everything about the guy had seemed far too easily accessible. His whole life
had been out there waiting for anyone to find. Normally, that meant it was a
cover, and as soon as Owen started digging, he was proven right. The
problem became that when he saw he’d reached a firewall, instead of letting
me know so I could have a conversation with someone in my extensive
network of friends, he blasted right on through. Getting a frantic, spitting-
nails phone call from an old friend who was now the principal deputy
administrator of the DEA was not fun. The fact that she could have sent
federal marshals to take Owen into custody and put him in jail for the rest of
his life but didn’t, in deference to me, was damn nice of her. And once I
explained that one of her guys was missing, her volume had lowered. But that
didn’t mean Owen wasn’t on a watch list now. All the federal agencies knew
who he was, and though I suspected he was slowly getting rid of the notices
that referred to him by name, I had not questioned him about it.
If I was being honest, I wasn’t questioning him because every time we
talked, it blew up. I had no idea why, but communicating with him lately was
like walking through a minefield. We would sit together, and I’d be telling
him about something and asking him about his day, when a comment would
set him off and he’d go silent on me. Worse, he’d get up and retreat to his
room, and I’d be left alone.
I thought, perhaps, that sharing space with me was the problem. He was a
man, I was a man, and we were basically roommates. Maybe he didn’t want
to be here. Maybe he needed his own space, his own house. Just because he
called our home home didn’t mean he wanted to be here anymore. And I
understood, I did. He couldn’t very well have an orgy in the living room
while I was having pizza and beer and watching Netflix. There were
milestones he was missing by living with me, and perhaps he resented me for
that. But whenever I broached the subject of him getting his own place, that
would set him off too. There was no winning. And then the situation came up
with the hacking of the DEA, and suddenly I was just as mad as he was. It
had become the subject everything came back to.
But now, being cut off from him, in the dark as to where he was, was
driving me nuts. He knew better. He knew I had an issue with him being
alone out in the world. I could not lose him. I could not fail his parents. Not
again.
I dozed off and on all night, sitting on my usual end of the sectional in the
living room, but the following morning, when he still wasn’t home, I broke
down and called Margaret Tomlin, Owen’s best friend since his first semester
at MIT. She picked up on the second ring.
“Hi, Mr. Colter, what’s shakin’?”
I had always liked her. She was a child of nature, her parents both
practicing witches, organic farmers, and holistic healers. “Maggie,” I greeted
her warmly. “I was wondering if you’ve heard from Owen.”
“No, sir, I’m sorry, but we’re both buried in this project for Aaron Sutter,
so I don’t expect to see him until tomorrow. He’s probably at the main office
downtown if you want to call there.”
Checking up on Owen at work would get me promptly murdered, so that
was not even a remote possibility. I was supposed to go to Paris to oversee a
spy exchange for my friend Mikhail, a supposed Russian attaché, but I was
hesitant to go without having everything ironed out with Owen. Plus, I was
staying there even after my business with Mikhail, as I had jobs there to
oversee.
Maggie went on, “It’s so exciting! Mr. Sutter picked the two of us to go
to Thailand to oversee the infrastructure of his newest property.”
“Meaning?”
“We’re on our way to Bangkok as soon as we finish looking over the
final blueprints and schematics, and we finished yesterday,” she announced
happily. “And once we get to Thailand, we’re vettin’ the vendors. Mr. Sutter
likes to hire local as long as they can handle the job. I can’t wait!” she
squealed. “We’re going on his private jet with the security team.”
“And this is when?”
“In the next couple of days.”
Basically Owen was leaving a day after me, so whatever was going to be
ironed out wouldn’t be happening until we both returned home. It was
disappointing. I didn’t like to leave things unsaid between us. “Okay, thanks
so much, Maggie.”
She sighed deeply. “Are you guys fighting again?”
“Is that what he told you?”
“No,” she said, her tone sad, “but it seems like every other day lately.”
I remained quiet, unsure how to respond, and I was supposed to be the
older, wiser person in this scenario.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Colter. I shouldn’t have said anything. That wasn’t my
place.”
“Don’t apologize,” I soothed her. “We’re just…having trouble
connecting.”
 Her grunt was not subtle.
“What was that for?”
“It seems you’re always having some sort of miscommunication.”
She was painting us both poorly.
“But men have trouble with that, don’t they?” she offered.
“I don’t think that’s a—”
“It’s okay. My dad and his brother, my uncle Stan, are the same.”
That was somewhat helpful to hear. “And what happens with them?”
“Well, now they only speak on holidays.”
I changed my mind. That was not helpful at all. “I appreciate your taking
the time to talk to me. And thank you for your candor.”
“Keep in mind, Mr. Colter, that Owen can be a real ass, okay? When he
thinks he’s right, he can be so annoying, so self-righteous, that all you want is
to kick the crap outta him.”
She wasn’t wrong. Owen on his high horse could be insufferable,
especially when he felt the need to lecture me on things I already knew.
But now, fighting, again, I was simply tired. I wanted us to call a truce
and make it last. I just didn’t know how because I was clueless as to what
was setting him off.
Getting on the plane that night, knowing that the two of us were heading
to opposite ends of the globe, me to Paris for the next two weeks, him to
Bangkok, I had an odd feeling that I shouldn’t have been going. It didn’t
make any sense, so I called Owen again and left another message. Of course,
by then I was angry about being ignored and told him to grow up and call me.
“If you want respect, Owen, you need to give me some in return.”
I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t call me back.

N ORMALLY , I couldn’t take trips like this at a moment’s notice. When I

started Torus Intercession after I left the Army, I had to be there, wrangling
fixers and deciding which jobs I would take and which I should decline. But
now, one of my men, Shaw James, had started to run the Chicago office for
me, and along with his soon-to-be husband, Benji Grace, who was a
psychiatrist, they were doing very well vetting new clients. The important
part of the equation was that I trusted the two of them to make decisions, and
I hadn’t had that before. It freed me to focus on the international side of
Torus, on assisting people who reached out with global concerns. As a rule,
Torus Intercession was a domestic agency, but I could now take advantage of
the wide network I’d developed over the years and do some good.
After West Point, I went into the Army, eventually moving up the ranks
to colonel by forty-eight. In parallel, I was with INSCOM, US Army
Intelligence and Security Command, and we worked hand in hand with the
CIA in counterterrorism. I retired at fifty-one, from all of it, with the
understanding, that all operatives had, that if I was needed, I would return to
service. It was interesting that everyone who worked for me thought I’d
worked exclusively for the CIA even though they knew I’d been in the Army.
How they imagined I could have operated at the agency and been a member
of the active military at the same time, was beyond me. It didn’t work like
that. I worked for INSCOM, and ACC-DTA, Army Contracting Command-
Detroit Arsenal. But all that was a lot for people, and because I was assigned
to work with the CIA, was attached to missions, it was easier to just say that
yes, I was a retired spook.
When I started Torus and the people I hired asked questions, I explained
about my service, but what they retained, again, was CIA. I understood.
Three letters were easier to remember than the longer moniker. And the
important part was the opportunity I was offering. Leaving the service, I
found that my need to help others didn’t abate. I needed to retire, yes,
because I wasn’t my own boss and couldn’t choose the best outcome for all
those involved. And it wasn’t that I had a God complex, but there was acting
for the greater good and then there was simply doing what was right and
good. I was now firmly in the latter category.
In creating Torus Intercession, I had a clear mission, which was to be a
fixer for others. If people needed protection, mentoring, coaching, or
someone to be their advocate, that was what Torus was about. We would
always leave a situation better than we found it, and would not leave until the
job was complete. What I never imagined was that when people saw their
lives changing for the better, the person responsible for that metamorphosis
would be the person they wanted to stay with them for the rest of their lives. I
lost more fixers to love than injury. I had a definite Cupid problem.
It had been alluded to over the years, especially by Nash Miller, my
longest-tenured employee, that perhaps I was running a matchmaking service.
For the record, I was not. But it made sense that the person who came to help
you, who assisted you in fixing your life, either by guarding you or finding
avenues to improve your outlook and state of being, would be the person you
would fall head over heels for. When I started out, the turnover of personnel
was not something I had accounted for. Now I expected it. And it was always
surprising to see who left. The person I was certain no one could love, that no
one could get through their considerable armor, was, inevitably, the one love
caught up with. Astounding to get that phone call saying: I’m staying here.
Thank you for everything.
Honestly, now and then, I did know that sending a fixer somewhere was
more for them than anything else. I would send a guy who’d never had a
family out to a place where all the family needed was that one person to make
them complete. At times, I could see that my fixer was the one who needed
fixing. I tended to hire people who were broken in different ways and sent
them out to be heroes. At other times, the person asking for help needed more
than they thought, because beyond the protection or babysitting, it was
connection. Mostly, my people drew others back into the world, which
allowed them to see those around them who’d always been there, ready.
At the moment, I had four fixers I could send out into the field, but I had
Shaw and Benji looking to hire two more. Six was my comfort spot so they
could provide backup to one another if necessary, and I could send someone
from Chicago, where we were based, to the opposite side of the country. I
liked being able to handle client issues if emergencies arose. It was important
to me to be able to help. It was my mandate at Torus to bring syzygy—
connection and alignment—to everything we did. I found that lives were
saved, either literally or mentally and emotionally. And every now and then, I
got my fixer back too. Maybe that was what was on Owen’s mind as well.
Love.
He saw people he worked with fall in love and leave all the time. Perhaps
that was weighing on him, the desire for connection. I had no idea. But when
I saw him next, certainly before he left for Thailand, I would find out what
was wrong with the man I shared a home with.
 TWO

“W ell now, Mr. Colter. Can you identify him? Is it Mr. Moss?” asked
the police surgeon, a slight man in his midfifties, of Taiwanese
descent.
“Yes, it’s him,” I answered, my voice trembling as a tsunami of emotions
overtook my laryngeal muscles, forcing my voice to crack. My relief was as
overwhelming as my grief had been two days earlier when I got the call that
Owen was dead.
I had been with an old friend, one of my best, Darius Hawthorne, who, it
turned out, was also in Paris on business. As I was fretting over the radio
silence from Owen, Darius was trying to take my mind off the situation by
taking me to the most outlandish places for dinner he could think of. I loved
him for it as well as for the daily check-ins. To say he was busy was an
understatement, so the fact that he was making so much time for me, was
telling. When I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize, I turned the
screen so Darius could see.
“That’s Thailand’s country code,” he told me. “Isn’t that where Owen
is?”
When I answered and was given the news, I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t
even have to reach for my friend; he was there in an instant, holding me up.
He was dead. Owen was dead.
I couldn’t grip my phone, and it fell, hitting first the table and then the
floor. Before I could even think to pick it up, Darius had snatched it and put it
to his ear. He listened, spoke, then listened again. When he hung up, his
bright-green eyes met mine.
 “Get up,” he ordered. “You have to go bring him home.”
How many men, how many intelligence assets, friends, brothers, had we
made sure to bring home? The number had to be in the hundreds. And now it
was Owen’s turn.
“On your feet,” he directed, and there was steel in his voice as he stood
and left a couple hundred euros on the table, which more than covered our
bill and the tip. It was rude, leaving like that, but I didn’t care, couldn’t focus.
Only his voice centered me. The person I loved most in the world was gone.
Darius would have flown with me to Bangkok, but he knew better. Knew
that was a trip I had to make alone. Still, he made sure to put me on his
private jet so I didn’t have to wait for mine. It felt like the greatest gift he’d
ever bestowed.
And now I could report back that Owen Moss was, in fact, not dead. The
emotion, though, the relief, felt just like grief. I couldn’t parse it from
sadness. It was hard to tell the difference. But the man standing in front of me
didn’t need to know what I was feeling. Better for him to think he was
looking at anguish.
Most people would have let the man know immediately: “No, thank God,
that’s not the person I love,” but I wasn’t most people. The fact of the matter
was, Owen’s wallet and phone were found on this man. Fingerprints were a
match, as was the DNA—at least, that’s what their report said. Someone had
gone to a lot of trouble to make me believe this was Owen. I might even have
bought the charade, but my eyes knew the difference. If I’d argued, facts
would have been thrown at me. Better to fake acceptance and find out who
this man on the slab truly was. More to the point, I wasn’t leaving him
behind. His family, whoever they were, needed closure as well. But now I
was left trusting no one.
Finally, I met the police surgeon’s gaze and repeated woodenly, “It’s
Owen.” I felt lost, unable to shake off the cold chill of the morgue as we
stood over a stranger’s lifeless corpse. Glancing around the room, at the
walls, at the body, I felt haunted. Other ghosts, other times. “Where was he
found?” I didn’t try and conceal the tears in my eyes. My gaze returned to the
deep Y-shaped incision on the man’s trunk, to his swollen, lifeless eyes.
“Water bus found him floating in the Saen Saep canal. Death by
drowning. Appears accidental.” The Khlong Saen Saep was one of the city’s
heaviest water arteries, running some eighteen kilometers through central
Bangkok.
 “How long was the body in the water?” I asked, wanting to hear his
answer. The body—not Owen’s body, not his body—was in terrible shape, so
my guess was a week at least.
“Three days by my estimate.”
The condition of the body was shocking. It was badly mutilated from
being struck repeatedly by canal traffic, and decomposed to the point of being
unrecognizable. The days Saen Saep canal was clean enough to wash clothes,
bathe, or swim in were long gone, as Bangkok’s canals were so heavily
polluted, they were considered environmentally toxic.
“May I see his dossier?”
The surgeon looked surprised by my request. I was betting most people
didn’t ask to peruse the chart. He turned away from me, toward the third man
in the room, who had remained suspiciously quiet the entire time, not even
breaking his silence to introduce himself. Easy to figure out I was looking at
the surgeon’s boss. He was official-looking, the dark suit and polished shoes
out of place in the morgue. He’d stood mostly hidden in the shadows of the
surgical lamps’ bright halo of white light.
I watched as the shadow man gestured to the surgeon to hand the file
over. Crossing to his desk, he retrieved the file and handed it to me gently,
reverently, and I appreciated the care. A slight wince told me he sympathized
with my pain. Perhaps he too had lost a loved one.
As I reviewed the notes, I studied everything, especially the Polaroids
taken prior to the autopsy. I scrutinized an extreme close-up of the face,
needing that extra bit of evidence to be certain. I wanted to be right, hoped I
was, but the beyond-a-shadow-of-a-doubt part soothed my soul. This was not
my friends’ son, and I knew it down deep.
Checking the toxicology report, I flipped forward and then back,
surprised by what was missing. “Are you still waiting for tests to come
back?”
“We—”
“This is only a rudimentary toxicological work-up,” I stated, knowing I
was right, certain he was aware of that as well. “Where’s the rest of it?”
“Everything is as it should be, Colonel Colter,” the shadow man finally
spoke.
“Mr. Colter will suffice. I’m retired now.”
“My apologies. I’d heard the contrary,” the man said, feigning a chilly
warmth as he stepped from the shadows and into the light. “I am Jùnjié Sun,
liaison to the Ministry of Interior,” he said crisply.
As I shook his hand, I noted that it was a firm handclasp full of strength
and confidence. He was Thai and looked to be in his thirties, and there was
experience and intelligence in his eyes.
“I understand how grief can cloud perspective, but we have fully
cooperated, have we not, Mr. Colter?”
“Yes, I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”
“No, I understand. You are a man of meticulous detail. But we fished the
body from the canal, so there was no reason to run a comprehensive panel.”
I stared at the corpse, trying to figure out what it was that had alerted me
to the wrongness of this man being Owen from the moment I saw him. A
body in the water for three days made it difficult to be certain who you were
looking at. And yet, at first glance, I knew. But how could I? If the tables
were turned, could Owen have figured out it wasn’t me? I had to wonder.
“Hard as it may be to accept, sir, Mr. Moss’s companion has given sworn
testimony that Mr. Moss was intoxicated when he fell into the canal. He was
struck by a passing express boat before his companion could offer him aid. A
search was made to no avail. It was three days before the body resurfaced.”
“May I have a moment with him?”
“Yes. Of course.” Sun nodded to the surgeon to give me some space.
Steeling myself, I leaned over the corpse as if it were nothing. I’d seen
worse, made worse, and so I put my bare hands on the gray, bloated flesh.
The smell of decay, like a putrid wet tree bark, singed my nostrils. Whoever
this was, I would find out and make sure he got back to his people. I needed
to get him home.
“How long until I can claim the body?” It was the right way to handle it,
though that didn’t make the decision any easier. By taking the body, I was
closing their investigation. I would get no help from them going forward. The
thing was, this man could not be left behind.
“May I assume you’ve made the necessary arrangements on your end?”
I answered with a simple nod.
“For us, it is only a matter of signing a few forms and you can be off.
Would you join me for a drink while the doctor sees to preparing the body for
transport? I’ve taken an office here until the resolution of this matter.”
“Certainly.”
Sun led me toward an office at the opposite end of the hallway. Once
inside, I took the nearest chair and made myself as comfortable as possible.
Sun poured us both three fingers of bourbon. As usual, I sniffed the drink
before putting the glass to my lips. I found the aroma unpleasant, but I didn’t
want to appear unappreciative.
Sun sat behind the broad desk and smiled politely. “You’ve had quite the
illustrious career, Colonel.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard it referred to that way, Mr. Sun.” Why was
he spending time talking to me?
“I too served my country for a time. Not with such distinction as yours.
Perhaps our paths crossed and we didn’t even know it.”
“You’d have known it,” I said flatly. “But unless you’ve been somewhere
besides Asia, it’s doubtful.”
“Not even once?”
“I’ve visited, but never served in this part of the world.”
I wouldn’t have copped to it even if it were true. My special operations
work was always sensitive in nature and not a thing for idle chitchat.
“Yes, well, perhaps not. Your country has fixed its sights on the Middle
East. Her war heroes forged in the desert. You see little else.”
“9/11 didn’t really lend itself toward that luxury, Mr. Sun. Is there
anything else?”
“I merely require your signature on the documents before you.” He’d had
it all prepared in advance. Not suspicious at all.
Skimming the papers, I signed them quickly before downing the stiff
bourbon, ignoring its cheapness that burned the back of my throat. One more
thing wrong with the entire situation here at the morgue.
Sun offered his hand as I rose to leave, and I said, “Just one more thing—
did you retrieve a laptop?”
Sun checked his paperwork. “No laptop was found on his person or in his
suite.”
“What about in the hotel safe?”
“We had it opened. It contained his passport and traveling papers only.
This is of concern?”
“No,” I assured him, though it was.
Owen’s computer was a personal build. He never left it unsecured,
despite its heavy encryption. Aaron Sutter had put Owen and Maggie up at
the Four Seasons, and their security was impeccable. If it was missing,
somebody took it.
“You said there was a companion who talked to you about Owen. Do you
have their name?”
“The police took the report but neglected to get a name.”
“Did you speak to Maggie Tomlin at all? Owen’s roommate?”
“Ms. Tomlin had flown home to Chicago for her sister’s wedding. She
has not yet returned, and Mr. Sutter’s liaison was unsure if she would.”
As I’d already spoken to Maggie—who was utterly broken by Owen’s
reported passing—I just wanted to make certain the stories were the same.
She was, of course, blaming herself. If she’d never left… As if Owen would
not have become entangled in whatever this was if she hadn’t gone home.
This wasn’t her fault, and neither was it Owen’s. Something else was going
on, and that was clear from how much work had gone into trying to get this
body to look like Owen.
“Perhaps we will meet again, Colonel?” Sun said, returning me to the
present.
“My organization’s philanthropic work doesn’t usually bring me this far
east.”
“Perhaps it should. The Tai Po Waterfront in spring is a truly breathtaking
sight.”
I nodded affably.
When he gripped my hand, Sun offered in a low voice, “May Buddha
grant him a generous share of eternity.” His smile blew away like sand.
Outside, I was instantly enveloped in the heat and humidity of Bangkok
in September before the sky opened up and it was raining again. It had
stormed earlier, making it like a sauna when I reached the morgue, with the
high being in the upper eighties. Now it was back to pouring. I was soaked in
seconds, my shirt sticking to my back and chest.
I just wanted to take the body and go. I had so much to work through, and
I needed to get started.
The body was loaded into an enormous black SUV, and within an hour, I
was being waved through security at the airport, and the driver pulled right
onto the ramp of the commercial terminal where my Gulfstream G650ER sat,
engine idling. My plane had arrived while I was claiming the body, and it
was a relief, even if only a momentary one, to see something familiar amid
the craziness of the last forty-eight hours. Even better to see Arden Stewart,
my pilot, coming down the boarding steps with a golf umbrella. She was
there, on the tarmac, waiting as we drove up, looking as crisp and polished as
ever even in the sweltering heat and drowning rain.
 She moved quickly to reach me, and I waited until she got to the car. The
second I got out of the passenger side, she covered me with the umbrella and
walked with me around the front of the car. I knew she was dying to ask me
questions, but she was silent as my eyes met her long-lashed onyx ones. She
knew better than to ask me anything in front of the driver and the others
who’d accompanied me. They were strangers, and she never made queries in
front of people she didn’t know.
I tipped my head at her, and she nodded, nothing betraying the emotion I
knew she had to be feeling. She’d been with me for over ten years, had flown
Owen and me around the world and back, and had been with me in a number
of dicey situations, flying things that, from a physics standpoint, should not
have been able to take flight. To say she was a gifted pilot was putting it
mildly. Plus, she was an excellent shot.
The Thai officials loaded the remains onto the plane, and when they were
done, I signed a custodial release and boarded. Moments later, the airplane
rolled onto the runway and accelerated, lifting off. Shortly after, Jing Khoo,
one of my assistants, came from the back of the plane, looking like absolute
hell.
“It’s not him,” I assured her.
She had to grab for the seat closest to her.
I put my head back, taking great gulps of air, finally feeling, even for a
moment, like I could breathe.
“What the fuck is going on?” Even when swearing, she sounded posh,
years of boarding school, then Oxford, making it impossible for her not to
sound like she should have been narrating nature documentaries.
“I have no idea,” I told her, noting that even the messy bun, the clothes
that looked like she’d slept in them, and the Converse sneakers did not
diminish her incandescent beauty. Everyone noticed her looks, and she hated
that people didn’t take her seriously because of it. Except me. I always
looked at the inside.
“I’m drinking,” she told me. “May I assume you are too?”
I nodded.
“Bourbon?”
Another nod.
“I’ll make it a double.”
“Better bring the bottle,” I told her.
She studied my face. “Why aren’t you relieved?”
 “I am. You know I am. But he’s still missing.”
“We’ll find him,” she promised, grasping my shoulder.
“I hate this,” I muttered.
Leaving me for a moment, she was back quickly and set a double
bourbon on the table beside me, along with the bottle of Pappy Van Winkle
23. I drained the glass hungrily and filled it twice more before I finally felt
like I was back in my own skin and wasn’t dreaming.
“Thank you for coming,” I told her. She’d been putting in more hours
lately, as Hasana couldn’t travel in the third trimester.
“Don’t thank me.” She took the seat beside me, her dark-mahogany eyes
absorbing my face. “It’s Owen. Of course I’m here.”
When we reached cruising altitude, Arden put the plane on autopilot and
joined me and Jing in the forward cabin.
“Who the hell is in the coffin in the cargo bay?” Arden took a seat across
from me. “Because as soon as I saw you, I knew it wasn’t Owen.”
I nodded. “I was so scared, and then I saw the man on the table. Even
being in the water for three days, it was clear to me right away that was a
stranger.” I exhaled loudly.
She stared at me, not saying a word.
“Or I could be wrong.”
“No,” Arden assured me. “I believe in your gut, and whatever you
thought first is right. It’s not him. Let’s go with that.”
“Okay,” I agreed because it was the only way I was holding it together.
The three of us sat quietly for long moments.
“So I filed the false flight plan as you directed,” Arden said into the
silence. “But do you mind telling me where we’re really headed so I can
actually get us there?”
“Nepal.”
“I’ll make sure we are authorized to land at Tribhuvan International. You
look like hell, by the way, boss.” Since she’d seen me in better shape, and
worse, she was allowed to make that judgment.
“You know,” Jing chimed in gently, “the flight is about three and a half
hours. Maybe you should try and get some sleep.”
I barked a harsh laugh. “I’ll try.”
“Good,” Arden said, then glanced at Jing. “You should try and sleep too.”
Jing nodded, and Arden returned to the flight deck. Moments later, Jing
moved to the opposite side of the plane to stretch out. She knew I couldn’t
talk, couldn’t break down what was running through my head, so she left me
alone to run through, again, the jumbled events clutching at my brain. I fished
out my mobile and dialed one of the five numbers I had in Favorites. I
appreciated Darius answering on the second ring.
“Well?” he asked without preamble.
“They tell me it’s him.”
“But clearly, from that opening, you don’t.”
“I don’t,” I rasped. “But I could be wrong.”
“What do you need?”
I took a breath. “I just left Bangkok, and I need a medical examiner in
Kathmandu who can tell me who the dead man on this plane really is.”
“On it,” he offered simply and disconnected.
Thirty minutes later, I was relieved when my phone buzzed and I had
Darius’s face on my screen. “Hey,” I greeted him.
“I’ve made all the arrangements,” he said crisply. “And Lee Tae San, my
second, will meet you there.”
I was quiet a moment.
“Fuck, why did I tell you he was my second? You know that.”
I did. “We’re both being weird because this situation is one that neither of
us could ever have foreseen.”
“Yes,” he agreed softly, his voice smooth and low.
“Thank you.”
“If it’s…” He didn’t have to finish. We both knew where he was going
with that. “If it is him, call me immediately so I can get there.”
There was no arguing with him, and why would I want to? I would be
more broken than I was now, wondering, running it over and over in my
mind that I had, in the end, failed both the parents and the son.
“Keeping in mind, of course,” Darius said, and I could hear the irritation
in his voice, which was a welcome change from pain, “that Lee will be there,
and unfortunately, he’s just as you remember.”
“So kind of an ass, then,” I replied with a relieved sigh, glad for the
distraction. And it was good that some things didn’t change. Before Lee was
in Darius’s employ, he was possibly the most lethal contract killer in the
world, so it made sense that along with that title came a fair amount of
cockiness. Lee had swagger and pride to spare.
“Whatever you need after you get your answers…call me.”
I heard the regret in his voice clear as day. “This isn’t on you,” I assured
him.
He took a quavering breath. “I kept you in Paris longer than I should
have.”
“An evening? You’re blaming yourself for a few extra hours?” I scoffed
and felt that in my soul. “All of this—whatever this is—was done days ago.
You and I having dinner is the last good memory I have.”
“Don’t say that. You don’t think that’s Owen in the cargo hold, and I
don’t either. I truly don’t. It seems too strange an end.”
And that, I agreed with.
“But please, do call.”
“You’re going to be the first one I make,” I promised him and hung up.
Alone with my thoughts again, my mind drifted back to the conversation
I’d had with Aaron Sutter that had led to the last forty-eight hours without
sleep.
THREE
 A FEW DAYS EARLIER, PARIS

U nlike Torus Intercession’s warm offices in Oak Park, Chicago, the

work space for the Paris branch was quite different, purposely so,
taking up the entire top floor of a 404-foot, twenty-six-story
skyscraper. I loved the twenty-eight-foot ceilings and the raw concrete and
glass and steel that to others appeared Spartan. I liked the feel of the place. It
felt serious, and that was what needed to be projected. The building was in
the La Défense area outside Paris, which I’d picked so that my business
would blend in. Just another company among thousands.
I was on the phone with my friend Mikhail Aronov, who was thanking
me for helping with his asset exchange earlier in the week. His cover as a
Russian attaché had been in jeopardy, and I’d made certain it wouldn’t be
blown. And yes, it was ridiculous. Everybody who mattered knew he was in
intelligence, but keeping up the charade was important to his bosses back in
Russia. If the pretense was working and it looked good on paper, that was the
story they were peddling. I was glad I’d been able to give him an assist, as I
could always count on him to come through for me. Back in the day, he’d
gotten a number of my people out of life-and-death situations and had put
himself in the line of fire. I would always be there for him if at all possible.
And this time, we hadn’t even been forced to lie. He’d gotten the green light
from the CIA to ask for my help, and since the Foreign Intelligence Service
of the Russian Federation knew me, they’d given the go-ahead as well.
“Thank you again, my friend. And Talia thanks you as well and wants to
cook for you the next time you are in DC.”
“I’ll take her up on that,” I promised. “Give my best to your family,
including your mother-in-law.”
His noise of disgust made me smile. “Fine,” he said like he was pained.
“Take care, my friend, da skorava.”
Once I hung up, I was sitting there, staring out the double stack of
windows that framed a fantastic view of the skyline when Hasana Shepherd,
one of my two assistants, buzzed me.
I got up and walked to my office door, opened it, and looked out at her.
“Yes?”
Her sigh was long. “Why didn’t you answer me on the intercom?”
I grinned at her. “Because I wanted to see your beautiful face.”
She absently rubbed her extended belly, seven months pregnant with her
second child. “No. No you did not. You got up because you don’t know how
to use the new phone system.”
“Lies,” I assured her. “My watch told me I needed to stand up, so I’m
standing up.”
Her expression made it clear she wasn’t fooled for an instant. “This is
because Owen’s not here to make you a cheat sheet.”
“I—what?”
“You don’t like to learn new technology because, and I quote, ‘it’s just
gonna change in six months, so why should I get used to it,’” she finished,
doing a horrible impression of my voice.
“That doesn’t even sound like me,” I informed her.
“Uh-huh. My impersonation skills should not be your takeaway.”
I scowled at her.
“You don’t like to learn new technology.”
“That’s a gross oversimplification of the facts.”
“God, I miss Owen,” she whined.
I did too, and his radio silence was eating away at me, a constant worry at
the back of my brain. It wasn’t doing anything for my heart either. I missed
his smile, his laugh, the way his brows scrunched up when he was looking at
me like I was driving him nuts, and really, simply the sound of his voice. I
was so much better, nicer, calmer when he was around.
“What do you want?” I snapped at her.
“Aaron Sutter’s on the line. So I’m going to do you a favor and forward it
to your cell so I don’t have you fumbling around with the phone on your desk
while he tries to talk to you!”
“I could fire you,” I said flatly.
 “And how would you train someone new to use the phone system?”
When she finished, her voice rising, she accentuated each word with a tip
of her head that, because it was shaved, somehow made her irritation more
noticeable. The fact that she was right about the phones didn’t help anything.
“Fine,” I grumbled, turning and walking back into my office, grabbing
my cell off my desk when it rang. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” I tried
not to growl.
“Can we meet?” Sutter asked quickly, not exchanging pleasantries.
“Business related?”
“Very much so.”
Sutter, the CEO of Sutter Limited, was a billionaire real-estate mogul
who put up resorts and high-end hotels and office buildings all over the
world. But most importantly, at the moment he was Owen’s boss.
“I’m in Paris,” I informed him, “so we can just talk and—”
“I’m here as well, so I’ll come to you.”
“I’m at my office. I’ll text you the address. But so you know, I keep a low
profile here. Use my private entrance and come without your usual entourage,
please.”
“Understood.” The man sounded grave. That meant there was a problem.
“I’ll be there shortly.”
After I disconnected, I texted Sutter the address before calling down to
my security personnel to expect company. I hated wondering what the hell
was going on, which was why, when I was in the position of relating
something not everyone could know, I always gave a hint of what was going
on so they wouldn’t have to sit and worry until I reached them and we could
talk openly. What was more alarming than annoying in this instance was
Sutter’s urgency. It wasn’t like him to not just tell me whatever it was, and
that would have made me anxious if he wasn’t coming to see me right now.
Walking back to my door, I opened it and leaned out. “Sana,” I said
softly, shortening her name, which I seldom did. “Aaron Sutter’s on his way
here. When he arrives, will you send him in?”
Her amber eyes settled on my face, all the teasing and banter from earlier
gone. “Of course, boss. And I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.”
“Thank you.”
I went back into my office, realizing after only moments that I was
pacing. My phone rang, the call from Darius a welcome distraction.
“Dinner?” he greeted me.
 “Yeah, absolutely. Just text me where and when.”
Beats of time went by.
“What’s wrong?” Darius asked.
“I don’t know, but Aaron Sutter just called me out of the blue, and he’s
being weird, so…something’s up.”
“And you think it’s Owen?”
“Maybe. What else could it be? We’re not enemies, but we’re certainly
not friends, and since I know he’s not inviting me to dinner, I have concerns.”
“Well, give me a call after whatever it is.”
“Will do,” I said, appreciating his friendship, as always.
I had just enough time to put down my phone before the door to my office
opened and Aaron walked in, followed closely by his shadow, his bodyguard,
Miguel Romero.
“Boss,” Hasana said softly, leaning in. “I already checked with Mr. Sutter
and Mr. Romero, and they don’t want anything. Do you need coffee?”
I shook my head. “I’m good, thanks.”
She gave me a slight smile and closed the door.
“Aaron,” I greeted him, holding out my hand.
He clasped my hand tight, his grip firm, his skin warm and dry, meeting
my gaze and holding it for a moment before he let go so Miguel could take
my hand as well. Most people didn’t get a greeting from Aaron’s longtime
bodyguard, but Miguel had been in Army Intelligence the same time I was,
and our paths had crossed often. Once he gave me a pat on the arm and I saw
how grim he looked, I gestured to the chairs around a coffee table, and they
both sat down.
“I know Hasana asked already, but may I offer either of you a drink? I
have some very good bourbon.”
“No, thank you. We can’t stay long,” Aaron said.
“You know, with the look you’re giving me, if we were business partners,
I’d be worried about my investment. Since we aren’t, I’m thinking you’re the
bearer of bad news.”
He pushed forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, eyes on mine.
“Owen didn’t check in again yesterday, which makes that two days in a row
now, and his bodyguard has also been unreachable.”
I calmed down. Unreachable was okay because it didn’t mean missing.
Technically, for me, Owen had been “unreachable” far longer.
“Well, he and I have been fighting, so I certainly haven’t heard from him,
but it’s strange that you haven’t. He’s not the kind of guy to go radio silent in
the middle of a job.”
“I know. He’s one of the best. That’s why I hired him.”
“So there’s more, then.”
Miguel cleared his throat, and I turned to him, his tanned face and the
deep lines there speaking to a life well-lived. Handsome man with chiseled
features. I noted then that his hair was going white, not gray. There was a
dusting at his temples and in his eyebrows, beard, and mustache. I was aging
myself, silver and white being my new color palette, my black hair
completely gone to the ravages of time. There was no salt-and-pepper thing
happening with me.
Miguel said, “I sent a member of my security team to his hotel when he
didn’t show up for work again and his bodyguard failed to report in. I didn’t
want to overreact. Thailand’s generally a safe country. Owen’s a young guy,
handsome, funny, so I’m sure he’s made friends at work and when he goes
out. He’s come in late a few times after a long night out. But as things stand,
even though he hasn’t checked in, we’re not ready to call in the dogs to run
him down.”
It made sense. Out partying was not a reason to worry. And yet, they
seemed to be doing exactly that.
“We’ve pinged his phone and have only been able to triangulate an
approximate position. It’s showing up in a location in Soi Cowboy.”
Bangkok’s most prominent red-light districts—Soi Cowboy, Nana Plaza,
Patpong, and Soi Twilight—were all adjacent to one another in the center of
the city. It was a rough area, yes, but Owen wasn’t some defenseless lamb.
Owen was trained in taekwondo and other disciplines, he could grapple with
the best of them, and he carried a gun he knew how to use. Yes, he was a tech
guy, but he was more hard-core than most of his friends; not to mention, he
was a smart traveler, had excellent situational awareness, and simply would
not put himself in a precarious position, no matter how pretty the other guy
was.
“Is the bodyguard one of yours or hired local talent?”
“One of ours,” Miguel answered. “He’s got five years with us, complete
pro. Former SEAL, FBI terrorism unit. He wouldn’t go dark. Not willingly.”
“So if they’ve run afoul of something, it’s likely they’re together.”
“I think that’s reasonable, yes,” Miguel replied, no-nonsense. He didn’t
talk around things. He was Army, like me, and we didn’t do that with each
other.
“Who have you called?”
“Our person at the consulate first, then the embassy, but it’s only been
about forty-eight hours, and unless we have reasonable belief that a crime has
occurred, which we don’t, there’s nothing they can or will do.”
Of course not.
I turned to Aaron. “Tell me about the Bangkok project.”
“It’s by the book, completely boring stuff. Nothing remotely interesting.
Owen and Maggie and their team assessed the network infrastructure before
the acquisition, and now he’s supposed to be implementing what we have on
paper.”
“Have there been any problems? Has anyone taken a too-close interest?”
“We’ve had two attempted break-ins. There has been some vandalism,
but it’s par for the course in Bangkok, or anywhere for that matter. Apart
from that, everything’s been normal.”
I glanced at Miguel, not because I didn’t trust Aaron Sutter, but because
he might not want to share with me any horrors he knew about. But Miguel
gave me a slight nod, which validated what his boss had said. Whatever the
issue, it had nothing to do with the project.
The problem was, Owen wasn’t talking to me, and now the bodyguard
was MIA as well. Those two things combined were concerning.
“I have a person at State who can help with the apathy at the consulate,” I
told Aaron. “And I would like to see your threat assessment and everything
you have on your business partners on this project. I’d like to be particularly
sure that none of your people have any organized-crime connections.”
Aaron squinted at me, his eyes narrowing to a line of bright blue. “There
was no assessment, Jared. Owen and his team are there to get the
infrastructure up and running. It’s a month of work, tops, and then they’re
going home. That’s it. In and out.”
There was silence while I digested the implications.
“Don’t do that,” Miguel told Aaron, who shrugged and leaned back in his
chair. Miguel glanced at me. “He’s giving you the usual company line
because he’s the CEO and he should, all right?”
I nodded.
“Before you go ballistic, because I would too if I were you, all reasonable
threats were vetted because that’s what we do. We check and double-check
because erring on the side of caution is always the best course of action.”
 Of course he’d checked. This was Miguel Romero, not some pencil
pusher just checking off paperwork.
“A threat assessment is always survival 101, so we ran through the
scenarios and vetted everyone on the project.”
I nodded. “Yeah, when I talked to Maggie Tomlin before she and Owen
left, she said that—wait, have you spoken to her?”
“You know I have,” Miguel assured me. “She hasn’t heard from him
either, and she’s been blowing up my phone for updates.”
“Yeah,” I husked, “Maggie’s crazy about him.”
“We’re all crazy about him,” Miguel admitted. “He’s a great guy.”
I appreciated hearing that, but something in his tone bothered me. It was
as if he was placating me, saying nice things to keep me calm. As if I needed
to be managed. As if I, somehow, needed him to reassure me that everyone
liked Owen, and therefore, he certainly wasn’t in any real danger. “I know
he’s great,” I said, scowling at him. “What the hell?”
“Sorry,” Miguel muttered. “I don’t mean it like—listen, my people are
looking for him, but he’s only been gone a short time, so again, that’s why
we haven’t escalated anything. Honestly, we don’t even know what this is
yet.”
It was my turn to lean forward in my chair. “I know, but I do need to call
in the dogs. My dogs. And respectfully, I know you haven’t done it because
you don’t want to rock the boat with your investors.”
“That’s not—”
“You’re not being fair,” Aaron interrupted, and I saw the anger on his
face. “I—we—would never purposely sacrifice a member of our team for
optics. That’s not how we do business at Sutter.”
I took a deep breath. “You came to me for a reason.”
“No, we—”
“I mean,” I said, talking over him, “you came to me because there’s only
so much you can do.” I turned to Miguel. “You would have to assemble a
team and get them to Bangkok. Come on. You know you want me to take
care of this.”
He shook his head.
“Yes,” I insisted. “It takes care of your PR problem—as in, you don’t
even have one anymore—and you don’t have the manpower.”
“I assure you,” Miguel argued, his eyes flat, “I do have the manpower.”
“You’d have to hire people. Contractors. And then you’d have to get
them to Thailand. Don’t be ridiculous. Let me take this over for you, and
more importantly, for me.”
Both men were sitting there, staring at me.
“Owen is on my payroll,” Aaron pointed out. “We need to be the ones to
keep him safe. People need to understand that if you work for me, anywhere
in the world, we are responsible for your safety.”
I stood and walked to my desk. “I understand that, I do. But you can’t
seriously think I’m going to sit on my hands here and wait for an update.”
Miguel smiled. “No. That’s not what we expect.”
“Then?”
Miguel looked at Aaron. “If we entrust this to Jared, the company washes
its hands of the matter, and that’s what we need. And he’s right about the
contractors. I have feelers out, but beyond our own people, I’d have to
outsource. Our in-house security is for protection, not extraction, and we
certainly don’t have mercenaries on our payroll. That’s not what either of us,
me or you, wanted.”
Aaron thought a moment and nodded before he stood, Miguel following
suit, and faced me. “I’ll defer to your judgment, but please, Jared, if there’s
something you need—and we both know I’m talking about funds—please
don’t hesitate to contact me.”
“I won’t.”
“And you’ll keep us in the loop.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I will.”
Both men shook my hand, Aaron holding longer, squeezing my hand
tight.
“I know it’s hard to be in the dark about where the man you love is. I’ve
been where you are, and I promise you, I’m at your disposal.”
What?
I watched them walk out, off-balance for a moment with Aaron Sutter
looking over his shoulder at me before the door closed behind him.
The man I loved? What the hell?
Not my friend. Not my colleague. The man I loved.
What?
My brain was going to explode. How on earth had he come to that
conclusion? I certainly had never spoken to Aaron Sutter about my
relationship with Owen, so where was he getting that? Had Owen spoken to
him about me? About us? That made zero sense, and even if he had, Owen
loved me the same way I did him, as a friend. Loved? Where the fuck was
that coming from?
When my phone rang, I saw it was Darius.
“Well?” Darius asked. “What did Sutter want?”
“You have great timing. He just left.”
“Why do you sound pissed off?”
Because I was reeling from what Aaron Sutter had just dropped on me,
but saying that to Darius wouldn’t be helpful at the moment. There were far
more important matters to discuss.
“I’m fine, just worried.”
“About what? Tell me what he said.”
“Owen’s missing.”
“What do you mean missing? Define missing.”
“He and his bodyguard have gone radio silent.”
“A thirty-two-year-old man and his bodyguard have gone radio silent.
This is what you’re saying to me?”
“Yes,” I snapped at him. “Why don’t you sound—”
“Is the bodyguard a man?”
“Yes, he—”
“And what does the bodyguard look like?”
“The fuck does that matter?”
“You tell me.”
I had to think a second. And then, from a place of worry, I moved
immediately to irritation. “You’re saying what? That the kid is off
somewhere, fucking—”
“Not a kid,” he corrected me. “He’s not a kid. He hasn’t been a kid for a
long time.”
“No, I know, but—”
“Do you?”
This on top of Aaron’s odd words about the man I loved. “I do,” I said
tightly.
“Owen is a beautiful man with a smile that makes other men want to get
naked and—”
“Why are you being disgusting?”
“How is that disgusting?”
I couldn’t answer without revealing that there’d been flickers of things
over the past year. How I’d see Owen’s face, and the light would catch it a
certain way, and I’d suddenly find myself unable to breathe. I would be
transfixed by the play of muscles in his back, the line of his jaw, or the glint
in his eyes. I’d been having trouble separating the person I thought I knew
better than myself, from the surly one now haunting my house. The thing
was, I was attracted to the man who didn’t want anything to do with me,
which was my reasoning for allowing the gulf between us to widen. If it was
time for him to go and spread his wings, so be it. That was better than him
hating me. If he knew at all how I felt, my conflict and confusion, he’d be
horrified. Keeping it to myself was the only thing that was saving our
relationship. It was the reason why I’d been so pleased to have Shaw and
Benji take over the office in Chicago for me, the reason that suddenly Torus
International, instead of Torus Intercession, had my attention, because
sticking around to see Owen date was not on my list of things I wanted to do.
Being on another continent seemed like the best answer. But now I was
scared he’d actually picked someone and run away.
Half of me wanted to find him and kill anyone he was with. The other
half, the rational half, knew this had always been inevitable.
“Why are you being obtuse?” Darius broke into my thoughts.
Good question. If Owen was in love—and that was fast, yes, but still—
better to leave it alone. “The hell is that supposed to mean?” I grumbled at
my friend.
“You think of Owen as younger than he is, as the one you saved and then
had to step in and save again later on. But you’ve got to let that go and see
him as he really is. He’s a man, Jared, and—”
“I know he’s a—”
“I mean, a grown-ass man who could move to the other side of the planet
from you and do just great. If you saw him on the street, you’d think he was
gorgeous and follow him home if he asked.”
“What?” He was going to give me an aneurysm.
“He’s a man, Jared,” Darius repeated. “You have to stop thinking for him.
It’s not fair to either of you.”
“What are you saying?”
“Maybe give this another day before you jet off to Bangkok.”
“You think?” I asked miserably.
“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “Wait.”
“But what if he’s in trouble?”
“Is it really that strange for him to be off the grid? That seems like an
Owen thing, given the many times you’ve mentioned it to me.”
That was true.
“And,” Darius continued, “to play devil’s advocate for a second, if he was
hurt, wouldn’t you know? Intuitively. And I get how that sounds, but…
wouldn’t you?”
Any other time in my life when this kind of scenario had played out, I
had, in fact, known.
“Also, if he’s in trouble and this is a kidnap-and-ransom situation, I
suspect that you, or Aaron Sutter, would know something by now.”
There was that.
“Let’s have dinner someplace good, and you can go tomorrow if there’s
still no word.”
It seemed reasonable.
“One more day.”
Just one. What could it hurt?
FOUR
 PRESENT DAY, KATHMANDU

I couldn’t sleep. It was useless to think I could. I was awake when we

touched down at Tribhuvan International Airport and taxied up to an
unmarked Nepalese government hangar near the cargo terminals.
“Did you get any rest at all?” Arden asked, following me as I exited my
sleek aircraft and hurried down the mobile stairway.
“No,” I grumbled.
“Not surprising,” Jing commented from where she was walking in front
of me, not bothering to put a jacket over her black sweater and shoulder
harness. She was in protective mode, as there were only the three of us there.
We walked past two Nepalese ground crewmen, Jing glancing their way
and judging them no threat. I agreed with her silent assessment.
A man in a white suit and a gray turtleneck—unmistakably Lee—stepped
out from the shadows of the hangar, along with a woman dressed in a smart
beige trouser suit and a uniformed Nepalese liaison officer. I could see Lee’s
shoulder harness, but more importantly, his signature smirk. Jing stopped, as
she hadn’t met him before, but I put a hand on her arm.
“It’s okay,” I told her as Arden came around my left side, flanking me,
protecting me as well. “That’s Darius’s second, Lee Tae San.”
“That’s his second?” Jing asked like I was screwing with her. “That guy
is a fuckin’ K-pop singer. What can he do?”
I didn’t have time to go over his terrifying résumé. “I promise you, he
could kill all of us in seconds if he wanted.”
Arden snorted. “I could break that guy in half.”
“Let’s go,” I said tiredly, and when we reached him, I got a smile from
truly one of the most beautiful men I’d ever seen in my life. Up close, I heard
Arden catch her breath.
“Okay, then,” Jing murmured beside me.
It was strange. I should have been angry with both of them, and myself,
for noticing the stunning good looks of the man as we stood under the
shadow of Owen’s possible death. But maybe because of that, the brief
reprieve of being mesmerized for a few moments by the gorgeous man with
porcelain skin, jet-black hair, dark eyes, and perfectly sculpted features, was
allowed. The fact that he could pull off an all-white suit and not look
pretentious was impressive.
“Lee,” I greeted him.
He glanced at the two stunning women on either side of me, smiled, then
turned back to me. I was surprised when his lazy smile fell away, and instead
of the normal indolent, taunting visage, I got something between concern and
seriousness.
“Colonel,” he said, then turned to his companions.
“Namaste,” the officer greeted me, offering his hand. His shiny black hair
was slicked back, and his skin was the olive brown prevalent among the
mixtures of Indian and Chinese in the region. “Welcome to Kathmandu.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
“My name is Yadav, and it is my pleasure to assist you. The hangar space
is yours for a week. Mr. Lee has informed me of what is needed and has
tasked me with making sure the proper permits and paperwork are submitted
to immigration for the duration of your stay here.”
“I have all the documents you’ll need,” Arden chimed in, smiling at the
man. “Is there someplace we can go over them?”
“Yes,” Yadav said, gesturing deeper into the hangar, where I saw an
office. “Please.”
As they left, I looked to the woman in the suit, and she held out her hand
to me. “Dr. Annika Lens.”
I took her hand in both of mine. “Jared Colter. Thank you for accepting
my invitation on such short notice, Doctor.”
“It felt more like a summons from Mr. Hawthorne,” she said with a gentle
smile. I noted the honey-blonde hair in a messy bun that I suspected had been
pristine when she’d left home, wherever that was. “But as he’s both generous
and protective of my time, I know this is an emergency. I’m a bit jet-lagged
from the overnight flight from Brussels, but otherwise none the worse for
wear. You can count on my best.”
“Good.”
Dr. Lens wore no makeup, her nails were short and uncolored, and the
only jewelry she wore was a plain gold wedding band and gold studs. The no-
nonsense demeanor was grounding, and I immediately warmed to her. I
would have my answers. She was, I was certain, one of the best forensic
investigators in the business; otherwise Darius wouldn’t have sent her.
“Come,” she said with a tip of her head. “I’ve created a makeshift lab in
the back of the hangar. Mr. Lee provided me a DNA sample of Mr. Moss.”
I glanced at Lee, who shrugged.
“How?”
“It’s us,” he said, like I should know better. “Darius said Owen’s DNA
was needed, so we got it here. You think you’re the only one who can get
things done?”
I did. Often. And that wasn’t fair. There were a lot of people out there just
as capable and competent as I was. My hubris got in the way sometimes, as
well as my ego. I got into the habit of thinking that if I wanted something
done right, I had to do it myself. But that wasn’t the case, and my friends, all
of them, though with many different skill sets, were more than ready, willing,
and able to help me.
What I appreciated even more, in that moment, was that Dr. Lens didn’t
say “the subject in question” or some such, as a doctor who didn’t know me
or Owen might have. She’d said Mr. Moss, and that must’ve been Lee’s
doing.
“Are you done staring at me?” Lee asked. “Shall we accompany Dr.
Lens?”
“Yes, I—” I couldn’t stop looking at him. I’d never known him to be
thoughtful.
“He’s not some nameless person,” Lee began slowly. “If this is Owen,
I’m here to assist you with whatever’s next. If it’s not, and this is some sort
of ruse, then this man, whoever he is, needs to go home as well, does he
not?”
I nodded.
He turned from regarding me and gave his attention to the doctor. I did as
well.
“It was a good reminder when Mr. Lee corrected me earlier,” she
explained. “I don’t interact with the living much, and I tend to forget at times
that these are people, loved ones, and not merely bodies to be inspected.”
I took a breath. Between her professionalism and Lee’s surprising
humanity, I found myself calming. Her direct manner was to be expected.
And though Lee had apparently corrected her earlier, Darius wasn’t paying
the woman for her empathy, but for her expertise.
Following the doctor and Lee to the rear of the building, we passed
through a set of double steel doors with small windows in the centers. Out of
habit, I looked through them before entering and saw a large laboratory built
into the hangar bay, dominated by machines and computers. All the shiny,
sterile steel brought to mind every morgue I’d ever been in. Going in, Dr.
Lens had all of us—me, Lee, Jing, and Arden, who had rejoined us—stand
off to the side while the ground crew placed the body bag on one of the steel
tables. Needing a moment, I turned away.
Dr. Lens glanced at me sideways. “How much sleep have you had in the
last two days?”
“Three hours, give or take.”
“That’s inhuman, even by my work standards,” she scolded me gently. “I
have everything I need here to get started. Let’s get you to your hotel where
you can get some proper rest.”
“Really, I’m fine,” I assured her, trying to smile but unable to. I was
exhausted, and there was no hiding that.
Dr. Lens put up her hand. “Really, Colonel, there’s nothing you can do
here. And I don’t need you hovering.”
I wanted to argue but took a deep breath instead.
“It’s okay, boss,” Arden soothed me, her eyes filled with worry, reaching
out to take hold of my hand. “I’ll be here with the doctor, and I’ll call the
moment we know anything.”
I glanced at Dr. Lens.
“Again, Colonel, let me do my job. I record all my autopsies, so you will
have that as well as”—she looked to Arden—“an immediate phone call.”
Arden smiled at her, nodding.
Dr. Lens sighed, clearly at ease with my pilot. It wasn’t a surprise.
Everyone always warmed to Arden.
“Okay,” I agreed, too weary to argue. They were both right. I had little to
offer the forensic process beyond my impatience. I was jet-lagged as well,
and my body wasn’t adjusting to the time change with so little sleep. “Thank
you.”
 I turned to Lee. “Do you know what hotel I’m staying at?”
“Of course. Do you want me here, or with you at the hotel?”
“You can go home, Lee. I don’t—”
He stopped me with a lifted hand. “It’s a simple question. Here, watching
over the autopsy, or with you at the hotel?”
What did I want? “Here,” I said, my voice cracking. I felt fractured,
terrified to know the truth and needing to know at the same time. “Jing will
go with me to the hotel.”
He glanced at Jing. “Are you good?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “More than capable,” she assured him, her
tone icy. She was not a fan of people second-guessing her ability just because
she was beautiful and wore four-inch heels.
“Then I’ll stay,” Lee said. “There’s a car outside waiting for you.”
“Okay,” I husked, then looked at Arden. “You’ll call.”
“You know I will.”
With a nod, I turned and left.
“Hasana packed you a small bag,” Jing informed me. “Arden picked that
up from her before she flew to Bangkok to get us. I had that put in the car
already.”
“What about you and Arden?”
“Yeah, I’ve got our stuff too. Don’t worry about it.”
“How did you know the car was for me?”
She huffed out a breath. “If you weren’t so tired, you wouldn’t be asking
these inept questions. You’re dead on your feet, so let’s go.”
To the right, I saw a black Mercedes S550 idling, and the driver got out to
greet me. He was young, dressed in a black suit and tie with a white dress
shirt underneath.
I thanked him for being there, and he gave me a smile and a nod. In the
car, with Jing beside me, I called Hasana.
“Thank you for the clothes.”
“There’s a shaving kit as well, so do clean up once you get some sleep.”
“I will.”
“Let me talk to Jing.”
“Go ahead,” I said, putting her on speaker.
“How—”
“Wait,” Jing snapped, hitting a button to raise the partition between us
and the driver. “Go ahead.”
 “Oh dear God,” Hasana groaned. “Boss, since when do we chat in front
of people we don’t know?”
“He’s fuckin’ exhausted,” Jing told her. “You should see him. He looks
like how he did when you were delivering Benny.”
Her first child had been an emergency C-section, and neither she nor her
son were expected to live with whatever complication there had been. It had
been touch and go for what had felt like days.
“No shit?”
“No shit,” Jing repeated. “He asked me a moment ago how I knew this
was our car.”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” I growled at them.
“Fine,” Hasana agreed. “Instead of asking Jing, I’ll ask you how you are.”
“It changes minute by minute,” I confessed. “Where did you put us up?”
“The Dwarika. I secured you the best suite available given the notice.”
“I’m sure it’s fine. Thank you for being on top of this.”
“Always,” she whispered, and I knew she didn’t want to cry in front of
me. We were all worried. We were a family, and Owen was an integral part.
If he was gone, it wasn’t just my loss. It would affect them all. “Now please
get some rest so Jing doesn’t have to knock you out. I packed her a blow-dart
gun, so don’t test her.”
I turned to Jing, who raised an eyebrow and held out her hand for my
phone. I passed it to her, and she took it off speaker and spoke at length to
Hasana. I got lost in listening to her; she had a soothing, mellifluous voice.
She could have made a mint narrating books for a living, and I told her that
often.
I nodded off, safe in the car with Jing, the sound of the tires on the road
and the lulling speed too soothing to not succumb. Jing woke me an hour
later as we pulled up in front of the Dwarika. The eighty-room hotel, a
meticulous melding of the valley’s indigenous Newari architecture and
contemporary luxury, was an oasis in the bustle of Kathmandu. I was a bit
bleary, watching Jing give the driver a tip and her card—apparently, she
wanted him to come back for us later. Inside, she went to the front desk and
checked us in. The concierge was helpful, asking Jing about luggage. But I
had my bag and Arden’s, Jing carrying her own.
“Everything has been taken care of,” the concierge told Jing kindly. “I’ll
have someone show you to your suite.”
The bellhop, a man in his thirties, led us to a private elevator that took us
to the top floor. He used a card key and ushered us into an enormous living
room with a large terrace overlooking the tree-lined courtyard below. The
view hardly mattered, but it was lovely nonetheless.
“Thank you so much,” Jing said, taking the card key from him and
handing back a hundred-dollar bill. “We appreciate your accommodating us
with this lovely suite last-minute.”
The man departed quickly with a big smile for Jing.
Once the door closed behind him, she rounded on me and pointed at the
doors to my right, but I said, “You should look and see which room you and
Arden want.”
“That’s the smaller one, and it’s yours,” she informed me, her tone
brooking no protest. “Arden and I are sharing the one with two queens. Now
go take a shower and go to bed.”
I nodded.
“I’m poking my head in there in fifteen minutes,” she warned me. “If
you’re not asleep, I’m getting out that dart gun, and don’t think I don’t have
one.”
“Okay,” I said with a smile, leaving Arden’s bag on the couch and
shuffling toward the doors.
The room was probably nice, but I didn’t notice. I went to the bathroom,
and after a quick hot shower, I dried myself off, went into the bedroom, had
enough presence of mind to pull on sleep shorts, and fell down on the bed. I
was out in seconds.

B Y THE TIME I was nudged awake, it was dark. Lifting my head, realizing I
was covered by the comforter, I was amazed it had been done without me
waking. When the light was flipped on, I was surprised to find an old friend
smiling down at me.
“Dante,” I said, my voice gruff with sleep.
His smile lit his dark cobalt-blue eyes, infusing them with warmth. We
had worked together for years, him exclusively for the CIA while I was with
Army Intelligence. His handler had made a mess of his life early on,
separating him from the man he loved in the name of the greater good, but
Dante had sorted it himself in the end. I’d been so happy for him. He lived in
Maine now and ran a B and B, of all things. He also, now and then, was
called on if something escalated to a level that required his specific skill set. I
was terrified for a moment, seeing him, because perhaps it was Owen, and
Dante was here to help me avenge him.
“No,” he said simply, taking a seat on the chair he’d placed beside my
bed. He could have been there for hours for all I knew. “Don’t get your big
brain running. I’m here because Darius was called to Ankara and couldn’t
be.”
I sat up, squinting at him. “I don’t need”—I gestured at him—“your level
of backup. I have my own people, and Lee is here.”
He shook his head. “Lee had to go to Ankara too, hence my presence.”
I jolted. “Who’s watching over the doctor and Arden if—”
“Do you know Garland Murray?”
“Of course I know Garland. You trained him at the agency. He was your
guy.”
“That’s right. And I brought him with me. He’s keeping an eye on them.”
I exhaled sharply. “You could have started with that.”
Dante shrugged. “Anyway, you should change and do something with
your hair,” he said, looking pained. “Because having it all stand up like that
does not inspire fear.”
God. Dante Cerreto was back giving me crap about my hair. My clothes
would be next. The thing was, he’d always resembled an Italian runway
model or race car driver. He looked like what people thought of when the
word spy came to mind. Some sleek, gorgeous, blue-eyed, raven-haired god.
James Bond in the flesh. The fact that his hair hadn’t yet gone gray was
disappointing. I kept thinking that one of these days, he’d show up on one of
the vacations we took together, and he’d have gone silver or white. But not so
far. Now that I was thinking about it, Darius looked great too. Maybe I
should have joined the CIA back when I was asked instead of staying with
Army Intelligence. Apparently, you didn’t age if you were affiliated with the
agency. It might have been that dealing-with-the-devil bit.
“You know, if you came just to—”
“Just grab your shit and change so we can go eat.”
“I don’t have time to—”
“Yes, you do. You must. Gar’s feeding the doctor and your pilot as we
speak.”
“Is she done?” I rushed out, dying to hear news.
He shook his head. “Not yet, but she’s close. We’ll have answers by the
time we’re done eating.” He stood then, turning for the door just as it was
thrown open and Jing charged in, gun drawn, ready to shoot.
“Jing,” he greeted her, buttoning his navy Burberry suit and smiling at
her. “Delightful to see you again.”
“Fuck,” she growled, lowering her gun, looking dejected. “How did you
even get in here?”
He squinted at her. “Is that a serious question?”
“No,” she muttered, flopping down at the end of my bed, turning to me,
her face like she’d lost her puppy. “What you must think of me.”
“Please,” I muttered, gesturing at Dante. “He’s killed more people than
the plague.”
“That’s spreading it on a bit thick,” Dante argued.
“He used to visit me when I was on base. How does one get off and on an
Army base without someone knowing? And on top of that, into my house. If
anyone else got in here, I’d be surprised. But Dante or Darius or Lee… Come
on, Jing.”
She tipped her head like it was still a hit to her pride.
“We’re going to eat,” I told her. “Arden and the doctor are already eating,
so we should too. Dante’s buying, so order the most expensive thing on the
menu.”
That perked her up a bit, and she went to shower and change.
“So,” Dante said, scowling. “The hair?”
I groaned loudly, and he left the room.

D INNER WAS ACTUALLY NICE . Dante had us walk two blocks to a small hole-
in-the-wall he knew—because of course he knew all the best out-of-the-way
places all over the world. The owner was thrilled to see him, seated us behind
a beaded curtain in the very back of the restaurant, and didn’t ask what we
wanted, just brought us glasses of ice water and strong green tea before
delivering some staple dishes I knew, first yomari and then chatamari. The
dumplings, or momo, were amazing as well. All of it was heavenly.
I was starving, Jing was starving, and the dal bhat disappeared quickly, as
did the Newari Khaja. Dante made sure to fill our water glasses, and later, we
ended the meal with chhang, a beverage prepared with fermented rice, which
was served at room temperature because it was fall. Dante tried to pay, but
the owner turned him down. Of course, as always when Dante insisted,
arching an eyebrow, the proprietor accepted the hundred-dollar bills with a
bow that Dante immediately returned.
Outside, I took a big breath, feeling better than I had in days.
“Okay,” Dante said, giving me a pat on the shoulder. “Let’s go to the
hangar. Gar says the doctor is ready for you.”
I didn’t ask him if he knew anything. He’d know I would want to hear the
news, world-ending or not, in person.
He stepped out to the curb, and an SUV was there instantly, driven by a
man I knew well, a friend. We had clashed in the past, but that was only
because he’d taken his Army Intelligence training and become a contract
killer. But Darius had done the same with his CIA training, so I shouldn’t
have held it against him. It was probably because he’d worked directly under
me, as a subordinate, whereas Darius and I had been peers.
“Chris?” I said, getting into the back seat with Jing, letting Dante take the
passenger seat.
“Jared,” he greeted me.
Christopher Mancuso turned in his seat to smile at me. He looked like a
beach bum or a drug dealer or an undercover DEA agent—something about
his beard and mustache and the hair that hit the collar of his shirt brought
those images to mind. It was the smile, though, with laugh lines crinkling
around his warm hazel eyes, that always dissuaded others of danger. He
looked so affable and kind.
“The hell are you doing here, Chris?”
“When was the last time you were in the field, old man?”
“Old man?” I was indignant.
Jing stifled a laugh, head down in her hand when I turned to look at her,
and then I immediately returned my attention to him.
“Listen, buddy, you need backup, and what was your plan, hire out for
that?”
“I have other resources,” I assured him.
“No, I know,” he agreed. “But people who actually give a shit about you
and not about how green your money is might be better.”
He had me there.
“And this one with the suits,” Chris said with a roll of his eyes, motioning
to Dante, “doesn’t remember that you shoot first, then see who it is.”
“Screw you, Mancuso,” Dante grumbled, and said something under his
breath about Mali before yanking on his seat belt.
“Fuck you, and fuck Mali,” Chris railed at him. “One time, and that was,
like, fifty years ago. What the hell?”
Jing was chuckling now.
“Fifty years ago?” I barked at him.
“Mali my ass!” Chris yelled and swerved hard away from the curb.
It was nice to have a moment of levity before I had to hear whatever the
verdict was.

H ALF AN HOUR LATER , we were back at the hangar. I made quick

introductions, shook Garland’s hand and thanked him for being there, and
then finally faced Dr. Lens, unable to put off the inevitable any longer.
She waited, and when I nodded, she gestured at the body, now covered
with a sheet. “As you suspected, Colonel Colter, this is not Owen Moss.”
“You’re sure?” I held my breath, glancing at Jing and Arden, noting that
they too weren’t breathing.
“I am.”
And suddenly, I could breathe. Dante was there for me to grab his
shoulder, the only thing solid enough to keep me upright. It was a relief, yes,
but now the real work began. “Do we know who the man is?”
“No. The condition of the body makes any conventional identification
impossible. But then, whoever gave it to you made sure of that.”
“Explain, please.”
“I don’t know if I can. It doesn’t make sense.”
“I’d still prefer to hear it, Doctor.”
“You may not like it,” she replied, glancing around the room. “Someone
has altered the appearance of this body.”
“Altered?”
“Yes. And it was professionally done.”
“Meaning?” Dante asked as I became steadier on my feet. He didn’t move
away from me, staying put, watchful.
“Meaning that the traces are all there—the hairline and eyes were
altered.”
Chris looked concerned. “I was under the impression you couldn’t tamper
with the eyes. That’s what I’ve always heard.”
“Not entirely true. As long as you stay in the recognizable category of eye
color, the possibilities for hue manipulation are fairly far-ranging. You don’t
have to change everything, just enough of a few things and you have a
different person. I’d say this man was in his early thirties, just like Mr.
Moss.”
Jing said, “They dumped the body in a polluted channel where it would
be struck by boats. That was probably done to cover their tracks. Yes?”
“Yes,” Dr. Lens agreed. “And it would have, short of having a world-
class pathologist examining the body. But in their haste, they missed adding
the tattoo, or, to be precise, the patch where the tattoo was removed.”
Owen had been branded with the mark of the Macau sex trade—a single
Chinese character, two centimeters in length, tattooed on his scalp above his
left ear—before I rescued him. It took me over three months to find Owen
after his parents were brutally murdered. It was a dark memory I had no wish
to revisit. As soon as he was old enough to be given the choice, he’d agreed
to have it removed. The scar where that had been done was permanent. And
even though it was small, it was in his records, and Dr. Lens had just used it
to give me my life back.
“Doctor,” Garland began gently, “would you excuse us all for a
moment?”
“Of course,” she replied quickly. “I have notes to type up. I’ll be just
outside with my laptop if you have any questions.”
Once she was through the doors, I felt the full weight of her discovery hit
me.
“It all sounds like the stuff of spy novels, doesn’t it?” Jing asked into the
silence.
“It does,” I agreed. “But that’s the world we live in.” I thought a moment.
“My bet is the bodyguard is dead.”
“Or in on this pretense,” Chris suggested with a shrug.
“Yeah, you need to consider that,” Garland conceded.
I had liked Garland Murray from the moment Dante first introduced us.
He was blunt—and more importantly, never afraid to be—and had a
reputation for patience not many did. His brown hair and blue eyes were
fairly common, making him blend into the background, an asset in itself in
our line of work, but what set him apart was how still he could be, and almost
preternaturally calm. In that moment, I couldn’t have appreciated his solid
presence more.
Jing said, “Who would surgically alter a body to this extent, just to dump
it in the river? To what end? All to sell an elaborate identity hoax? It’s a little
frightening.”
 There was a heavy pause.
“This man was killed on purpose,” Dante surmised, turning to me. “But
why? To Jing’s point, to accomplish what?”
My mind was whirling.
“We have to assume the tattoo wasn’t a miss,” Chris offered, and I met
his eyes. “C’mon, Jared, that doesn’t make any sense.”
And it didn’t. He was right. Someone had intended it as a calling card to
lure me in. But lure me to what? Owen was the one bait I would not, could
not, ignore, my one true trump card. Did someone know that? Everyone in
this room did, of course, but outside of a fairly tight circle, no one connected
me and Owen. He worked for me, but so did many others.
“You’re thinking it, how could you not be,” Dante said, that eyebrow of
his arching in waiting. “Only someone who knows you well knows about
Owen. So who’s looking to draw you out by using him?”
“We don’t know that,” I argued, even as a pain was forming in the pit of
my stomach. “As easy as it would be to make this about me, I know better
than that. There are too many variables in play to draw conclusions. The only
question now is whether Owen is still alive.”
“And we can all work on that,” Dante assured me, “but in the interim, you
need to ask the good doctor to stay on and try to confirm the identity of this
man.”
“He’s right,” Chris agreed. “Knowing that gets you closer to whoever
killed him, which gets you, in theory, closer to Owen.”
I turned and went outside, to the desk where the doctor was sitting. “Dr.
Lens, I know staying longer will be more than you signed on for, but if you’d
be willing to—”
“Of course I’m willing,” she blurted out. “This is a fascinating case,
Colonel, and now that we’re not grieving the death of your friend and instead
looking for justice for the man who was killed in his stead, I’m committed to
solving this mystery.”
Good to hear. “I can put you in the suite I just vacated and—”
“No. I’ll stay here. There’re excellent amenities in the warmer part of the
hangar.” She smiled at me, standing up and extending her hand. She had a
firm handshake, and I squeezed tight for a moment.
“Dr. Lens,” Dante said, coming up behind me. “We appreciate you, and I
have a three-man security team on the way here to watch over you until this
investigation is concluded. Garland will be with you until then. The jet they
arrive on will also be here for your use so that the moment you finish, you
can be on your way back home.”
“Thank you.”
They shook hands, and then she turned to me. “I’ll text you the moment I
know anything, Colonel. You can count on me.”
“I know.” I was pleased she was on my team.
Arden passed by, heading toward the plane.
“Hey,” I called over, stopping her.
She pivoted to look at me.
“We’re going back to Bangkok,” I informed her.
“Yes, I know,” she said flatly. She was always a step, or several, ahead of
me.
“How long before we can be underway?”
“I’ll have to finish the preflight and top off the tanks. If Jing sees to the
flight planning, less than an hour.”
“I’ve got it,” Jing assured her, jogging over. In moments, Arden was
giving instructions and Jing was on her tablet, both heading toward the plane.
“Yeah, thanks,” Dante said, on the phone with someone, walking up
beside me and then holding it out.
Taking it, I greeted whoever was on the other end. “Hello?”
“It’s me,” Darius replied, his deep tenor even more recognizable than his
name. He had three that I knew of, but only one husky, low voice. “Tell me
what I can do.”
“What are you and Cerreto scheming about?”
“Dante seems to think you’re safe for the time being. He sounds worried,
though, which in turn worries me.”
“Yeah, I’m not having a great time myself.”
Darius grunted in response. “Dante has to go home and pack some clothes
and more firepower, so I’m sending my plane for him. I understand that
Garland’s staying there to guard your doctor, but Lee and I are stuck in
Ankara. You need more backup than just Chris, so what do you want to do?”
“I can’t have a big team, you know that. I’m looking for a surgical strike,
but I do need someone to watch my back.”
“Says the man who knows everyone stateside and abroad.”
“My situation doesn’t afford me the luxury of recruiting for myself at the
moment. You’re the only one I trust to do it for me.”
“Flatterer. Do you have someone in mind?”
 “I don’t, actually,” I confessed. “Everyone I could ask from the military is
committed somewhere at the moment, and all my own people are engaged as
well. The thing is though, I have to have someone watching our six.”
“You’re expecting real trouble, then.”
“Honestly, I have no idea, but potentially, members of the Thai
government look to be involved, or at least on the payroll of whoever’s
behind this. I need protection for Jing and Arden, and for me and Dante.”
“For you and Dante?”
“We’re not as young as we used to be,” I admitted to him.
“Not Chris?” he teased, trying to get me to take a breath, which worked.
I smiled into the phone. “Chris can watch himself.”
“Well, you’ll need two people because someone has to lead the team.”
“What? No. I’m leading the team.”
The pause from Darius was noticeable. In the moment of silence, I
imagined his face as he took that news in. I’d just told him that Dante and I
weren’t as young as we used to be, and moments later said I would be the
leading man. He had to be wondering if I was spiraling.
He wasn’t wrong. As Chris had pointed out to me, I hadn’t been in the
field in years. It was even longer since I’d led an op. Field work was an
unforgiving arena. One didn’t shake the cobwebs off during a mission—not a
smart man, anyway. To do so risked my life and the lives of my team.
“I don’t have a lot of options,” I told Darius. “This is Owen we’re talking
about. I’m not going to sit on the bench with him missing.”
“I get it,” he said solemnly.
“My only solution is to surround myself with the best team who can
compensate for my rustiness.”
Darius grunted.
“I’m going, and it sounds like Dante is too, as well as Chris.”
“I’m not worried about Chris.”
“Oh, but you are worried about me and Dante.”
“Did I say that? I don’t think I said that.”
“You didn’t have to say it. I can hear it in your tone.”
Darius huffed out a breath. “Okay, then, I’ll only look for a sniper,
someone to watch over you, since you’re hell-bent on going.”
“I—”
“Look, we’ve known each other a long time, Jared. Long enough to know
you’re a dog with a bone here. What’s your readiness window?”
 “Forty-eight hours, seventy-two tops.”
“That’s enough time for you to get reacquainted with the feel of a weapon
and get a little dry firing under your belt.”
“I’ve done a bit more than you think I have. Our situations at Torus,
domestically, have gotten a bit dicey over the years.”
“Oh? Have they?” Darius asked, his tone biting. I could hear the sarcasm
oozing over the line. “Dicey, you say?”
Fuck.
“Speed only comes through repetition, you know that. Dry fire a
goddamn semiautomatic rifle, will you please. I have an image in my mind of
you getting burned just breaching some ridiculous apartment building or
something. You know that dry firing is an efficient way to practice in any
environment. It’s considered the best training tool to increase accuracy and
precision with firearms,” he lectured me. “I myself still—”
“I know. Fuck. I’ll practice.” I lied. No matter what he thought, I was
ready.
“No you won’t.”
He knew me so well. “I swear to you, it doesn’t need to come back and
you don’t need to lecture me. I can take care of myself and others.”
“Fine,” Darius agreed, not sounding remotely certain.
“I was as good as you, D.”
“I’m not arguing that, but I have a team that backs me up for this very
reason. Lee drives me insane, but I know damn well he’s a scalpel, whereas
I’m a battering ram these days.”
“Yeah, all right.”
“I’ll make the arrangements,” he apprised me. “Once I’ve secured
confirmation, whoever I find, instead of sending their jacket like regular, I’m
just going to get them to you. We don’t have time for you to make a
decision.”
“I told you I trust you,” I said defensively, sounding annoyed when really
just hating the entire situation. I hadn’t felt this way in years.
“I know,” he clapped back, just as irritated for the same exact reason.
Being in a position to try and find someone who was missing, that you loved,
and having to protect yourself at the same time, was untenable.
“I haven’t said thank you.” I was starting to feel tired again, and I just
woke up not hours before. The weight of everything was going to crush me.
“Nor do you need to, old friend.”
 “I’ll talk to you,” I said and hung up.
An hour later, we were at the end of the runway and cleared for takeoff,
on schedule. I hugged Dante goodbye. “You don’t have to come.”
“Fuck off,” Dante said and turned toward his plane, which was close to
mine, refueling before departing.
Chris was already on my plane, stretched out, having a drink Jing made
him, and I said goodbye to Garland, told him how much I appreciated him.
“I’ll see you in Bangkok, Colonel.”
Yes, he would.
Once I was aboard, Arden took the plane up smoothly, as always, and we
were on our way back. I hoped my second time there would be more
successful.
 FIVE

B ack in Bangkok, thinking about Owen, I found myself completely

overwhelmed with hopelessness. I was never like that; I was always the
guy who held out hope. But this was different. He was different. He
was mine, and I had nothing and no one else I could lay claim to.
When we reached the hotel, Jing had checked us in under assumed
names. As far as anyone knew, we were investors, friends of Aaron Sutter,
there to look at property. I appreciated Aaron agreeing to the ruse and even
creating a paper trail for us.
Jing made sure to get a suite large enough for an entire team, then went
ahead and paid the manager to close the pool for the day. One of the
dividends of having a considerable fortune was that it allowed for complete
privacy when needed. I’d never been flashy or extravagant—I wasn’t Aaron
Sutter—but Owen and I lived well, and when necessary, I allowed the
privilege of money to work for me.
Swimming laps, I knifed through the water at a punishing pace, hoping
that it would help clear my head. The heated twenty-meter infinity-edge pool
was situated behind floor-to-ceiling glass walls that overlooked Sukhumvit—
the shopping district—from a soaring ninety floors up, the dazzling
nightscape of the city pulsing beneath. The hotel Hasana had booked us into
was one of a ring of monolithic skyscrapers near the River of Kings, as King
Rama the First had named it. I swam steadily for twenty laps before giving up
and sitting on the edge of the pool, out of breath. The effort had done little to
quell my troubling thoughts.
“Don’t kill yourself in the pool.” Chris yawned from his chaise lounge,
beer in hand. “It won’t help anything.”
I squinted at him. “How do you stay in such great shape? All you’ve done
is eat and drink on the plane, and then eat and drink since we got here.”
“Why’re you mad? I know you’re worried about your boy, but maybe
don’t take it out on me.”
Finally, someone was calling Owen something reasonable. My boy. “You
have kids, don’t you, Chris?”
His scowl was fast. “Yeah, but why would you bring that up?”
Good question. “I don’t—”
“Oh, ’cause I said boy. But you know how I meant it.”
“I do?”
“Yeah. Just like Efrem is Darius’s boy and Noah is Dante’s. Like, your
guy, your boy. Like my wife, Jill, is my girl.”
“No,” I said flatly. “That’s not—no. Owen’s not my—”
“Oh, the fuck he isn’t, Jared,” he scoffed, taking another gulp from the
bottle of beer he was nursing. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and it’s the
same way Jill looks at me. Like I belong to her.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“It’s sexy as hell,” he murmured, and I knew he was thinking about his
wife.
“What?”
“What?” he echoed, sounding confused.
“Owen doesn’t look at me like your wife…”
His brows furrowed. “Are you fucking with me right now?”
“No, I’m not fuck—of course not. What the hell is with everybody?”
He laughed at me then. “Jared Colter, you cannot think for a minute that
when I said your boy, I meant anything other than your boy, the one who
sleeps in your bed and whom you fuck every night.”
I stood fast, before my brain even registered who I was thinking of
attacking. This was retired Army Major Christopher Mancuso, one of the best
snipers I’d ever seen and the man I’d once watched take out five guys, alone,
in a bar in Kabul. I was fairly certain he’d been armed with a spork or
something at the time.
To his credit, Chris didn’t even get up. “Sorry, sorry. He fucks you, then,”
he said dismissively. “Didn’t mean to get it wrong. Don’t get your panties in
a wad.”
“I’m going to kill you,” I threatened him.
 He squinted up at me. “Are you sleep-deprived or some shit?”
I stood there, dripping water, staring at him.
“You’re not serious?” he said, suddenly looking like he felt sorry for me.
“For fuck’s sake, Jared, that man is head over heels for you. How the fuck
did you miss that?”
“I don’t miss anything!” I declared. “And he can’t be in love with me.
He’s too young.”
Chris sat up then, swinging his long legs over the side of the chaise, and
met my gaze before gesturing me down. Once I took a seat, facing him, I
noted how pained he looked. “Jared…are you stupid?”
Not what I was expecting. “You know I’m not,” I spat out defensively.
“Yeah, but…” he began hesitantly. “How are you missing the torch he’s
carrying?”
“He’s not—”
“He is,” he assured me. “I’ve seen it, and think about it—I don’t see you
that often, but the last time I was at your house…two years ago now? It was
there, plain as day.”
“He’s too young for me,” I reminded him. “And whatever you saw, I’m
sure was just him being grateful.”
“Grateful for what?”
“Chris, I saved him from being sold into sexual servitude when he was
ten.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“And you don’t think that’s enough?”
“I think it’s old news, just like you saving him from prison when he was
eighteen. The fuck does either of those things have to do with him being all
grown up now and wanting to do bad things to you in the sack?”
“You’re so deluded.”
Chris nodded. “Yeah, sure. That’s me. Deluded.”
“You don’t understand. He’s more my ward than anything else.”
He laughed over that one.
“Chris, I—”
“He’s been living in your house since he was twenty-four, day in and day
out, watching you be you in all your heroic glory, so of course he’s gonna fall
for you. Hell, if I swung that way, I’d be hot for you as well.”
That took a second to process. “That is the most terrifying thing you’ve
ever said to me.”
 He shrugged and cracked a smile. “Come on, Jared. Owen’s all grown up,
so it makes sense that it’s you he wants. You’re you. You’re the hero. You
saved him, made his world safe, then did it again so he could be exactly who
he was supposed to be.” His hands grew animated as he explained. “He was
off the track, and then you put him right back on. In what realm of the
imagination would Owen Moss not have fallen madly in love with you?”
“But that’s gratitude, not—”
“When he was eighteen with a fresh start in college, sure, that was
gratitude. But now, at thirty-two… Use your head, buddy.”
I had to lie down, so I turned around on the chaise and did just that.
“You’re a retired Army colonel and ex-Army Intelligence. How the fuck
do you miss something as big as Owen being in love with you?”
I had no idea.
He was waiting for an answer, I could tell from his face.
Maybe that was why Owen was so pissed at me all the time. Perhaps he
was mad because I had completely missed his desire. And he’d gone off into
the world, thinking I didn’t care, when the exact opposite was true.
I thought about him all the time. I stayed away, and I was careful. I
purposely reminded him of our age difference and always added kid
whenever possible. Distance between us was necessary so I wouldn’t grab
hold of him and kiss him breathless. Because I wanted the very best for him,
and a man twenty-four years his senior wasn’t it. He needed someone to grow
old with, to raise a family with, to have a whole life with. What I could offer
was small. He deserved the whole world.
“Okay,” Chris said, sighing deeply. “Lemme ask you a question, because
I actually haven’t seen you two together in a couple years. But before Jill and
I started dating—”
“You didn’t date her. You moved her in three days after the first time you
guys slept together, and eventually, she fell in love with you because she’s a
victim of Stockholm syndrome.”
“Oh, she is not, and I never kept her against her will.”
He hadn’t, of course. His wife adored the idiot for reasons I actually did
understand. Once you peeled away the gruff and growly outer layer, the man
underneath was a bit prickly, yes, but with a good heart. He was completely
devoted to his wife and three daughters, and God help you if you were mean
to any of his girls. When Chris made men disappear, they never turned back
up. It was his specialty.
 “Anyway,” he groused at me, “when Jill was interested in me and I
missed it… I mean, I’m lucky to still be alive. She was always so pissed, and
I had no clue until she finally nearly ran me over with her car, then got out
and said something like, ‘I love you, fuckhead. Are we doing this or not?’”
“Oh, good God.”
“Yeah,” he said, grinning at me. “Romantic as hell.”
I shook my head.
“Maybe don’t stand anywhere out in the open when Owen’s behind a
wheel.”
I took a stuttering breath. “I want to see him behind the wheel of a car
again, Chris.”
“You will. I know it,” he assured me, reaching out to gently pound my
knee with his fist. “He doesn’t feel dead to me, and you know I have a sense
about this kinda stuff.”
He did, it was true. More times than I could count he would say, let’s go
get whoever it was, and other times he’d shake his head and tell us it would
be a recovery, not a rescue.
“Just wait, okay? Don’t give up yet.”
“I’m terrified.”
He nodded. “I know.”
We were quiet after that.

A FTER SHOWERING , Chris, Jing, Arden, and I headed out to get some food.
Chris liked small places, so we found one that fit the bill and had some
amazing food. Halfway through dinner, I realized I’d gone silent when Jing
took hold of my hand.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I told her, trying to smile.
Arden patted my knee. “It’s okay.” She continued eating her Thai-hot pad
thai. Just the fumes that came off it when they delivered it to the table… That
was too much for me. “What?” she asked, purposely slurping her noodles
noisily to try and make me smile.
“Your mouth will explode,” I warned her.
“I’m Chinese,” Arden reminded me. “I’m made for spice.”
“No, the Korean over here is made for spice,” Jing corrected, pointing at
herself. “But yeah, boss, come on. This ain’t spicy.”
I wasn’t touching it.
 Once we were back at the hotel, the four of us sat together in the living
room, having drinks and looking out at the skyline.
“So…” Jing said into the silence, “what do you think we’re up against
here?”
“Well,” Chris said with a yawn, “whatever it is, now that we’re on Thai
soil, we’re on our own. The hardliner running the Thai political police here
has an extensive track record of human-rights violations for torturing so-
called enemies of the state.”
“So if it gets noisy, we’ll have half the Royal Thai Amy on our backs is
what you’re saying,” Jing clarified, meeting Chris’s gaze.
“Yep. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“I didn’t even think to check, but do we have a cover here?” Arden asked
me.
“Aaron Sutter has graciously made Chris an investor in his real-estate
project, and he’s come to oversee his investment here.”
“That’s really nice of him,” Arden said, giving me a smile.
“It is, yes.”
“We’ll need documents, though,” she reminded me.
“Already taken care of,” Jing announced. “Hasana has created all the
necessary paperwork and accreditation. You and me have been added to
Chris’s fake company payroll.” She handed out plastic folders to everyone
but me. “Inside you’ll find clean passports, plus work visas and corporate ID,
proof that we are contracted employees of Grant Technologies, headquartered
out of Los Angeles.”
Arden opened hers. “Ooooh, this is impressive. Hasana’s getting really
good at forgeries.” She turned to me. “That’s maybe not a great thing.”
“It is today.”
Jing passed us all new iPhones. “End-to-end encryption for voice and
text, GPS tracking, and an emergency locator beacon in the event you’re
compromised. The only number in the contacts list is Hasana’s. Call her only
if it’s a real emergency. Remember, she’s pregnant, so don’t get her all upset
for nothing.”
I squinted at her.
“What?”
“I just… Here we are on this life-and-death op, and you’re worried about
Hasana.”
Brows lifted as she stared at me.
 “I’m not arguing,” I said quickly, smiling at her. “It’s just not how we did
it when I worked with Army Intelligence.”
“I think that’s sad,” she told me.
It probably was.
Arden asked, “What’s your thought on whoever knowing you’re here?”
“I suspect our real enemy is already onto me. But that’s fine, it plays. I
am, in fact, a desperate man in search of answers regarding the death of a
colleague. They’ll be watching me, so hopefully that means you, Jing, and
Chris will be able to find answers. As Chris is, on paper, a man of
considerable means—”
“I am a man of considerable means,” he groused at me.
“It’s natural,” I continued, ignoring him, “that he would travel with a
bodyguard and an executive secretary.”
“Ah, got it,” Arden said, turning to Jing. “Do you wanna be the secretary
or the bodyguard?”
“The bodyguard, of course,” she said, grinning at Arden. “No one will
think you’re the badass one in those shoes.”
Arden looked at her sneakers. “What? Why?”
Jing lifted one of her feet, shod in a Louboutin knee-high boot. “Come
on.”
Arden shook her head. “This is the difference between what we do with
our paychecks.”
Jing nodded and smiled. “I can’t argue with that.”
“Do we have any theories about who might be behind this?” Arden asked
me.
“People with money and influence, I suspect.”
“He means no, he has no fuckin’ clue,” Chris translated.
“What’s the likelihood this is about you?” Arden pressed me.
“I’m not naive. When you wield the sword, you make enemies. I’ve killed
plenty of people in the service of my country, but I’ve never operated in this
part of the world. You know I’ve been mostly in Eastern Europe and the UK.
That’s not to say my enemies haven’t perhaps found their way to Asia. But
that’s unlikely.”
She nodded.
“I mean, I love a good Bond book as much as the next guy, but there
aren’t really any megalomaniacs out there trying to rule the world. That’s the
stuff of fiction. Most of these crime syndicates are after money, power, and
influence. Rarely does that stretch beyond their region. Give a criminal a city
and they seldom realize there’s a country. The Thai government just awarded
Sutter Limited a billion dollars’ worth of development contracts for urban
renewal. He’s been buying up properties all over Bangkok. He’s had some
problems on his last jobsite. It seems that some of the local mobs have taken
an interest in Sutter’s contract, likely seeing the renewal project as a gold
mine for them in bribes and extortion.”
“But a man like Aaron Sutter has people to take care of all that, I’m
guessing,” Jing chimed in. “Yes?”
“Yes,” I agreed.
“Do you think it’s possible Owen was kidnapped for leverage?”
“That’s a far more plausible theory than Auric Goldfinger.”
“It certainly is,” Jing conceded.
I leaned forward in my chair, looking at them. “It’s important you both
understand something from the jump. If Owen is still alive, I don’t care how
many people I have to kill to ensure his safe return.”
“Oh, I know,” Jing replied quickly.
“Absolutely understood,” Arden echoed.
“Good.”
“Where do we start?” Chris was ready to go. Waiting around had never
been his strong suit.
“With this man,” Jing answered, showing us a photo on her phone. “His
name is Charkrit Nam, and we’ve had him under surveillance, or I should
say, Arden followed him around all day today.”
“Got in all my steps,” Arden said, tapping the face of her Apple Watch.
“He, of course, never saw her because Arden’s really good at blending
in.”
“How?” Chris asked honestly.
“Aww, sweet,” Jing said, then shot him a look of disappointment.
“But she’s really pretty,” he said under his breath.
It was a nice compliment.
“So we’re not totally sure yet how Mr. Nam fits into the picture,” Arden
explained, “but he gave a sworn account of being with Owen before he died,
which we know is a lie.”
“Who’s the shadow with him?” Chris asked, and Arden scrolled through
the pictures so we could see them all. The man following Nam was hard to
miss.
 “I can’t say—facial rec didn’t come back with anything—but he stayed
with Nam wherever he went, which is quite telling.”
“If there’s one, presumably there’s others,” Chris added.
“Yes. They’re being more inconspicuous than this fellow. But that’s how
they lay the trap. We’ll need to be prepared for company when Jared
approaches him.”
“The trouble with this town is that you never know who you’re going to
meet,” Chris mused. “Say we scoop him up, do you think he’ll cooperate?”
“I assume that’s rhetorical,” Jing said, and I noted Chris reassessing my
assistant. She had sounded so cold all of a sudden. “He will talk, whether of
his own volition or mine.” Jing’s title was assistant, but they had no idea
what she assisted me with.
Chris looked away from her slowly, as if somehow she’d changed right
before his eyes. “Aren’t we playing into their hands?”
“Sometimes your enemy’s purpose dictates your response,” I replied with
a shrug. “You know that.”
“I do know that,” he agreed. “But what that means is that it could get
noisy. We might have to drop bodies.”
“That’s expected,” I assured him.
“In this country, that means the military police on our asses.”
“Which we already said could happen,” Jing chimed in.
“Listen,” I began, “I don’t like the prospect of having a shoot-out with
their military either, so we’re all going to do our best to stay under their
radar.”
“Let’s call it a night,” Arden announced. “We have a long day ahead of
us.”
Chris and Jing retired to their rooms, but Arden lingered.
“Who’s gonna watch over you?” she asked seriously, though I could see
she was dead on her feet.
“I can, in fact, take care of myself. I did it for a long time before you
came along.”
“Yeah, but you’re older now.”
I shot a death ray out of my eyes, then insisted firmly that she go get
some sleep.
“Fine, whatever,” she grumbled.
Five minutes later, there was a knock on the door. The peephole gave me
a clear view of a man in fatigues, in his late twenties maybe, holding a duffel
bag. What made me open the door were the dog tags hanging from his neck
and the insignia on his jacket that told me he was an Army Ranger.
“Good evening, sir,” he greeted me. “My name is George Hunt. Darius
Hawthorne sent me to help you with your situation.”
I stepped aside, and he walked by me into the suite. When I closed the
door and faced him, he passed me a gun case I took eagerly. Our weapons
would be there the following day, arriving with Dante. Until then, I had
nothing. Chris was always strapped, and so were Arden and Jing, but I didn’t
carry anymore in my day-to-day life, so it was nice that Darius had thought to
send me a firearm with Mr. Hunt. Of course, after this, I was thinking I’d go
back to being armed at all times.
“I’m an Army sniper, sir. That’s my skill set, as well as close combat. But
I think, in this instance, it’s best if I stay out of sight and watch your six.”
“I agree. Thank you, Hunt.”
“If you don’t have a bed for me, sir, I can go out on the balcony and—”
“No. Down the hall at the very end there’s two empty rooms. Pick
whichever you like,” I directed him.
“Thank you, sir.” He gave me a tip of his head, then shouldered his bag
and headed down the hallway. He didn’t have a rifle with him, so I needed to
ask him where he—
“Oh shit, look who it is!” Chris announced. He must’ve gotten up to go to
the bathroom and found himself face-to-face with George Hunt.
“Old man,” George said with clear affection in his voice. “You ain’t dead
yet?”
Chris flipped him off. “What’re you doing here?”
“Gonna watch your back for ya,” he said, grasping Chris’s offered hand.
“Do my thing.”
“Where’s your gun?”
“My boss—well, my boss when I’m not deployed—Miguel Romero, he
flew it over for me on Mr. Sutter’s plane earlier in the day. I picked it up and
stashed it already before I got here. I didn’t know how secure the hotel was,
so…you know.”
“I do know. That’s smart, as long as nobody finds it.”
He scoffed. “Ain’t nobody finding that gun but me.”
Chris grinned at him. “I’ve got two beds. You wanna bunk in here?”
“If you snore, I will shoot you in the head.”
“Then you’ll have to explain it to Jill.”
 George went still. “Shit. Fine. Just don’t fuckin’ snore,” he groused,
shoving Chris aside and walking into his room.
Chris turned then and saw me. He tipped his head over his shoulder. “You
should thank Darius, and probably Miguel, while you’re at it.”
Which told me everything I needed to know about George Hunt. I nodded
back, and he continued on to the bathroom.

H OURS LATER , I was still staring at the ceiling, wide awake. I went out into
the living room and found Arden camped on the sofa, in the dark, drinking
mint tea, a pot on the table in front of her, with the bright blaze of downtown
Bangkok silently pulsing below.
“I’m glad to see someone else is awake,” I said, joining her and pouring
myself some. “Can’t sleep?”
“I’m wired and worried. Add jet lag to that and it’s an uncomfortable
combination.”
I knew all about no sleep and jet lag. “I’m sorry I’ve put you in the
middle of—”
“Please stop,” she said gently but firmly, taking quick hold of my
forearm. “We both know where I was headed before you found me on the
streets of Tokyo.”
I nodded. We didn’t need to rehash.
“I told you I wanted to be a pilot, and you made me a pilot, and I learned
some other skills along the way.”
Like surveillance, how to blend into the scenery and be untraceable, and
of course, how to incapacitate anyone in seconds. Jing was the bloodthirsty
one. Arden was more about leaving people alive but either unconscious or in
a whole lot of pain.
“Please don’t ever apologize to me,” she insisted. “You’re a hero. I like
working for a hero.”
“No, Arden, I—”
“I’ve read your file. You know that.”
I shook my head.
“Listen, I know that if agents were compromised during a mission, the
US government denied all knowledge and you were the one heading the team
that saved them.”
“We didn’t always save them.”
 “Because that wasn’t always your mission. Sometimes you were there to
eradicate a threat. I understand the difference between search and destroy and
search and rescue.”
“Sometimes the mission changed right in the middle of the op.”
“But that was your job and, of course, why in response to that you created
Torus Intercession. Now you can make sure nothing changes in the middle
and the good guys always win.”
“We still don’t always win.”
“But you try.” She put her hand on my chest, over my heart. “And you do
your best. You always do your best. It’s why Jing, Hasana, and I would
follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked.”
I nodded, too choked up to say anything.
“And running around Thailand trying not to get killed by the police,” she
said with a shrug. “That’s nothing compared to that time in Malta.”
I scowled at her. “That was just a big—that was a huge overreaction on
that man’s part.”
She scoffed. “Oh yeah. That warlord blowing up the boat we were on?
Totally just him overreacting. Not a big deal at all.”
“He blew up the boat?”
She shook her head. “I’m seriously getting worried about your memory.”
“Go to bed,” I ordered her, sounding damn belligerent.
She stood and walked toward the hall, but then stopped and turned to face
me.
“More insults?” I snapped at her.
“I just want you to know that I will stand between you and anything. I
hope you know that.” Her voice was resolute, the promise clear in her inky
gaze, the set of her shoulders, and her stance. She would not leave my side.
“I do,” I acknowledged. “And you know I count on both your courage
and loyalty.”
She stood there deciding, thinking, and then suddenly rushed over to me.
I stood in time to catch her in my arms. The hug was quick, and I let her go as
soon as I felt her loosen her hold, never wanting to restrain her in any way.
She was seldom, if ever, demonstrative, and with men especially, she never
instigated physical contact. Only with me. And Owen. We were, as far as I
knew, her only two exceptions. I really hoped she’d be able to hug Owen
again soon.
A RDEN HAD GONE TO BED , and I was still there, on the couch. Alone, I
remained wide awake. My darker side took hold again as I pondered the
dangerous mission I was asking everyone to undertake.
I’d killed plenty of men and women while in the service of my country. I
had no compunction over their deaths. No, it was the friends I had to bury
that kept me up at night, Owen’s parents among them. I couldn’t allow Owen
to be one of those ghosts. I wouldn’t.
 SIX

D r. Lens contacted me via text before breakfast, confirming my

suspicions about the corpse’s identity. It was Miguel’s man, Owen’s
bodyguard, Peter Barrows. Another death that someone would answer
for. I called Dr. Lens and personally thanked her for her service.
“May I call on you again if I need you in the future?”
“Of course, Colonel. This case is both terrifying and thrilling in its
complexities. Please do call if you need anything else. I’m taking the plane
home now.”
“Safe travels, Doctor.”
“And you stay safe,” she replied kindly, and hung up.
I was on the phone with Darius moments later, catching him up.
“So now you know for certain Owen is alive.”
Or was, I thought, but didn’t voice that fear. “I can’t talk to Aaron Sutter
today,” I confessed. “I can’t deliver the news to Miguel either.”
“I’ll take care of it, and I’ll be there as soon as I—”
“No,” I stressed to him. “I have everyone I need here. Really. Dante’s
coming back shortly, and George Hunt showed up to watch my back.”
“I heard he’s excellent. Very capable. When I looked him up and found
out he’s a reservist and works for Miguel—it was a no-brainer.”
“Yeah. I got a good feeling right away, plus Chris knows and likes him.”
“Finally, a bright spot.”
“Just call Sutter for me. That’s what I really need.”
“Will do.”
D ANTE ARRIVED MIDMORNING , bringing in what was needed from a firearm
standpoint. He’d rented a van to put everything in and was reading the list out
loud.
“Really?” Chris asked, interrupting him. “An RPG? What were you
thinking?”
“That more is better,” he said, smiling at Jing and Arden, who were both
a bit overwhelmed to see him again. I understood. Compared to Dante’s
service to his country, mine was a bit light. He was a legend, and both Jing
and Arden were aware and stared at him in awe.
Dante, Jing, Arden, and I spent the day watching Nam. Hasana did a deep
dive into his life from where she was in Paris, and Chris and George kept an
eye on the men watching Nam. There were a lot of them, which surprised me.
After the first twenty-four hours of surveilling Charkrit Nam, we were all
in agreement that we weren’t dealing with a spy. Routine could get you killed
really quick, so changing it was one of the most basic elements of being any
kind of operative. Nam visited the same coffee shop, the same restaurant—
the famous Jib Kee—and took the same train route every day without
showing any particular caution despite the inherent danger.
Jib Kee was among Bangkok’s best culinary havens. The old-school
eatery occupied three shop houses in the old quarter of Ratankosin. Away
from the bustling, neon-soaked Sukhumvit, it was a different world. The
restaurant’s building was about a hundred years old and showing its age.
Instead of neon, a weather-beaten sign hung above the front doors, and the
edge of the restaurant jutted right up close to the street.
I arrived early to surprise Nam. I circled the area twice, out of long-
engrained habit, to ensure I had not been followed. I approached the bustling
restaurant, eventually finding a spot where I could watch the comings and
goings without being seen. I had fifteen minutes to wait for Nam. I ordered a
cha manao—Thai lime tea—and set the timer on my watch.
The time was almost up when Dante said in my earpiece, “He just got off
the train. Heading your way.”
“How about his company? Anything?”
“No obvious tail.”
Even if Nam’s shadow wasn’t visible, I knew the man must be skulking
somewhere in the wings. With how many Chris and George had counted the
day before, there was no way that had suddenly changed. Switching to a chair
at my table to face the door, I waited for Nam to come inside.
 When the man arrived, he was shown to a table by the window. He
ordered the same meal as the day before: the roast duck served over bitter
greens in a light red-curry sauce.
When I saw Nam’s food arrive, I walked over and sat down.
“I’d ask you what’s good here, but you had the same thing yesterday.”
Nam’s dark eyes met mine, and I saw something in his face I shouldn’t
have. Recognition. The man knew who I was.
“Mr. Colter. Good day.”
“And to you, Mr. Nam,” I returned the greeting.
“Please call me Krit. Are you eating? I find the duck here rather
enjoyable.”
“I know you do. You order it every day, don’t you?”
He nodded. “My mother and I were regulars here. I suppose I’ve missed
her more this week than usual. She died very recently. But you didn’t come
here to discuss that.”
“No, I didn’t. I came to discuss Owen Moss,” I said flatly.
“Yes.”
“Tell me, how did you meet him?”
“I’m a data systems analyst in cybersecurity for the office of the Interior.
It’s all boring stuff: targeting social media for crimes of lèse-majesté. Two
weeks ago, I was approached by a couple of men I’d never met before. They
told me they were from the military.”
“And what did they want from you?”
“They showed me a picture of Owen and told me to make contact with
him. You see, my mother was sick, and it’s been hard to maintain her care on
my salary.”
“Go on.”
“They told me if I did what they asked, they would provide for my
mother’s care. It seemed harmless enough. I needed only to meet and sleep
with your friend.”
“So you were supposed to seduce him, but for what purpose?”
“I thought it had to be for money or information or even influence over
him. I wasn’t sure what, but I didn’t ask.”
I nodded.
“I thought, from his age, that it had to be blackmail. I told myself I could
live with that. But Owen was really nice. I didn’t expect to like him.”
“He is nice,” I agreed.
 “And so very much in love with you.”
I swallowed down my surprise, not letting him see it. This was news to
me, but apparently Owen had been walking around, understanding everything
about his life, and me, for a very long time.
“He has hundreds of pictures of you on his phone. I would know you
anywhere, sir. May I say, you’re a very handsome man.”
I suspected I was when I was looking at Owen. I always smiled when I
was gazing at him.
“Mr. Colter?”
“Sorry. So what happened?”
“When I met again with the men who wanted me to sleep with Owen, I
explained that it wouldn’t be possible to seduce him as he was in love, and
not the kind of man who would entertain a dalliance.”
Of course he wouldn’t. Not Owen.
“So they ordered me to lure him where he could be abducted, and I
refused. They were very insistent. When they couldn’t convince me, they
killed my mother.”
My heart hurt for the man as his voice shook and he struggled to keep
control of his emotions and not break down. I waited quietly for him to get a
hold of himself and continue his story.
“But you see,” he croaked out, taking a breath, “after she passed, I spoke
to her doctor and asked how she was murdered. You should have seen the
look on his face. He had no clue where I was getting such wild ideas, and
assured me that my mother had died of natural causes.”
The news had to have come as a shock.
“When I asked the doctor if he was certain she hadn’t been killed, he was
adamant that whoever gave me such vile information was a liar. My mother,
he told me, had died of heart disease, nothing more sinister than that.”
I nodded.
“If they approached me again, I was going to tell them off for making up
such gross, disgusting lies, but almost immediately, I started getting text
messages from an unknown number, showing pictures of my sister and her
daughter. They must have been watching her apartment. They said she and
my niece would meet with a horrible accident if I didn’t cooperate. They’re
all the family I have left, so I did as I was ordered.”
“Okay.”
“Owen thought we were friends, so he met me, and they took him.”
 “Do you know who they were?”
“No, I’m sorry. I only knew them to be military.”
“Because of how they were dressed or the vehicle they drove?”
“Neither. I believed them to be military because they told me they were.”
I didn’t think he was lying to me. I didn’t detect any pretense in the man.
His sorrow over what he’d been forced to do seemed real.
“They gave me a cover story,” Nam continued, “and warned me not to
tell anyone. They said they could get to my sister at any time and threatened
to torture her and my niece to death if I disobeyed. Again, I had no choice but
to trade Owen for them.”
I understood. I would trade a stranger for Owen if the roles were reversed.
After a few seconds of silence, he asked, “Is Owen still alive?”
“I don’t know,” I replied honestly.
“I have his laptop.”
I nearly jolted but squashed the instinct.
“They were looking for it, but I didn’t let on I had it.”
“Where is it?”
“At my flat. It’s close by.” He gave me the address. “You should know,
his laptop is a brick. I tried to bypass its security, but the level of encryption
on it is far beyond my skills.”
“Why would you try and break into it?” I asked pointedly.
“To see if there was anything there I could use to help Owen, now that
my sister and niece are no longer in danger.”
“What makes you think they’re no longer in danger?”
He gasped. “I was told my part was done and the three of us were safe.”
But that was a lie, or why would he have a tail? “Listen, I think you’re
still in a great deal of danger, and you’re going to need to trust me to help
you.”
His lips parted as he stared at me. “Whyever would you do that? I’m the
one who put Owen into their hands.”
“Because you were used, Mr. Nam, and that’s not fair or something I
tolerate. Now, I need you to get up and come with me.”
We rose but never cleared the table.
Suddenly a man appeared behind Nam. I saw the knife and instinctively
grabbed a fistful of the young man’s T-shirt and yanked him forward, off his
feet and up against my chest. Before the stranger took another step, there was
the crack of a high-powered shot. The round struck Nam’s shadow behind the
ear, punching a hole through his neck. Scarlet jutted out the exit wound in an
arc, drenching his face as he fell.
Someone had fired a kill shot, and it wasn’t one of my guys. Chris or
George, as they were Army snipers, would have gone for the head. I shoved
the table over, yanking Nam down beside me.
“What’s happening?” he cried out.
I tucked him against me, checking the dead man, noting the geyser
coming from his throat that I knew wouldn’t stop until it ran dry. At the
moment, it was pooling on the floor under him.
I had only fractured images of the moments that followed. A waitress
screamed and dropped a tray of drinks. Guests ran for cover.
Normally, I acted on instinct, but those days were gone. In that instant, I
prayed this would be the last time, ever, for this. I didn’t have this skill set
anymore, to be sitting in blood, watching others die. My days of calmly
seeing people turn to corpses were over.
I stayed low behind the table, holding Nam tight as he came apart,
starting to hyperventilate. “My sister,” Nam gasped, “and my niece…will be
—”
“No,” I promised him, my voice hard. “You’re going to be all right, and
so will they. Just breathe for me. Breathe.”
He was trying, but it was getting harder for him.
“You’re doing so good,” I praised him.
Jing was there in seconds, joining us behind the thankfully large table.
The fact that she would run into the path of bullets to be at my side was
extraordinary.
“Hi,” she greeted me cheerfully, immediately patting down Nam, pulling
out his cell, wallet, and keys and jamming them into her pockets. She then
slipped around me, which was impressive in the cramped space, and put a
protective arm over me as she narrowed in on the gunman. “Got him. The
shooter’s on a roof to my right, two buildings over,” she said out loud, her
comm picking that up, and a moment later I saw the man’s head explode.
“Oh,” Jing said, nodding before turning to me. “That’s good. George
Hunt is fuckin’ amazing. Remind me to say thanks later.”
No shit.
Standing, yanking Nam to his feet, not letting his head turn to look at the
dead man again, I heard Chris say, “Hunt sniped your bogey. Authorities are
inbound. Get out of there.”
 We heard sirens in the distance, and I knew we needed to disappear
before the police arrived. With no time to lose, I pulled Nam after me and
followed Jing outside, across one street and then down another.
Chris was shouting directions I could barely concentrate on over Nam
crying and trying to talk to me at the same time. He was hysterical at this
point, which was understandable. Having people die in front of you was a lot
the first time. Jing continued to lead, finally darting into a small shop selling
a variety of touristy stuff, T-shirts and shot glasses, all with the same crappy
puns on Bangkok. It did sort of write itself.
Jing said, “Let’s rest a minute, all right?”
That was fine with me, and I looked at Nam, who was turning a terrible
shade of gray. “You’re going to be fine. Try and catch your breath.”
“And you?” Jing teased me. “Do you need to catch your breath too?”
“Pardon me?” I panted.
She chuckled. “Treadmill’s not the same as running for your life on the
street, is it?” She waggled her eyebrows at me. She was trying to distract me
from our imminent death, which was damn nice of her.
“No, it is not.” I wrung a smile out of the corner of my mouth, breathing
hard and sweating heavily.
“Okay,” Jing said after another moment, fiddling with Nam’s phone,
turning it to face him so it unlocked and then scrolling through, finding what
she was after. “Chris,” she said, “I need you to extract Nam’s sister and niece
right now from their home. I’m texting you the address.”
“Got it. What do you want me to do once I have them?”
“Hasana will send you the coordinates to a safe house—there’s no
address—in the next minute. Get them there.”
“Copy that.”
“Arden, I need you and Dante to get to Nam’s flat—I just texted you the
address—and recover Owen’s laptop.”
“On it,” Arden responded.
“Be careful,” Jing warned her. “We’re blown now. They know we have
Nam. They’ll be watching his place.”
“Understood,” she said quickly.
“Hunt, are we clear?”
“Affirmative. All clear.”
“What happened?” I asked Jing as Nam doubled over and I rubbed his
back.
 “All those people we assumed were there—suddenly were.”
“Soldiers?”
“I don’t think so. I got a mercenary vibe.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“As soon as the sniper killed the guy shadowing Nam, Chris was pinned
just keeping you from getting overrun, and Dante had to leave his safe spot in
the building across the street to get to Arden.”
“Why?”
“She got grabbed by three guys and shoved into a car.”
I jolted. “We need to—wait, sorry. You said Dante has her?”
“Yeah, it was badass. He jumped on the hood of the car, shot the three
guys inside, and pulled her out.”
“Is she fine?”
“She’s shaken, and wasn’t letting go of Dante for a second,” she said,
chuckling. “But, you know, if you have the opportunity to hold Dante
Cerreto’s hand…maybe you hold on for a minute or two just because you
can.”
“He’s old enough to be her father.”
“So the fuck what? The man is hot. And what is this whole ageist thing
you’ve got going on? Since when is age a determining factor when it comes
to love?”
“We should maybe focus right now,” I told her.
“We are actually hiding right now,” she reminded me, “and are perfectly
safe right here in the most empty shop I’ve ever seen in my life.”
It was but that was to be expected. There were hundreds of hole-in-the-
wall shops selling all the same stuff.
“We should probably—”
“This is the thing that’s got you all twisted up about Owen, isn’t it?”
We were in a tiny store, waiting to move, and she thought right then was
the time to take a deep dive into my psyche. “Are you kidding me?”
“Fine,” she groused, “but we are going to talk about this.”
I had no doubt.
“Okay, people, let’s go,” said a voice behind me.
Rounding on the man who’d spoken, reaching for the Sig Sauer P229 that
George had brought me, I was a second from pulling the trigger when I
realized I was facing Garland Murray.
“Hold on, Colonel. I come in peace.”
 “Holy shit,” I groaned, and it was my turn to bend over, shaking, having
nearly put a bullet in his head. Nam returned the favor from earlier and patted
my back.
“You guys should get off the street, don’t you think?”
“Don’t you think,” Jing parroted back.
“What did I do?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe announce yourself next time before he shoots
you or I gut you,” she snapped, and only then did he see the blade in her
hand.
Because of her luminous beauty and charismatic presence, people thought
Jing couldn’t be lethal. But she could cut a swath through a room with just a
knife.
“Sorry,” Garland said sheepishly. “I really thought he saw me.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I know. Unfortunately, his reflexes are not as good as
they used to be.”
“I’m right here,” I snapped at her.
“Hi, I’m Charkrit Nam,” the young man said, introducing himself,
offering Garland his hand. “But please call me Krit. I’m not actually with
them. We’re just running from the bad guys who tried to kill me, together.”
“Pleasure,” Garland told him, shaking his hand. “Garland Murray, but
you can call me Gar.”
“In all honesty, Gar, I’m the one responsible for Owen being kidnapped,
but I must tell you that I was pressured into it. They threatened my sister and
niece.”
“I understand,” Garland assured Nam. “When people threaten your
family, what’re you supposed to do?”
“Yes,” Nam agreed, still holding his hand.
“Can we go?” Jing was clearly still annoyed. She hated to be startled or
scared. It made her cranky. I’d seen her get up and leave the room when we
were watching a horror movie because jump scares pissed her off.
Garland turned to me, his grin never faltering. “I’m meeting Dante and
Arden to get this gentleman to his family, and we—shit,” he gasped as a car
pulled up in front of the store and six men got out. “I think we’re done here,
Colonel.”
Stepping in front of Nam, shoving Garland to the right, behind a pillar, I
pulled my gun just as they started shooting.
At that moment, again, I was reminded I was rusty. Every ex-Army man
sensed that moment when he’d lost his fighting sharpness, and I hadn’t fired
a weapon in months. I was like a pro athlete who’d been out of training for
the better part of a year. Darius, as usual, had been right. Dry firing would
have been a good idea.
Of course, shooting a gun at people that close didn’t require as much skill
as what George was doing on the roof of whatever building he’d moved to.
When another car arrived, and the men all died inside the car, not even
getting out, George dispatching them in seconds, it was understood that we
had help.
The gunfire reverberated loudly. I hit two men point-blank in the chest,
but one of their pistols kicked and a round hit the wall inches from my head.
Years ago, I would have seen the first car coming a mile off and dropped
them all as they got out. Now, it had taken Garland announcing the threat to
get me to see it. I’d lost my edge, and when I got home—not if, but when—I
vowed to fix that.
“Okay,” Jing shouted, and I turned to look at her. “Since there’s ten dead
men in the street, we need to go.”
Moving through the empty store quickly, the bored clerk now down
behind the counter, Jing in front, Garland in back, we made our way to the
rear exit and popped out into an alley.
“Hey,” Dante’s voice came over the comms. “We’ve secured the laptop
and a duffel of clothes, pictures, and a few more items I thought Nam might
want. We just exited the lobby, and there’s a whole legion of guys going up
the stairs carrying automatic rifles. We can also hear gunfire from our present
position.”
“Oh, the gunfire is us,” Jing told Dante, just as a car blocked the end of
the alley we were making our way down. “Fuck, fuck, just meet us at the safe
house where Chris is taking the sister and her kid. Don’t go back to the
hotel.”
“Sorry,” he told her. “We have to. Can’t leave a trace of anything there.
Plus, hello, we need our clothes.”
Leave it to him to be practical in the face of death.
Garland, who I did not realize had a MAC-10 under his arm, stepped in
front of us and used the submachine gun to clear the street.
“Impressive,” Jing told him.
“It’s small, easy to conceal.”
She nodded.
 “I think I’m going to throw up,” Nam informed us, moving over next to a
dumpster.
“Just so you know,” Dante came back on, sounding far too cheerful, “we
killed two guys in Nam’s apartment, before anyone else showed up, and they
were both carrying Glocks.”
Shit.
“So not military,” Dante confirmed. “The Royal Thai Army are carrying
the Colt 1911. Means maybe cops or triads.”
“That’s great news,” Hunt announced sarcastically, suddenly on our party
line. “Colonel, I’m going to need to cover Mr. Cerreto and Ms. Stewart as
they return to the hotel because the street is full. Chris also reported that he’s
going to need backup with the sister and niece, so I’ll be on my way there as
soon as the personal effects from the hotel are secured.”
“Copy that.”
“I’ll return the second I can, as I think we can all safely say that you’re
the real target.”
“Where are you getting that?” I asked as we made our way down the
opposite end of the alley once Nam finished puking.
“Everyone had some trouble, yes, but the bulk of this attack is focused on
you.”
I was starting to think he was right. We were taking a lot of fire, the
others not as much.
“You need to move,” Dante said solemnly.
“Yeah, I know, we’re on our way. We’ll meet you at the safe house.”
“Copy that,” Dante grumbled, and I knew he wasn’t happy.
At the end of the alley, Jing stepped out after a quick look, and I yanked
her back before a blast from a shotgun exploded the wall to her right,
spraying her with fragments of drywall and brick. I drew down on the man,
and he was dead in the street moments later.
“Thank you,” she said to me, and I noted the scrapes on her face and
winced. “It’s fine,” she assured me, and she was about to dart to the right but
stopped suddenly. “Wait. We should go back.”
“What?” Garland snapped at her.
“I don’t hear any sirens, so I say we go back and get one of the cars those
guys left.”
“Fuck. That’s brilliant,” Garland said, and she smiled at him. He then
reached into a pocket of his cargo pants, pulled out a small plastic bottle, and
passed it to her.
“It’s lavender oil,” he told her, gesturing at her face.
“Oh, thank you.” She shoved it in her pocket, then ran left, making a
square of our route, all of us going back the way we came.
A dark sedan was parked at the end of the street, still idling near the
entrance of the souvenir shop. As we ran for it, we heard police sirens in the
distance. They would arrive any minute now.
Jing slid into the driver’s seat as the rest of us climbed in. I took the
passenger seat, and Nam and Garland took the back as Jing threw the car into
drive and whipped us away from the curb. We left just as police cars came
flying down the street on the other side.
“That was a little close,” Jing said drolly.
I didn’t even have a response for her.
 SEVEN

“A nyone now?” I barked, and Garland, who was sitting behind me,
turned around in his seat to check.
“No, sir. We’re not being followed,” he assured me as Jing sped
out onto the expressway, urging the sedan to seventy miles per hour.
I called Darius, who answered on the first ring.
“Is it your safe house or one Hasana found?”
“It’s mine.” He clipped the words.
“Why’re you mad?”
“You’re dropping a lot of bodies. What happened to a surgical strike?”
“Oh, I think surgical anything is over,” I said flatly. “I bet we got tracked
to the hotel, right?”
“You did, but Dante and Arden were very thorough, getting everything
that belonged to everyone. There’s not even a gum wrapper or a piece of
paper left in the garbage. That’s the police chatter, at least. According to
them, there’s not a scrap of credible DNA evidence, as the entire place was
sprayed with bleach.”
“She’s thorough,” I told him, praising Arden.
“Well, your cover at the hotel will hold, in so much as no one will be able
to prove Jared Colter was there.”
“That’s all I need—plausible deniability.”
“Which you have.”
“So this safe house, do you have coordinates for me?”
My phone pinged instantly with the information. “It’s only about eight
kilometers from your current position. A boat will be waiting.”
 “A boat?” I groaned. “Seriously?”
“I’m not the one killing people in the streets,” he yelled at me, his normal
unflappable calm going right out the window. “What the fuck, Jared?”
“I have no idea what’s going on. This is overkill.”
“Agreed.”
“Somebody really wants me dead.”
He ignored that and instead asked, “Are you all right? Bullet-free?”
“At the moment,” I said as Jing weaved in and out of traffic. “I’ll call
later.”
“Please,” he said, and hung up.
I smiled at Jing. “You ready for directions to the safe house?”
“I was born ready, boss.”
Her bravado and teasing made me smile as we headed east out of the city,
Jing torturing the sedan’s clutch and gearbox. In thirty minutes, we were near
the Khlong Toei slum, south of the expressway and north of the port. It was
the largest and oldest slum in Bangkok, housing some 100,000 people on
roughly one square mile of land. Jing parked some distance away, and we
walked slowly, Garland hiding the MAC-10 under his arm, inside his jacket,
his other arm holding Nam’s.
“Thank you for not letting me die, even though you had every right to,”
Nam said to my back. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Colter.”
“None of it was your fault,” I assured him, walking with Jing on my arm.
“Let’s just get through this and you’ll see your sister and niece.”
“Aw, boss, he’s all choked up back here,” Garland told me, and I heard it
then, the slight Southern Accent that warmed his words. “Here you go,
buddy. Blow your nose.”
Apparently, from the sound of Nam sniffling to Jing smoothing oil on her
face, Garland had everything you’d ever need in the pockets of his cargo
pants.
“You’re like Mary Poppins,” I said to him.
“I’m not sure what that’s about,” he replied, chuckling, “but I’m going to
assume it’s a compliment and take it as such.”
We made our way to the nearby Khlong Toei Market. I felt reasonably
confident that we were not tailed, and didn’t notice anything out of the
ordinary as we moved through the busy rows of fish stalls lining the interior
of Bangkok’s largest wet market, where fishermen sold their early morning
catch.
 When we reached a small dock that jutted out into the Chao Phraya River,
I immediately saw a sleek red powerboat with flames painted on either side
tied up alongside other light craft. With an overall length of twenty-nine feet
and twin 300 HP outboards, the V hull sport cruiser stood out.
“Well, now, that’s not conspicuous at all,” Jing said sarcastically.
“I bet you Darius is watching us on satellite and laughing his ass off.”
The thing was, though, the boat worried me. My friend was not, in any
way, a gambling man. He was as skilled an operator as they came. Every
move he made was deliberate, like chess. If the man sent me a powerboat, it
was because we would need to go fast.
“Fuck,” I grumbled.
“I’ll wager she’s as speedy as she looks,” Garland commented, sounding
excited, then asked Jing, “Can you drive that?”
“I can,” she muttered, turning to me. “But man…when I have my baby,
Hasana is going to be with you, and I’ll be the one making hotel reservations
from fuckin’ Paris.”
“Are you planning a family?” Garland asked her.
“I already have a family. I have dogs. I’m just saying, when Hasana’s
done having this kid, we’re switching places. She gets to follow Jared Colter
around the globe, and I’ll be the voice on the phone.”
“You sound upset,” I told her.
“No,” she snapped, quickly wiping stray tears from under each eye.
“Everything’s fine.”
“I don’t think everything’s fine,” Nam commented.
Master of the obvious, that one.
Moving down the dock, we were met by an older Thai man in a red
baseball cap. He greeted us in the traditional Thai fashion: a slight bow, his
palms pressed together, prayer-like.
We all bowed back.
When I straightened, he said, “You’re here for the Demon, yes?”
Of course the name of the boat was the Demon. Why wouldn’t it be? “We
are.”
He held out the keys to Jing, which I found interesting because that meant
he’d looked at all of us, me, her, Garland, and Nam, and instantly decided
Jing would be driving. I was a little hurt.
“I suggest you depart with haste,” the man said kindly. “It would
probably be best.”
 Did we need the sarcasm?
Immediately, he moved to the front of the boat as we climbed aboard, and
told Jing she had onboard GPS as the engine roared to life.
“Just follow the arrow, don’t get lost, you’ll be fine.”
It was all quite logical.
“You’re a riot, sir,” Jing told him.
“My wife says this as well. A house has been arranged for you on Koh
Kret, so again, follow directions and don’t get lost.”
“Will do,” Jing replied, and then we were off like a shot.
For maybe five minutes, it was nice, the wind soothing and cool at the
speed we were going, but then, of course, we had company.
“Three boats,” Garland grumbled, turning to me. “Begging your pardon,
sir, but who are you that everyone wants to kill you?”
That was the million-dollar question, because in all honesty, most of the
people who wanted me dead were, in fact, already dead themselves. I didn’t
have a lot of enemies walking around. That simply wasn’t how it worked.
“I’m nobody special,” I assured him.
“Three boats chasing us says that’s a lie, Colonel.”
I had no idea what to tell him.
The three long-tail gunboats were advancing on us at high speed. I
counted five men on each craft, but they were moving, we were moving, and
I didn’t have my glasses, so there could be more, or less. God, I really did
need to retire after this. Not that fifty-six was old, but being on an op,
needing glasses for distance—and reading—was not great.
“I see automatic rifles,” Garland said to be an asshole, showing off his
seeing skills.
“Hey,” I called over to Jing, “how fast can this boat go?”
“Not fast enough,” she said snidely.
“Why are you mad at me?” I yelled at her.
“I’m not mad at you. I’m just sick of being here! I wanna go home,” she
shouted back.
I understood the impulse. “Well, don’t let us die, and I promise you,
you’ll go home.”
I heard her growl. “This boat will easily do seventy knots.”
Which meant eighty miles per hour. It was fast, but not crazy fast. “Is that
enough to outrun the gunboats?”
“Not a chance. They can get us easy.”
 Shit.
“But,” she said as I walked up beside her, “like every high-power, long-
nose dragster, you sacrifice speed for maneuverability. We won’t have to
repel boarders, but that becomes a moot point if they’re shooting at us.”
It did. Our pursuers had guns, and in a straight line, across open water,
that was lethal. What also didn’t help were the mystifying number of small
boats, river taxis, ferryboats, and water buses on the river. I liked our chances
of shaking off the boats at low speed—the trick was maintaining enough
distance to avoid being blasted to bits by their guns.
“Oh-oh,” Garland announced happily. “There’s a duffel here. Maybe your
friend Mr. Hawthorne had his man back there pack us some goodies.”
I waited while Garland unzipped the duffel.
“Yeah, see, Colonel, your friend gave us a small arsenal of automatic
rifles and ammunition, and a handful of concussion grenades.”
Thank Christ Darius had always been the guy who was overprepared for
every situation. He always planned for contingencies.
Garland retrieved an MK-17 from the duffel, brought it to where I was
standing beside Jing, gave me a reassuring pat on the arm that I hated, and
then went back to join Nam at the rear of the boat. A moment later, he yelled,
“They’re about two hundred meters out, Colonel.”
“Jing,” I began, taking a breath. “If they get alongside us, they’ll cut us to
ribbons.”
“I know,” she growled.
“So don’t stop, and try not to kill us.”
“Hilarious,” she muttered, pushing the powerboat’s engines to the limit,
roaring to a new level of speed into the river traffic.
“A hundred meters!” Garland yelled again, his rifle tracking on the
closest boat and gunman.
“Let’s take them,” I roared, adrenaline pumping now as I knelt down,
trying to stay as balanced as possible.
The Demon, followed closely by three others, sliced through an armada of
sputtering canal boats and overloaded ferries. We barely missed one and sent
a small tidal wave over another. One of the gunboats at even pace with us
came in from the right, the hull of the gunboat no more than five meters off
our side. The gunman on the bow let loose, a bedlam of shells slamming into
our sport craft. We had no time to avoid the barrage of deadly fire, and we all
instinctively crouched, only Jing couldn’t, gripping the steering wheel and
pulling it hard to the left, nearly ramming a low flat-bottom craft in the
process.
Closing my mind to the chaos around me, I narrowed my eyes, focused,
and fired on the gunboat. The rounds struck high, thumping into the bow
shooter and boat captain in quick succession. The captain slumped, shunting
the control pole hard to the right and sending the twenty-eight-foot craft
barreling toward a slower-moving water bus. Fortunately, it missed,
exploding alone in a roar of flame. The good news: no innocents were killed.
The bad news: we weren’t exactly operating under the radar.
Jing maintained a zigzag course, concentrating on skirting the river traffic
as we fired fast bursts in the direction of the two remaining gunboats to keep
them at bay.
“Jared!” Jing shouted.
Moving back to her side in the cockpit, I peered over the bow upriver,
seeing what she did—we had run out of cover. The channel was empty save
for a lone tug towing a barge. Glancing at the speedometer, I noted that the
needle hung at the seventy-five-knot mark.
“Keep ahead of them if you can!”
I knew if they got alongside us, we’d find ourselves in a heavy firefight,
taking rounds from all sides and all of us surviving that was dicey.
“I’ll try!”
The boat hurtled upriver at full power. The gunboats swung wildly to the
port of the sport craft at first, then flanked us on both sides and fired on us at
the same instant. I threw myself on the deck, Garland and Nam prone as well,
but Jing, again, could only hunch over the wheel and ride out the deadly
assault as bullets gouged the bow and foredeck, shattering the windshield,
bits and pieces of fiberglass debris bursting all around us. I would have taken
over for her, but I couldn’t drive as well as she could, and our chances of
survival were far better with her at the wheel.
Jing yanked the throttles back, lurching the powerboat’s bow deep into
the water. The speed fell off so quickly, I was thrown forward against the
cockpit counter before slumping to the deck. The gunboats overshot us,
sending their shells whistling harmlessly over the bow.
Jing was leaning forward over the wheel, and I had a jolt of terror before I
reached her. She turned to look at me, and I exhaled sharply.
“You scared the fuck outta me,” I barked at her, frightened and shaking. I
realized then, suddenly, all at once, the real reason I couldn’t be in the field
anymore—I cared.
I was over the place in my life where people could be sacrificed for the
greater good. I couldn’t send soldiers up hills anymore as decoys so the bulk
of the contingent could make it through a pass and capture an enemy
stronghold. I had to save everyone now. I wasn’t a military man anymore. I
wasn’t an intelligence asset anymore. I couldn’t lose anybody I cared about.
Not Owen, not Jing, no innocents, no one. I had to do everything within my
power to save everyone.
There was no time, but still, I grabbed Jing and clutched her to me.
“Aww, boss,” she teased me hoarsely, pressing her face to my chest.
“You were worried about me.”
I was beyond that. I’d been terrified and had an epiphany all at the same
time. It was overwhelming.
“Guys?” Garland interjected gently.
Miraculously, none of us had been struck by the shells.
Nam was giving me a wan smile. “No offense, but I really hate this.”
“You and me both, kid,” I agreed, releasing Jing in time to see the
gunboats completing their turn, the little powerhouses closing in again for the
kill.
“We’re gonna die here if we’re sitting still,” Garland said flatly.
He was a rock under pressure. I would need to remember to tell Dante.
Jing took a deep breath, collected herself, said, “Hold on to something,”
then shoved the twin throttles to full. The craft propelled through the water
like we’d been shot from a cannon. She steered the powerboat in the direction
of the gunboats on a collision course. “Stay down!” she yelled, as the gunmen
opened fire, rounds hammering against the hull in a relentless staccato.
It was clear she intended to use the sheer size of our boat to her
advantage, continuing at full speed, closing the distance. The powerboat’s
bow came out of the water as it rammed into the front-running gunboat. I
held on and gritted my teeth as the speedboat catapulted over the smaller
vessel, launching into the air.
“Shit!” Nam screamed from behind me.
The gunboat exploded, and ours hit the water hard, the recoil knocking
me, Nam, and Garland to the deck. When I checked on Jing, she was smiling,
so that was good.
The last gunboat overshot us again, the craft forced to slow to complete
its turn, then resume pursuit.
 Jing shoved the throttles to the wall, and we were off again. The move
gained us only a few seconds before the gunboat was on us, guns tracking.
Bullets shot across the water, breaking the surface with dozens of jabbing
spurts.
“At fifty meters they’ll be able to put shots in us,” Garland yelled.
“How good a shot are you?” I returned.
“Better than most.”
“Better than that estimation, I hope. Now is not the time for downplaying
your strengths.”
“You put it in front of me, I can hit it, sir.”
Rushing to the bag Garland had been digging around in earlier, I pulled
off my polo and wrapped four concussion grenades in it, then turned to
Garland.
“They’ll need to be pretty close,” Garland said, understanding my plan.
“Not too close. I can’t die today.”
Garland nodded.
“Go, Jing!”
She savagely cranked the wheel, feinting to starboard, then cut sharply to
port to throw off the gunners as she swerved the powerboat around the
gunboat’s bow, buzzing them with less than five meters between us. The
sport boat’s wash pitched the gunboat into a rolling motion that threw off the
aim of the gunners. Holding the rifle with my left hand, I aimed at the bow
gunner and fired. The round caught the gunman in the face, throwing him
back into the second shooter. With my right hand, I tossed the bomb at the
deck of the gunboat, and Garland aimed his smaller MK-10 at the bundle and
fired. Jing steered the boat away just as the grenades exploded. The force of
the explosion was like a sledgehammer against the powerboat, nearly
capsizing us, knocking us all off our feet as the boat exploded and rained
debris in the water and over us.
The boat slowed, and after a moment, I got to my feet, my ears still
ringing from the blast. Jing turned to look at me, opening and closing her jaw,
trying to get her ears to work. We’d been knocked around, and we were
bloodied and bruised, but nothing catastrophic. The other good news was that
the bullet-ridden boat was still seaworthy.
Jing shook herself all over, needing to get her bearings, then took control
of the boat again. I had Nam take a seat on the cushioned area in the rear of
the boat with Garland, and I heard him praying in gratitude. Garland was
right behind him, crossing himself before shooting me a smile.
“You guys at Torus always have this much fun, Colonel?”
“Oh fuck yeah,” Jing assured him. “You should see our New Year’s Eve
parties. Those get really wild.”
His laughter was good to hear, and Nam had a bemused expression on his
face as he looked at him. The day had just infinitely improved.
As Jing turned the craft toward Koh Kret and sped away, I felt better than
I had since we arrived in Bangkok.
 EIGHT

“T he manmade island of Koh Kret was populated by the Mon people

after the fall of the Ayutthaya kingdom, and compared to Bangkok,
it’s like another world,” I told them as the Demon followed the
Chao Phraya River toward our destination. “The island’s delicate remoteness
and fairy-tale small, rustic fishing-village quality makes the polluted urban
megacity living of Thai Krung Tep seem a million miles away.”
“Really?” Jing whined, squinting at me, stopping me from saying any
more. “You always have to do the history thing?”
“Don’t you want to know these things?”
“Sure, Dad, yeah,” she said sarcastically, and Nam’s laughter was nice to
hear.
There were no major roads where we were and no cars on the Koh Kret,
making the safe house accessible only by water and tactically perfect. Jing
easily found the house’s private jetty and sped into a small berth, then cut the
engine. Slowly, moving gently, the powerboat drifted on the calm river to the
mooring, and I jumped onto the dock, taking the line to tie up.
“Holy shit,” Chris said, coming down the dock to meet us. “How many
bullets are in this thing, and how is it still floating?”
“I have no idea,” Jing muttered, getting off the boat quickly but giving it
a pat. “It’s a good one, though. I’m gonna get one with my bonus,” she said,
glaring at me.
“Duly noted,” I groused at her.
“I’m so calling Hasana and giving her shit,” she snapped, charging by
Chris.
 “Really,” Chris said, gesturing at the boat. “How?”
“Krit!” His family ran down the dock to greet him as he scrambled off the
boat.
It was nice to see the happy reunion, the hugging and kissing. I didn’t
speak the language, so I didn’t know what was being said, but I heard
Garland’s name, and when he reached them, he returned Nam’s family’s
effusive greetings with a stream of flowing Thai.
“Seriously?” I said irritably as I passed by him. I, of course, had not kept
my eye on Nam for the entirety of our trip down the river, so I must have
missed Garland saving his life. The way Nam was holding his arm, and the
way his family hugged him, I was thinking it had been epic.
Walking toward the safe house, I was met by George Hunt.
“Hey,” I greeted him, offering him my hand. “Thank you for the assist on
the street earlier.”
“You’re welcome, Colonel,” he said with a grimace.
I knew the look. “You need to go.”
“Yessir, and I apologize, but I need to rejoin my unit. We’re being
deployed to Syria.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” I assured him, stepping back to
offer him a salute. “Thank you, soldier. Travel safe and get home.”
He immediately returned the salute. “Rangers lead the way, sir.”
“They do,” I agreed.
I was certain he was about to be choppered out, but I didn’t ask as he
jogged down the dock, away from me, his duffel bag slung over one
shoulder, the rifle bag over the other.
“This is excellent news,” Dante greeted me, coming down the dock,
looking like he’d just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine. “You’re
not dead.”
I gestured at him. “How do you always stay so clean?”
“Because I never take the ride of terror on the river,” he answered,
scowling at me. “Why do you always look so terrible? And didn’t you have a
shirt when you started?”
I ignored him, smiling at Arden, who rushed up and flung herself into my
arms. She was weeping, clearly happy to see me.
“Are you all right?” I asked her when she eased back to look at my face.
She nodded and pointed over her shoulder. “What did you do to Jing?”
“It was maybe a little dicey out there.”
 “I think she’s throwing up.”
“Yeah, I might need to throw up myself.”

T HE PRIVATE FOUR - ROOM , one-bathroom, teakwood house was a comfortable

place with all the essentials. We all took turns showering and changing since
Dante and Arden had been kind enough to bring our things.
There was food and ice water, and Nam’s sister cooked for us, turning
essentials into something that tasted even better than it smelled, which was
impressive, as it smelled amazing.
Chris had even brought their family cat.
“What?” he asked, squinting at me.
“You brought the cat?”
“It’s their pet,” he said, disgusted with me. “Of course I brought the cat.”
The cat was a pretty gray Korat, with beautiful bright-green eyes. His
name was Pickle.
“Why?” I asked Nam.
“He has green eyes. Green like a pickle.”
That seemed reasonable.
My phone rang after dinner. “Hey,” I greeted Darius. “Thank you for the
concussion grenades.”
“Yes, well, I aim to get a five-star rating on Yelp.”
I scoffed. “Your man at the dock, I hope he was fine once we left.”
“Absolutely. He’s very good at repeating all the questions he’s asked
until people get so annoyed, they walk away.”
I chuckled and groaned at the same time. I needed ibuprofen. Like, a
really big dose. I would barely be able to walk tomorrow if I wasn’t careful.
“Oh yeah, brother,” Darius snickered. “Feeling every one of those fifty-
six—wait, almost fifty-seven years?”
“Shut up.”
“I must say I’m impressed. So far you haven’t lost anyone. That’s better
than most operators can brag about.”
“Don’t jinx me,” I grumbled. “I want it to stay like this.”
“Well, with how hot you all are at the moment, it’s going to get harder.”
“How bad?”
“I can keep the cops off your back, but it’s going to take more than just
good connections and favors being called in with the mess you’re making.
People will insist on being paid.”
“Pay them. I’m good for it. Tell Hasana. She’ll wire you whatever you
need.”
“The money’s appreciated, but there’s more.”
“What?” I felt the air freeze in my lungs. Something about Owen, it had
to be.
“The first man you killed today was NIA.”
“Fuck.” The Thai National Intelligence Agency was the equivalent of
Britain’s MI6 that served the office of the prime minister. This was above
even my paygrade.
“What the fuck is going on?” Darius sounded worried, and I hated that. If
he was concerned, that meant I was swimming in the deep end.
“I don’t know yet. But the cover-up started with a Ministry of Interior
liaison. A man named Sun.”
“I’ll look into him. Fortunately, they haven’t put all the pieces together
yet. My sources tell me Thai SBB has the case.” The Special Branch Bureau
division was a unit under the Royal Thai Police Force that handled all threats
to national security. Darius said, “You have to try—and I know it’s a big ask
—to be less you.”
It took me a moment. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Everything about you has always been big and loud, with explosions and
bodies flying everywhere. You’re like a damn Jerry Bruckheimer summer
blockbuster, and I need you to be more indie arthouse film about, I dunno,
bees or some shit.”
“Bees?”
“You know what I mean!” Darius growled at me.
I did. Yes.
“You’re making it easy for them. You’re lucky that firefight in the street
earlier didn’t bring out the military. Restrict your movements, lie low for a
couple of days. When they do connect the dots, you’re going to have to make
yourself scarce whether you have Owen or not.”
“You know that’s not an option I’m willing to entertain.”
“You’ll have to. The prime minister has broadened the powers of the
NIA, as you recall.”
The NIA’s involvement complicated things, making it far more
dangerous for us. Thailand’s chief intelligence agency had been awarded
carte-blanche powers in case of threats to national stability or security.
 “The death of an agent will certainly fall under the agency’s purview to
investigate terror offenses,” Darius said, “so if this gets bigger, you will have
to go home.”
“So what do you suggest I do?”
“Lower your body count for starters.”
“Are you talking about the boat now?”
“Yes, I’m talking about the boat.” He sounded annoyed. “Lower. Your.
Profile.”
“I will do my best. I’m not trying to kill people.”
“Where have I heard that before?” Chris called over to me.
“Listen to me,” Darius said softly. “If you get a text from me that says go
to ground, you get to ground immediately, you understand? They round you
up, you’re not getting out, Jared.”
“I know.”
“You love Owen, I know that. We all know that, and if it were Efrem in
Owen’s spot, I’d expect you all backing my play. But if you’re dead, if your
team’s dead, then there’s no hope. You have to stay alive. All of you. I don’t
want to lose you, but I don’t want to lose Dante or Chris either. I don’t have a
lot of friends, so…yes?”
“Yes,” I agreed. “No one dies or we can’t save Owen.”
“I like this one-track-mind thing you’ve got going. Just follow
directions.”
Darius Hawthorne was not a man to mince words. And his finality was
not a thing to ever ignore.
“Now, put me on speaker so I can talk to everyone about escape plans and
setting up dead drops to get you out of the country and over to Myanmar if
needed. Also, someone has to get Nam and his family to a plane going to
London in about seven hours. I have new passports and all the papers they’ll
need ready for pickup, but they need an escort.”
I cleared my throat.
“Oh, fuck you, what?”
“We also need a cat carrier, an animal health certificate, and a ticket for
Pickle.”
Long silence.
I never thought, in a million years, the words ticket for Pickle would ever
come out of my mouth. “D?”
“Give me a minute. I need to process this.”
 I bet he did.

A S EXPECTED , I was broken the next morning. I had to roll sideways to get off
the cot, and had to rise in stages. Normally, it wasn’t like this. And while it
was true that I didn’t leap out of bed anymore, neither did I usually have to
crawl.
Chris was on the porch, drinking coffee, and though it was already hot
and humid outside, the breeze off the river helped.
“Was there coffee in the pantry last night?” I asked him. “Because I
didn’t see any.”
“No.” Chris yawned. “I walked to the store. It’s not far, and you know I
have trouble sleeping.” He passed me the newspaper.
We dominated the front page, everything about our shootouts the
previous day. I skimmed through the copy of the Bangkok Post. There was a
full-page article reporting on the two incidents of gunfire, but no names were
mentioned. At least we hadn’t been identified.
I got a text then from Arden, who was with Nam and his family. She
hadn’t wanted to leave me, but since Jing was allergic to cats, the task fell to
her. They were waiting to board, and everything was on track. Instead of
moving my plane, which was under surveillance, Darius had elected to fly the
family, their cat, and Arden to Heathrow on a commercial flight. As usual,
Darius’s tradecraft was flawless, and the family was safe. Darius had
someone meeting them in London with paperwork that would see them
settled in the UK. Nam was very appreciative. He had hugged me goodbye,
had hugged Garland even longer, and was thrilled they would be calling
England home. Apparently, they had other family there as well. Leave it to
Darius to figure that out. Arden promised to get on a return flight as soon as
she handed off the family.
Just then my phone rang, and when I looked at the screen, I smiled.
“We’ve talked more in the last two days than we have in the last two
months.”
“I have no doubt,” Darius agreed. “Listen, you’ve been invited to the
embassy. Because of what went down yesterday.”
I knew there would be consequences. There always were. But, “I don’t
have time for that.”
“Word to the wise,” Darius began, sounding grim, “make time. You’re
kicking up a lot of sand in the ambassador’s box. Meeting with him is in your
best interest.”
“Fuck.”
“I know we both agree that politics should come with a health warning,
but there’s no way out of this.”
I knew that. “Make the arrangements, will you?”
“I will, and then I’ll text you the details.”
“Okay.”
“And Jared…wear a tie.”

W HEN WE WERE DONE TALKING , I returned to the living room to find Dante,
Jing, and Garland glued to the flat-screen TV, listening to the breaking story
from the banks of the Chao Phraya River.
“We made the local news,” Dante announced. “Or, you and Jing and
Garland did.”
“The newspapers as well,” I replied.
“Police suspect triad activity is behind the two incidents,” Dante apprised
me.
“Not triad. Chao Pho,” I corrected.
“What?” Jing asked.
“Chao Pho is the term used in Thailand to describe Thai organized
crime.”
Dante took a sip of his tea and explained, “Chao Pho conjures images of
protection rackets, drugs, prostitution, gambling rings, and so on. Thailand,
just like every other country, has its own homegrown organized crime, but
the country’s porous borders make it the ideal choice for many foreign mafia
organizations to expand their business here.”
“Aw,” Jing said, smiling at me and Dante. “You guys make history fun.”
I scowled at her.
“What? You do. And I, for one, am in no way concerned about adding
gangsters to the already complicated mix of corrupt spies and police.”
“Ditto,” Garland chimed in. “The more the merrier, I always say.”
Jing squinted at him.
“It’s better to have a positive attitude with these things, don’t you think?”
She turned to me. “What’s happening now, because your face looks
weird.”
 “Seems we have an appointment with the ambassador.”
Dante shrugged. “That’s not even remotely surprising.”
“We made a helluva lot of noise yesterday,” Chris said. “Someone was
bound to take notice.”
“None of this matters,” Dante said with a yawn. “Not really.”
“What do you mean?” I asked him.
“You having to see the ambassador, gangsters being added to whoever is
trying to kill you… It’s all moot. The real issue is that we’re still running
around in the dark.”
I nodded.
“I mean, someone is trying to kill you because of something to do with
Owen. That’s all we’ve known from the beginning, more or less, and nothing
has changed. We’re no closer to uncovering what the issue is, and if even
Darius, with his resources, can’t figure it out…” Dante trailed off.
“Spit it out,” I ordered my friend, forgetting for a moment who I was
talking to.
His eyes fired, and I winced.
“Oh? Okay. I’ll spit it out, then—”
I put up my hands. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”
Both his eyebrows were lifted, which told me I was very close to having
him unload on me. If I was going to take my frustration out on anyone,
picking the one who could annihilate me with a few choice words, because he
knew me so well, was probably not the best idea.
Dante took a breath. “We’re out of our depth here, Jared. We need to
figure out how to cut through this, so I’m going to call on some old friends
this afternoon and find out who the right person to talk to is.”
“You still have contacts here?”
He scowled at me.
“Sorry. You have to take Garland with you. You can’t go alone. You’re
not as young as you used to be.”
Dante’s expression changed to surprise.
“I know, I know, pot, kettle, but do you think Noah and Grace would
want you walking around with a giant target on your back, alone?”
“First,” he said, getting up and buttoning his Armani suit jacket, “never
concern yourself with my husband and daughter. You know better. And
second, I’m the only one of us no one knows is here.”
“What?” Chris asked, getting up and coming into the room. “Who knows
I’m here?”
“When I spoke to Darius, he told me the word is that the colonel is in
Thailand and the Spear is backing him up.”
“How?” Chris whined. “And I never understood that Spear shit. I shoot a
gun. How does that have anything to do with a spear?”
I squinted at him, and Dante shook his head.
“I’m seriously asking,” Chris groused at us.
“I suspect,” Garland threw out, “that it refers to that tip-of-the-spear stuff.
Like you go in first, and you’re really good, so you got to be called Spear.”
Chris turned to me. “Is that it?”
“Of course that’s it, you idiot,” Dante groused at him, then turned his
gaze to me. “Garland goes with you because we both know I can handle
myself.”
“I’m going into an embassy,” I reminded him. “Jing will protect me from
the scary bureaucrat, I promise.”
“I will,” Jing told Dante. “You can count on me.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt you,” he assured her. “I’m just worried he’ll shoot his
mouth off inside, get taken into custody or thrown out of the country.”
“Well, Garland wouldn’t be able to stop that anyway,” she pointed out.
“So he goes with you, and I’ll go with Jared.”
“And I’ll stay here,” Chris said, opening another beer. “Someone has to
guard the safe house.”
Dante groaned, and somehow, I felt better.

A SHORT WHILE LATER , we were gliding across the Chao Phraya River,
heading back to Bangkok in a different boat than the Demon. Somehow,
without any of us knowing, Darius had the boats switched out in the night. It
made sense. If we were seen in the same one—and a bullet-riddled one at that
—it would make it pretty easy for the police to pick us up. But that was
Darius. He didn’t miss much.
Dante gave voice to my concern. “Okay, now this is scary,” he grumbled,
getting on the new boat, one made for fishing, not running from mobsters.
“How did I not hear the boats being swapped out?”
We were supposed to be on edge, but apparently, when we fell asleep last
night, all of us slept like the dead.
“Who was on guard duty?” Dante asked me.
 “Fuck,” I groaned.
And of course, moments later, the worst was confirmed as Darius sent
Dante and me pictures and video taken by Lee Tae San, who’d been there last
night.
“That flight from Ankara is long,” I complained to Dante. “How was Lee
with Darius in Ankara but then here in such a short amount of time?”
“He sent him back a day ago to check on us and—what the hell,” Dante
grumbled looking at the photos on his phone.
There was one of Dante, drooling, spread-eagled on his bed, looking like
a drunk starfish. Lee, taking the selfie with him, was making a peace sign.
Mine was worse because there was audio of me snoring as Lee stood over
me, giving a thumbs-up.
“I really hate that guy,” Dante said.
I knew the feeling.
“Hey,” Garland said from the other end of the boat, “who the fuck is this
guy next to my bed giving a rock ’n’ roll salute?”
I got a text from Darius: Perhaps you people might sleep in shifts?
The day was already starting out bad.
 NINE

B ack on land, we split up. Dante took off looking for answers, taking
Garland with him, because after the pictures from Darius, compliments
of Lee, we were both feeling our age. Jing and I went to meet the
ambassador, as requested.
The US embassy in Bangkok was a remnant of a Beirut truck bombing in
’83, when security was an overriding concern for US foreign missions. The
five-story prestressed white concrete structure sat behind a double blast wall
with a forbidding bunker-like appearance that even the lush and elegant tree-
shaded street of Bangkok’s Embassy Row couldn’t soften. Bangkok was the
second-largest American mission after Cairo, with the sprawling embassy
estate resting on a ten-acre oasis of stately rain trees suffusing the property
with lush greenery amid the urbanity surrounding it.
“Wow, that’s ugly,” Jing summed up nicely.
A uniformed security officer came out and asked me my name, and after I
handed him my passport, Jing did the same. The guard scrupulously checked
the photograph against each face before giving us visitor passes.
Inside, a woman approached, dressed in a dark gray suit, her jacket
unbuttoned to suggest the presence of a sidearm, her hair tucked behind her
ears. “Colonel Colter,” she greeted me, “I’m Taylor Clark, station chief here
in Bangkok.”
“Good to meet you,” I said, taking her offered hand and noting that her
handshake was firm and she didn’t smile. She wasn’t trying to be friendly,
instead simply being professional, which I appreciated.
She shook Jing’s hand as well, and then her gaze met mine. “Please
follow me.”
She led the two of us briskly to the elevators. She pressed the button for
the fifth floor, and the door opened a minute later to a private corridor. Clark
led us to a private office at the west end of the building, stopped in front of a
red door, opened it, and went through.
Ambassador Daly was sitting behind a beautifully carved teakwood desk,
in a high-backed swivel chair, reading a report. When I stepped closer, his
head lifted, and he looked startled.
“I know, I know, I look like hell,” I told the man I knew from our time at
West Point. We were in the same graduating class, and while we had never
been friends, we weren’t enemies either. “But I’ve been busy since I got
here.”
“I should say so,” Daly agreed, examining me with dark eyes that missed
nothing.
“You look great,” I complimented the man, and he smiled and shook his
head before rising and coming out from behind the desk.
He was a Black man in his fifties, but the only way I could tell we were
the same age was the slight graying at his temples. The Hugo Boss suit that
fit him like a glove made me embarrassed of how bad I looked. I’d tried to
clean up, but there was no hiding exhaustion.
“I swear, all you guys that didn’t retire aren’t aging. What’s up with
that?”
“Oh, we’re all aging, believe me,” Daly said, chuckling. “Come take a
seat. You’re right on time.”
“The Army in me,” I said.
“Yes, of course.”
I knew he could relate. Mason Daly had served his country with
distinction, doing three tours in Afghanistan before migrating his career to
the Foreign Service.
“Ms. Khoo, please have a seat,” he said, then looked over at Clark. “And
you as well, Ms. Clark.”
I turned to Jing, and she gave me a reassuring smile.
“All right,” Daly said, taking a breath. “Now, what are you drinking?” he
asked, walking to a cabinet.
“Nothing,” I told him.
He looked to Jing.
“Oh, no, thank you, Ambassador,” she said graciously.
 He removed a bottle of Irish whiskey and two glasses, giving each two
fingers, and then returned to the desk, passed one to Clark, and stood next to
her. “You’re making both our lives difficult at the moment, Colonel.”
“That wasn’t at all my intention,” I assured him.
Clark drained her glass, returned it to the cabinet, and spun around to look
at me. “What is your intention, Colonel?”
“To find my colleague, nothing more. I promise I’m not here to rock the
boat.”
She scoffed. “Colonel, you blew up the boats. Plural.”
“They were chasing us,” Jing chimed in, “not the other way around.”
“So you’re just bystanders,” Clark said to Jing. “That’s your assertion?”
“My assertion is we’re here to find Owen Moss, end of story.”
Clark stared at her, but when Jing didn’t flinch, Clark returned her gaze to
me. “What will it take to get you out of Thailand, Colonel?”
“Again,” I said, trying for civil, “my colleague, Chief Clark.”
She seemed to internalize that, then turned to Daly, who crossed the floor
after draining his glass and took a seat beside me.
“Let’s get down to business.” Daly’s demeanor quickly changed from
pleasant gentleman to professional ambassador.
“What exactly can I do for you?” I asked him.
“Colonel—”
“Why does everyone keep calling me that? I’m retired.”
“Perhaps it’s because you’re still acting like your former self,” he said
coldly. “You’re a long way from your base of operations in Chicago. I wasn’t
aware your business extended past US shores.” Daly stared at me, looking for
a crack in my armor, a way in. Like that could ever happen.
“I go where the work takes me,” I said simply, and if this was anyone but
the ambassador, Jing would have groaned. She always gave me such crap
when I gave platitudes instead of real, thoughtful answers.
“And now that Captain Hunt has been recalled, may I ask who else is
working with you? I checked on your men at Torus, and they appear to all be
stateside.”
“With all due respect, Ambassador, who I employ is my business.”
“Of course. I only ask because I recently took a call from the prime
minister asking if you had American agents running an operation on Thai
soil.”
“If you answered no, that was truthful,” I replied flatly. “I’m in no way
currently employed by the US government. Clark here can verify that, as I’m
sure she’s had me followed. My business here is truly and strictly of a
personal nature.”
Clark nodded. “I think that’s the truth.”
“And yet you answered my request to meet, which I sent through agency
channels,” Daly pointed out.
“Ten years of working alongside the CIA builds a significant Rolodex.
People who need to reach me know how to do so.”
“So let me see if I understand. An American citizen has been abducted.”
“Yes.”
“Well, Americans here are my business, Colonel—Colter,” he corrected
himself. “Share what you have, and perhaps I can help you.”
Of course, there was the whole switcheroo with the body that he hadn’t
brought up. He either didn’t know, or he did and was standing clear of that
topic. “You seem well informed.”
“My counterpart in the Ministry filled me in.”
Throwing caution to the wind, I asked, “Did they also share about the
corpse bait and switch they played with my associate’s bodyguard?”
Daly shook his head.
“The prime minister’s office is caught up in this or there are just a few
key people on someone’s payroll. Either way, it’s hard to know who to trust.”
“If your man is still in the wind, he’s in danger. Let me help you.”
I took a breath and leaned forward in my chair. “Have you ever made a
promise, Ambassador?”
“I’m a politician, Mr. Colter. I make a lot of promises.”
“I’m talking about the type of promise you would lay your very life down
to keep. That’s what I made to this man’s parents before they were murdered.
And that was before my admission that I love him. So you understand what
you’re up against here.”
“In more than two centuries of friendship, the United States and Thailand
have strengthened cooperation in all sectors, from bilateral trade to
international law enforcement to public health. You running around on some
kind of personal vendetta threatens to unseat that.”
“It’s not a vendetta. Not yet.” I had to remain confident that Owen was
still alive somewhere in the country. I had to. I wasn’t about to give up now.
“I can’t say I find that comforting, considering the body count. Do you
even know how many dead men you left in the street?”
 “More than I left in the river,” I admitted, and saw Jing bite her lip so she
wouldn’t smile.
“Understand, Colter, I can’t have you tearing up the countryside. My job
is to protect our interests here. I have a company of Marines on call. I will
have you and your team rounded up and forcibly deported if that becomes
necessary.”
A commanding presence was a valuable thing, and something I’d always
been told I had plenty of. I didn’t bullshit or bully, people did what I told
them to do, and my word was my bond. “Mr. Daly, you’ll need better than a
few able-bodied Marines to make me do anything I don’t want to, and more
importantly, I’m sure you have a better use for your men than getting in my
way. When I have completed my task, I will be out of your hair. You have
my word. If you’ve asked anyone about me, they’ll have told you I never
break my word.”
“I have been told as much. Your service to your country isn’t in question.
But it doesn’t change the fact that your actions threaten to trigger a response
from Thai forces. And that will put me in the precarious position of deciding
whether or not to allow them to attack American citizens on my watch.”
I understood his dilemma, I did. The problem was, until I found Owen, I
had nothing concrete to tell him.
“Here’s what I think, Ambassador. If push comes to shove, your Army
values will supersede Home Office bureaucracy, without question.”
Clark gasped, but I knew, from the granite look in the man’s eyes, that I
was right.
“I know my way out.” I rose and began to walk toward the door, Jing
leading the way. Her hand was on the knob when Daly spoke again.
“This meeting was a courtesy. I will not tolerate any further shootouts in
the streets, Colter.”
“Tell the bad guys, sir. I’m only shooting back. Your buddies in the prime
minister’s office are in with that lot.”
Outside his office, Jing was shaking her head.
“What?”
“Your diplomacy skills are a little rusty. You’re supposed to say, yes, of
course, absolutely, and then do whatever you want anyway.”
“He’d know I was lying. He’s not stupid.”
“Mr. Colter!”
Turning at the elevator, Jing and I both waited for Clark to reach us.
 “You realize,” Clark said tightly, “that you’re playing cat and mouse in a
population of ten million. Those are shit odds, no matter how you cut it. I can
be a friend here if you let me.” She handed me her card. “If you need extra
support, please call me.”
“In my experience, good insurance is hard to find,” I said, smiling at her
and pocketing the card, then offering her my hand again.
This time I got a nod and a smile when she clasped my hand.
We took the elevator to the ground floor, crossed the lobby, and were
outside in minutes. As we started down the sidewalk, a Volkswagen Bus, of
all things, rolled up beside us. Garland was driving, and Dante greeted us in
Italian from the passenger seat.
“What is this, a 1965?” I asked him.
“It is.” Dante grinned at me, and I was instantly transported to the last
time I’d seen him before all this, in Havana, having drinks at his favorite
outdoor bar. “Thought you’d love the nostalgia.”
“Get in, y’all,” Garland said. “You can reminisce while we drive.”
“Where are you from?” Jing asked as we got in, smiling when she saw the
orange interior. “Oh, I need one of these.”
“I’m from Dahlonega, Georgia, ma’am. My family owns a vineyard
there.”
“You’re fucking with me,” she said, leaning forward to look at him.
“There are vineyards in Georgia?”
“Why, yes, ma’am, there are, and ours is named Eddy LaRue Winery,
after my great-great-great-grandfather who loved the South but fought for the
Union on account of him being a Quaker and all.”
“I thought Quakers didn’t fight. Or drink.”
He shrugged. “He was a different kind of Quaker.”
She nodded. “I’d like to try that wine.”
“I will make sure you do,” he said, grinning at her.
There was nothing eye-catching or breathtaking about Garland Murray,
but I could tell, from Jing’s expression as she looked at him, that maybe she
saw something more. I myself was a fan of his voice. That soothing Southern
drawl of his was lovely. None of us, though, not me, Garland, or Chris, could
hold a candle to Dante Cerreto. I had no idea how he was ever an intelligence
asset. Everybody looked at him, everybody saw him, no one ever missed him.
How were you a covert operative like that? Same with Darius. Gorgeous man
with chartreuse eyes. He used to have to put in brown contacts just to avoid
standing out quite so much. But it was like telling Idris Elba to blend in. How
was that possible?
“So?” Dante asked me. “What did the nice man say?”
“He reminded me that missions are the one place a man could disappear if
that’s what the US government wanted.”
“So basically, stay on the right side of him.”
“Yes.”
“You know,” Dante said nonchalantly, “there are no phones in a concrete
sub-cellar deep in the bowels of an embassy where they’ll tuck you away if
extraordinary rendition is on the table for you.”
“That’s charming.”
Dante snorted. “Who does he think is here with you?”
“I don’t think he knows, because Clark, the station chief, doesn’t.”
“Well, even if Clark finds out about me or Garland, nothing will come
back on us. I mean, you know, her clearance isn’t as high as mine.”
It was terrifying but true. Clark was station chief, Dante was retired, but
still, he was higher up the food chain, which meant that Dante would come
back as having no record, anywhere. That would tell her what he was but not
who. She didn’t have the credentials to discover who she was looking at. Of
course, that would be a whole other can of worms for Dante. He’d have to
explain to the assistant director of the CIA what the hell he was doing in
Thailand. So hopefully, Dante and Garland weren’t on her radar. That would
be the best-case scenario.
“So are we good here?” Dante asked me.
“If by good, you mean that I’ve just told the highest-ranking US official
in the country to pound sand, then yes, we’re golden,” I said flatly. “But Daly
will keep the dogs off us as long as we don’t make it too hard for him to.”
“Good,” Dante replied.
“And what did you learn while we were in there?”
“Well, earlier I had a thought about the guys chasing you yesterday.”
“When?”
“On the boat.”
“Okay. What about them?”
“Did those guys seem like professionals to you?” Dante asked.
“You mean military versus private?”
“I mean, did they strike you as trained at all?”
“No, sir,” Garland chimed in. “Those fellas we killed in the street were
definitely not military, and neither were the ones on the river.”
“I agree,” I told Dante. “They all knew their business, and no doubt were
killers for a living, but they weren’t pros. That’s probably why we’re still
alive.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Dante concurred, “which means we’ve got it
coming at us from all sides.”
“I don’t follow,” Garland told him.
“That’s because you weren’t with Jared at the morgue where he got the
royal runaround. There are high-ranking people in on whatever this is, and
then we’ve got this seemingly endless stream of foot soldiers.”
Jing agreed. “One puppeteer with many strings.”
“So it would appear,” Dante said, and turned to look at the scenery we
passed.
“Are you going to say any more, or just sit there and be mysterious?”
He gave me a smile, his real one, that few ever saw. “I’m going to be
mysterious for a bit until I figure this out.”
There was no use arguing, so I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes
as Jing started asking Garland about the winery, and he was more than happy
to tell her all about it.
 TEN

I was starting to like the safe house, as it was actually safe, but almost
changed my mind when we returned to find a guest had arrived, someone
I didn’t want there.
“Why are you here?” I asked Isaak Skriabin, another friend from my days
with Army Intelligence. Isaak had been Russian Intelligence, but really, CIA,
and when he left the agency to be a contract killer, no one was surprised.
He’d once taken a vow of silence, stopped talking for two years, just to get
his head straight from all he’d done. It was impressive, and I respected his
resolve. But the fact remained that he was someone everyone always checked
to make sure he didn’t want a contract before they entered the fray. Isaak
Skriabin was considered one of the most deadly men in the world. Once, in
Belgium, we were on our way to a funeral and stopped for flowers. I’d seen
him kill four guys that day with a philodendron that he then took home with
him. As far as I knew, the philodendron was still alive.
The look Isaak was giving me at the moment was bored.
“I asked you a question,” I reminded him.
“Why am I here?” he returned in a thick Russian accent, which was
unexpected. When we’d crossed paths many times before, he’d sounded like
he was from San Diego—where his family had settled after being relocated
from Moscow. Agreeing to be a double agent had its perks.
“Yes,” I groused at him. “Why?”
“Jing called.”
“If you’re here, everyone’s going to know,” I railed at him.
My anger would have had a lot more heat if Jing hadn’t taken that
moment to rush across the room and into his arms.
“You came!” she squealed as she hugged him.
He wrapped her in his arms, held her close, and said something like
solnyshkuh or solnechnyy svet. I’d never gotten a clear translation, but I was
fairly certain it meant sunshine in Russian. That’s what the scariest man in
the world called my assistant.
“Look at my face, Isaak. It’s all scratched.”
“You look beautiful,” he soothed her.
“We got shot at in the alley and on the street and in the boat and—”
“You’re keeping him safe and alive. I know. Like always.”
“Did you see the boat chase on TV? That was me driving the whole
time.”
His gaze flicked to mine, and his silver eyes—that was the only way they
could be described—were cold and dead.
“It’s not my fault,” I said defensively, taking an instinctive breath. If I
wasn’t scared, just a little, by Isaak Skriabin, my sense of self-preservation
would be dead, and that would be disastrous. I knew where I stood with
Darius and Dante and others from my past, and that was rock solid. With
Isaak…
But it was hard to dredge up that much fear when Jing, whom I adored
and trusted, was snuggled up into his chest complaining about Thailand.
Not complaining. That wasn’t right. That made her sound whiny or weak,
and she was never that. She was scared, panicked, and I’d missed when she
got to that place.
“Hasana is having a baby, so she can’t be here, and Arden is in London
setting up this nice Thai family there, and that leaves me, here, alone, to
protect Jared.” She was rambling, and it struck me how drained and weary
she really was. “And Dante is really nice, and Garland is lovely, but I need
more help taking care of him. I can’t do it by myself, and I’m a big enough
person to admit that.”
She was so terrified of losing me, of not having enough backup, of not
being enough herself, that she’d called on the scariest person she knew to
assist her. She’d called an assassin. To me, that didn’t seem logical. To her,
calling the person she had the most faith in, even though, again, he was a
killer, seemed like the reasonable play.
“She said I was lovely,” Garland said to Dante and me, nudging me with
his elbow. Since when were we friends?
 Dante looked at me. “She would do anything to protect you. That’s some
impressive loyalty there.”
It certainly was. She was strong enough to say when she needed help
because she would not allow her pride to get in the way of being my shield,
my guardian.
“He needs me to take care of him,” she lamented, burrowing into Isaak’s
arms, “but what if I miss something or make a mistake? I can’t do this by
myself.”
“I’m feeling very much like chopped liver over here,” Dante grumbled.
“I’m still feeling lovely,” Garland told him.
“He used to be able to take care of himself,” Isaak said, hugging her. “But
he is older now, slower, and he has not been in the field for some time. Skills
atrophy when they go unused.”
“He’s talkin’ about you,” Dante made sure I knew.
“And you.”
“Oh no,” he assured me. “This isn’t my sandbox anymore. I now direct
people, if and when I go out into the field. This whole bullets-whizzing-by-
my-head business has not happened in years.”
It hadn’t happened to me either. If I thought about it, the only people who
were actively returning fire these days were Garland and Isaak. One to save
people, the other to kill them.
“I’m sorry if I pulled you away from something,” she told Isaak, weeping
now, using the handkerchief he passed her to blot at her eyes. She was
overwrought, the day before clearly having scared her more than I realized.
And not for herself, never for herself, but for me. She was terrified of not
being enough, so she made certain my safety would not be compromised.
“No, it was nothing.”
“Help me,” she pleaded. “I need him to live through this.”
“And you too,” he soothed her. “You will live as well and get home to
Paris, to your apartment, and drink wine and sit on your balcony and look at
the Place Vendôme while you pet your dogs.”
I had no idea they were close enough friends that he’d been to her house
and met her dogs. I probably should have been paying better attention to a lot
of things.
She nodded quickly, then pressed her face into his chest. He took that
moment to shoot me another scathing look.
“Fuck,” I groaned, then looked around for Chris. “Where the hell is
Mancuso?”
“He left for Caracas,” Dante told me, grinning. “It couldn’t be helped; it
was a standing engagement. He said he’d check in with us in three days, see
where we were with this.”
But I didn’t need Chris since Isaak was here, even though I was certain
that in Jing’s mind, one didn’t cancel out the other. She called Isaak for more
help. God knew who she’d call now that Chris was out of the mix. I needed
to talk with her before she made any more arrangements, but I’d have to wait
until she was done telling Isaak about her favorite bakery near Notre Dame
and how she made a TikTok account for her dogs.
An hour later, I got a call from Darius, who wanted to see me, so he used
a secure line to Skype.
“Holy crap.” From his expression, and tone, Darius was horrified over my
appearance. “You didn’t look like that when you saw the ambassador, did
you?” And, of course, in contrast to me, he looked amazing in a black shirt
and jodhpurs.
“He did,” Dante affirmed, smirking, leaning into the frame. “What’s with
the outfit? Are you playing polo or something?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” he snapped at Dante. “I—Jesus, that’s Isaak,
isn’t it?”
“Harris,” Isaak greeted him, using Darius’s old name, the one he’d used
in his Intelligence days, and later, as a contractor. “You are looking well.”
“And you,” Darius told him, “though how you got into the country
without sirens going off is beyond me.”
“You have your ways, I have mine.”
“Okay,” Darius said, eyes back on me. “That’s not great. Isaak?”
“Oh, buddy, that was so not my call.”
“Well, there’s nothing you can do about it now but try and keep him from
killing, like, everyone who crosses his path.”
I shrugged, and Dante shook his head. Like Isaak ever listened to anyone.
“So after having a brief conversation with George Hunt, I have to ask,
who do you think is trying to kill you, and why?”
“Everyone, if the last twenty-four hours are any indication.”
“No. This is specific. So to find out where you are, you have to look at
where you’ve been.”
I fell silent for a moment, lost in thought. A look back at my past was
inevitable, it seemed. However unpleasant, it was necessary.
 Isaak didn’t care about delving into my past. He was there to protect me,
and Jing, and since he wasn’t needed until we actually left the safe house, he
went to take one of his famous power naps to stay sharp—he only did that on
couches or chairs so he was never completely comfortable. Garland had
guard duty, and Jing had staggered to the bed beside the couch Isaak was on
and basically passed out. That left Darius, Dante, and I to go through what I’d
done.
What was helpful was that I didn’t need to try and give them a concise
summary of my lengthy operational past, focusing on my time with the
agency, because they knew. They’d been there with me. Constructing a
timeline was easier when everyone knew the path. We spent the next two
hours looking thoroughly at every possible enemy from my past and
compiled a list.
What emerged was a portrait of global terrorism, from Italy’s
’Ndrangheta, to the Rasool family mafia organization in South Africa, to the
Russian Bratva. All of whom had a vested stake in removing me from among
the living. I had killed dozens of men and women across Europe in the
service of the United States.
“Was there anything on Owen’s computer?” I asked Darius. I had known
the password, but when I’d checked the laptop, everything looked like boring
work stuff. It was gone when I woke up, so I’d guessed Lee had taken it with
him after his visit, and of course, I was right.
“Not that we could find,” Darius answered. “We took it apart but found
the same things you did, just innocuous work files.”
No help at all.
“So,” Darius said, “I tend to agree with Dante’s assessment.”
“Dante hasn’t shared his thoughts,” I told Darius. “He’s being
mysterious.”
Darius squinted at Dante. “Why?”
“I just wanted to be sure. You know how he hates conjecture.”
“That’s true,” Darius agreed. “But in this case, I think you’re right.”
Dante turned to me. “I ruled out a number of gangs this morning and have
settled on the Red Wa or Tommy Yu as being behind the attacks on us.”
The Red Wa, one of the most powerful organized-crime gangs in
Thailand, was a small fish compared to Tommy Yu, Asia’s El Chapo.
“Nothing happens in Bangkok that Yu doesn’t know about,” Dante said,
“so I’m going to make an approach.”
 “What? No,” I said quickly. “That’s for me to do, not you.”
Dante grimaced. “If you think about it a second, you’ll agree that if you
go, and they want you, then we’re done. But if I go, then they’ll leverage me
to get to you.”
I felt my stomach muscles tighten into a knot at the thought of the choice
in front of me. It was a risky move to confront the man either way. Yu’s
reputation for extreme violence preceded him. But my gut told me that if I
didn’t confront him myself, Owen would be the casualty.
“It has to be me,” I said eventually. “The fact of the matter is, if I am the
target, as everyone agrees I am, they’re not even going to talk to anyone but
me.” I looked at Darius and then Dante. “Let’s be honest, it can only be me.”
Both were quiet.
“Yes?” I prodded them.
“Yes,” Darius agreed.
Dante nodded.
“I’m counting on you two to get me the hell back out.”
More silent nodding.
Garland joined us. “So you plan to just walk in the door and ask him
who’s trying to kill you?” He must’ve heard the plan as he made his way
around the house, keeping watch.
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do, unarmed.”
“That’s tactically unsound, sir,” Garland said flatly.
“This is the play,” I informed him.
“It’s a stupid one, sir.”
The thing was, twenty years ago I’d failed to protect my friends Ronan
and Sara Moss, and it felt like I’d been paying the price for their deaths ever
since. Twenty years of living with the nightmares, of feeling their dead eyes
boring holes in my back, twenty years of wondering what if. I wasn’t about to
let it happen again. Not ever.
“There is a vast criminal network that cocoons this city,” I told them.
“We’re surrounded by enemies, none of which are going to tell us what’s
going on. My contacts can’t help us determine what’s afoot here any more
than we can with boots on the ground. This is what we have left.”
“You’re forgetting, though,” Garland reminded me, “that we just killed a
bunch of their people.”
“Rules of engagement,” Dante chimed in. “Yu gets kill or be killed. The
key to survival is understanding what’s really at play here, which, I’ll bet
you”—his gaze met mine—“comes down to greed. Tommy Yu has no
interest in you specifically, or whatever the true motivation here is. He’s been
hired—if we’re right—to drive you into a trap. Certainly to get you through
his front door. So if you can appeal to his desire for a more significant stake
than what he’s been promised…that’s our in. Think about it. The second-
biggest criminal organization this side of Asia has been reduced to being a
hired killer. Mere thugs. That can’t sit well with a man of Yu’s reputation.”
“What are you planning to offer him?” Garland asked me.
“Myself. If this is about me, there’s no other carrot to dangle.”
“I think you’re fucking crazy, sir,” Garland reiterated his opinion. “But
you’re the boss.”
I turned to Dante. “For what feels like the millionth time, I’m counting on
you not to lose sight of me. So when I land in the belly of the beast…”
“Which you will,” he husked.
“Which I will,” I echoed, “I’m counting on you to come and get me.”
Dante was looking out the window, and with his leg crossed over his
knee, in his pale linen suit and Gucci loafers, he looked like an ad for some
kind of high-priced vodka or cologne. On the computer screen, Darius was
pacing.
“No matter what happens,” I said to Darius, “don’t come here. This could
be some crazy, elaborate trap to draw you, the Vault, out. I won’t be the
reason someone gets a free shot at you and destroys what you’re trying to
build and change.”
I got a slight head tip of acknowledgment.
I reached over, put my hand on Dante’s knee, and squeezed gently.
“You know what you’re likely in for,” Dante said without turning to look
at me. “They’re going to beat you because they can. Because they’ll have
you. Who knows to what extent.”
“I can take a beating. You know I can. In fact, the two of us have found
ourselves behind enemy lines before.”
“Yes, but you’ve never walked there yourself.”
He had me there.
 ELEVEN

S oi Cowboy was in the heart of Bangkok. Forty high-class go-go bars

and nightclubs lined the mile-long stretch of debauchery that was
brightly drizzled in the garish glow of pink and sky-blue neon hues.
And the man who owned it all was Tommy Yu.
Dante had explained before I left that Yu was the most powerful man
among the Thai Chao Pho. He controlled eighty percent of the heroin
entering Bangkok, and all the methamphetamine trade in Thailand. His gang,
the Naga Boyz, were a vicious pack of enforcers who worked out of his
nightclubs, and the biggest, most glamorous of them all was the Peppermint
Snake, the public face of Yu’s legitimacy and the front for his heroin
trafficking.
Yu was feared among the Thai underworld for his methods of extreme
violence against his enemies. He had a reputation for killing the sons of his
enemies to prevent them from taking revenge for their dead fathers. I hoped
the man’s bloodlust was eclipsed by his greed.
I took a taxi to Sukhumvit, and once I was let out in front of the place, I
approached the club, pushing past the thick crowd waiting outside the
establishment to be let in. Two well-muscled bouncers worked the door, but
as expected, they took one look at me and let me in. I was definitely in the
right place.
Inside, I went through the motions, paying the cover charge and entering
the club’s main floor. The large lounge area followed a metal-and-neon
aesthetic, featuring a raised dance floor and couch/table combination seating.
The place was packed and loud. This had never been my scene, not even
when I was young enough not to find the pulsing, bass-heavy beat of trance
music ear-splitting or irritating. A dozen scantily dressed young women
waited on tables.
I walked to the far side of the room, where thankfully, it was a bit quieter,
and sat down at a table, able to see the entire club from my vantage point.
Within moments, a charming Thai hostess approached my table, wearing
stilettos and a big smile. She was so young, and I hoped it was her decision to
work there.
“Hello,” she greeted me, leaning in close so I could hear her. “What’s
your name?”
“Jared,” I answered, returning her smile.
“That’s a nice name. Are you looking for company this evening, Jared?”
“Another time,” I said, passing her a fifty-dollar bill. “At the moment I’m
looking for someone. Perhaps you can help me.”
“Maybe,” she said kindly. “It’s a big place. Who are you looking for?”
“Your boss, Mr. Yu.”
Her jaw dropped. “What did you say?” she asked, trying not to look quite
so flustered.
“I want to see Mr. Yu.”
Her eyes filled with fear, and she shook her head forcefully. “No, you
don’t want to—it’s better if you leave, Jared.”
The concern was kind. She was trying to save my life.
“I have to,” I assured her. “Please.”
“No. I’m sorry, no one meets Mr. Yu,” she rushed out, glancing around, I
was guessing, to see if anyone was near enough to hear our conversation.
“Let me get you a drink.”
I nodded and said, “Okay, I’ll have a Scotch, neat.”
Her relief was visible, and her smile was back before she left me, walking
to the bar. Even if I hadn’t been watching her, I would have noticed her
because of the way she was walking—deliberately slow, and I’d seen her
move faster in the heels. And then her head turned, her dark gaze floating
toward a man sitting in a roped-off private section near the bar, then back my
way. She closed her eyes and then opened them.
I got the message. The man sitting in the VIP area, in a Dolce & Gabbana
suit, was Yu. On either side of him were two bodyguards, dressed just as
well, and farther out were another four men, at the perimeter. Yu was
drinking and conversing with one of the hostesses, who sat on his lap.
 I got up, crossed the space, and reached the velvet rope that kept Mr. Yu
and his party separated from the rest of us mortals. Immediately, one of the
bodyguards came toward me, and I really hoped that the easily 290-pound
wall of muscle was not going to take a shot at me.
Could I tangle with a man that big? Yes. Did I want to? Not at all. I
understood perfectly how getting hit and shot at and blown up was a younger
operative’s game. I really just wanted to be home on my couch.
“Mr. Yu will see you, Mr. Colter,” the man said when he reached me,
staring down from his height, which I was guessing was about six seven.
Thankfully, he didn’t want to tangle with me right then.
“Thank you,” I said, going for amiable.
The man unhooked the rope so I could step into the exclusive area, and
another, smaller, but no less muscular man joined him.
“Hands on your head, please, sir,” he told me.
I did as asked, and the man began to search, giving me a pleasant smile as
he checked, finally nodding over to his boss that I was clean. Yu gestured for
the hostess to leave him, as well as the companions of his men, and they left
quickly, like a flock of beautiful, colorful birds.
“Sit,” Yu commanded when I reached his table, one of his men holding
out a chair for me.
I dropped into the chair across from him, noting that the man who had
frisked me now stood directly behind Yu’s chair. Others clustered close as
well.
I was thinking Yu was in his early thirties, but I found it difficult to really
tell. I was crap at guessing ages. The man was a handsome combination of
features, from his golden copper eyes and broad nose to his strong, prominent
cheekbones.
Since Yu wasn’t talking, I waited. Best not to push. For his part, he was
staring at me, sizing me up, his amber irises inspecting me.
I took that moment to double-check where everyone was. His men would
hurt me or kill me on his order without batting an eye.
The silence lasted for a good forty seconds before Yu spoke. His voice
was deep and even, with a slight mixture of accents.
“You’re a long way from Chicago, Colonel.” He eyed me without
expression.
“And you’re particularly well informed for a local drug kingpin, Mr. Yu.”
He gave a short laugh. “You have big balls, coming here after killing so
many of my men.”
“But it was you who sent them to their deaths, Mr. Yu,” I replied flatly. “I
simply obliged you.”
Yu leaned forward. “You see all these people, Colonel? They all fear me.
Every last one of them. But not you.”
“No, sir, I’m plenty scared. I’m just hiding it well.”
He liked that, and chuckled before narrowing his eyes in calculation. “In
our present situation,” he said, indicating the four men around me, “I’d have
to say, you’re smart to be scared. Your position is a precarious one.”
“It is and it isn’t.”
“How so?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him. Always best to
keep your enemy talking whenever possible.
“I’ve come to discuss a business proposition, either with you or with the
lieutenant who replaces you.”
It took a moment, but then Yu sat slowly more upright. “Tell me what
you’re proposing.”
“You’re a businessman. I’m here to appeal to your ambition. I’m in this
country looking for someone. I believe your employer has them. I want you
to take me to them.”
“I work for nobody but myself,” Yu said, his voice remaining steady,
with a well-honed edge. “I do favors to gain favors.”
“Then do one for me.”
Yu scoffed. “What favor can you return?”
The fault in most criminal minds, I’d found over the years, was that greed
was the driving impulse. Pride was an equal vice. Tommy Yu was the little
fish, and I was gambling that he didn’t like it and that money was his first
allegiance.
“I’m rich,” I apprised him. “I can make you rich as well.”
“I—”
“Listen,” I said affably, smiling at him. “Certainly, you’re a powerful
man, but you scrape and claw for your piece of the pie. That’s twenty percent
by my estimation. I suspect the person I’m looking for has the other eighty.
You may feel wealthy, but twenty percent isn’t rich. You’re merely the
middleman. Let me hand you the keys to the entire empire. I’ll take out your
competition, and you help me find my associate. Win-win.”
Yu paused. It was big money. Hard to turn down.
“I accept your proposal, Mr. Colter.”
 He extended his hand, and I leaned forward to shake. I shouldn’t have.
I didn’t even sense that there was another man there besides the
bodyguards, but there had to be. Because even as everyone else remained
still, just looking at me, something hit the back of my head. Instantly, a bolt
of pain traveled down my spine. I gasped for breath, my mouth opening on
reflex. I saw brief images of laughing men and then the floor and nothing
else.

W HEN I OPENED MY EYES , I could see nothing. The blackness was complete.
Moving my head gently, I felt the blindfold, and when I tried to move my
hands, I found them tied in front of me. Normally, I would have gone for the
blindfold at that point, but since I could feel the rocking of the vehicle, I
didn’t try. Better to sit and not bring on another blow with, I was guessing,
some kind of blackjack.
How long had I been out?
My head felt like I’d been kicked by a mule. And no, that had never
happened to me, but I imagined it was similar. Was I letting my mind
wander? Yes. Had that always been helpful, talking to myself in these kinds
of situations? Actually, yes. It calmed me, and at the moment, calm was
good.
I lost any sense of time. I was in the back seat of a vehicle, an all-terrain, I
was guessing, since I could hear the grind of the transmission’s low gear as
the tires plowed over tough terrain in a steady climb. But if I was pressed to
answer the question of direction, it would be impossible to tell. All I could
say was that the roads got rougher and rougher as my captors pressed on.
There were at least two men up front—I heard them talking—and I could
feel another in the back seat with me. The way I was being ignored, as if they
weren’t even remotely worried that I could speak the language, told me there
was little point in trying to get them to talk to me. In my experience, when
people were quiet, that was when there was a chance they saw you as a threat.
When they chatted in front of you, unworried, that was when they considered
you already dead.
Finally, the vehicle slowed, then came to a sudden stop. It had slowed
several times over the past couple of hours as we’d encountered some
obstacle or another in our path, but this time was different. The driver shut
the engine off.
 “Okay, you get out,” a voice spoke slowly with a slight accent.
From the low and controlled tone of voice, I could tell I would not be told
twice. A pair of hands roughly yanked me from the back seat. I swung my
legs down from the vehicle onto the ground.
“Where are we?” I always asked in these situations, just to see what the
response would be.
“You stay quiet,” barked the man. His tone was harsh, but the Thai slang
I’d heard the men using during our travel told me I was still somewhere in the
Phuket province.
A long silence followed, during which I noted the heat and heavy
moisture in the air. I couldn’t see anyone because of the damn blindfold, and
I couldn’t hear anyone either, which meant they were deliberately keeping
quiet. Still, I could sense them, and I could definitely smell the stink of sweat.
“Take off your clothes,” a low voice growled, and someone untied my
hands.
“Why?” I said without thinking.
“I said, take your clothes off,” the voice snarled, his anger evident in each
chopped syllable. Then he barked something in Thai, and the next second, a
boot hit me hard in the stomach.
The pure violence of the blow took me by surprise. I stumbled as pain
tore through me. Instinctively, I raised my hands to protect myself, but I
could see nothing through the blindfold. More kicks smashed past my hands
and into my chest, neck, and throat. The force of the blows emptied all the air
out of my lungs.
“I’ll do it!” I shouted, coughing violently. “Okay!” I yanked off my boots
and pants. I left the boxer briefs alone, figuring no one wanted to see me that
naked, then peeled away the cheap short-sleeve button-up that I was certain,
going in, would not make it back out with me. I let each item fall onto what I
knew, after pulling off my socks, was dusty earth.
“Your health is of no interest to us,” the man hissed. “Whether you live or
die depends on your efforts to resist.”
Someone pushed a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and some kind of slip-ons into
my arms. When I smelled the pungent odor of gasoline, a split second before
a rush of heat close by, I realized what they were doing: they were burning
my clothes to make sure I didn’t have any bugs on me before they took me
any farther to their base. Once I pulled on the new clothes, they retied my
hands, and I was shoved hard from behind and told to walk.
 “Where? I can’t fucking see shit.”
I flinched when a large, meaty hand gripped my shoulder. It squeezed
tightly, and I winced as fingers dug hard into my flesh. “Just move,” a new
voice demanded, different, dark and pinched.
Another sudden shove, and I started walking. This time I could feel two
pairs of hands pushing me forward, guiding me. I was unsteady, the blindfold
making it harder to keep my balance. Just over a kilometer, I was sure I was
being led into the mountains. We walked another hour before stopping.
Again I sensed more men around me, but no one was talking out loud.
The hands tugging me along shoved me inside some kind of doorway. I could
hear at least four sets of boots as the barrel of a gun in my ribs was coaxing
me forward along a narrow corridor. I tried counting my steps to get some
sense of the size of the place. We only strode some thirty steps by my
estimate before I was steered down a staircase. We stopped, and I felt the
hands on my shoulders release me.
I could hear the high and low bolts of a door, then a key turning in a lock.
The flex was cut from my wrists, there was a boot suddenly in my back, and I
found myself falling forward. I had a moment of sheer panic as I realized I
was in free fall with no idea what I was barreling toward. My arms flailed out
desperately to grab hold of anything, but there was nothing there apart from
thin air. In the next instant, my body crashed forward into a hard stone floor.
There was laughter then, because seeing me windmill my arms was clearly
hysterical.
My knees ached where I’d taken the brunt of the impact of the fall, but I
hadn’t been seriously hurt. Apart from the pain, I was intact. I started to rise,
and once I was standing, I grabbed the blindfold and ripped it free from my
face. Turning, all I saw was the door shutting, and then bolts banged home
from the other side.
Rushing to the door, I slammed my fists against it to both test its strength
—solid steel—and to restore my sense of balance. The room didn’t spin,
which was good. I was fine. I blinked once, twice, taking a few seconds to
adjust my eyes to the dark, dank cell.
It was a dungeon, plain and simple, measuring not more than twelve by
twelve feet. The door I’d been pushed through was the only way in, which
wasn’t great. The ceiling was low, at about seven feet. Along one wall there
was a small collapsible chair, and a murky low-wattage bulb burned in a
bracket on another. Straw was strewn about the room, and there was a bucket
I was guessing served as the toilet.
“Well, so much for hospitality,” I grumbled.
“Who’s there?” a thin voice asked from the shadows.
As my eyes grew used to the dimness, I noticed a dark shape on a cot
with a thin bed roll next to another wall. It started to move, then sat up. It was
a man.
He cleared his throat, which made the voice stronger, deep and husky. “Is
someone here?”
“Owen?” I rasped.
Loud gasp. “Jared?”
I was moving, he was moving, and we crashed together in the middle. I
clutched him tight, marveling at the feel of him back in my arms.
The tears were of no consequence.
“I knew it,” he whimpered, hugging me back, his breath hitching as he
tried to press tighter, burrow under my skin. “I knew you were pissed at me
from that last text message,” he said with a chuckle that was wonderful to
hear, “but I knew it wouldn’t stop you from coming to get me.”
“Never,” I husked, pushing my face into his hair. “I would never leave
you.”
“I know,” he murmured, leaning back to look up at my face. “And we’re
going to have to sort that out, but at the moment, we need to figure out how
to get out of here, unless you brought a small army with you?”
“They couldn’t come with me, or I would have never made it this far. But
I’m hoping they’re on their way.”
He nodded, leaned back in, and coiled his arms around my neck. “I never
doubted you,” he said with a shudder. “Could you hold tighter, please?”
So I did, and his long sigh of contentment was the sweetest sound I’d ever
heard.

O NCE I COULD REALLY LOOK at Owen, I realized how pale and gaunt he was,
as if he’d neither eaten nor slept during his days in enemy hands. His face
was battered, the bruising livid, but his cuts and scrapes were only
superficial.
“Have they been torturing you?” I asked as we sat together on the cot.
“No. Just knocked me around a bit.”
It was more than a bit. I could see that clearly. He was downplaying the
damage because he didn’t want me upset.
“The thing is, though, they never ask me any questions, except…about
you. They ask me a lot of questions about you.”
“What about me?”
“General stuff. Where you live, what you do, if I thought you would
come.”
“They asked you if I would come for you?”
He nodded.
“What did you say?”
“I knew you would, of course, but I didn’t want them to know that in case
that was the whole point of this. Like, why take me? I’m nobody. The only
important thing about me is how much I mean to you.”
“I promise you, you’re—”
“Yes,” he groaned, “I know. I’m not fishing here.”
For the horrible state he was in, and where we were, what was amazing
was that he seemed to be in very good spirits.
“What?” he asked. “You look like you have a question.”
“No,” I said, hesitated, then repeated more firmly, “No.”
“I don’t want us to fight anymore.”
“Sorry?”
He exhaled sharply. “It’s not fixing anything, me being mad at you. So
I’m going to do something else from now on.”
I crossed my arms and stared at him.
He sputtered out a laugh, and I scowled back.
“What?” I snapped at him.
“I know, I know,” he placated me. “I’ve been an ass, but you’ve been an
idiot, so I think we’re even.”
“An idiot?”
“Yes.” He reached out and slid his hand around my forearm, both of
which were still crossed over my chest. “But some of that’s on me. You can’t
be expected to figure out things for yourself. It’s not like you’ve ever been
accused of being terribly observant.”
“Pardon me?”
“I mean, typically I have to tell you what’s going on so you know, but I
didn’t with this, so you’ve been stumbling around in the dark.”
“What?”
He laughed at me.
 Under normal circumstances, I would give him hell, but seeing him smile
and laugh was like a drug. I was crazy addicted to his happiness, especially
when directed at me, or even better, because of me, and I’d missed him
terribly, even before he left for Thailand. I ached for his company and—
Oh shit.
I got up fast, walked a few feet away, then spun around to stare at him. I
had to look ridiculous with my mouth hanging open in utter shock.
He grinned then, and waggled an eyebrow. “Close your mouth, honey.
You’re gonna catch flies, and believe me, there are more than a couple in
here.”
I snapped my mouth shut but couldn’t stop staring. He knew I was crazy
about him. He already knew.
“You missed me,” he said hoarsely.
I nodded.
“Yes, well, I miss you whenever I leave the house, but you make me so
insane that it’s hard to be there.”
I had nothing to say. I was just drinking in the sight of him. Because even
thinner, bruised, and beaten, he was luminous. His shoulders were broad, his
chest wide, his legs long, and his waist narrow. He was built like a swimmer,
and the lines of him were beautiful.
“I know you want me, Jared. I’d have to be blind not to see the way you
look at me. And I kept thinking, he’ll say something, he’ll tell me,” he
murmured, smiling slowly. “He won’t keep it a secret forever.”
I was utterly stunned. I always thought if he knew how I saw him, what I
wanted, he’d be horrified. I never thought to check.
“I like it when I catch you staring at me and I can see the interest in your
face, the heat in your eyes.”
Anything I said at the moment would be wrong, so I kept my mouth shut.
“I know you want me, but at those times, your go-to response is to run.
Why? Wouldn’t it be better, for both of us, if you just walked over and kissed
me instead?”
How many times had I thought of doing just that, only to play the
scenario out in my head and end up imagining him hating me.
“You can’t possibly think that I would ever do anything but kiss you
back.”
I couldn’t tell if I was still breathing or not. Probably, because I was still
standing, but it was hard to tell as I stared at him.
 “Jared,” he husked. “There’s no one but you. You’re all I want.”
All I could do was stand there and stare at him like the village idiot.
“Why don’t you come over here and sit down.”
That wasn’t going to happen. I was rooted to the spot.
He gave me a wicked, evil grin then. “Please.”
Oh dear God. My mouth went dry, my pulse quickened, my stomach
twisted, and a lump formed in my throat I could not speak around.
“You know,” he began, “if it took me getting kidnapped and beaten for
you to actually own up to your feelings—and know mine without question—I
think I’m okay with that.”
“Owen, I—”
“No,” he rushed out. “This is my reward. Finally, you’re going to be
mine.”
My brain turned back on. “You do realize we’re in imminent danger
here.”
“No, I know. But getting this off my chest, with how long I’ve been
carrying it around, it feels like everything’s going to be okay. It’s like the sun
came out.” He sighed.
“Owen—”
“You’re the most amazing man I know, Jared Colter, but you’ve been
utterly blind to what’s right in front of your face.”
“What’s right in front of my face?” I whispered.
“Me, for heaven’s sake.”
It took me a second to put everything together. “Have you lost your
fuckin’ mind?”
Even though he was most definitely laughing at me, I didn’t mind. The
sound of him was so good. Happy Owen always gave me heart palpitations.
“Owen, I’m old enough to be your father!”
“But you’re not my father. Never have been, never will be.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I’m thirty-two now, did you know that?”
“Of course I—”
“I’m not some kid who doesn’t know his own mind. I’m an adult.”
“Yes, I—”
“All grown up,” he went on.
“Owen, I’m aware that you’re—”
“But you hold on to the age difference like a shield, like it means
everything, when really, it doesn’t mean shit.”
“How do you know what—”
“There has to be something keeping you out of my bed.”
Charging over to the opposite wall, I braced myself there so I wouldn’t
fall down.
“It’s gotta be that you’re torturing yourself about being older than me,
combined with the fact that you saved me not once, but twice in my life from
horrible fates. You hold on to those things and think of me as…I don’t know,
but I’m guessing young and stupid and—”
“I never think of you as stupid or not capable or—”
“So young it is, then,” he said bitterly. “Big surprise.”
“You—”
“But really, I was twenty-four when I moved in with you, and that’s not
exactly jailbait, if you know what I mean,” he teased me.
“You’re being awfully glib about—”
“I don’t care. No one I know would care. You’re the only one who thinks
that either one of those things—age or the fact that you saved me—mean
anything now.”
He had no idea of the war raging in me over these exact things. I’d been
his savior, I was old enough to be his father, and every single day, I thought
about the reasons for not reaching for him.
“But you know what, Jared? Having this all out in the open is amazing. I
was so scared we’d never even get to the point of a discussion. I’ve been
terrified I’d never have the balls to tell you what I wanted, and that you’d just
take what you wanted to the grave.”
“Owen—”
“I was afraid to say something in case you tried to do what you thought
was best and just left me.”
I looked at him. “I told you before, I would never leave you.”
He smiled sadly. “But those trips of yours keep getting longer and longer,
don’t they?”
They did. There was no denying that.
“And since you’re trying to do what’s best for me”—he shot me a
scathing look—“or more precisely, what you think is best for me, you’ve
decided that staying away is best.”
“Look, I—”
“But it’s not. Keeping yourself from me is the worst idea ever.”
 I nodded, unable to find my voice. Because he was right. I never wanted
to be away from him. It was physically painful every time I left.
Owen chuckled. “You look like you’d rather talk about anything but this,
but I’d rather have this discussion with you than have you not even see me as
someone you could have sex with.”
“Oh God,” I groaned, turning and leaning back against the wall.
“For the record, I really want to go to bed with you.”
I shook my head. “Why would you pick now to—”
“Because we have no idea what’s going to happen,” he answered
solemnly. “And if I’m about to die, I want you to know that when I look at
you, every time I look at you, I don’t see a man who’s too old for me. All I
see is you and your heart.”
Jesus.
“And of course that you’re beautiful and sexy and I want to put my hands
all over you.”
The only reason I couldn’t die right there was because I would not, ever,
leave Owen alone. He was mine. He belonged to me and—
“But we’re gonna table this,” he said gravely, “because I need to ask what
you think the chances are of us actually getting out of here.”
“Very small at the moment,” I answered honestly, because I always was
with him, and that was going to be a problem when we got out of here. Lying
to him, ever, about anything, was not something I could do. “There are a lot
of guys out there, but I do have very capable people keeping track of me, so
we have to put our faith in them.” I walked over and took a seat near him on
the bed.
“Do you know what happened to Peter Barrows, my bodyguard?” Owen
asked, searching my face. “We were separated, and I haven’t seen him since.”
“He’s dead, Owen. I’m so sorry,” I said grimly.
He nodded and reached out to touch my face, his thumb sliding back and
forth over my cheekbone, his expression telling me he found comfort in being
able to touch me.
I was about to tell him everything that happened, but the lock turned and
the bolts slid aside. I stood up, shielding Owen, my muscles tensing as soon
as the door started to open.
A man walked into the cell. He was Asian, tall, well over my height,
broad-shouldered, and in very good physical shape, with thick, muscled
forearms. He was carrying a cat-o’-nine-tails.
 I was terrified then, thinking this was how it would end. A short, brutal
fight in a dark cell, then a knife to the throat. Perhaps this was the point of
Owen being here. Me dying, knowing I could do nothing to save him. Or
perhaps this was Owen’s punishment, seeing me killed in front of him. I had
no idea, but whatever was about to happen, it wasn’t going to be good. There
was no point in kidding myself about that.
“You will come with me, Colonel,” the man said in cold English with no
accent. “I recommend you say your goodbyes now. The next time you see
him, he will be dead.”
“And what if I’m not feeling so inclined?”
A slow sadistic smile spread over the henchman’s lips before he was
suddenly on me. Like a rattlesnake, his wrists sprang suddenly upward, the
cat-o’-nine-tails slashing across my face. The man was strong. The force of
the impact rocked me, and I felt my knees buckle. It took a moment for my
brain to figure out what my body had just experienced. The pain didn’t
register instantly. When it did, it was violent, as if a hundred shards of glass
had been raked across my flesh all at once.
I cried out as the pain cut through me like a lance. Staggering back, I
raised my hands instinctively to protect myself, but it was no good. The man
had already reeled the whip back, high into the air like a sword, then slashed
it down. It smashed past my hands and into the side of my throat, sending me
crashing to the floor. I groaned, my eyes clouding as the darkness pushed in
on me.
I watched helplessly from the floor as Owen lunged through the space
that separated me and our attacker. He collided hard with the man’s ribs,
knocking him off-balance, slamming him against the stone wall. It was better
than I had done. The man fell on top of Owen, bringing his kneecap up
sharply, smashing it hard into Owen’s chin, Owen’s neck snapping back, his
head hitting the floor hard. Leaning over, the brute pulled a stretch of thick
black hose from his back pocket. I saw a cruel smile cross the man’s face as
he pummeled Owen, the tip of the hose slashing across his chest and side
again and again, the sound of plastic slapping against skin so loud, it filled
the dank cell.
Gathering my strength, I kicked out hard, and the man lost his balance but
didn’t fall, turning from Owen then, back to me.
Pain still rang in my eardrums, my breath catching in my chest as if my
entire body had voluntarily shut down. I saw Owen on the floor in front of
me, unconscious, before the cat-o’-nine-tails hit my side.
I felt like I was flayed alive, teetering on the edge of consciousness as I
absorbed a second hit, a third…
Then he stopped and sneered at me. “You are not going to die today,
Colonel. But next time, I will kill you.”
I had been rendered utterly helpless. It was a lesson about absolute power.
“Fuck you,” was the most original thing I could think of to say.
“No, Colonel, fuck you,” he said, and hit me again.
There was nothing after that.

A HARD SLAP in the face stirred me.

My head was pounding, and my eyes were blurry as I wrestled with
consciousness. I screwed up my eyes and tried to shake my head to clear it. A
man swam into my vision, but he was out of focus.
Another slap came.
“He’s awake now, sir.”
Think, I willed myself. I realized I was seated with my hands securely tied
behind me, the plastic of the flex-cuffs biting sharply into my flesh. Pain still
burned through me from where the whip had cut into my skin. I glanced
around the room, taking in the surroundings. They had moved me. This room
was big and square, with concrete walls, and natural light flowed in from
somewhere in the ceiling. It was lavishly furnished but somehow all weirdly
artificial, like a stage set. It was so odd and out of place.
A handsome man with intelligent eyes stood in front of me. He was well
dressed, in a lightweight, single-breasted suit. A second man stood behind
him, the same one who had whipped me into unconsciousness, and with the
same glare of pure violence burning in his eyes.
“Welcome. We’ve been expecting you. I am called Suwan.” His voice
was low and unhurried, and he showed no emotion. “You’ve met Fang, my
enforcer.”
Seriously? Why did I feel like I was in a Bond movie? What the hell? “I
met his whip,” I said, as we had not, in fact, traded names.
Suwan smiled, but without humor. “He is an expert in many things,
Colonel, as you will come to learn.”
“You missed the memo, Suwan. I’m retired.”
“And you would have me believe that makes you any less lethal?” Suwan
looked me directly in the eye, the smile fixed on his face. “Don’t be
ridiculous. You were a soldier. A soldier doesn’t become a civilian. You
remain a soldier.”
He wasn’t wrong.
Suwan took out a gunmetal cigarette case and extracted a cigarette with
three gold bands. He looked from me to Fang and back again. “Cut him
loose. If he resists, you may damage him a little.” He then lit his cigarette.
I looked into Fang’s face. His expression was deadly serious. There was
no doubt the man would kill me if I resisted. Fang moved behind me, and I
heard the click of a knife opening before my wrists were cut free.
“Why did you beat my associate?” I asked, rubbing my chafed wrists.
“He suffered some damage. Nothing severe,” Suwan explained. “We all
know our place here. It is unfortunate Mr. Moss needed a reminder. Every
effort to resist brings pain, just as you were beaten for your impertinence.”
I looked straight at him, examining his face. There was no anger in it, no
obstinacy, nothing but supreme confidence. I resolved to remain silent.
Suwan blew out smoke and said, “Shall I explain your predicament? We
have things to discuss and so little time.”
“You used Owen as bait to lure me. Does that about sum it up?”
“You think you’ve put it all together, Mr. Colter. We’ve spoon-fed you
every clue so that you would follow them here, right where we wanted you.”
“We?”
“My employer, your executioner.”
“That’s not your job?”
“You will die, Colonel, by my hand. But only after I have what I want.”
“Which is what?”
“Money, of course.”
“How very capitalist of you.”
“The world runs on money, does it not?”
“It does. But tell me, why am I here?”
“I am certain you are a man with imagination. Working so closely with
the CIA, you made a career in murder. Surely you know you’ve made many
enemies over the years. I wonder how many wives you’ve widowed, Colonel,
how many orphans you’ve made. You haven’t a clue, have you?”
I had no answer to that, nor was it something I could deny. Violence and
death were part of my past. I had killed many, snuffing out their lives without
thinking of them as human beings at all. I couldn’t while I worked there. But
once my service ended, I never again did things that could be questioned
ethically or morally. Even now, if I was needed, I did all my due diligence
first. Everything had to be above board for me to step back in the ring. I had
to wonder, with Suwan’s questions, what I had done to his employer. Had I
taken a spouse or a parent?
“Were it not for your geographical location, we would have had you
before now,” Suwan explained, apparently not hung up on my silence. “But
your agency protects its own—Torus Intercession, the untouchable tower.
Then you expelled Mr. Moss from your ranks. We used one of our many
fronts to create a partnership with his new employer. We then created a
scenario that ensured his arrival in Bangkok.”
I didn’t expel Owen; the man was being overly dramatic. Owen took on
contract work all the time, nothing new about that. That they had created the
opportunity, though, that was concerning. Evil, I had learned a long time ago,
could be tirelessly patient. I set my jaw.
“With Moss secured, your arrival was inevitable. My only fear was that
some of our overzealous colleagues might kill you prematurely.”
Not for a lack of trying. “Why kill his bodyguard?”
“You must chum the water to lure the shark, Colonel,” Suwan answered,
blowing out smoke. “To be honest, I’m exceeding my orders, as I was
instructed to dispose of Mr. Moss once you were in my custody. That will not
go unnoticed for very long, but I have need of his skills.”
Thank God Owen was useful.
Suwan’s eyes turned cold as an iceberg. “As for you, Colonel, my
employer’s directive is that you suffer as much as possible before killing you.
There are worse things than death, which you are about to discover. Each
session will be recorded so your pain can be enjoyed even after your demise.”
Charming.
“You will be taken to a cell in the basement, where you will be tortured
every day to the point of death. This will not be an interrogation. There will
be no questions asked of you. There will be no relenting. You will undergo
the worst possible pain consistent with your remaining alive. Her only
interest is in how much suffering your body can endure so that you will end
this life not only in darkness, but in pain.”
Her? The man’s slip wasn’t lost on me.
Silently, I marshaled my courage, steeling my mind against the fear that
already had me by the throat. Not for me, and not for anything that would
happen to me. Owen was the one I was worried about. Suwan had him
working on a project, and once it was done, he was dead, and there was
nothing I could do about it. I was utterly powerless. Suwan spoke of torture
and death as if he were casually reciting a weather report. He didn’t care. He
was carrying out orders, nothing more. And clearly, whatever Owen was
doing had to do with the money, the capitalist part of the equation. He didn’t
want my money, he wanted whatever Owen was getting him. I couldn’t
bargain; there was nothing Suwan wanted from me. I had to hope, as Owen
had, that help was coming.
“Now, Colonel”—Suwan smiled at me as several men came into the
room—“shall we begin?”
Suwan’s men came straight for me, and I got to my feet as they closed in,
but it was six against one. Those odds were not great unless you were Bruce
Lee, and I was not him. I slugged two guys, kicked a third into the wall, but
two grabbed ahold of me. My right arm was seized from behind and shoved
up behind my shoulder blade in a painful arm lock. Fang stepped in front of
me and hit me hard, twice, his fist crashing into my jaw, then into the side of
my head. The darkness was immediate.
 TWELVE

W hich of the senses came back first, crawling up from the dankness of
unconsciousness, was different for every person. For me, it was my
sense of smell that told me I was still alive. The odors of urine and
blood slid into my nostrils, along with musty dampness. The blood was mine.
I wasn’t dead, just tenderized.
My brain began to work a little faster. I was in a cellar—had to be the one
Suwan promised earlier. His little chamber of pain and despair. It was a cold,
Spartan room. No furniture, and a single low-watt bulb on the ceiling barely
illuminating the place.
“Not even close to five stars,” I muttered, slowly dragging myself to my
feet.
Maybe this was what it was always going to come down to? Maybe dying
a particularly gruesome death without knowing who was killing you or why
they wanted you dead so badly was how it turned out when you worked with
Army Intelligence and the CIA. Not everyone got a B and B in Maine or a
beautiful house overlooking the water in Massachusetts. If life was truly
some sort of cosmic karmic scale, I certainly deserved my fate.
And yes. I’d killed many in the service of my country, but only when I
had to. I never enjoyed it. I was never sent on a whim. If I showed up at your
door, you’d done something horrible. Something unforgivable. But still, that
didn’t give the agency the right to be judge, jury, and executioner. I realized,
back in the day, that by association, the CIA was turning me into a monster. I
left it behind before I had nothing left of my humanity. And of course, by
then, there was Owen to consider, newly back from college at twenty-four,
wanting to work with me and be a part of helping others as I’d helped him.
Creating Torus had been my dream, and he’d been there for the creation.
He’d been there for me in so many ways, and now I was powerless to free
him.
My heart hurt just imagining letting him down. It was very possible that I
was going to die here, and the why haunted me. This would be a slow and
torturous death at the hands of gangsters over some unfinished business.
The Army had trained me to withstand torture at the hands of my
enemies. But pain was the great equalizer, and every interrogator believed
that as long as the subject didn’t die, anything was possible. I had a high
tolerance, but everyone had a breaking point. I asked myself how much more
could I take under constant agony.
The waiting, of course, was the worst.
It was hard to focus on survival, to remain at constant readiness, when
nothing happened. It was why people dropped their guard. There was no way
to stay terrified or alert long-term. The human body didn’t work like that.
My thoughts turned to my friends. Jing would certainly move heaven and
earth to make sure I was safe; she’d already shown her resolve by calling in
Isaak. Dante would put himself in danger to save me, without question.
Darius as well. They were coming. It was just a question of when.
I gritted my teeth at the sound of heavy footsteps outside the cell door,
tensing as soon as I heard the scraping sound of the lock’s mechanism being
turned. At the clank of the bolt being thrown back, I steeled myself, preparing
my mind for the ordeal my body would face today.
The door swung open, and Fang walked into the room. He was
accompanied by two big, muscular guys with no necks. I was in agreement. I
could have skipped this as well.
I was tall, six four, but all of them were taller than me. It did not bode
well. I cataloged one with narrow eyes and a three-inch scar that sliced down
the side of his right cheek, and the other, slightly shorter, had a bald head and
an unpleasant gold-toothed grin on his craggy face, that looked like it had
seen its share of fights.
The moment of truth had arrived, and I found myself disappointed in
Fang. He’d proven he could take me down alone, but he’d brought friends?
“Three against one? Are you overcompensating for a personal
shortcoming?”
“No. Today you get to fight back.”
 “How sporting of you,” I spat.
“Are you ready to begin, Colonel?”
“Are you serious? Just get on with it.” As if I had a choice.
“Your bravado does you credit, Colonel, but it will not save you.”
I remained silent. Let them do their worst. Take it like a soldier.
“Very well,” Fang sneered.
Against so many, I was outmatched, but I didn’t give a damn. I’d wanted
my fighting chance, and now I had it. If I was going to die, this was far better
than systematic torture. I relished the idea of inflicting even a small amount
of pain on the men who had devoted themselves to hurting me and others. At
least this way I could possibly take one or two of these bastards with me.
I could feel the surge of adrenaline and willed myself to stay calm. I had
so much pent-up anger for these men, but now wasn’t the time to get sloppy.
Precise, calculated counter moves and attacks were the only way I would
survive.
“Attack!” Fang commanded, hanging back as the two men moved in.
For such big men, their speed took me by surprise. Before I could register
their movement, the first man, Goldy—the one with the gold tooth—struck
me with two lightning-fast hits to the chest. I did my best to counter and
punch back, but the man was just too fast. I fell backward as Scarface, the
second one, lashed out with a heavy kick to my ribs. I managed to block the
kick with a lateral movement of my forearm, and then assumed a martial
stance as the man swung at me. Deflecting the blow, I landed one of my own
on the man’s jaw, connecting with such force, I felt my knuckles burn. The
man fell backward and crashed into the wall.
Goldy came in again, putting the entire weight of his body behind an
almost balletic pirouette roundhouse kick aimed for my face. I feinted, and he
missed, hitting only air. I didn’t even see Scarface’s left leg lift and straighten
to deliver a stunning ax-kick at my face, but I managed to feint again, far
enough that the guy’s heel missed my face, the blow catching me on my right
shoulder.
I reeled back against the wall, just in time to see Goldy closing in, one
foot coming up. In that split second, my hand shot out, fingers rigid,
executing a perfect knife strike to the front of the man’s throat, killing him
instantly. He toppled to the floor like a marionette whose strings had been
cut.
“Oh, Colonel”—Fang sounded pleased—“you are skilled. This is good.
But your training means nothing. You are old and weak.”
Before I could react, Fang moved in, his right hand delivering a powerful
blow to my solar plexus, knocking the breath out of me. I fell to my knees,
gasping for air, my chest on fire as Fang stood back, ready to kick. It had
been a strong blow, but not one meant to kill. I knew that had he wanted to,
he could have shattered my sternum.
In the next instant, Fang moved in and delivered three hard kicks to my
head until I was on the ground. I attempted to rise and grab his foot to ward
off another blow, but I was too stunned to react with the required speed.
Against a man like Fang, I was simply out of my league. His next kick sent
me into a black void.

M Y FIRST THOUGHT when I opened my eyes, disoriented, as consciousness

came flooding back into my body, was that I completely understood what
Dante was talking about when he said he directed others in the field but
didn’t go anymore. It was the speed, the reflexes. My friend was smart
enough to know that as we aged, we slowed. There was no shame in it. It was
simply a part of life. I had to wonder how George Hunt would have fared in
the basement with the three men.
A thumping pain rang through my skull. How long had I been out?
Hours? A day? It must be morning by now, though I had no way of knowing
for sure.
I ran my hands through my hair gently, checking for swelling, and was
pleased at the lack of goose eggs or blood. I was surprised, frankly. For the
second time that day, my defeat had been shocking, immediate, and total.
Like all truly evil men, Fang knew what he was doing. In the dangerous
world I belonged to, it was absolutely vital to keep the belief that I could
overcome my adversaries. That was gone, savagely ripped away by Suwan’s
ruthless enforcer.
After a full minute, I got slowly to my feet. My head was still pounding,
but I found that I was steadier than expected. I took stock of the damage to
my body. I could taste blood in my mouth, and my jaw hurt like hell. I knew
my face was badly beaten, and one of my eyes was partly closed, but
otherwise I was in one piece. Suwan’s man was a proper sadist who enjoyed
his work. I knew I had only been given a mere taste of the full-course meal
yet to come.
 My brain went into overdrive as the memory of the last twenty-four hours
returned. Whatever Suwan’s plans for Owen, the man was going to have him
killed as soon as the job was done. But by that time, we’d both be either safe
or dead. Dante had given me an injectable tracking device. The radioactive
isotope made me traceable for seventy-two hours, after which I was in the
wind. Between that and the now burned-up GPS tracker in my boot, I had
faith that my team was close by. Come on, D. Any fuckin’ time now.
And once they reached us and we were safe, I needed to find out who
Suwan’s boss was.
Suwan’s inner circle was made up of Chinese, which, on the face of it,
meant triad—it was rare for the triads to trust anyone who wasn’t wholly
Chinese. They were a dangerous group to have made an enemy of. But that
didn’t add up. In all my missions with the CIA, I operated outside of the
Pacific Rim. And while I had crossed paths with many criminal syndicates,
the triads were not among them. Professionally and privately, I had no
dealings in Asia at all.

L ESS THAN AN HOUR LATER , I heard the lock being turned and the door
opening. Fang came in, followed by three Chinese guards, and it didn’t take
long before blackness swallowed me again.
I was woken with a bucket of cold water thrown over my body, and found
myself suspended from a chain looped over a pipe in the cellar. My toes
barely reached the floor. Every breath was painful, and my teeth were
chattering. I was freezing, which made me realize I was running a fever. The
cuts from the cat-o’-nine-tails were raw and open and oozing, and infection
had set in, as evidenced from my body trying to fight it off. When the whip
hit my back, I screamed. I didn’t stop screaming until I passed out.

“T RY AND RELAX .”
Someone was talking to me. I had to force myself to concentrate. After a
moment, I saw the green I knew, the smile, and sighed deeply.
“Hi,” Owen said softly, close to my ear. “It’s all right. You’re with me.
I’m looking after you. Just breathe.”
“I’m scared, Owen. I don’t want to leave you.”
 “You’re not going to leave me,” he promised, his hand on my head. “I
need you to sit up a bit so you can drink some water.”
Just the thought of doing that was overwhelming, but I tried. The moment
I did, pain shot through my back and sides, and I found I couldn’t sit, and
neither could I stay awake.

W HEN I CAME AROUND AGAIN , I became aware of Owen holding me. We

were alone in the dungeon. I had no idea how long I’d been there, but I
instantly remembered the violence done to me and the danger we were still
in.
“Just don’t try to move for a minute,” Owen soothed me, stroking my
hair. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been going through…but I’m really glad
to see you.”
“How long was I away from you?” My throat was so dry.
“Almost three days.”
My seventy-two hours were up. If the cavalry wasn’t close, that was it.
“The men who dragged you in here and threw you down were quite
surprised your jaw’s not broken. Apparently, as I always suspected, you have
a hard head.”
I smiled, and it hurt my split lip. “Don’t make me laugh. It could kill me.”
“Noted,” he replied gently.
It was so good just to lie there and look up at him.
“They’ve been feeding me rice and boiled chicken so I can focus enough
to do the hacking. When I asked if I might have a portion for you, after the
requisite ‘how did I know you were even still alive’ bit, they gave me some.”
“You’re saying I have food?”
He smiled at me. “Such that it is, yes.”
“Could I have that, please?” I said sarcastically.
“In a minute, yes. But first, are your ribs broken?”
“Really badly bruised, but I don’t think anything cracked. Not yet. Soon.”
“That’s very good news,” he whispered and bent and kissed my forehead.
The warmth that spread through me was both welcome and comforting. “Not
the soon part, the not-yet part.”
“I figured,” I said with a slow exhale.
“Let’s have some water, all right?”
Best idea ever.
 Owen filled a tin cup and held it to my mouth, making sure I took only
slow sips. “I don’t want you to throw it back up.”
That was smart.
After a few minutes, checking to make sure the water stayed in my
stomach, he refilled it, and I had a second cup, downing it that time in two
gulps, the hit of water absolutely life-giving.
“You look terrible,” he said solemnly, but he pressed his lips together so
he wouldn’t smile.
“What the hell?” I growled at him. My entire body felt like hell, and he
was laughing at me? “Have you lost it completely?”
“I’m just thinking of all the times I’ve commented on some bad outfit
over the years, and this one is right there near the top.”
I was covered in blood, but this one was near the top? “I’m sorry, what
have I worn that’s worse than this?”
He considered his answer, thinking a moment. “Remember that horrible
turtleneck that made you look like a giant piece of caramel corn?”
I recalled it vividly. “I beg your pardon?”
He started laughing, and God, it was a good sound.
“I don’t think you’re remembering that right.”
“It was so awful,” Owen continued, cackling.
“I’ll have you know that was cashmere,” I said defensively.
He lost it then, and I knew it was half from the memory and half relief
that I was still able to be indignant. My breathing was exciting to him at this
point.
When Owen stopped howling, recovering enough for me to shake my
head at him in chagrin, I told him I needed to get up.
“Why?”
“Gotta pee.”
“I can bring the bucket over here, and you can get to your knees,” he
offered.
“Fuck no,” I grumbled. “Help me up.”
“Like you peeing in front of me will take away your gilded status in my
eyes.”
“That’s not— If they’re watching, I don’t want them to see me broken.”
“Ridiculous,” he muttered, but helped me to my feet. “There are no
cameras in this room.”
“That you know of.”
 “I know,” he groused at me.
I was dizzy for a moment, and he took hold of my hips and kept me still
until I got my balance back. When I went to move, he held tighter.
“Owen?”
“Once we’re out of here,” he said, his fingers slipping under the grungy
hem of my T-shirt to touch my bare skin, “and you’re not hurt and I’m not
hurt, we’re going to have a very serious talk.”
I nodded.
Owen lifted his chin. “Now kiss me, gently, because your lip is split, and
then you can go piss in the bucket.”
I bent, put my hand on his cheek, and brushed his lips with mine. It was
featherlight, but I felt it in my chest. My heart stopped for a second.
When the hell did this happen? In such a short time, I was comfortable
kissing him.
“Okay.” Owen beamed at me, his green eyes glinting in the low light.
“You may hobble over and relieve yourself.”
I did just that, noting the blood in my urine that was not a surprise in the
least, before limping back, standing over Owen, who was sitting on the cot
with the wafer-thin mattress.
“Sit down so you can eat this,” he said, holding a small bowl, not nearly
as big as the ones I ate cereal out of at home, and a spoon.
I took a seat beside him and ate as slowly as I could. It was flavorless, but
it was carbs and protein, so I was thankful. He had more water in the tin cup
for me to wash it down with.
“Feel better?”
“Only slightly,” I replied truthfully.
“Well, you know, even beat up, you look good,” Owen said with a sigh,
tenderly touching my face and chin.
“You look pretty good yourself.”
“Oh? Really?” he teased, rolling his eyes, the left one having blood in it,
making the green look strange, like a Halloween costume. Owen’s face was
caked in dried blood, and there was a cut across one cheekbone, which had
dried into an ugly scab. “I’m thrilled to hear this.”
“Listen, I’ll get you to a plastic surgeon when we get home and—”
“I like scars. I find them incredibly sexy, and imagine the stories I can
come up with for people.”
“You can just tell the truth. It’s plenty badass. You’ll have all the guys
thinking how hot it is and—”
“There’s only one guy I want to think it’s hot.”
I shook my head.
“No? You’re doubting my honesty?”
“I can’t even protect you,” I blurted, unable to stop the words from
tumbling out, as tired and broken as I was, my normal filter completely gone.
“Why would you ever—”
“Stop that. If it wasn’t for you coming here to save me, I’d be dead.”
“But I haven’t saved you,” I said, my voice cracking in pain as my vision
blurred. There was no stopping the hot tears from welling up in my eyes. I
had no control; all my defenses were gone. I hated feeling vulnerable, and it
made everything worse that I was breaking down in front of Owen. “I’ve
failed you, and I must look weak, and—”
“Enough, Jared.”
I turned away, unable to look at him.
Owen carefully, gently took my face in his hands. “I was scared. I was so
scared,” he told me. “And not because I’m a child, but because I thought I’d
never see you again and you’d never know how I felt.”
I tried to ease free.
“No, just listen,” he stressed and took a breath.
I was shivering with pain as I stared at him. The welts and cuts on my
back were open and oozing ichor and blood, and I was still running a fever,
my system working through its normal steps to try and withstand the
infection ravaging my body, not helped in the least by the small portion of
food and only limited amount of water. I was breaking down, and soon, I’d
be no help to him at all.
“I’m not a child. I don’t have a child’s fears. And I’m not afraid of dying,
you understand? What I was scared of, before you showed up, was that due to
my cowardice, you would never know how I truly felt.”
“You’re not a coward,” I argued. “You’re brave and smart and—”
“But I was afraid to tell you because I didn’t want to lose you, and then
when I was brought here, I realized I was going to end up losing you anyway.
I had to tell you, it was the only thing to be done. If I’m not honest with you,
the person I love most in the world, who can I be honest with?”
I could only stare into his deep emerald eyes.
“Now, shall I tell you what Suwan has me doing?”
“Yes,” I said, relieved he was changing the subject.
 He took my hand in both of his, holding tightly, which I loved.
“It’s illegal,” he teased me. “You’re not going to like it.”
“Really?” I said drolly.
“Well, you know, you’re a stickler for rules. There was that whole thing
with the DEA.”
“Would you please just—”
“He has me buying cryptocurrency. He had me create an algorithm—a
worm—that could back door a handful of government and private financial
accounts and skim off small amounts of funds undetected.”
“And you’re using those funds to purchase the crypto?”
“Yes.”
“That’s ingenious.”
“It is, since, as you know, once the stolen money is converted to
cryptocurrency, it can’t be traced as easily.”
I nodded.
“What do I do, Jared?”
“You keep doing it.”
“Well, of course I’m gonna keep doing it!” He was irritated with me.
“They’ve threatened to make me watch while they disembowel you if I
disobey!”
“They’re going to get around to that eventually anyway,” I said darkly.
Owen was glowering at me. “That is not something I’m thinking about at
the moment. I will remain hopeful because I know your friends. I know the
people in your life, and they will come for us. I just wish they would hurry.”
I chuckled, and it hurt, but really, Owen Moss had a great gift for stating
the obvious.
“Don’t laugh,” he snapped at me.
It was good advice, since doing so only made it worse.
“Ow, ow, ow,” I complained.
He shook his head at me. “It’s your own fault. You shouldn’t laugh at the
person who loves you.”
That sobered me up. “No,” I agreed.
“So, in preparation for later, when we’re out,” he said, glancing at me,
checking to make sure I was on board with “later,” as in there would be one
and I was optimistic, “I’ve been laying breadcrumbs so we can find all the
accounts.”
“You realize that if they discover what you’re up to, we’re sunk.”
 “Oh, no, that had never crossed my mind,” he said sarcastically.
“You’re infuriating.”
“Yes, well, you normally find it charming.”
“Are you sure?” I asked, wincing as I moved a bit, trying to get more
comfortable on the cot. “I don’t think I do.”
Owen scoffed. “You do. You act all growly and grouchy, but secretly you
love it when I give other people crap.”
I thought about it a minute and then smiled at him, realizing everything
was sort of shiny and a weird lightness was suffusing my body. Of course, I
knew what it meant. “I think my fever is spiking.”
His hand slipped across my forehead, and he bit his bottom lip. “You’re
burning up.”
“Figured,” I said, reaching out and running my thumb over the lip he’d
had between his teeth. “Don’t do that. It’s a bad habit.”
I kept my hand on his cheek, loving the way he closed his eyes and
leaned into my palm. He was craving attention, affection, and I’d been
keeping it from him because I thought I shouldn’t, that he wouldn’t want that
from me. But if I was being honest with myself—and now was the time to be,
given the precariousness of our situation—I could admit I’d been smitten
ever since he’d come home from college and I started spending all my time
with him, listening and learning how his mind worked, seeing his great heart.
He got me the way no one else did, and at night, in my bed, all I wanted was
him there beside me. The fact that he was the child of my dead friends didn’t
enter my mind. He was himself, a man I could easily see loving if I could
ever stop worrying about the life he’d be missing out on if he spent his with
me.
“Jared, are you listening to me? You’re supposed to focus on what I just
said. Did you even hear me?”
I cleared my throat. “I didn’t, no.”
He passed me another cup of water. “Drink this.”
I did as told.
“I was saying,” he began, scowling at me, “that they won’t find the
breadcrumbs I’m leaving because I’m very good at this.”
“I know.”
“Suwan has his own man checking up behind me, but he’s just verifying
that I’ve done the proper fund allocations and amounts.”
“He’s cutting someone out,” I told him as he poured me more water. “I
suspect his employer. If I’m right, they’re going to come looking for that
money. And I want to be able to track it back to them when they do.”
“I still don’t know what this is all about.”
I met his gaze.
“I mean, I know it’s about you, but what about you?”
“Suwan suggested they made a deliberate decision to grab you to get me
here. Initially, when I first got the news you were missing, I thought it had
something to do with Sutter. But pretty quickly, I realized it was something
else, and then the other day, we all started noticing that everyone was focused
on trying to kill me.”
“That’s great news,” Owen said snidely.
“I just mean that I’ve made a lot of enemies over the years, and I think
this is one specific person with a grudge.”
“But you haven’t done any intelligence work in years.”
“Yeah, I know, which makes this really well planned and executed,” I
said as he scooted closer so we were shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee.
“Suwan said I was untouchable in the US, which was why he had to lure me
here.”
“So my job at Sutter’s has basically been one big setup.”
“Yeah,” I murmured, leaning against him. It was nice to be close to him,
talking like we used to. “Were you mad all this time because you were pissed
I didn’t see you as a man?”
“Interesting subject change, but since I know this is your fever at work,
I’m going to say yes, that’s exactly why I was mad.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” I asked without turning to look at him,
enjoying his touch as he carefully took my other scraped, bloody-knuckled
hand in his.
“Because I knew you’d do exactly what you did—try to keep me in the
box where you put me, which, in your mind, is that I’m too young for you.
For whatever reason, even though it’s ridiculous, you think of me as your
ward.”
I snorted. “Like Batman and Robin without the bodysuits.”
“Oh dear God,” he groaned, turning to kiss my cheek. “If I didn’t know
your blood was boiling, I’d think you were drunk.”
I closed my eyes when he kissed my temple next. It was nice.
“Jared…I am not now, or have ever been, your ward.”
“I know,” I agreed, because it was true.
 “All right, so if what we’re thinking is true and this whole thing has been
a long con, that means the contract Sutter has with Chanthara Holdings is
bogus?”
“Not bogus.” I opened my eyes, scared that if I didn’t, I’d fall asleep, and
I wanted to be awake when Fang and his goons came back. “I think
Chanthara is a real builder, and they’re in business with Sutter to make their
real-estate venture happen, but they made sure, or someone within that
organization did, that you were in the mix to come to Thailand.”
“And you have no clue who’s behind all this?”
“It could be a lot of people, and that’s sad, but I’ll bet you this is old CIA
business.”
He took a breath. “How much more of this can your body take?”
“As much as I have to. I didn’t come in here without a plan. I have
reinforcements ready to charge in over the hill,” I said for Owen’s benefit.
Because yes, my friends would come for us, but the question of me being
alive or dead when they reached us was a real one.
“Oh yeah? Any idea of their timeline?” He was worried about me. I could
hear it in the cracks in his voice.
“Well, normally, if you weren’t in the mix, the way we did it in the past
was no one intervened unless death was imminent. We gave ourselves over to
torture by an enemy to extract information, so we had to hold on as long as
possible.”
“Uh-huh,” Owen choked out, clearly horrified.
“That’s how we figured out who was behind something, and why.”
“But this time is different.”
“Because of you, yeah. So as soon as Dante and Darius figure out where I
am—and how to breach this place and not get themselves or us killed in the
process—they’ll be here. My guess is that they know where we are, but given
the remote location, and that we’re underground with lots of guys outside,
they’re having trouble figuring out how to get to us. It’s also possible they
need more people with them. I mean, there’s only five of them here. Darius is
in Ankara.”
“What else did Suwan say to you?”
I was not about to share that his plan was to slowly kill me. That
information was not designed to put Owen at ease. “Just that he was going to
torture me a bit.”
“Don’t lie,” he warned me. “I know every nuance in your voice.”
 I turned my head to see his face. “Fine. He said his objective was to make
me suffer until I was dead. That’s his entire agenda when it comes to me.”
Owen sucked in his breath and doubled over, head between his knees.
Gently, I rubbed his back. “We’re gonna get out of here,” I promised him.
“And you know I can take a beating. You’ve heard all those stories.”
He sat up sharply. “I know you have a high tolerance for pain, but—”
“I’ve been captured behind enemy lines more than once in my career with
the Army and found myself in the hands of sadistic assholes. Suwan and
Fang are not going to be the guys who break me. That’s not gonna happen.”
“Yes, but we’re running out of time. Your cavalry…how sure are you
they’re coming?”
“I’m betting our lives on it.”
“I’m just so scared that between the fever and the infection—”
He was interrupted by the click of the door lock. My adrenaline kicked in
as it opened and Fang entered, two men flanking him, both carrying guns.
Fang held a strip of heavy-gauge industrial hose, a couple of feet long. In the
hands of a sadist like Fang, it was a cruelty tool.
“It’s time we resume our game, Colonel.”
“Leave him alone,” Owen said, standing up and taking a step toward the
men.
Reaching out, I took hold of his wrist. “Don’t provoke them. It will only
make things worse for you.”
Fang had been nothing but brutal and cruel. Perhaps in other areas of his
life he was different, not so callous and unfeeling, but I was betting not. He
was likely the kind of guy who drowned kittens and kicked puppies, just an
absolute waste of a human being. I couldn’t imagine how many atrocities
he’d committed. I didn’t want him, even for a second, to have Owen in his
sights ever again.
“No tricks left?” Fang said, crossing the room to me, only a foot away,
the two guards trailing behind him.
I stared into his smug face and thought of a way to keep his focus on me
and off Owen. “Only one,” I answered.
Rising fast, lashing out with a quick forward jerk of my head, I slammed
the hard bone of my skull into the center of Fang’s face. I followed it up with
a savage right hook to the jaw, and the second to his nose. Both blows landed
hard, but the second caused the crunch I knew well. Fang was stunned for a
moment, his nose bleeding profusely.
 But that was all I had, my adrenaline gone in seconds, my strength
sapped. I was grabbed roughly, and one of the guards put me in an arm lock
and marched me out of the room. I heard Owen pleading behind me, and then
the door closed loudly. My legs gave out as they dragged me down the
corridor.
“Stand him up,” Fang snarled, and once I was, he lashed the hose across
my chest.
“Honest combat is man-to-man, you fucking coward,” I choked out.
Fang flicked the hose back again, then beat at my bruised ribs. I couldn’t
contain my howl of pain when he smashed already bruised skin, or again
when Fang punched me in my overly tenderized face. My spirit was willing,
but my flesh was done. When he hit me again with the hose, I could feel my
brain spinning, taking me to the brink of blacking out. Once more and I
succumbed to the darkness.
 THIRTEEN

W hen I came to, I opened my eyes to find that my vision had darkened
at the edges. I had nearly zero peripheral sight. All the blows to my
head were taking their toll.
I tried to move but couldn’t, and my heart started pounding in fear. I was
terrified I might be paralyzed. Quickly, I took in my surroundings and
realized I was in a sitting position, strapped to a five-foot-long plank with a
vertical backrest. Ropes bound my chest, thighs, and legs. My arms were tied
behind the backrest.
I tested the ropes that secured my hands, but they’d been tightened nearly
to the bone. It was impossible to move a muscle from my chest downward. I
cried out as I tried to move—the side of my chest where my ribs were bruised
was on fire.
“I would advise against struggling, Colonel.”
At the sound of Suwan’s voice, I tried to suppress the sharp pain in my
side. If the man in charge was here, that meant they were done playing.
“It will do you no good,” he continued. “Those knots tighten against
tension. You will find the chair unpleasant enough without the strangulation
of your limbs.”
My gaze didn’t move from him. I knew what the chair was and what they
were going to do to me.
Bricks would be placed underneath my ankles, elevating my lower legs.
They would continue adding bricks to cause hypertension in my knees as
they unnaturally forced my legs to bend backward until either they snapped,
or my bindings did. There was little chance of the latter happening.
 “I once saw a man tolerate five bricks before his legs broke,” Suwan
informed me. “Most beg for death after three. I wonder what you have in you,
Colonel?”
I said nothing, remaining impassive. Glancing around, I saw a man in
another corner recording on his phone.
“Ready?”
As if he’d stop if I said I wasn’t.
Suwan gave a nod. The man beside him placed the first brick under my
ankles.
A bolt of pain jolted into my knees. That fast, it was terrifying. Brick
placed, instantaneous pain.
My teeth ground together to keep me from screaming, and I could hear
my blood beating furiously in my ears as sweat dripped off me.
“Again,” Suwan ordered, the sneer on his face making my skin crawl.
Another brick. The sound as the clay blocks scraped against each other
was a sound I knew I’d remember for the rest of my life.
Immediately, the pain nearly blinded me. I could feel the tendons starting
to stretch and closed my eyes and took a deep breath, forcing myself to
ignore the pain that screamed through my legs, made more painful by my
bruised ribs and the welts on my back and sides that the ropes scraped as I
squirmed against my restraints.
“Another,” Suwan commanded.
It was agony, easily the most pain I’d ever been in, and the animal scream
that tore out of me was expected. I almost blacked out.
“One more brick and your legs will break, Colonel,” Suwan declared, his
tone placating. “Beg me for death and I will give it to you.”
He wouldn’t. Suwan was not the kind of man to show mercy, and he
certainly didn’t have any for me. “Fuck…you…” I managed to choke out.
“Colonel, I should warn you that—”
The door flew open, and my old buddy Fang came in, looking, I was
pleased to note, slightly distressed. His taped-up nose was also nice to see. I
myself was on the edge of consciousness, but I could make out what I
thought was the sound of rain.
That didn’t make any sense. How could I hear rain inside a bunker with
no windows?
Fang was talking to Suwan in a stream of sound, and around the stops and
starts, after moments, I recognized it for what it was—the dull rattle of
gunfire.
Finally.
Even immobilized in the chair, I was relieved. “Sounds like you’ve got
company.”
“No matter,” Suwan snarled. “It arrives too late to save you, Colonel.”
And he looked pretty confident until there was more gunfire. Louder.
Closer.
Suwan’s fortress was under heavy attack.
Fang bolted from the room, and I scoffed despite being in pain, because it
looked like Suwan’s badass enforcer beat it out of there at the first sign of
trouble.
“Loyalty is a rare commodity,” I said as all the other men turned and ran,
leaving Suwan and me alone in the room. “Don’t you think?”
“You will die here, Colonel.” He pulled a Smith & Wesson Model 29
from his shoulder holster and leveled it at me.
“Are you kidding?” I was actually disappointed in him. “You have the
Dirty Harry gun? The .44 Magnum? Seriously?”
He cocked the gun, and I turned my head at the same moment there was a
shattering explosion. Suwan was thrown across the room as part of the wall
came away from a direct artillery hit. Wherever I was in the compound was
definitely not underground.
I worked my jaw, my brain battered, my hearing muffled. The whole
place filled with smoke and dust as plaster, debris, and bricks crashed down.
The RPG round Dante brought had definitely come in handy.
As the dust settled, I could see out into the hall. There were bodies there,
and all of them appeared dead, but, I reasoned, it might take a moment for
everyone to get back up. There was a lot of blood, though, so maybe not. Part
of the roof had come down. Suwan was lying on his back, groaning under the
weight of a heavy beam that pinned him. Where the chair I was strapped to
was, on the opposite wall, had turned out to be the safest part of the room,
since it was still standing.
Eyes blinking through the dust and debris and smoke still clogging the
air, I saw a figure coming toward me. I tensed at the prospect of renewed or
finally fatal violence at Fang’s hands while unable to defend myself. Had the
enforcer arrived to check on Suwan and then finish the job his boss started?
“Ohmygod, ohmygod,” Jing gasped, emerging from the cloud, and I’d
never been happier to see her. She was followed by Dante, who was making
my earlier thoughts about who was dead or not moot as he put a bullet in
everyone he passed. He never liked people getting back up.
“You have to find Owen.” The tears were coming fast now. God knew
what they did to him the moment they heard the explosion.
“Garland secured him first. I knew that would be what you’d want,” Jing
informed me. “He’s with him now, along with Isaak, so you know he’s safe.”
He was safe. Owen was safe. Even if I had a heart attack and died right
now, it would be all right because Owen was good. I started shaking, the
relief overwhelming.
“Now can I get a hello?” she said cheerfully, trying for nonchalance but
not able to pull it off. Concern and worry filled her eyes.
“Hey,” I greeted her, taking a breath.
She reached me, immediately surveyed the chair, and bent to push away
the bricks. The release from the weight was immediate, and it negated so
much pain, I almost forgot about the rest.
“Thank you,” I whispered, able to relax a fraction.
As Jing retook her place beside me, I noted her horrified expression as
she surveyed the damage, her hands fluttering over my face and shoulders,
but not making contact with my skin. “I have no idea where to touch you,”
she said, sounding like she was in pain.
“It’s okay,” I soothed her as she kissed my forehead. “Really.”
She nodded quickly as Dante joined us, putting a cold hand on my cheek
for a moment. Since his hands were never cold, that meant my fever must’ve
spiked again. “I’m so glad I’m not too late.” He smiled broadly. “I was
worried you might have gotten hurt.”
“Funny,” I said with a weak grin.
“You’re burning up,” he said worriedly, passing Jing his Beretta M9, then
slipping around the back of the chair. I heard the snap of his blade, and then
it was against my skin as he cut through the ropes binding me, first the ones
around my hands, then my chest, and then my legs. My limbs immediately
throbbed and ached with the sudden return of blood flow.
“Darius was finally able to get us a satellite image of this place,” he
explained as he came back around to face me. “From our drone surveillance,
it looked impenetrable, and there’s only one way in, so a direct assault would
have been useless.”
“I figured.” I turned on the chair, pushed my legs over the side.
“Once we determined which wall to go through, there was the issue of all
the thermal signatures. It took a bit to determine where they were holding you
and Owen.”
Just then there was a volley of machine-gun fire. Dante grabbed his gun
from Jing, and she pulled hers from her shoulder holster, a Sig Sauer P220
Carry Elite Stainless. They both faced the door.
“Don’t shoot,” a man directed from the hall.
Both Jing and Dante lowered their weapons as a man with a Heckler &
Koch MP5 stepped into the room. He was wearing body armor, a helmet, and
I realized I’d never seen him before in my life.
“Colonel,” he greeted me with a nod.
“Jared, this is Ceaton Mercer,” Dante explained. “Darius’s protector
when he’s at home, but since Darius is not at home, Ceaton’s on loan.”
“Thank you,” I said to the man covered in weapons and ammunition. He
was far better equipped than anyone else on my team.
“My pleasure, Colonel,” he assured me and then turned, before I even
heard a noise, on a trio of armed men. Mercer cut down all three before they
could level their rifles. Turning back to Dante, he shot my friend a look. “Sir,
we need to go.”
“Yes,” Dante agreed, bending to ease my arm across his shoulder and
then carefully lift me to my feet. My knees gave out on me, but he was
strong, so my tug of weight did nothing to his balance. “You want me to
carry you out?” he asked, and that made me get my legs under me as best I
could.
“No, thank you,” I grumbled, clutching his shoulder. “I can walk.”
Jing was behind us, still hesitant to touch me. “You have blood seeping
through your shirt.”
“Oh, I have no doubt.”
Mercer went out into the hall, and I heard him fire his weapon once,
twice, but he wasn’t shooting like his life depended on it, more like cleanup.
“Is anything broken?” Dante asked.
“No, I—”
There was a scream behind us, and when Dante turned me, we saw Jing
standing on top of the beam Suwan was under.
“He’s responsible,” Jing said flatly, no emotion in her voice. “I read his
file. I know who he is.”
“Don’t—don’t do what you’re thinking,” I told her. “Come on. He can’t
move that, and there’s no one here to help. He may linger, for days even, but
he’s going to die.”
“You’re certain?” she asked, rocking on the beam.
Suwan’s scream was high-pitched, full of terror.
“I am,” I assured her, realizing that standing there was agony and walking
would be even worse. It felt like knives were twisting in my gut, and I wanted
to leave, but I wanted to give Jing peace as well.
Suwan was in bad shape, staring over at me, blood sliding past his lips,
his eyes bloodshot and swollen, and although there was fear in his
expression, there was still defiance as well. He understood his fate.
“She’ll get you,” he told me.
Jing stomped on the beam, and he shrieked like a wounded animal.
“She’ll try,” I agreed, and then lifted my right arm for Jing. “I need you.”
She moved fast, and even her slight weight leaving the beam had to be
excruciating for Suwan. Clutching tighter at Dante’s shoulder, I gave Jing
some of my weight, I had no choice, the scant strength in my body
dissipating fast. I was finding it hard to breathe.
“You look terrible,” Dante commented, sounding a bit disappointed.
“I feel like hell, but you know what the hospitality can be like in these
remote resorts,” I teased him, stumbling, giving him all my weight for a
moment before I righted myself again.
“We should find the manager of this establishment and take it up with
him formally.”
“We just did. But the bastard had a doorman. He’s likely lurking around.
The man is quite skilled.”
“Haven’t come across him yet, but you let me know if you see him.”
“Oh, you won’t be able to miss him.”
I was tempted to try and find Fang. After what had been done to me and
Owen, I didn’t want to leave the man alive. Whoever else got out, they were
paid to be there. I understood that and could let them go. I would never hunt
down henchmen; that was neither moral nor a good use of time. Fang was
different.
“How about we focus on getting you out of here? This place was hard to
find, and it took a damn Laplander to get up here, and you know I hate
those.”
“It’s because they’re not stylish.”
“Absolutely right.”
We were quiet for several moments.
 “Wait, where did you get a Laplander?”
“The ambassador made it happen.”
“The ambassador who didn’t want me setting back US and Thai relations
into the last century loaned you a military vehicle because you asked?”
“I didn’t ask. Darius did the asking, and you know how he can be.”
I did. When Darius Hawthorne really wanted something, he was
inexorable. The man could be like the ocean battering against the shore, and
he never stopped and never gave up. Best to give him what he wanted so he’d
leave you in peace.
We exited through the collapsed wall into the courtyard. Just as we
emerged out into the open, Fang attacked. I didn’t see him coming, my
peripheral vision was shot, but Dante yelled, shoving me at Jing, the two of
us going down under my weight.
I watched in horror as Fang leaped into the air with a swift jump kick,
both feet smashing heavily into Dante sideways with the entire weight of his
body. Both men fell to the ground. I saw Dante roll and bounce to his feet. He
positioned himself and delivered a staggering left hook into Fang’s jaw. The
blow connected with such force that the enforcer went reeling backward. It
was impressive, especially since Dante didn’t do hand-to-hand combat much
anymore, but training was training and it never deserted you.
Jing helped me to my feet, and as we struggled, it was suddenly easier.
Arden was there, propping me up, tears rolling down her cheeks as she
looked at me.
“I could just shoot that guy if Dante could get clear,” Arden suggested.
But Dante getting clear would require us yelling at him to move out of the
way, and that momentary lapse in focus, a second of distraction, could get
him killed.
“I couldn’t even lift a gun,” I confessed as I saw Fang seemingly rise in
the air and hurtle toward my friend. Dante dived forward as Fang’s foot came
whistling within an inch of his head. Fang was so fast, so lethal, I wanted to
yell at Dante to get out of there, but he looked as he always did in a fight:
calm and controlled. When I saw the grin on Dante’s face, I knew he had
him. When Fang lunged at him, I caught my breath. A second later, I saw the
glint of steel in Dante’s right hand before he scythed upward with his knife,
slamming the seven-inch blade of his KA-BAR into his attacker’s heart.
Fang’s mouth opened wide in disbelief as he fell to the ground. He clutched
desperately at the hilt as his life slipped away from him. Dante watched,
panting, until the man ceased to move, then pulled the knife out and returned
to my side.
“Impressive,” I told him.
He shrugged. “I’m gonna be sore tomorrow.”
As he pulled my arm back across his shoulders, I sighed deeply. “You did
that so quickly, and I couldn’t even hurt—”
“Was it one-on-one, like that, you and him, out in the open?”
No. It hadn’t been.
“Honest combat is man-to-man,” Dante said. “You know that.”
I did. I’d told Fang as much.
Isaak came over to us then. “I have Owen secured in the vehicle. He
looks much like you,” he said, and then amended, “Perhaps you look a bit
worse.”
“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “I appreciate you being here.”
He put up his hand. “We will not have this.”
Heaven forbid I showed him any gratitude.
He passed his AK-47 to Jing, and then had her move so he could ease my
arm over his shoulder and bend to grip behind my thigh. Dante mirrored his
movement, and in seconds, they were carrying me toward the Laplander.
“I saw you dispatch that man,” Isaak said to Dante. “You still have
moves, starik.”
“Go to hell,” Dante told him. Starik meant old man in Russian.
“I wonder, are you winded? Should I have Mercer help carry you?”
Dante shot him a look that should have killed him dead.
The Laplander was parked twenty yards away. The Volvo-made, high-
ground-clearance rough-terrain military vehicle looked like it had seen better
days.
“What is that, a sixty-three?” Isaak sounded horrified.
“It’s a sixty-eight,” Dante snapped at him.
Once I was inside, in the very back with Owen, he leaned sideways,
wrapped his arms gently around me, and broke down, sobbing against my
shoulder.
“No one is ever leaving the country again,” Arden told us all, and then
said it again in Cantonese, just in case that helped. “I have spoken.”
Looking outside as we left, I saw that the courtyard was surrounded by a
series of small buildings flanking the main one where we’d been kept. It
looked like a military compound, and I was impressed that such a small band
of people had taken such a large installation. I would ask for the play-by-play
later.
At the bottom of the hillside, there was a road leading away from the
compound. Dante took it. The steep, rough slope wasn’t a gentle ride.
“How far is it?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“At least two hours cross-country until we connect with a main road,”
Dante replied from the driver’s seat. “I’m sorry.”
“Bumped around beats the alternative,” I assured him.
The massive 4x4 wasn’t built for comfort, every jolt and bump in the road
exacerbating the pain from welts and bruised ribs.
“Here,” Jing said, turning around in the seat in front of me. She held out
800 milligrams of ibuprofen and a large metal bottle of ice-cold water.
Apparently, she had packed many in ice. “I know your stomach is empty, but
that fever needs to come down,” she told me as she passed Owen a similar
bottle. “You too, drink. Don’t cry, it’ll just dehydrate you.”
“Thank you,” he husked out and reached for her hand. She grasped it
tightly, and suddenly they were both struggling not to cry.
Looking at all the people in the vehicle, I was overcome by a feeling of
gratitude. “Everyone, I just want you to know that—”
“Zamolchi,” Isaak ordered, which meant we should shut it for now.
“Close your eyes. Rest.”
Dante’s phone rang, and since he had to drive with both hands—calling
what we were on a road was pushing it—Isaak answered.
“Yes, yes, we have him. Think before you speak. What kind of question
is that.”
It had to be Darius.
“We will need a doctor and a full surgical suite,” Isaak told Darius. “And
yes, your man is well.” He looked at Mercer. “Are you hurt, Mr. Mercer?”
“No,” he replied sheepishly. Darius checking on him like he was nine was
probably a bit grating, and embarrassing. “Please tell him I’m fine. I’ll be on
a plane tonight.”
“You heard that? He’s fine. Quit with your worry,” Isaak groused, and
that was followed by a lot of Russian. “I am not the one who worries like old
grandmother.”
Dante was chuckling, and that made me feel better than anything else. If
Dante was laughing, I was all right.
We rolled on through the Thai countryside, passing undulating green
fields, low hills studded with trees, and single-story farmhouses with
corrugated tin roofs and battered old pickup trucks dumped on dirt-track
driveways. We passed fields of grazing cattle, ranches, and a handful of
dilapidated rest stops. With the throbbing in my head, my vision was starting
to blur.
“Owen,” I whispered, and he lifted his head off my shoulder to look at
my face. “I think I’m gonna close my eyes for a bit.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” he said softly, sitting up straighter. “Why
don’t you lean on me. I would love that.”
“Okay,” I grumbled. “But just to make you happy.”
 FOURTEEN

D r. Lens came back, because Darius wanted to keep the circle close and
tight. Since she already knew us all, there was an ease with her there
wouldn’t have been with anyone else. Plus, she could take care of
living patients just as well as dead ones.
“I’m very glad to see the real you,” she told Owen, and he looked at me. I
explained that she was the one who’d determined that his bodyguard was not
him and then identified Peter Barrows as well so we could get him home to
his family.
“Thank you for everything,” Owen told her.
“My pleasure,” she said, taking his hand in both of hers. “And you will
heal up nicely. That gash on your cheek will heal well. You may have a trace
of a scar, but hardly noticeable.”
“Thanks,” he said with a sigh. “I was hoping for a conversation starter,
though.”
“Not this time,” she told him, then turned to me with a huff of breath.
“Oh, you can’t imagine I planned any of this,” I grumbled.
She shook her head. “I’m afraid you’re going to be out of action for a few
weeks, Mr. Colter. From the bruising, I’m shocked that two or three of your
ribs didn’t break. As it is, they are heavily bruised, and it’s going to take a
minimum of six weeks for you to start feeling better. In the interim, I suggest
small breaths.”
She was a riot. I glanced at Dante, who shrugged.
“What has me more concerned are the repeated concussions you
sustained over the last few days. You do know you aren’t a young man
anymore?”
Christ. In front of Owen too. “I’ve been reminded, yes,” I remarked dryly.
“You seem to still think otherwise. The body reacts to trauma differently
as we get older. While you’re in excellent physical condition for your age,
your body is nowhere near as well-honed or as muscular as it was in your
youth. You’re over fifty, for God’s sake. What you’ve just put your body
through, even a fit young person would struggle weeks to recover from.”
I had been in her care for over a week, and she and her two nurses were
highly efficient. They didn’t argue with me about painkillers, just injected me
with stuff that put me to sleep whenever they damn well felt like it, and now
she was lecturing me.
“Dr. Lens, I can assure you that after this, it will be a cold day in hell
before I do anything even remotely exciting.”
She grunted, clearly not believing me.
“You can go home now, Dr. Lens. All you’re doing is watching me heal
at this point.”
She nodded sagely. “And we will continue to do so, Mr. Colter, until I am
pleased with your progress. I decide, not you,” she said, her tone icy.
God. Another person in my life who didn’t listen to me.
Owen pressed his lips together and turned to look out toward the
enormous deck of the villa we were staying in, courtesy of Darius.
The place was huge. Six bedrooms, seven bathrooms, on a hillside
overlooking the Andaman Sea in Phuket. It was only fifteen minutes from
Kamala Beach, Jing told me, and even though I told her to go and take
Arden, neither wanted to leave me.
“Plus, there’s a pool,” she’d pointed out. “And a stocked bar, and it’s
beautiful here, and peaceful, and…secure.”
It certainly was that. I’d never seen so many cameras and security. Owen
updated the system on our third day there because he was bored, and with
Garland’s help, moved things around so there was barely an inch of the villa
he couldn’t see.
Isaak left the Sunday of the second week. I was surprised he’d stayed that
long. Being still made him nervous; constant motion was better. I was on a
chair on the deck attached to my bedroom, and he came in and sat with me.
“Thank you for everything, Isaak.”
“I got to shoot RPG. It had been a minute. Was fun.”
I nodded. He reached out and took my hand for a moment, squeezing it,
and then got up and left. He was gone the next morning. He and Jing were
going to go to Disney World later in the year. I didn’t ask.
Garland was on his way to Syria, and it was possible, since he was
joining Army Intelligence there, that he’d cross paths with George Hunt. He
promised he would bring him up to speed if he saw him.
“If you leave the agency,” I told Garland the last night he was there,
“please call me. I would love to have you work for me.”
“Thank you, sir. I will keep that in mind.”
I noticed that when he left me, he went immediately to Jing and sat with
her on the patio. They were sipping beers and talking.
“Oh, I kind of like that,” I said, looking down at them from my deck.
“Don’t get excited,” Arden cautioned me, dropping off antibiotics,
ibuprofen, and more vitamins. I’d never seen so many supplements in my
life. “You know Jing likes scary men.”
“I think maybe she’s grown out of that.”
She scoffed, patted my head like I was a puppy, and left the room. I
would really be happy when I could walk more than ten feet without getting
winded and could go back to yelling at everyone.
“Like you yell,” Owen said later when I told him.
Aaron Sutter dropped in on me at the beginning of the third week, and
explained that all his business dealings with Chanthara Holdings had been
suspended.
“They might be completely clean,” he told me, sitting on the lower deck
with me under a canopy, “but we have to do an in-depth dive on them with
everything you uncovered.”
I nodded, turning to look at him. I had no idea how anyone in shorts,
sandals, and a polo could still look ridiculously rich. Maybe it was the
sunglasses or the haircut. But somehow, he looked like he owned the world
and the rest of us were just breathing his air.
“I’m paying Owen his full wages for his time here, and his friend Maggie
as well.”
“That’s good of you.”
“I’m also setting up a trust for Peter Barrow’s children, and his life
insurance is already being paid out to his widow.”
“I’m sure she’ll be very grateful,” I said softly, thinking that Aaron Sutter
was a good man. Darius always said so, and Darius was always right.
“So this is a job?” I baited Miguel Romero, who was sitting on his boss’s
left, soaking up the rays instead of being with us in the shade.
“Shut up.”
I smiled. This was how it should be with your friends.
Once they left, Owen joined me, and I was surprised that instead of taking
Aaron’s spot, he stretched out with me on my chaise, head on my chest, arm
around my waist, one of his long, muscular legs draped over mine.
I froze.
“I told you we were going to talk,” Owen said softly, sighing deeply, by
all indications enjoying lying beside me.
“Okay,” I murmured, my throat tightening up as I moved my hand gently,
stroking his thick auburn hair, loving the feel of it as I ran my fingers through
it.
“You saved me when I was ten. Do you remember?”
Did I remember? “You’re kidding, right?”
“We’ve never talked about why you had to.” He moved a bit, pressed in
tighter, his hand sliding down my abdomen. “We’ve talked about you saving
me. Tell me the story from the beginning.”
“Are you sure?”
“I am.”
“Okay,” I said, and took a breath. “It starts with your father.”

“W ELCOME TO H ONG K ONG ,” Ronan Moss greeted me, the familiar Irish
accent warm and friendly. He gave me a big grin and held out his hand,
which I snatched up in a firm clasp. “Come in, Jared, come in.”
Ronan and Sara lived in the heart of the Quarry Bay district, residing in a
dense and stacked flat among the city’s conglomeration of residential high-
rise complexes. I followed Ronan through the long hallway, past a dining
room and kitchen area, and into a large living room with bay windows
overlooking Hong Kong Island and Victoria Harbor.
“Owen?” Ronan said, and I realized there was a little boy there, all of ten,
staring up at me. “Do you remember Jared?”
Owen had offered me an enthusiastic handshake and then bolted from the
room, more interested in whatever video game he was playing than his
parents’ friend.
“We see you with far less regularity these days than we’d like, Jared.”
Sara Moss came into the room and embraced me tightly.
 “I serve a cruel master,” I said jokingly.
“Oh, I know,” she agreed, arching an eyebrow. “Both you and Ronan.
Now tell me, how long do we have you?”
“Couple of days. The delegation I’m covering leaves day after
tomorrow.”
“I’ll take it,” she said, beaming. “Now sit down. Dinner is nearly ready.
But drinks first. I opened a bottle of ouzo for the occasion.”
The woman was bewitchingly beautiful, I’d always thought so. As she
left the room, I turned to Ronan. “How did you get her again?”
“I’m funny,” he reminded me indignantly. “I’ve been telling you that for
years.”
Once Sara was back with the bottle, glasses, and a plate of olives and feta,
she took a seat. “Always drink it with food,” she directed, shooting her
husband a look.
“Why’re you looking at me like that?”
“You don’t take shots of ouzo,” she said, shaking her head in judgment.
“One time,” he protested.
Soon, we were laughing and reminiscing about ancient history, which
carried over into dinner. I could see the dismay in Sara’s face when the topic
shifted to work.
“You men. How is one to enjoy a meal if one is doing business at the
same time?” To me, she said, “This is why you’re still single, Jared. You
need to slow down to be snared.”
“My job only allows me time for false starts and cautious
experimentation, I’m afraid,” I teased her.
After dinner, before dessert and coffee, I followed Ronan into his office
while Sara put Owen to bed. Ronan closed the door, which was odd.
“Are you all right?” I asked him, worried. Suddenly, he didn’t look like
himself.
He moved around his desk and unlocked a drawer. “I’ve put myself in the
line of fire here, Jared,” he confessed, glancing up at me and then back down
at what he was looking for. “I’ve gotten myself involved with the triads.”
“How involved?” I rasped, terrified over what he would say.
“Heavily.”
“Tell me more,” I barked at him. “Say more.”
“Fuck,” he yelled, then lowered his voice. “It started off small, working
an asset to get what I needed, but it quickly evolved to illicit dealings.”
 “What’s the CIA doing dealing with organized crime?”
“The group I’m investigating have been cooperating with Islamic groups
in laundering and transmitting ransom money through their casinos, taking a
percentage of the ransoms in exchange for their assistance.”
“What group?”
“The 14K,” he whispered.
I knew about them. We all did. The 14K was a Chinese black society “big
fish” and one of Hong Kong’s most violent triads, responsible for most of the
large-scale heroin and opium trafficking from China and Southeast Asia.
“How much are we talking about?”
“Hard to say. But at a conservative estimate, I’d say a hundred million
dollars. Maybe more.”
“You can fund a lot of terror with a hundred million,” I said, trying to
wrap my brain around the huge number.
“Yeah.”
“Sorry. Go on.”
“I got involved with a local asset at a gambling club while tracking down
a lead. I allowed myself to get distracted.”
“Define distracted,” I said, girding myself for the answer.
“You know.”
“You had a sexual relationship with her,” I barely got out, horrified at the
betrayal. How could he do that to Sara and Owen?
“It was a single encounter, a one-time indiscretion,” he stressed, using
better words than slept with or banging. “But this girl, she’s a junior triad.
And now they have footage of my transgression.”
“And they’ve been using it to control you.”
He hesitated. “Yes.”
“Jesus Christ, Ronan. Why the crisis of conscience? Why tell me?”
“The 14K staged a power play to take over their largest Belfast-based
Chinese rival. That gang’s protection rackets alone give them a major
foothold in Ireland. The triads are working a deal to traffic hundreds of
women from China into Ireland through their network of newly acquired
gang-controlled Chinese restaurants in Belfast. I leaked the intelligence
reports to a contact in the Gardaí. He was apprehensive but agreed to take a
look. He dug too deep. They found him dead a week ago in Cork. His throat
had been cut ear to ear.”
The Garda Síochána, or the Gardaí, was the main police agency of the
Republic of Ireland.
“Fuck,” I said, shaking, needing to sit down. “Triads, sex tapes, dead
cops… I don’t see a lot of options on the table. Carolyn Gray is head of
station here. You have to go to her. Come clean.”
“It’s not that easy.” He passed me pictures I didn’t want to see: pictures
of Owen at his school, of Sara at an art gallery.
“They’re threatening your family?”
He nodded. “If I don’t play ball.”
“Does Sara know anything about this?”
“Good Lord, no,” Ronan replied, sounding frantic, and began to pace.
“She’d leave me if she knew the danger I’ve put us in. I’m no victim. This is
a bed of my own making. But will you help me?” he added hastily.
“You’ve certainly put the ink on your own death warrant with what
you’re doing. These people are fucking ruthless. They have a near monopoly
on the underworld, both black markets and the vice rackets. The triads own
the police here. It’s highly likely you’re already being watched. I have people
I trust at the embassy, but you’ll have to surrender yourself. It’s the only way
out of this mess. It’s the only way to protect Sara and Owen.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t,” I stressed, suddenly scared. “Treason will almost
certainly be on the table for this. You got a Garda killed. The Irish will see to
it you go to prison. But better that than to lose your life.”
Ronan nodded.
“I’ll contact my people when I get back to the hotel and make the
arrangements.”
“Okay,” Ronan agreed and turned for the door.
I was on him fast, grabbing his bicep, spinning him around to face me.
“Listen to me. I’m gonna leave, and you come clean with Sara right fuckin’
now.”
“No, Jared, I—”
“Yes,” I yelled, taking hold of both arms and shaking him hard. “She
needs to know she and her child are in danger because you cheated on her.
And if you don’t tell her the second I walk outta here, then I will when I get
back here tomorrow.”
“He’s my son too,” he said raggedly, broken.
“I didn’t say he wasn’t, but you weren’t thinking of either of them when
you fucked this girl and blew up your life.”
 “You sonofa—”
“Fuck you,” I growled at him. “How dare you do this to her, and to your
son. I can’t even look at— You tell her,” I insisted, taking hold of his throat.
“She’s my friend too, and I will not keep something so vile from her. Do you
understand me?”
He shoved me away, stepped back, and I could see it all over his face,
how furious he was. But then, that quickly, it leached out of him. I saw him
deflate right in front of me.
“You’re right. I will.”
“Swear to me.”
“I swear.”
“I will keep you all safe, but Sara has to know why.”
He nodded.
We left his office and went into the living room, where pie and coffee
were waiting. Sara was sitting on the couch, and when she saw me, I got a
warm smile.
“Everything all right? I thought I heard yelling in there.”
“Just giving your husband a little professional advice.”
“Are you not staying for coffee?”
“I can’t. I gotta get back. I have an early morning, but I’ll stop by
tomorrow, same time as tonight. Okay?”
“Okay.” Her eyes narrowed, studying me.
I said my goodbyes and left, walking the short distance to the MTR
station. As soon as I could breathe through my anger, I called Darius.
“What?” he asked when he picked up. “Are you coming to the bar or
not?”
“Not. I’ve got a problem.”
Since he was actually the one with the contact at the embassy, I laid
everything out for him. I needed him.
“He’s a traitor,” he said flatly when I was done. “He betrayed his oath.”
“I know.” It was killing me. One of my best friends was shamelessly
corrupt. That he had been responsible for the death of an Irish policeman was
eating a hole in my brain.
“We’ll fix it,” Darius told me. “But he’s finished.”
And I knew that.
“T HANK YOU ,” Owen said, sitting up and turning on the chaise to look at me.
“I appreciate your honesty.”
“He was a good man until right there at the end,” I said, my breath shaky.
Owen nodded, smiling at me. “I remember that night, running out to see
you, to shake your hand. You listened all through dinner about school and
swimming.”
“You were so happy.” I smiled at him.
“I was,” he agreed. “Now tell me about her…and me.”
I shook my head. “You know we—”
“It’s necessary, Jared. We’ve been dancing around this for years. You’ve
never told me everything, and it’s time.”
I searched his face.
“I’m safe,” he stated, taking hold of my hand. “So are you. And we’ll
figure out who’s behind all this, but it’s like Dante and Darius were
discussing with all of us last night—whoever this is came out of that time
with me and my parents. Whatever this is, it has to do with that.”
He was right. Dante had come to that conclusion weeks ago, and Darius
had agreed, and now, basically, we were waiting both for me to heal and for
the other shoe to drop.
“Hong Kong and Macau,” Dante told me the night before, sitting beside
me on the couch, Darius staring at me from a computer screen. “That is
where your connection to Asia is.”
The memory hurt. “No… This can’t have anything to do with—”
“You just don’t want to remember because it’s painful,” Darius pointed
out. “Well, some memories are, and just because you’ve shoved them so far
down that it’s hard to retrieve them doesn’t mean the events themselves
aren’t connected to this.”
“There’s nothing else it can be, and you know it,” Dante insisted. “Now
we just have to figure out what this is about.”
“It’s time,” Owen said, bringing me back to the present, using his best
Rafiki voice from The Lion King.
I scowled at him.
“What? I’m trying to add some levity.”
I scrubbed my face with my hands.
“Look at me, Jared.”
Dropping my hands, I looked at him.
“I want you, okay? I mean, I can’t be more clear.”
 No, he couldn’t.
“I want you to be mine because I know that’s how it’s supposed to be.”
He was everything to me. Had been since the moment he moved in with
me. We started as friends, and it had evolved into him being my whole world.
But that didn’t mean I was the best thing for him. “I just don’t want you to be
missing out on—”
“I swear to you, I’m not missing out on anything.”
“People will think I’m your father or—”
“Not the way I’ll be looking at you they won’t,” he said with a wink.
“I’m being serious,” I growled at him.
“Oh, baby, so am I.”
Baby? “Owen, you really need to—”
“No one who knows us will think this is anything but me finally throwing
you down and taking what I want.”
“What?”
He shook his head. “You are completely and utterly clueless.”
“I—what?”
Owen huffed out a breath. “Last summer I surprised you on Maui when
you were there with Darius and Dante and their husbands and Dante’s
daughter and her boyfriend, remember?”
“Yeah.” I was indignant.
“I came out in board shorts that were so tight, you could tell if I was
circumcised or not.”
“You did?”
“Yes, I did,” he replied irritably. “Everyone but you noticed. Later that
evening Grace yelled at me for an hour because I’d terrified her boyfriend.”
“Why?”
“Apparently mine is a lot bigger than his.”
“Oh God,” I groaned, putting my head in my hands.
“The point is,” he said, pulling my hands away so I had to look at him, “I
have made a fool of myself over the years trying to get your attention, until I
finally broke down and talked to Darius, and he told me that you don’t even
see me.”
“That’s a lie. I see—”
“Not how I want, and when I asked him why, he said you were too noble,
too stupid, and too unaware to realize I was trying to seduce you.”
I wanted to know more. “And what did he say about me saving you?”
 “That didn’t come up. You know why?”
Turning away, I looked out at the beautiful water.
“Do you know why?” he repeated, taking gentle hold of my chin and
turning my face back to him.
“No,” I whispered.
“Because he knows that you saving me at ten, then putting me on the
straight and narrow at eighteen has nothing to do with me moving in at
twenty-four and falling madly in love with you. I’m not a child. I’m not
underage. I’m not even eighteen, Jared. I’m not twenty-one and newly able to
get drunk. I am thirty-two years old.”
“Yeah, I—”
“I have a career, an investment portfolio, an excellent reputation, and I’m
considered a hot property. Did you know that?”
“Of course I know—”
“I’m a catch,” he emphasized, smacking me gently on the chest.
“Ow,” I complained.
“Knock it off,” he groused at me. “The only reason I haven’t bought a
house is that I want to live with you. I just want to switch my bedroom.”
“You can have any of the rooms you—oh,” I said quickly, when he
looked at me like I was an imbecile. “You mean you want to—”
“Yes, Jared,” he growled at me. “You were an Army colonel, and a super
scary Army Intelligence officer embedded with the CIA, but somehow,
someway, you’ve completely missed me being all grown up and ready to take
you to bed. I mean, your powers of observation, man… I just don’t know.”
But something he’d said earlier had nearly gutted me. The words taking
what I want were reverberating in my brain.
Standing up—which thankfully I could do again on my own after two and
a half weeks—I walked out from under the canopy and over to the edge of
the deck.
He was behind me in seconds, hand on the small of my back. “What
scared you?”
“I—no, nothing. I—”
“Take you to bed?” he asked, his voice a weird sexy, gravelly rumble that
made my stomach flip over. “Taking what I want? Was that it?”
I turned to look at him. “Tell me what you were—”
“I see you, Jared. You’re a big, strong man, and because of that, your
partners expect you to hold them down and fuck them.”
 Suddenly the ground under me was of vital importance.
“Nope,” Owen rasped. “You need to look at me.”
It took forever to drag my gaze back to his.
“I’ve even spied on you.”
I was stunned. “What?” I breathed out.
“You had that guy over a couple of years ago, the sportswriter you met at
a fundraiser, and you went out a couple of times. Drew, Daniel, whatever, it
doesn’t matter.”
I couldn’t remember either, which was terrible.
“And he came over, and I got home late, and you thought I was out for
the evening, but nope. I came in around one, and he was screaming.”
“He was not screaming,” I said belligerently.
“The fuck he wasn’t. He was yelling your name, and there was a lot of oh
God in there and begging and—”
“Is there any way we could talk about anything—”
“So I go sneaking in there, and it’s lucky we weren’t attacked by ninjas or
something because you wouldn’t have heard shit over him, but the door was
ajar, and I looked in, and you’re on top and he’s under you, eyes closed,
begging as I noted earlier, but your face… I saw your face, and all you
wanted was to be done.”
“You’re wrong. I—”
“Why are you lying about this?” He took hold of my bicep. “You can’t
possibly believe that somehow your masculinity is in question if you like to
be fucked instead of being the guy doing the fucking.”
Easing free of his grip, I walked away, into the house, and took the stairs
to my bedroom. He couldn’t possibly understand, and I had no way to explain
that would make any logical sense.
I took a seat on my bed, facing the window, and a moment later, I felt him
rather than saw him in the doorway. When I turned, he was there, smiling at
me, and the way his eyes lit up and his lips turned up in the corners made my
heart hurt.
“Can I come in, or should I just leave you alone for a while?”
“Can you come in and not talk?”
“Sure,” Owen agreed, crossing the room to me. “May I sit by you, or
no?”
I patted the space beside me.
He flopped down, and we sat in silence, staring out at the water and the
cliff across from the one the house was on.
After several minutes, I turned to him. “I came out to my father when I
was sixteen.”
“Your mother had already passed, right?”
“Yeah, I…missed her more than usual that day.”
“I’m sure,” he said softly. “Go on.”
“Well, I was helping him fix the tractor, and he said it was okay if it was
men instead of women for me as long as I was always the one giving.”
He nodded.
“As long as I was still a man, he could still call me son.”
“I see.”
“It’s a vulnerable position to be in for anyone who takes another person
into their body. It has to be done with trust and reverence.”
“I agree.”
“The few times I’ve trusted someone else…afterward it was either
nothing—they didn’t get what it meant to me—or it was supposed to be my
turn to reciprocate and give them what they wanted.”
Owen was quiet, waiting.
“And always, always, in the back of my head…”
“You heard your father’s voice.”
“Yes,” I said under my breath.
“So to prove to him, and then to the memory of him, that you’re a man, to
make up for this need in you, you went ahead and became a super soldier and
then a super spy.”
“That’s right.”
He sighed and then moved into my lap, facing me, and instinctively, I
took hold of his hips as he gently, slowly pushed me down onto the bed.
Hovering over me, hands down beside my head on either side, he was
grinning almost evilly.
“What you do in bed has shit to do with what you do out of it,” he
reminded me. “And I know you know that in your head, but I need you to get
your heart and soul on board.”
“Owen, you—”
“I want to kiss you, but I want that to be okay. I don’t want to push, and
I’m afraid I am, but I’m also terrified that if I let this go, if I leave you right
now, I might not have another shot.” He took a breath. “We’re finally talking,
but I’ll go if you want.”
 Heartbeats of time passed by as I decided. Then, reaching up, I put my
hands on either side of his neck and eased him down, lifting myself at the
same time. His lips met mine, and they fit perfectly together, the press before
his tongue was there, sliding in, and I opened for him because it was all I
wanted to do.
The whimper from him was a surprise, as was the heat flaring between us.
I slipped one hand around his nape and slid the other down his side to his hip.
Both needed to anchor him to me so he couldn’t move.
His head tipped so his tongue could delve deeper, taste more of me, and
his lips moved over mine, tenderly but firmly. When his chest rested against
my own, I realized he was lying on top of me, the kiss never breaking, and I
shivered with the feel of him.
When he lifted up a bit, still kissing me, I let him move, not holding on so
tight, allowing him to push against me, and I could feel his cock through his
shorts, pressing into my thigh. Instinctively, I reached for his length, my hand
sliding from his hip to his groin, squeezing him through the thin material.
“Fuck,” he moaned, pushing my T-shirt up, sliding it over my too-hot
skin, his hands on me a revelation. Everywhere he touched felt like a brand.
He broke the kiss then, and his wet mouth was on my chest, first kissing
my pectoral and then moving to my nipple and sucking hard.
No one had ever done that. I’d never allowed anyone such liberty. His
fingers rolled the other, and I jolted beneath him with the new sensation.
“Oh God,” he rasped, and when I looked up into his face, I saw him
grimacing, like he was in pain, before taking a breath, as though getting
control of himself. He retook my mouth, hard, but only for a moment.
I turned my head, breaking the kiss, and he lifted up, eyes clouded, pupils
blown as he stared down at me.
“You can kiss like you mean it,” I murmured. “It’s okay. You’re not
gonna hurt—”
The rest of my words were swallowed by his tongue slipping over mine,
his mouth grinding, devouring, mauling, his teeth there, but not biting, more a
nibble as he tasted me. His thigh pressed between mine, and I spread for him
as his hands roamed, down, down, lower, to my cock straining against my
zipper. He groped me, and my back arched off the bed as I tried to get closer.
“Fuck,” he growled and then rolled over, away from me, and I turned my
head, terrified I’d done something wrong. “Do you understand that I have
zero control where you’re concerned?” he said, getting up and starting to
pace.
I sat up and looked at him.
“I want to fuckin’ have you, Jared. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“I want to shove my tongue so far up your ass that you’re going to scream
my name so loud, you’ll be embarrassed to look your friends in the face the
next day.”
I groaned and fell back on the bed.
He dropped down beside me, head propped on his hand, staring at me. “I
want you under me more than anything, and right now I feel like if I keep
kissing you and touching you, you’ll cave and let me, and that’s not what I
want.”
“You want me to beg you,” I stated, meeting his gaze.
“No,” he said, chuckling. “I want you to trust me with your body and
know that to me, you’re a gift that I will never, ever give back.”
I felt the tears coming, and I didn’t want him to see, so I turned my head.
“You can’t hide,” he told me, his mouth on the side of my neck, then on
my jaw, before I rolled my head back so he could kiss me. His tongue
recaptured mine, rubbing, pushing, as his hand worked the button and zipper
loose on my shorts.
“Owen,” I rasped between kisses and bites, the sucking on my bottom lip
so very hot.
His fingers slipped under the waistband of my briefs, and then he took
hold of my cock, gripping gently, his thumb sliding through the precum at the
tip.
“Can I taste that?” he asked, working my flesh.
“Yes,” I barely got out.
Moving fast, he knelt on the floor, reaching up, yanking my shorts and
briefs down to my knees, then leaning forward and taking me to the back of
his throat in one long seamless glide. I cried out his name, unable to look
away for even a second as my cock slipped between his lips, almost letting
me slide free before taking me in again, his face in my crotch, swallowing me
to the root, his lips stretched wide around me.
Watching him, his pleasure, seeing the desire riding him, made me
euphoric. He pulled back and took hold of me, licking and laving, his tongue
tracing the veins, sucking on the head and then on my balls before he pressed
on the back of my thighs, pushing, lifting to lick over my crease. I couldn’t
stop the spasm of my body.
“Oh, you’re gonna come apart when I have you,” he growled before deep
throating me, and I wanted to thrust, to push up into the wet heat, but I stayed
still.
He moved my hands then, put both on his head, and when I clutched at
his hair, he moaned decadently. I held him still then and bucked up, using
him, pushing in, deeper with each thrust, feeling the clenching of my
muscles, the bearing down, chasing my release. When his hands gripped my
thighs, tightly, possessively, I gasped at the sensation, knowing I was close.
“Owen, you have to—”
But he only closed his eyes and sucked.
It was too much. I couldn’t remember the last time I had sex, and this was
Owen, whom I realized I not only loved, but was in love with. How could I
not be? He was perfect, and he loved me with all his heart.
I came hard, pumping down the back of his throat, and he drank it all and
stayed there like no one ever had, worshipping my body until the aftershocks
subsided and my spent cock slipped from between his perfect lips.
My gaze was riveted on him as he rose, and I saw the wet spot on the
front of his board shorts. He’d come giving me a blowjob. I was undone.
He collapsed into my open arms, and when his lips met mine, I tasted
myself on his tongue. I held him close to my heart and kissed him breathless.
“You’re not going to get out of talking to me just because you sexed me
up,” Owen murmured into my skin, licking the side of my neck before gently
taking a bite.
“I feel like you want to eat me,” I croaked out, not used to speaking so
freely with a lover. This was all new for me.
“That’s because I’ve wanted to put my hands and mouth all over you
since I moved in,” he confessed. “The first morning I was there, you came
out in sleep shorts and a T-shirt, barely awake, hair standing up, squinting at
me—and I could scarcely breathe.”
But he was the beautiful one, with his gold skin and the dusting of
freckles across his nose, the full, plump lips and smiling eyes. Just looking at
him rendered me mute.
“You touch me all the time, Jared. Do you know you do that?”
I shook my head.
“Well, you do,” he groaned, sounding like he was in agony. “You hug me
and pat my back and bump me, but sometimes, in the summer, when you fall
asleep on the couch and it gets cold in the house at night with the AC on, you
shove your feet under my thigh.”
The bemused look on his face made me smile.
“And I don’t move because I love that so much,” he admitted. “I don’t
want you to wake up, so I sit there, even if I get cold, because that’s how I
want it to be all the time.”
I nodded.
“You know,” he said, smiling, “after watching as much porn as I do—”
“Oh God,” I muttered. Only Owen switched subjects at the drop of a hat.
He chuckled. “I now realize that I really want to come on you and mark
my territory so that any other man would think, He’s covered in jizz under
that shirt. I bet he belongs to someone.”
“You’re horrible.”
He cackled, but it was muffled in the side of my neck.
“You’re a mess.”
Owen lifted his head and looked at me. “I want to make a mess all over
you. You have no idea how long I’ve waited to be inside you. Please let me.
Please just know I’m the best person for you.”
“I—”
“We will get married and live happily ever after.”
I took a breath. “Owen, honey, don’t you want to find a man to grow with
and then grow old with? Don’t you want someone you can have kids with or
—”
“I’m going to grow old with you,” he said, pressing kisses to the side of
my neck. “And isn’t that my choice?”
“Don’t I have a say?”
“You have a say if you want me or not, but you don’t get to do my
thinking for me or do what you believe is best for me based on some
antiquated ideas about love and sex and marriage.” He thought a moment,
looking away and then back into my face. “Not wanting me is one thing. Not
wanting me because you don’t think I know what I want in my own heart,
that’s another thing altogether.”
“I—”
“I’m a man, just like you.”
“You deserve to have everything.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” I was adamant.
 “Then give me everything I’ve ever wanted,” he whispered in my ear.
“Give me you.”
 FIFTEEN

O wen was asleep in my bed. I’d left him there, after moving him up to
the pillows, and he was still passed out hours later. He’d been through
a lot. He needed the rest.
Dante was by the pool, his feet in the water, and I sat beside him. As
usual, I didn’t have to say anything, and we sat in comfortable silence for a
while.
Eventually, I asked him, “What made you think this had something to do
with Ronan?”
“What else could it be? Ronan was involved with the triads, and you and I
both know they use brutal methods and seek unconditional retribution against
any enemy and their entire family. Owen’s parents were murdered for
crossing them. The last stroke of cruelty was selling Owen to the Macau sex
trade.”
I nodded.
“You did things to get Owen back that I know you’d do again, but the
fact of the matter is, dealing with the fallout of Ronan’s clusterfuck
comprises the entirety of your dealings in Asia.”
“True.”
“If you think about it, this whole thing, looking for Owen, you were
basically put through the same exercise again, of searching for him.
Fortunately, this time it only took days to find him, not months.”
Hearing the truth was made easier because of Dante’s voice. It was one of
the most alluring things about him, sultry and silvery, one you remembered.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help the first time.”
 “You have nothing to be sorry for. You were detained, as you recall, and
no one reported you missing. Compared to what you went through…”
“Let’s not compare. What’s the point of that?”
He was right. There was none.
“And you and Darius were the ones who got me out of there. No one else
was coming,” Dante said, his voice going out on him. “That was a long time
ago, but I still remember it so clearly.”
I did too, but I wasn’t about to go back down that road. He’d lost so much
weight, and there wasn’t a patch of skin left unmarked. The medic, when we
made it to the nearest camp, assured us he wouldn’t live. But I was a major
then, and I had enough clout to have him flown to the Landstuhl Regional
Medical Center in Germany. The doctors there were far more optimistic,
probably since it wasn’t a field hospital.
Dante said, “Let’s not keep a running total of who saved whom.”
“No,” I agreed.
We were quiet for a bit.
“You should go home,” I told him. “You’re not doing anything here but
watching me sleep and take my medicine.”
“Well, Dr. Lens did say that the injuries to your legs, stomach, and chest
were quite severe, possibly fatal were it not for medical intervention.”
I grunted.
“I heard her tell you that she worked for an NGO while in Syria, so she
knows the signs of torture when she sees them.”
The woman was astute, which was why I told her the truth. She agreed to
keep all my secrets. She was one of my new favorite people.
“Are the headaches better?”
At first, I had tried to ignore the throbbing in my head, but the pain had
increased tenfold, climbing steadily toward excruciating. This was
accompanied by vertigo that made it impossible to walk.
Fortunately, that didn’t last. Dr. Lens ran more tests, gave me a CT scan,
then an MRI, and determined that between rest and pills, I would recover.
This time. But much like NFL quarterbacks who had to retire early from one
too many hits to the head, I had to now be careful with mine. My days of
being in the field were over. I could oversee from far away, like Darius, but
trading punches in the street or barroom brawling was done.
“I haven’t had one in days,” I told him. “Dr. Lens says the headaches
should be gone in a couple of months.”
 “That’s great news.”
“Yes, it is. So really, you can go home.”
He made a noise.
“It’s been three weeks, quickly going on four,” I reminded him. “I’m
safe, no one’s coming, and once I’m cleared, I’m heading out too.”
“Yep,” he agreed with a yawn.
“Your family is missing you.”
“Leave my family out of it.”
“You miss your husband. I know you do. Go home.”
He glanced sideways at me. “We talked. I sent pictures of you. He told
me to wait one more week. I plan to listen to him.”
Had he said what I— “You sent him pictures of me?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“You don’t think that’s weird?”
“No. Why?” he answered with a slight grin that told me he was repeating
the why on purpose.
I shook my head.
When his phone rang with a FaceTime call, he lifted it so we could both
see Darius’s face.
“I can get there so you can go home,” Darius told him.
“I run a B and B,” Dante reminded him. “You run a secret international
operation that helps keep the world safe. Who do you think needs to be at
work more?”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I chimed in.
Dante scowled at me.
“Pardon me?” Darius was indignant on the other side of the world. He’d
been called to Sudan on urgent business. “Are you still drugged up?”
“No, I’m not drug—”
“I thought you said he wasn’t all drugged up anymore,” Darius half yelled
at Dante.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I groaned.
“He thinks he’s gonna be okay here with Owen, Arden, and Jing. He
thinks that’s fine,” Dante told our friend, rolling his eyes. “After everything.
He thinks he knows best.”
“If Dante goes, you get me or…I can send Lee,” Darius informed me with
his lion grin, the one that was a little scary. “Your choice.”
“No, God.” I couldn’t take Lee or his fashion or his flash. “Please no.”
 “Then leave Dante alone.”
I kept my mouth shut.
Long moments passed without anyone saying anything. Finally, I asked
Darius, “Did you call with news?”
“Oh, yes, we got a hit on the crypto.”
“The money’s moved?”
“It is.”
“Can you track it back to its point of origin?”
“We can. We’re almost there. We know it’s in Hong Kong, which, of
course, makes sense with this circling back to Ronan.”
It did.
“My people think I’ll be able to send you longitude and latitude as soon
as tomorrow.”
Which was why Dante couldn’t leave yet. “So what now?”
“Cold-blooded murder is a filthy business,” Darius replied. “But you tell
me what you want. I can send you a black-ops team if scorched earth is how
you want to handle this.”
Part of me did. Part of me wanted to kill everyone who’d been involved
in kidnapping Owen and trying to kill us. But I also wanted to know when
and where in my timeline this cause and effect had happened. When had this
all been plotted and why?
“Don’t send a team. Dante and I will go.”
“That’s not a terrifying prospect for me at all,” Darius said flatly. He
loved us both, and beyond his husband, Efrem, and his oldest friend, Duncan
Stiel, we were all the family he had in the world. “And really, Jared, you’re
still not completely recovered, and the doctor told you that your days of being
in the field are over.”
“I know, but let’s be honest—I’m not going to let anyone else go,” I
assured him. “I can’t. I won’t.”
Darius glanced at Dante who shrugged. “Has arguing with him ever
worked?”
After a moment, Darius gave in because he knew me just as well as Dante
did.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done,” I told Darius. “You know that.”
“I do know that. I’ll be in touch.”
Darius was gone a moment later.
“If he gets us coordinates tomorrow, when should we go?” I asked Dante.
 “Depends on where we have to fly to. It’s doubtful that whoever this is,
they’re here in Thailand. If we’re right about the connection to Ronan, then
we’ll probably be going to Hong Kong.”
“That’s like a six-, seven-hour flight from here, so hopefully we’ll get
what we need in the morning, be there at night, and then find the person
responsible.”
“And kill them? Capture them? What’s your plan, Jared?”
“I don’t think I’ll know until I face whoever it is.”
“That’s fair,” Dante said, then smiled at me. “So, what’s happening with
you and Owen?”
“How did you know anything was—”
“He’s been haunting this house for three weeks, waiting for you to be
well enough so he can finally profess his love. Not that this should come as a
surprise to you, but knowing you, I’m sure it did.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dante just squinted at me.
“Christ,” I groaned. “You know he’s only thirty-two. He has his whole
life spread out in front of him, and he wants to—”
“Spend it with you. Yes, I know.”
“And?” I snapped at him.
“And I say let him.” He shrugged. “You deserve to be happy too.”
“At his expense?”
He scoffed. “You’re an idiot.”
“Dante—”
“He’s not a child, Jared. He’s all grown up.”
“Yes, but he’ll end up being my nursemaid someday.” Just the thought of
him taking care of me in my dotage was horrifying.
“No. With everything that’s happened to your body? Gimme a break. If
you make it past seventy, it’ll be a miracle.”
I sat there, staring at him.
“What? I told Noah the same thing,” he informed me irritably. “When I
die, he can pick someone who’s much less trouble, more normal, steady.”
“And he said?”
“The important part is not what he said, or how many breakable things
were thrown at my head, but that we have a plan.”
“Did he get you?”
“With his aim?” Dante shook his head.
 I smiled at him.
“For the love of God, Jared, let yourself find some peace. Let Ronan and
Sara go. That whole thing was never on you. That entire mess had shit to do
with you and everything to do with Owen’s fucked-up father.”
“Oh,” a voice said behind us.
We both turned to see Owen, showered and shaved, his wet hair combed
back from his forehead, standing there in ripped jeans and a Nirvana T-shirt.
“I would love to hear this story.”
“Is it okay if we join?” Jing asked, standing in the doorway that led from
the house to the deck. Arden was with her, both of them waiting.
I looked at Owen.
“We’re all family,” Owen said, lifting his arm to encompass everyone. “I
think we should all hear it.”
Jing rushed over to slip under Owen’s arm, and Arden took a seat on a
deck chair close to Dante. Both of them had been fussing over Owen and
keeping an eye on him. All the vigilance was exhausting, and if I was tired,
they had to be as well.
“I think,” Dante announced, standing up, “that I’m going to make you
guys some food while Jared tells the story. Why don’t we all go to the
kitchen.”
Great plan.
And as Dante cooked, I relayed what happened.

T HE NIGHT after my talk with Ronan, I was on my way to the condo from the
embassy, where I’d gone with Darius, when my phone rang. The number
wasn’t one I recognized, but only a select few had my personal cell number,
so I answered.
“Jared!” Sara gasped on the other end. “Thank God you picked up.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m…I’m in a safe house in the Western District, near Sai Ying Pun
station. I came here last night with Owen after Ronan told me everything.”
“Okay,” I said, not wanting her to have to recap anything for me. I’d
thrown up when I got back to my hotel the night before. I didn’t need to
revisit the whole thing.
“Jared…I’m in danger.”
Everything stopped. “Tell me what’s happening.”
 “A black sedan is parked outside on the street. It’s been there all day. A
man has been watching the apartment. They know I’m in here.”
“Why didn’t you call me before?”
“I thought Ronan would be here soon, but he’s not, and he’s not picking
up his phone, and…I’m a mess.”
“I understand,” I soothed her. Questioning her was not helping. “Is the
guy there now?”
There was a pause, and I assumed she was looking out the window. “The
car is, but it doesn’t look like anyone is inside now. He could be walking
around again.”
“Are you armed?”
“Yes.” Her voice hitched, and I knew she was terrified.
“Where’s Owen?”
“I put him on a plane back to the States this afternoon. To his
grandparents.”
“Okay, good. Listen to me, Sara. I need you to get in your car and drive
to a well-lit, populated spot and wait for me. I’m grabbing a cab now and
heading to Sui Ying Pun. You call me as soon as you stop.”
“Got it. Okay. Will do.”
She sounded better, calmer. A plan was always good.
I hung up, rushed to the street, and hailed a cab. I was moving in
moments, on my way to meet her. I called her to check. “Are you in the car?
Are you driving?”
“I had to get my luggage and—”
“No.” Fuck. “Sara, just you. Just go. We can go back for whatever, but
right now, I need you in the car. Hurry up!” I barked at her.
“Yes. Okay. Going.”
She hung up, and I waited as the driver made great time, weaving in and
out of traffic. I’d promised him a hundred to get me there fast.
I called again, and she said she was on the road. No one was following
her. “What if I overreacted and I’m making us both nuts for no reason?”
“Let’s just stick to the plan. Keep driving.”
She hung up, and I waited as long as I could, a good five minutes.
“Okay,” she said when she answered again. “I stopped. I’m safe.”
“You’re sure?”
“This street is crazy busy, Jared. I’m good.”
“Text me where you are. The name of the street or intersection.”
 A message popped up seconds later, and I leaned forward, over the seat,
showing it to the driver.
“Got it,” the cabbie assured me. “We’re close.”
Close.
I took a breath and called Sara.
“I’m feeling really stupid right now,” she confessed. “And embarrassed.
I’m dying inside, terrified of what you must think of me after what Ronan
told you.”
“I think you’re amazing, just like I always have. And he’s an idiot.”
She huffed out a breath. “Thank you for not just being his friend. It means
a lot. Most men wouldn’t have made him tell me. They would have kept his
secret instead, taken his side.”
“Not me. Your friendship has always been just as important to me.”
“Oh, I know.” She was sniffling. “I know.”
“Stay in the car. Keep the doors locked. I’m almost there.”
“I’m feeling dumber by the second.”
“No. Better to be safe.”
“Okay,” she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ll be
waiting.”
The taxi driver dropped me a street over because we got stuck in traffic. I
passed him the hundred I promised, got out, and ran through the swanky,
bright Western District that mixed flashy new bars and aging topless joints.
The area was packed with locals.
When I came around the corner, I saw Sara in her Mercedes, parked on a
busy side street, and raced toward her. I was fifteen yards from the car when I
saw a guy dressed in black run across the intersection. As he passed the
Mercedes, he threw his backpack under Sara’s vehicle, then ran away as fast
as he could.
“No!” I screamed, because I knew what was going to happen.
Relief obvious on her face, Sara smiled and waved. And then the car
exploded.
I didn’t hear the bomb. I only saw the white-hot flash of light a split
second before the detonation. My mind screamed as I was hurled off my feet
by a scorching blast of wind and smoke. A vicious hail of debris rained down
moments later.
Unsteadily, I got to my feet, dazed, blood dripping down my face, my
hearing muffled, brain battered. I stood rooted to the spot for long, cold
moments, staring, thinking it had to be C-4 in the pack. Nothing else caused a
blast like that. My logical mind was working; my heart was not engaged, not
yet, otherwise I’d be on the ground, wailing.
Car alarms were going off all around me as I made my way forward. Fists
of thick smoke mushroomed out of the flames from the car, the air suffused
with the stench of cordite and burned flesh. I could hardly breathe, my eyes
watering as my throat burned. Everywhere I looked, I saw the twisted bodies
of the dead sprawled on the ground. Some of the charred corpses were on
fire. Others had simply been ripped apart by the sheer force of the explosion.
Sara was not the only casualty. There were many.
Only the twisted metal chassis of her car remained, churning black smoke
into the air. There was nothing to do, and staying there was a mistake. A
crowd was already forming, and I could hear police sirens in the distance. If I
remained there, I would be seen. Already, street cameras had me. That would
have to be dealt with. I couldn’t afford to be detained and questioned before I
could talk to my contact in the Royal Hong Kong Police. I needed to get
away quickly and quietly. I turned away from my friend, everything in me
screaming not to leave her. But I ran because she was dead and there was
nothing more to do. I’d failed her, and that was my cross to bear.
I made it two blocks before I ducked into an alley and threw up. My
phone rang when I was stumbling out.
“Ronan’s dead,” Darius told me. “The front door was smashed, the lock
busted. He’s probably been dead all day. The blood is dry.”
“How?” I rasped.
Darius explained that the triad must’ve gotten to him. His throat had been
so fiercely slashed that his head lopped at a grotesque angle. The knife used
was left in the center of his chest.
“Sara?” Darius asked.
“Dead,” I husked. “Car bombing.”
“I’ll take care of it. I’ll call for the cleanup, I’ll call the embassy, and I’ll
call our guy with the police. Just go to the hotel. I’ll meet you there.”
I didn’t argue. I did as told. I waited in the dark for Darius, and then he
sat in the dark with me through that horrible, long night.
A day later I got a call from Owen’s grandparents. He had never arrived.

“Y OU DO REALIZE ,” Jing said, from where she was sitting at the kitchen
island, “that none of that was your fault.”
I took a seat at the table, next to Owen. “Were you listening? If I’d gotten
to her before the—”
“No.” Owen took my hand in both of his, holding tight before lifting it up
and pressing it to his heart. “My father’s dalliance started it, put him on their
radar, and when they realized they were going to lose him and that everything
he knew would come to light, they killed him and my mother and tried to
take their revenge on me as well. The whole thing can be traced back to him
and one horrible decision.”
“It’s not a horrible decision,” Arden said. “It’s a human one. I mean, it
turned out to be life-altering, but people cheat all the time, and all it does is
end their relationship. It doesn’t all end in death.” She looked at Owen. “I
understand if you hate your father for what happened because of what he did,
but it doesn’t take away from his love for you.”
“Oh, I disagree.” Jing was adamant. “He cheated on Sara and Owen. He
stopped being a good man then and there.”
“I think that’s for Owen to decide,” Dante said, stirring the sauce he was
making. “But did you know how your mother died?”
“I knew she died in an explosion, but not how,” he said, then to me,
“Thank you for telling me, and thank you for trying to save her.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
He slipped a hand around the back of my neck and eased me close,
pressing my face into his shoulder. “I know you are, but there was nothing
you could have done. And she didn’t suffer. Her last thought was, There’s
Jared. I’m going to be okay.”
That thought had nearly destroyed me. It had taken years for me to get
past that moment. Now, in the present, I shuddered with the memory.
“It’s sad,” Owen murmured. “She didn’t deserve what happened. But
have you ever thought that the only thing she really cared about was me?”
I nodded.
“Who did you save?”
I’d saved him.
After the call with Owen’s grandparents, we’d scrambled to find him,
knowing every minute counted, but it seemed as if Owen had disappeared
from the face of the earth. He’d gotten on the plane, accompanied by a flight
attendant, and that was it, gone like he’d never existed.
But that made no sense, not to me or to Darius. We came to the
conclusion that the only thing that could have happened was that they took
him out the bottom of the plane, through the hatches above the wheels. He
was ten, so he wouldn’t have gone willingly, but it was easy enough to do if
he was drugged. It turned out we were right. He’d been abducted, and when
we followed the trail, we found that the members of the ground crew who’d
been working that day were either dead or had experienced a windfall of
funds. I respected the people who’d said no, they would not cover up the
abduction of a young boy, but those who’d allowed themselves to be bribed
proved far more useful.
“I’ll be honest, I wasn’t myself back then,” I confessed to the room,
pacing now in front of the double doors that led out onto the main deck.
“When I didn’t get the answers I wanted, I was just as evil as those who
tortured me.”
“Just as evil?” Arden made a face. “Really?”
“I was a horror,” I assured her.
“One difference,” Jing pointed out, sipping an Old Fashioned and
watching Dante cook. “You were trying to find Owen, not exacting revenge
in exchange for money.”
I looked at her. “I’m not a saint, you know. You can’t rewrite my history
and make me the good guy. That’s not me.”
Jing made a noise that told me she disagreed. “You’re not a saint,” she
said with a smile. “No argument there. You’re more like a well-intentioned
sinner.”
“Oh, I like that,” Dante said as he stirred whatever he was making. “I’m
going to call myself that from now on.”
I shook my head. “The things I’ve done, Jing, if you knew…it would
change your whole—”
“Have you ever killed anyone for fun?” Owen asked me.
“What? No. God no.” That was horrific just to consider.
“Are you a serial killer?”
“No. You’re missing the point. I’ve killed people because my government
told me to. Do you get that?”
“Greater good,” Dante threw out. “Long-term cause and effect.”
“You’re not—”
“It was a chessboard, Jared,” Dante reminded me. “Sometimes you were
a pawn doing what you’re told, sometimes a knight sent into battle,
sometimes a castle protecting people, sheltering them, and now and then, you
were the bishop and you moved for reasons that weren’t your own. The fact
of the matter is, none of us, not you, not me, not Darius, has ever purposely
killed an innocent.”
“That doesn’t mean there wasn’t ever any collateral—”
“Listen,” Dante said, smiling, flipping a dishtowel over his shoulder.
“You can stand there and hate yourself for what you did, self-flagellate all
day, but the fact of the matter is, if we were sent, the person we were sent for
was not a saint either.”
“We were supposed to kill that Polish dissident, remember?”
“Yes, I remember. Our boss secretly changed our orders after we told him
something was hinky—”
“Hinky?”
“Oh, fuck you, I’m making a point.”
“Sorry,” I said, grinning at him.
“The point was, corruption can be anywhere. Our boss’s boss was lied to.
Our boss was following orders, but when we told him what we thought, he
trusted us instead of his intel. He said to get the guy and his family out while
we clean house.”
That was engrained in my memory. There had been a shake-up at the
agency over that one, making me glad, for the billionth time, that I was Army
and not CIA.
“He and his family have been in Milwaukee for the last thirty years.”
“They have,” I agreed.
“Has it ever crossed your mind that if you’re such an abomination of a
human being, then, by your logic, that makes me the same?”
I could only stare at him.
Dante shrugged. “Is that what you think?”
“Of course that’s not what I think,” I almost shouted, charging across the
kitchen and stepping in front of him, interrupting his cooking.
“Things are going to burn,” he grumbled.
“You’re one of the best men I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing.
You’re honest and noble and—”
He laughed at me. In my face. And before I could hit him, he lunged at
me, grabbing me tight and hugging me hard. “It’s time to let this go,” he said
gruffly, the emotion messing with him as much as it was with me. “Enough
with the past. Enough, Jared. You’re a hero in some stories, a villain in
others. You’ve always been so concerned with who you think you should be
versus who you actually are.”
That was the gospel truth there.
“Stop, Jared.”
I waited for more.
He grinned then, with an eyebrow waggle for good measure.
I stared at him. “That’s it? Your sage advice? Just stop?”
“Listen,” he said, exhaling deeply. “You need to forgive yourself for your
mistakes and failures. You’ve done your best. Always. You’re accountable
for what you’ve done, good and bad, but you have to live in the present. You
don’t have a choice.” He gave me a gentle pat on the cheek. “Regret is
useless.”
“You’re saying you have no regrets?”
He thought a moment. “No. I don’t have time. I have to be in the present.
We’re old sinners, you and I, but like Jing said, the intentions were good.”
“You know what they say about intentions,” I reminded him.
He shrugged. “If hell it is and that’s how I’m judged, I’ll have really good
company.”
I nodded, felt the tears welling.
“Jing, come stir this, please,” he said, and she moved fast as he took me
into his arms a second time. “Be done carrying the dead,” he whispered in my
ear. “It’s time.”
It had been time decades ago, but I was built loyal, and so the love and
penance had to balance.
“You’re all paid up, Jared. Time to step out into the light.”
It was.
When he let go, he told us to have a seat at the table.
Walking in a daze, I retook my seat beside Owen, and the way his face lit
up was beautiful to see. He leaned close and kissed the side of my neck.
“Oh,” Arden sighed. “Finally.”
I glanced at her as dishes began to arrive on the table. “You don’t think
I’m too old for him?”
“Uh, no, boss,” Arden said, chuckling. “I always wondered how long it
would take.”
Jing was helping Dante carry serving dishes. “This always made sense to
me,” she said, tipping her head at Owen. “I mean, Owen’s the only one who
really gets you.”
I squinted at her. “Gets me?”
 “Yeah,” she said like it was obvious. “He actually laughs at your jokes.”
Turning to him, I found him giving me a big fake smile, all teeth. “You
really think I’m funny?”
“No,” he said gravely. “It’s just, it’s my lot in life to make sure you think
you are.”
“I’m not funny?” I said to Dante. “Me?”
The expression on his face told me no.
“Huh.”
When the last plate arrived and Dante stood with a bottle of wine in his
hand, Owen’s breath caught.
“What?” I asked him.
Owen looked up at Dante with welling eyes. “My mother used to cook
this for me.” There was moussaka, and keftethes, which were amazing-
flavored meatballs, alongside herbed potatoes, plum-tomato sauce for
dipping, and salad.
“She used to make it all for me too, and I’ve been cooking for hours, like
she used to, so don’t think I just whipped this all up in the hour we’ve been
talking.”
Owen got up, went around the table, and stepped into the arms Dante held
out for him.
“That’s why he’s so pretty,” Dante teased Owen when he stepped back,
talking to Jing and Arden. “It wasn’t his father, it was his mother, Sara. She
was Greek, so very beautiful with that curly raven hair of hers that fell down
her back. She had golden skin, which is why you don’t burn but tan here by
the water, and man, could she sing.”
Owen was nodding.
“And much like Jared, Sara could not tell a joke. At all.”
Owen’s laughter as he listened to Dante was good to hear.
“She would start telling the joke and give you some of the punchline—
not all of it, just enough to be confusing—and then go back to the beginning,
and really,” he said, grimacing at Owen, “it was painful.”
Owen leaned back into Dante. “I didn’t know you knew her so well.”
“Oh yeah,” Dante assured him. “Sara and I were the only ones who could
dance, so we always did. And we would cook and bake together… I would
have given anything to save her, just like Jared. She was a gem, and I still
miss her laugh.”
Owen was crying then, in the shelter of Dante’s arms, who rubbed his
back and held on as, I was guessing, a wave of memories hit Owen hard. This
had all been such a long time coming.
 SIXTEEN

A fter dinner, we all sat in the living room, having coffee, when Owen
looked over at Dante and Jing and Arden and said, “Let me tell you
what I remember.” He took a breath. “At the airport, Mom kissed and
hugged me a million times and told me she loved me more than anything. She
told me to be a good boy for my grandparents. Then a very kind flight
attendant led me onto the plane and to my seat, and then…I woke up in the
back of a car. It was dark, and when I sat up, I was immediately ordered to lie
back down. My parents had always encouraged me to ask questions, but
when I started to speak, I was slapped hard, and after that, I was terrified.
They set rules. If I didn’t ask questions, if I followed directions, I would eat.
If I didn’t, if I tried to escape, tried to run in public, get help, I’d be beaten
and starved. They put a small tattoo on me that meant I was a prostitute, but
no one ever touched me except to hit me. I wasn’t raped like so many others.
I was just moved around constantly and hit with fists, mostly, and whatever
else was handy.”
We all listened, not taking our eyes off him.
“One night they took me to the casino on the first floor, then took an
elevator down, and told me that after that night, I would have a new master. I
remember not knowing what that meant.”
He glanced at me before leaning forward on the couch.
“There was a stage, and I was shoved out there, and when I looked up,
there were hundreds of people looking down at me. And that was scary,
really scary, but the worst part, for me, was that they took off my clothes and
tied my hands behind my back so I couldn’t cover myself.”
 Jing’s face scrunched up, and Arden crossed her arms tightly, as though
to protect herself from the rest of the story. Dante’s face was impassive. He
had his handler face on, the one he used to give his assets to keep them calm.
“What they were auctioning off, of course, was my virginity,” he
explained, taking a breath. “It was the same for all the kids. Apparently, it
was a quarterly event, and they promoted the hell out of it.”
“This is disgusting,” Jing said. “And I know it still happens, but…” She
glanced at Owen. “Sorry, sorry… Go on.”
“I saw lots of kids, girls and boys, go through the same curtain I did, and
heard yelling, which, as I found out when it was my turn, was bidding. After
the auction, the kids would come back, and were taken down a hall to one of
the bedrooms. Whoever bought each child would then go in and basically… I
mean, it was a ‘buy it and try it’ situation. I still remember the screaming.”
Jing wiped her eyes roughly, turning her head away. Arden looked up at
the ceiling, and Dante just listened.
“Most of the kids were like me, abducted and taken there. Others had
been kidnapped, but ransom hadn’t been paid or something had gone wrong,
and so that’s why they were there. The worst were the kids sold by their
parents or relatives. I just… I can’t even imagine that.”
No one said a word.
“So I went out, they had me bend over, turn around, and then everyone
started shouting. It didn’t take long, and then I was led back to the curtain I
went through. I passed my friend Mei, who was crying, and then they took
me to a bedroom.” He was quiet a moment, and breathed in through his nose.
“I was in the room alone for a bit, and I remember hearing Mei outside,
sobbing as she walked by the door, and then a second later, a man came in.
He was dressed in a tuxedo and had a walking cane. He shoved me down on
the bed, and I remember thinking he was going to hit me just like everyone
else had.”
“I think I’m gonna throw up,” Arden said, standing abruptly.
“No, no,” Dante soothed her. “We’re about to get to the good part.”
She nodded quickly, staring at Owen, then sat down again.
“I started screaming, loudly, like I was dying, just shrieking, and then the
door, which I was sure had been locked, was kicked open, and there he was.”
The awe in his voice as he looked at me was unmistakable. “I mean, I know,
logically, there wasn’t a spotlight on him, but to this day, I tell you, I
could’ve sworn there was.”
 Arden exhaled sharply.
“The man yelled, and Jared ordered me to close my eyes, and the guy…
he made a noise, but then, that was it.” Owen’s gaze was on me. “Did you
shoot him? I’ve never asked.”
“It was a knife,” Dante answered.
Owen turned to Dante. “Were you there?”
He shook his head. “No. I was detained at that time, but I heard this part
firsthand from Jared and Darius.”
Owen was back to looking at me. “Darius was with you? I didn’t see
him.”
“Yeah. I got you and your friend Mei and all the other kids, and Darius
took care of the crowd.”
“Took care of?” Jing asked me.
“Yep.”
“Okay.” She shrugged. “If you’re there to bid on children that you’re
going to place into sexual servitude…I mean, you reap what you sow.”
“You do,” I agreed darkly. Darius had scanned the crowd earlier, made
sure there were no other children there, and then locked all the doors before
releasing VX gas. Everyone in the casino was unaffected. Everyone in the
theater died. What was interesting was that there was no mention of it on the
news. Not a word. It had all been swept under the rug.
Owen continued, “I remember opening my eyes when Jared said I could,
and I wanted to see where the man was, but Jared said to just look at him, and
I did. He cut the rope tying my hands, had me put on clothes, and then had
me stand, face to the wall in the hallway, as he went from room to room and
got all the other kids I knew, starting with Mei.”
We were all silent.
“Like me, Mei wasn’t raped. It turned out, her uncle had found her, and
he was in with her, getting her dressed and trying to figure out how to get her
out of there without the people he bought her from wanting their money,
which he didn’t have.”
“Holy shit,” Jing gasped. “That was ballsy.”
“Yeah. He’d been looking for her since her parents were murdered by the
Yakuza. Her father was a developer who was resisting them trying to take
over his business, and he and her mother were assassinated. Her uncle was a
policeman in Tokyo and was sure that Mei wasn’t killed when they were, and
he was right.”
 “He was trying to find her just like Jared was trying to find you,” Arden
summed up.
“Yeah.”
“So Mei was okay, then?” Jing asked.
“Yeah. Her uncle helped Jared clear the rooms.”
“He did,” I stated dryly. “Good man. Good shot too.”
“I still talk to Mei,” Owen told them. “She lives in Barcelona now. She’s
a reporter for El País, and she also runs an animal shelter in the city, saving
all kinds of animals and finding them new homes all over the world.”
“Oh, I love that.” Arden sighed deeply.
“But yeah, so after that, Jared took my hand and we walked outside. Mei
and her uncle left, and a man was putting the kids on a bus… Who was that
man? And where did that bus come from?”
“That was all Darius,” I told him. “And to this day, I have no idea where
that bus came from, but asking is useless. He doesn’t answer questions like
that. And that man was my friend Evgeni. He was another operative.”
“Is he still alive?” Owen asked.
I turned to look at Dante and everyone else followed suit.
He was quiet.
“Well?” Owen prodded him.
Dante waved his hand dismissively. “Some say yes, some say no. Darius
heard from a mutual friend that he was dead, but I don’t know. Personally, I
think he’s retired and living in Turks and Caicos, because I keep getting
really ugly mugs from there that we use in the dining room at the B and B.
The thing is, to know for certain, I’d have to go check, and I don’t really want
to disturb him if he’s there and retired.”
“No,” I agreed quickly. “If he’s there, just let him be. Sleeping dogs and
all that.”
“He’s scary, huh?” Owen teased me.
“Yeah, he’s ex Bratva, so more than scary, but also just the nicest guy…
in his way.”
Dante scoffed. “In his way. That’s a delicate way of putting it.”
I shrugged.
“Finish the story, please,” Jing told Owen.
“Okay, so after everyone else got on the bus—and I remember it was so
loud with all the police cars and emergency vehicles and the crazy traffic…
Anyway, in the midst of it all, Jared stopped, looked me in the eyes, and said
everything would be all right.”
I nodded.
“And then he hugged me, and at that exact moment, I stopped being
scared.”
I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry you were scared again.”
“I wasn’t scared,” he snapped at me, scowling. “As I said before, I knew
you’d save me. I only freaked out when you started getting the crap beaten
out of you.”
All eyes on me.
“Okay?” Owen pressed me. “Are we clear?”
I grunted.
“How come you didn’t go live with your grandparents?” Jing asked
Owen.
“Oh, I did. Until I was eighteen.”
“Did you check on him?” Jing asked me, sounding indignant, evidently
upset for Owen.
“Of course I checked on him. I made certain he wasn’t in any danger.”
“Oh,” Arden said. “So you didn’t show up there and have heart-to-hearts?
You just looked in and made sure he was physically safe?”
“Yes. Exactly. His grandparents didn’t want him to have anything to do
with me, or any of Ronan’s friends. We were all banned.”
“That’s true,” Dante chimed in. “I went once and was turned away at the
door.”
“I’m sorry,” Owen said softly. “When I was a kid, my grandparents were
very protective.”
“They had every right to be,” Dante said. “Your mother left instructions
with them to contact Jared if you didn’t make it back,” Dante reminded him.
“It took three months and nearly every resource at Jared’s disposal to find
you in Macau. They were terrified.”
“Yes, but they shouldn’t have cut everyone out of my life.” He turned to
me. “I know I’ve said it hundreds of times, but thank you for coming for me.”
During that time, I had indiscriminately killed dozens of people to
retrieve Owen. It now seemed one of them—from either the mess Ronan had
created that should have ended with his death or the mess I made when I
retrieved Owen—wanted revenge. I was both dreading and looking forward
to the following day. It would be sad to know the truth, but good as well. I
needed an end to all this.
 “What happened when you were eighteen?” Jing asked.
“I was messed up and—”
“You weren’t messed up,” I growled at him. “You just needed some—”
“I was messed up,” he corrected me. “By then I was a serious hacker and
had apparently wound up on the FBI watch list.”
“Apparently?” I snapped at him. “Are you kidding?”
He shrugged. “I was going to jail.”
“Ohmygod,” Arden gasped. “Owen.”
“Listen, I was Robin Hood, taking from the rich and giving to the poor,
and the rich didn’t even know I was skimming.”
Dante scoffed. “I seem to recall you removing all the money from a dirty
pharmaceutical company that was sending a cancer drug to market that would
have killed a lot of people.”
“Yeah. See?” he told me. “I was the good guy. I leaked the information
where they stated, in writing, that they would rather pay out for lawsuits than
take a hit to their bottom line and fix the tainted product.”
“That seems like a very good thing,” Arden concurred.
“Right? And I had memos and—”
“Or,” I countered, “instead of doing all that illegal hacking, you could
have allowed the FBI agents—who already had a whistleblower from that
company in protective custody and ready to testify—to do their job.”
He squinted.
I pressed on. “Your way was bigger, flashier, but the same justice was
served in the same amount of time, was it not?”
“Yes,” Owen muttered under his breath. He had to agree because it was
the truth. There had been no reason for him to interfere.
“And for that, and many more transgressions—”
“So many more,” Owen added with a sly chuckle.
“—you were in a world of shit,” I finished, scowling at him.
“I was,” he said with a sigh, then smiled at me. “And you showed up.
Again.”
I had gotten a call from Sara’s mother. She didn’t know what to do. Owen
was sad one minute, in a rage the next. He was fighting at school, he was
failing twelfth grade, he wasn’t eating, he wouldn’t talk to them, and there
was, she was fairly certain, a strange van parked down the street from their
house.
When I got there, he’d already been taken into custody and was sitting in
jail awaiting formal charges. He’d hacked into the Department of Defense
database and was moving money from military projects to fund Planned
Parenthood and Veteran Affairs and a slew of other very worthy causes, but
the NSA had him dead to rights and pointed out that since he’d be eighteen in
a month, he should be tried as an adult and go to jail for half his life. An
example needed to be made.
Owen grimaced. “I was going to jail for at least twenty years, if not
more.”
“Jesus, Owen,” Jing groaned. “This is why Jared was so up in arms about
the DEA database thing, wasn’t it?”
“Can we not bring that up again?” Owen muttered.
“Keep going with the story,” Arden prodded him.
“Well, so they let Jared into the jail cell, and I was like, was he always
that hot?”
I shook my head at him as Jing nodded and Arden laughed.
“That’s sick,” Dante said with a rakish grin. “That man could be your
father.”
I turned to him. “What?”
Owen was laughing. “Come on, Jared. You with the shoulders and the
chest. You sat down beside me, and I could barely get a word out with my
tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.”
“Could you just—”
“You have no idea,” he murmured, staring at me longingly. “And then
when you told me I was getting out but I had to go to college right away, and
you took care of me graduating and getting me into MIT, which was my
dream school, where I had applied to go…I thought it was all too good to be
true.”
“But you learned pretty quickly it was not.”
“Yeah. You had me under some pretty heavy surveillance, both in person
and online. I could barely do anything if it wasn’t related to my coursework.”
“You had people following him at school?” Jing sounded horrified.
“Yes,” I replied adamantly. “And I had friends at the NSA monitoring
him for me and didn’t stop until his second year at MIT.”
“Those guys still watch me, by the way,” Owen declared. “All the time.”
“But they don’t do it for me anymore. They do it because you’re on their
watch list.”
He shrugged. “Things happen.”
 They did. But most importantly, Owen had straightened out his life after
starting college. He found a wonderful therapist, made friends like Maggie,
opened himself up to people and experiences and was no longer a loner, no
longer a man without human connection. Along with his own hard work,
through giving him a second chance and getting him in school, I’d helped
make him whole again, and that was all I ever wanted.
“What about your grandparents? Do you still see them?” Jing asked him.
“I used to spend all my holidays from school with them, and that was
good for them—seeing me grounded and doing well.”
Jing nodded.
“My grandfather passed away the year I got my master’s, and my
grandmother went to live with my aunt Kate, her oldest daughter. I saw her a
few months ago, and she’s great.”
“Oh,” Jing said with a happy sigh. “I love this story.”
“The beginning was horrible,” Arden remarked, “but the ending makes up
for it.”
It certainly did.

W E ALL CLEANED up except Dante, since he’d cooked, and he watched us all,
then passed out on the couch.
Arden was watching a movie, and Jing walked the grounds to make sure
everything was secure. Owen had to Skype with Maggie because she wanted
an update. He couldn’t tell her everything, but he could explain about being
kidnapped and me finding him. That, he said, was the important part anyway.
I fell asleep outside and only woke when I felt fingers in my hair.
Opening my eyes, I found Owen smiling at me.
“Done already?” I murmured.
He nodded. “Long time ago. You’ve been asleep for a couple of hours.”
“Crap,” I grumbled. “Now you’re gonna think I’m an old man who can’t
even—”
He scoffed. “I don’t think you’re old, and I fall asleep after a great meal
or an emotional story as well. Everything coming out, lots of epiphanies and
memories. We all need rest after that. It has nothing to do with age.”
I nodded.
“I want to sleep in your bed,” he said flatly. “Let me.”
“Yes,” I said hoarsely.
 Getting up, I waited a moment and then did what I wanted and took his
hand, lacing my fingers into his, tugging gently to get him to walk with me.
“I love this,” he said, grinning.
There was something I had to ask, and when we got to my room, I did.
“Why did you come back to Chicago when you finished your master’s? I
know Silicon Valley was calling. You told me about all your job offers.”
“There were many,” he agreed.
“Was it because I put you through school and you felt like you owed
me?”
“No, because as you told me on many occasions, that was money my
parents had set aside for me. My folks paid for my education, not you.”
That was true for the most part. I’d subsidized a bit.
“Even though I know you helped,” he said, grinning at me.
“Oh, not much. I—”
“Stop,” he whispered, putting a hand on my chest. “You really are the
worst liar.”
“There are worse things to be than a bad liar,” I grumbled.
“Yes, there are,” he agreed, slipping a hand around the side of my neck to
draw me close.
The kiss that followed was hard and possessive, and I loved it, craved it,
the need in me to submit—only here, between us—heating my blood.
“And for the record,” he murmured, staring into my eyes. “I came back to
Chicago to be close to you.”
I was surprised. “You did? Why?”
He shook his head. “God, you’re dumb.”
“What?”
He scoffed. “So listen, I need to get things from my room,” Owen said,
taking hold of my ass, squeezing tight, seemingly unable to stop touching me.
“I’m sticky, so are you, so I’ll rinse off and be right back.”
He left me in my doorway, and I went and got under the warm water,
taking soap to every part of me, and when I shut off the water, I was
surprised to see he was already back, in only sleep shorts, standing on the
other side of the glass.
“How long was I in there?” I asked him, worried I’d taken too long or lost
time. I’d done that right after Owen and I were rescued. It came with the
headaches, but it had receded as well, or so I thought.
“You weren’t in there any time at all,” he assured me, opening the door, a
towel in his hand. “Come here.”
“You know,” I grumbled as I stepped out and he started drying my hair,
“I’ve been doing this a long time.” He continued to my chest and back. “I can
do this my—Owen,” I moaned when he dropped to his knees and took my
cock, which had been thickening with his nearness, down the back of his
throat.
His mouth was hot and wet, the suction perfect, and watching those lush
lips stretch around me was enough to make me bury my fingers in his hair
and hold tight. He sucked and laved, taking me deep and then licking my
head before he rose in front of me, hand stroking and squeezing my cock.
“You’re a powerful, scary man, Jared Colter,” he said, his tone sultry,
husky, “and you belong to me.”
No one else could boast about that because the only person I wanted to
lay claim to my heart, soul, and body was Owen. I longed to be his, to have it
be us, he and I together. Added to that was the dangerous glint in the emerald
depths of his eyes, daring me to contradict him or argue. I was his, plain and
simple.
“Yes,” I husked. “All yours.”
Releasing my cock, he grabbed my hand and tugged me after him, out of
the bathroom, to my bed, which he’d turned down.
I was going to say something witty, but my mind went blank when his
lips met mine. I opened for him, ready, willing, wanting him and the power in
him to finally drive out all my demons and make me his home.
He kissed me slowly, languidly, tasting me, and the sounds he made, the
happy humming, made me smile.
“Make me promises,” he whispered, cupping my face in his hands,
holding me still as he deepened the kiss, devouring me.
Taking hold of his wrists, I pulled back so I could look at him, into his
beautiful green eyes. “I won’t change my mind when we get home. I swear.
And I won’t change my mind now. This is going to be us from now on.”
His eyes searched my face.
“I never wanted to take anything away from you, and especially not your
chance to have everything you deserve in life, but—”
“Please, Jared,” he rasped. “I—”
“Wait,” I soothed him, leaning forward to rest my forehead on his. “I
realize that keeping myself from you isn’t only hurting me. It’s hurting you
too.”
 The light that infused his gaze was really something—happiness and hope
intertwined. “So you’re saying,” he husked, “that you’re giving this a real
chance. You and me. There’s gonna be a you and me?”
I smiled at him. “That’s what I want.”
He lunged at me, and I was laughing as I went down under him onto my
bed. Catching me off-balance, he rolled me easily to my stomach. Then he
manhandled me to my knees, and when his hands went to my ass cheeks,
spreading them, I couldn’t stifle the moan. When he spit and I felt it drip over
my hole, the full-body shiver was instant.
His evil, filthy cackle covered my skin in goose bumps before his tongue
licked over my entrance, once, twice, and pressed slowly inside on the third
pass. Instinctively, I pushed back, wanting more, and he speared deeper,
faster, dragging his tongue over my sensitive skin. I registered the snap of a
bottle, and a moment later his slick fingers were sliding over my cock.
“Owen,” I said, not sounding like myself, my voice breathy and halting,
full of aching need.
“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he said raggedly, and his
warm breath on my entrance was enough to make me buck into his hand.
When his tongue returned, I begged him to simply take what he wanted.
His chuckle told me he had no intention of listening to me.
It was maddening as he did as he pleased, his attention to my ass a slow,
relentless onslaught that relaxed my muscles, opening me up for more and
deeper.
When he bit my ass cheek, I cried his name at the same time he slid two
slick fingers inside me, curving them up and forward, grazing my prostate.
“Owen!” I roared, and was instantly rewarded with another finger, three
now, pushing in and out as I shivered beneath him. “Please.”
“Tell me if you want me to get a condom.”
“No,” I barely got out. “We don’t need it.”
“No, we really don’t,” he assured me. “I would never do anything to––”
“I know,” I rasped. “Owen.”
He withdrew his fingers and moved over me, his chest sliding over my
back, his mouth at my nape. Simply the promise of him giving me his weight,
his hard, leaking cock bumping against the back of my thigh, made me writhe
beneath him. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath.
“You want me.” The statement was low and gravelly as the head of his
cock notched against my hole, the slight movement pushing him a fraction
inside.
“Yes, I fuckin’ want you,” I nearly snarled at him.
His grip on my hip was almost painful as he pushed past the relaxed
muscles, stretching me around him as he slowly, but without stopping, buried
himself in my body.
I was so full, and the ache sent twinges through me that were offset by his
hands stroking over my lower back and shaking thighs.
“I’m gonna come just looking at you,” he moaned, then eased nearly out
and shoved back inside, bucking deep.
His name came out in a guttural, mangled cry as I fisted my hands in the
sheets.
“You’re beautiful, and you feel so good,” Owen whispered, repeating the
motion, retreat and thrust, again and again, hammering inside, hands on my
hips, the pistoning endless as I pressed my face to the mattress so I wouldn’t
scream.
I was clenching around him, milking his length, needing him deeper, at
my core, and when he pulled out, I was lost for a moment, wanting to tell him
what I wanted, but then his mouth swallowed every sound.
His kisses were mauling, and I couldn’t breathe as he flipped me to my
back and lifted one leg up, my knee draped over his shoulder while I held the
other tight, holding myself open for him as he thrust into my body and stared
into my eyes. I turned my head, the intensity in his gaze too much to bear.
“Look at me,” he ordered gruffly.
I did. His jaw was clenching, the muscles in his throat cording, his pupils
blown, lust and love whipped together in his molten gaze, and watching him,
seeing what I looked like reflected back, was overwhelming.
I was his to take and have, and when he moved, taking both my legs,
holding my knees in the curve of his elbows, I gave up hiding. I was utterly
his.
All my walls came down. I let go of my fears and reached for him.
He bent into my hands, and I drew him down to me, taking his mouth,
kissing him deeply, soundly, gasping when he stroked inside, rutting hard.
My hands moved to his shoulders, anchoring myself to him, slipping to his
biceps as the pounding increased.
Angling higher, he nailed my prostate, and I clamped down around him,
my muscles like a vise as I arched under him and came over his abdomen.
“Jared!” My name came roaring out of his throat, and he came inside me,
filling me, pumping me full, cum leaking from my hole as he fucked me
through his release, chasing his pleasure.
He finally took a great heave of breath and dropped down into my open
arms, and I chuckled as I caught him, pulling him in tight, one hand in his
sweaty hair, the other on his back. I could feel his heart pounding, and it was
hard to tell his aftershocks from mine.
“I wanted it to be perfect, and I wanted you to feel worshipped, and I
fucked up and lost myself, and if I hurt you, Jared, I—”
I scoffed, squeezing him tighter. “You didn’t hurt me. You fucked my
brains out.”
“No, no, I wanted to—”
“That was amazing,” I soothed him, lifting his chin so I could lean in and
kiss him.
He surged forward for the kiss, and his cock, still lodged inside, made me
gasp. It hurt and felt incredible at the same time, that edge between rapture
and pain obliterated in that moment.
Gently, tenderly, he eased free and then kissed me again, touching me
everywhere, mapping skin, kisses to my throat, my ear, along my jaw, until
he reached my mouth. I loved this, lying in bed, holding each other. I’d never
had a lover I cuddled with after the act.
“What’re you looking at?” he asked, his voice rough and thick, still
touching me, his hand smoothing down my side, over my ass, and then he
lifted my leg over his hip and held it there.
“I’m looking at you,” I answered, taking in the square jaw, the wavy
auburn hair that kicked out on the back and sides and fell across his forehead
and into his eyes when he wasn’t lying on his back. “Now that I can.”
“You always could,” he rasped, reaching up to take hold of the side of my
neck to ease me down into another languorous kiss.
Just us, together, in bed, and I couldn’t remember ever feeling so good, so
settled in my skin, so comfortable, and most of all, replete and happy.
I rolled away from him and crawled toward the headboard, taking my
space, closest to the door. He followed fast, dropping down beside me,
smiling as I reached behind me and turned off the light.
“Tell me something good,” Owen prodded me.
“Roll onto your side,” I directed him, and he did as he was told. I could
hear the happy noises when I spooned him, sharing a pillow.
“I plan to sleep like this for the rest of my life, so I hope you enjoy this
position.” He chuckled softly. “And I’m not even kidding.”
I smiled into his nape, nuzzling his hair, and he shivered.
“Cold?”
“No, idiot. I’m happy.”
“Idiot?”
“We could have been doing this since I moved in with you, and the only
reason we haven’t is because you were hung up on a number.”
“Well, I’m done with that,” I promised, kissing his shoulder, loving the
little gasp of pleasure he let out.
“I never want to hear it again.”
“You won’t, not that.”
He was quiet a long moment. “I still want you to tell me something
good.”
“I love you,” I told him, taking a breath, feeling the truth of the statement
sink deep inside me. “You’re my home.”
Rolling in my arms, he faced me, then wrapped his arms around my neck
and hugged me tight. “I love you too,” he said, and I could hear the tears in
his voice. “So much. More than you know. Keep me… Don’t ever let me
go.”
“I’ll never let you go.”
His sigh was long, and he held me.

I WOKE IN THE NIGHT , and he was there, coiled around me, head on my
shoulder, arm across my chest. I lay there, in the dark, listening to the sounds
of the sea, smelling it and the faint trace of jasmine, wondering how in the
world this beautiful man, with an even more beautiful heart, was sharing my
bed.
I had no idea how I got so lucky, but I wasn’t about to ever let him go. I’d
been blessed. I was ready to start the rest of my life.
 SEVENTEEN

D arius got the information to me and Dante before dawn the next
morning, and Owen, Jing, and Arden were still sound asleep when we
were ready to go. I was halfway to the door when I doubled back and
kissed Owen. He smiled in his sleep but didn’t stir.
“You would have made a terrible spy,” I whispered, then followed Dante
out the door.
Darius had sent some of his best men to guard the people I loved, and the
guy in charge, Ruben Vega, assured me my family would be safe with them. I
thanked him and his team, feeling confident in their abilities as I walked
away.
I felt bad about not saying goodbye, but I knew Owen especially would
insist on coming, and that couldn’t happen. I’d just gotten him back. I would
not risk his safety again.
Darius sent his plane for us, and we’d been in the air about an hour when
Owen called.
“You need to come back in one piece so I can kill you myself!” Owen
yelled over the line.
I smiled but made sure he couldn’t hear it in my voice. “You and I both
know there was no way I’d let you come with me. I can’t focus with you
beside me. Your safety would be the only thing I cared about, and I could get
hurt.”
“You could get hurt now,” he said, his voice cracking. “I don’t see why
you couldn’t just send someone to—”
“We both know why,” I replied gently. “Whoever this turns out to be
won’t stop coming for me until I’m dead. You’ll always be in danger, and I’ll
always be in danger until we get this sorted out.”
“Yes, but—”
“You want us to start a life. That’s what you said.”
“I want that more than anything,” he rasped.
“Then it has to be done this way. There’s no alternative.”
He was quiet for a long moment, where I felt like my entire future was
being decided.
“Owen…please don’t leave me or think of me going as some kind of test
of trust that I’ve failed or—”
“I’m not going to leave you,” he stressed. “I will never leave you. And
you’re the most trustworthy man I know.”
“Okay,” I said, realizing I’d been holding my breath. “I just… I want to
start with you when this is over, and I don’t want anything to jeopardize
that.”
“Then come back safe and as fast as you can.”
“I will. I promise.”
He sucked in a breath, and I was sure he wanted to say more, to make me
swear to return, but he was smart and knew there were no guarantees. “I love
you, Jared Colter. I have loved you and wanted you since I was eighteen
years old. Don’t mess with my plans for our future or our happily ever after.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” I vowed. “And I love you back.”
“Good,” he said and hung up.
I smiled wistfully to myself. I couldn’t wait to get back to Owen.
“Aww, look at you all happy and healthy and finally jumping in with both
feet,” Dante praised me indulgently. “I’m so proud of you.”
“That didn’t sound patronizing at all.”
He laughed. “I mean it, though. Good for you.”
I exhaled sharply. “Thank you, and I know you know, but…I appreciate
everything you’ve done.”
“Well, don’t thank me yet,” he said, getting comfortable in his chair. “We
still have this one last thing to do.”
Yes, we did.

W HEN WE LANDED at a private airstrip in Hong Kong, neither of us was

surprised to find Darius there waiting, standing beside a Range Rover. His
pilot, Bilal Shiraz, who had been alone on the plane with us, no flight
attendant, gave his boss a wave as we descended the stairs to the tarmac.
I walked over and hugged him, Dante right behind me. It felt like three
friends just getting together, not the revenge scenario this was.
“How did you get away?” I asked him.
“Oh, I’m not alone. Lee’s here as well. He’ll fly out with me back to
Boston when we’re done.”
“But he let you come alone to meet us? Unprotected?”
“Well, I told him you two would look after me, but he sent Ceaton along
anyway.”
Dante nodded. “He doesn’t trust us.”
“He doesn’t trust anyone. Don’t get your feelings hurt.”
“Where is Ceaton?” I asked.
“I have no idea. He’s around here somewhere with his McMillan Tac-50,
keeping an eye on me.”
Darius asked Dante if he wanted to fly home with him afterward, which
Dante did.
“That would be fantastic,” Dante said tiredly. “My husband admitted last
night that if all was well with Jared, he wants me home. You know he loves
you, Jared, but—”
“He loves me now,” I reminded him. “When you got fucked over and we
all had to go radio silent on him for all those years, he wasn’t crazy about me
or Darius then.”
“That’s water under the bridge. He gets it.”
“What did he call it?” Darius smiled at him. “Spook stuff?”
“Yeah.”
We were all quiet a moment before Darius handed us earpieces so we
could stay connected even if we got separated.
“Listen,” Darius began, meeting my gaze. “I’ve alerted the station chief
here, and if you determine that whoever’s behind this would be better in CIA
custody than dead, we can make that alternative happen.”
“You’re talking about extraordinary rendition. Moving whoever this is to
a black site and putting them in a hole.”
“They’ll be questioned, I’m sure,” Dante said. “I mean, whoever this is,
they’re in bed with Tommy Yu, who could be indicted right now on a slew of
charges. If you want this person prosecuted instead of dead, Darius is giving
you that out.”
 “Which I appreciate.”
After a moment, Darius cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said, moving
around the car as the plane we came in on sped by us before making its
ascent farther down the strip. “Let’s go.”
Darius had water for us in the Range Rover and ammunition for my
Beretta and Dante’s Sig. He insisted we put on Kevlar, at least for the entry,
and I didn’t argue with him. There was no arguing with Darius.

T HE MASSIVE TWO - STORY villa was located in the wooded hills above Clear
Water Bay, a world away from the city beat of Hong Kong. The ultra-modern
construction, with its white facade, multiple terraces, and huge square
windows, clashed with the tranquility of rural, unspoiled coastline.
Twelve bodyguards patrolled the outer perimeter of the property. Dante
went around the side and took his targets down quickly, without noise. Darius
too, using his knife, dispatched the four assigned to him. I had two down, and
I’d just put two shots into the third man’s chest. But as he slumped down, his
weapon fell from his hand and clattered to the ground, alerting the last guard,
who looked up to see me closing in. He raised his weapon to fire, but it was
too late. I lined up the muzzle and put two quick rounds into my target, then
moved on quickly toward the house.
I entered from the back of the villa. Like the build of the house, the
furniture was extravagant and aggressively modern. I did a quick sweep of
the first floor, Dante checked the second, and Darius kept watch. When they
were satisfied that no one else was in the house, they both went out on the
deck while I took a seat in an overstuffed armchair in front of the cold
fireplace and waited.
Ten minutes later, as Darius’s intel had told him to expect, I heard a car
pull up and stop before driving off again. I listened as the home’s sole
occupant entered and moved through the rooms to the living room. As the
Asian woman entered, she stopped abruptly when she saw me rise from the
chair.
“Colonel Colter, what a surprise,” she said, her composure returning fast.
“Who are you?” I asked, needing to know.
“I’m Ming Gray.” She dropped her Prada handbag on the couch and
crossed her arms as she stared at me.
I found myself studying her face, trying to place her. But there was
nothing, not a sliver of recognition. She was a mere slip of a woman,
beautiful, willowy, her Chanel suit fitting her perfectly, and her hair and
makeup were immaculate. I was guessing she was in her midfifties, but I
really was shit at telling how old people were.
“Would you like a drink?” she offered.
“No,” I answered, studying her. “I don’t think us drinking together is
prudent, and honestly, when I looked around earlier, there weren’t any labels
I knew.”
“Yes. Just blended whiskey in my cabinets,” she said with a sigh.
“Personally, I prefer the Glenlivet Winchester single malt, but the cheap ones,
they were my late husband’s favorites. He always had…simpler tastes.”
“Won’t you sit?” I said.
Opening her jacket, she sat down on the end of a couch near the armchair
I occupied, and crossing her legs, she waited. Her gaze bore into me, the
hatred palpable.
We sat there in silence, just staring. It was eerie. The day before, Dante
had basically told me to exorcise my ghosts, but now I felt like I was looking
at one.
“May I assume you’ve killed my men?”
“I have, yes.”
“So, not a social call, then?”
What was she playing at? “You weren’t expecting me?”
“No. I was expecting a video of your death.”
“You thought they were still torturing me? For nearly a month?” I was
surprised. “I don’t know whether to be horrified or humbled that you think I
could withstand that kind of treatment for so long.”
“I told them to draw it out. I assumed they were.”
“You didn’t check?” That seemed odd.
“I have other pursuits, Colonel, and just the idea that you were being
slowly killed made my sleep peaceful.”
“Still, you should’ve checked in.”
“I like to think I employ an excellent caliber of killer.”
“Your man Suwan was a nasty enough piece of work. He didn’t
disappoint.”
“Up until the point where you managed to kill him.”
The woman understood kill or be killed. “You overplayed your hand with
Suwan and his enforcer. They took their best shot and came up short.”
 “Suwan was a fool, a thief, and a traitor who thought his skimming went
unnoticed. He had to die for that, whether by my hand or yours, matters little
to me. As a soldier, I’m sure you recognize the necessity of keeping
discipline in any chain of command. His dishonor followed him to the
grave.”
“How do you know? You haven’t checked.”
“I assume as you’re here, and he’s not, that he’s no longer among the
living.”
It was a good guess.
“Tell me, Colonel, how is it that you found your way to my doorstep? I
know my men didn’t give me up. They’re too scared of me.”
“You—or your people—made a grab for Suwan’s cryptocurrency. Owen
created a worm and hid it where no one would think to look. All I had to do
was sit back and wait for the money to move.”
“How clever of dear little Owen,” she said, ice in her voice.
“But you knew Suwan was cutting you out, hence your comment about
him being a thief.”
“I did. Yes.”
I took a deep breath. “I’ve made a lot of enemies over the years, but no
one’s ever made it personal like you did.”
She smiled ruefully. “Other people have looked, I’m sure. Trying to strike
back at you through your family only to find there is none.”
“Yes.”
“And the men you call friends, they’re all as lethal as you. No chance to
hurt you through them.”
“No,” I agreed.
“The only way to hurt you was through Owen Moss,” she said flatly, a
faint smile twisting her lips. “He is the only place you’re vulnerable.”
“No one knew about him.”
“Yes, Colonel, I’m aware.”
“How did you?”
“You’re a smart man. It will come to you.”
I leaned forward, staring at her. “Have we met before this?”
She shook her head. “I knew of you, but no. Our paths never crossed.”
“Please, tell me who you are.”
Her smile was bittersweet. “I knew Ronan.”
She knew…
 It was like rewinding a tape in my head.
I’d been asked to recount the story the other day from the beginning. Why
were Ronan and Sara killed? Why was Owen kidnapped? What was the
nexus of it all, the impetus for the decimation of that family?
All the air left my body at once.
Her expression didn’t change. She didn’t gloat or smile. She was
resigned.
“It was you,” I barely got out.
She nodded. “It was me.”
“You slept with Ronan.”
“I did. I recorded our encounters and—”
“He said it was only once,” I said defensively, still angry, it seemed, that
he’d betrayed his marriage vows. I felt stupid for showing her it could hurt
me.
She scoffed. “He was addicted to me, Colonel, and the heroin helped.”
I could only stare.
“He’d been injured so often. He was in constant pain.”
It was the same for many operatives I knew.
“The agency, as you know, doesn’t allow prolonged narcotic use. It’s
considered a weakness. One can be dismissed for that.”
“Yes,” I agreed.
“He had no alternative but to turn to the next thing that would help.”
Lots of people moved from oxycodone to heroin. I wasn’t naive.
“When Ronan tumbled into my trap, my husband and I couldn’t believe
our luck. A well-connected CIA agent who wanted to fuck and get high,” she
explained without a trace of emotion. “It was too good to be true. I funneled
information to my husband that kept our Irish deal in play. We brokered that
together. We were moving up, both of us Blue Lanterns with the 14K at the
time.”
Blue Lanterns were the uninitiated members of the triad, equivalent to
mafia associates. She and her husband had wanted more, and from what she
was saying, had been close to getting there.
“But then,” she said, and finally, I could hear some real emotion, real
pain, “my husband, the fool, grew jealous. It was ridiculous, but still, he
wanted me to stop. And Ronan”—she scoffed—“suddenly he had a crisis of
conscience. Not about his wife. Never about her, never about us screwing,
but about his government. He was worried about betraying his oath,” she
said, the disgust clear in her voice. “I saw you that night. I was watching
when you entered his home, and later, when I called, he said he couldn’t see
me ever again. He was turning himself in, confessing all he knew, including
everything about me and my husband and the dead policeman in Ireland.”
Ronan had believed he was talking to someone just as compromised as he
was. He never saw her as his enemy but as an addiction he couldn’t quit.
“Ronan forced our hand.”
I nodded.
“We were in jeopardy. Everything could have been lost, including our
lives. He would be killed, so would I, but for me it would’ve been the brothel
first.”
“So you killed Ronan.” It was all such a waste.
“I did. I was furious. I tried to take his head off but couldn’t quite manage
it. I left my knife so the triad would know it was me.”
“And Sara, his wife?”
“My husband…he couldn’t cut her throat. He watched her all day.
Couldn’t put a bullet in her, couldn’t take her head. She was a woman, after
all, a mother. He found a better way, he said, quicker. She’d never know what
happened.”
The pieces of the puzzle all of a sudden fit together.
“The bomb.”
She nodded.
“That was messy. Lots of casualties.”
“Yes. He’d never used C-4 before and had no idea how much to use.”
“There were bodies everywhere.”
“Too many,” she whispered. “It was too noisy, too big, too noticeable.
The police were all over us, all of us, the entire organization. She was the
wife of a spy, so your agency cleaned it up and the embassy ran point. But
still, an American woman died, so the police were told, heads would roll.
There was so much pressure to put 14K in the ground, and the higher-ups had
no issue feeding the authorities all the small fish.”
“Your husband, but not you.”
She nodded. “Not me.”
“Because you did your part.”
“Yes. I killed the agent, only him, and left my mark.”
“But your husband fucked up.”
“He did.”
 “And to prove your loyalty, you had to kill him.”
Slow nod.
“He knew he was done, so he told you to do it.”
“Don’t presume to imagine how it happened,” she snarled at me, her
mask starting to slip. She was all fury and pain and vengeful wrath under her
veneer of calm.
“Okay,” I said, understanding right then that I would never be safe from
this woman. Not me, not Owen, not ever. She would have her pound of flesh
because it was personal.
“I proved my worth to the group. That was all that mattered since my love
was dead.”
“Why me?” I had to know.
“Ronan was dead, his wife was dead, but you, Colonel, the one who
helped engineer his change of heart, who threw him a lifeline, who planned to
deliver him to the embassy the following day, you were still alive.”
“He told you all that?” I blurted out.
She nodded.
How stupid could the man be? Years of training out the window because
Ronan thought she was a victim as much as he was.
“You blame me,” I said flatly, “but in the end, like you said, he didn’t
want to betray his country. And turning himself in was the only way he could
make sure his family was safe.”
Ignoring me, she continued, “But his wife was dead, and even though you
were gone, nowhere to be found, there was still one person I could strike at—
the child, whom I’d had the foresight to grab despite my husband’s
objections. So I sold the boy to the Macau sex trade, thought nothing more of
it. But my happiness in knowing that Ronan’s son would be defiled was
short-lived. When you tore through the city to find the boy, you gave me the
instrument of my revenge. And while it was impossible to strike at you in the
US or Europe, I knew if I was patient, if I waited, if I planned, I could get to
you through Ronan’s son.”
We lapsed into silence then, each taking the measure of the other.
“So,” she said, uncrossing and recrossing her legs, leaning a bit forward.
“Did you arrive here this evening prepared to die?”
“No,” I said flatly. “I came to kill you.”
She laughed. “How like a man to assume that since I’m a woman, you
can dispatch me so easily.”
 “No. Not at all. I didn’t even know who you were, as you recall.”
I watched her startle over the reminder.
“My plan when I came here was to kill whoever tried to kill Owen, and
now that I know you’re the one who sold Owen to the sex trade, I know
you’ll never stop.”
“No, I won’t.”
“But if I kill you, nothing changes. I don’t see how that fixes anything.”
She hated me, yes, but she was also confused at the moment. “There’s
nothing to fix, Colonel. The damage was done a lifetime ago. What could you
possibly hope to accomplish?”
“The dismantling of everything you’ve built on the blood of others. I
wasn’t sure what I was going to do until right this second. But you dying is
too easy. You have to help put a lot of people behind bars.”
“You’re deluded,” she replied, her voice almost shrill, thrumming with
anger.
“You killed a CIA agent and his wife, and you kidnapped their son—
twice. You have to pay for that.”
At which point the agents Darius had promised me rushed through Ming
Gray’s front door.
She had a gun shoved down between the couch cushion and the arm, but
she went for it too late. The agents had her restrained in seconds.
“We’re all older,” I told her as she was handcuffed. “None of us are as
fast or as deadly as we once were.”
She started screaming then, threatening me with everything she could
think of.
“You’ll never be free again,” I promised her as they took her away. “And
I hope you think about Ronan and Sara Moss every day for the rest of your
life.”
Once she was gone, Darius and Dante came in. Darius sat down at the
computer in her office, plugged in a jump drive, and seconds later had full
access to all her files.
“That was a bit anticlimactic,” Dante told me.
I shook my head. “Wanted a big shoot-out, did you?”
He shrugged. “It’s never as exciting as you think it’s going to be.”
“I, for one, am always thankful for that,” Darius chimed in. “And from
what I’m reading, it looks like Fang killed Peter Barrows, the bodyguard.
There’s a video of his last moments that I’m going to get rid of. No one ever
needs to see that.”
I texted Aaron Sutter to let him know that the person responsible for Peter
Barrows’s death was himself dead.
“At least Aaron can let the family know.” It would perhaps bring some
comfort.
Moments later, Darius’s phone pinged. “Oh look,” he huffed out.
The text was from Everett Burke himself, the assistant director of the
CIA, a thank-you for the capture of Ming Gray. He was certain she would be
a font of helpful information.
“Okay, so maybe you won’t owe him one,” Darius said, glancing up from
the computer screen. “Maybe you get out of this without a scratch.”
“Really?” I said drolly.
We left before the Hong Kong Police Force showed up, because
answering questions about how the CIA had removed one of their citizens
was not going to put us on the good list. It was called rendition for a reason.
Darius, Dante, and I headed back down the road, retracing the earlier
route we’d taken through the woods to where the car was parked.
“So what happens to the money Gray took?” Dante asked me.
“Owen took them to the cleaners,” I said, yawning. “The worm he used to
track Suwan’s money was a hydra that infiltrated all of Gray’s bank accounts.
It siphoned off her syndicate’s millions and reallocated them to needy causes
all over Thailand.”
“No shit.” Dante chuckled. “That’s awesome. How much?”
“Minus Suwan’s four million in crypto, a little over a quarter billion. All
anonymously donated to many, many worthy causes.”
“And no one will think to look at you for that?”
“No. For all anyone knows, Gray mismanaged funds and lied about what
she had and what her people should expect.”
Dante said, “I like how that worked out. I appreciate the karma.”
I grinned. “I knew you would.”

I T WAS ALWAYS EASIER to say goodbyes when you had a plan to see your
favorite people again.
“Thanksgiving in Maine it is,” I told Dante, hugging him tight at the
departure terminal, closing my eyes for a second and leaning on him. “Please
give Noah my best.”
 “I will,” he whispered, hugging me back. “Give Owen a kiss for me.”
“I will,” I promised.
Darius agreed to Thanksgiving as well, and when he hugged me, I felt the
last of the tension finally leave me.
This was over.
“Start living,” Darius husked, giving me a last clench before letting me
go.
I was planning on it.
I waved as they pulled away, then walked into the terminal. I called Owen
from the plane.
“Are you hurt?” he asked worriedly.
“No. Not a mark on me.”
“You mean, no new marks on you.”
“Yes. That’s what I mean.”
He took a breath. “Is it over?”
“It is absolutely over.”
“You’re certain?” Of course he would double-check. If our roles were
reversed, so would I. “No one’s trying to kill you.”
“Not at the moment,” I said dryly.
“Jared,” he warned me.
“I promise you, we’re in the clear.”
I heard his breath catch. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You sound tired.”
“I think it hasn’t sunk in yet that we can go home.”
“Well, don’t go home yet. Come pick me up first.”
“That’s my plan.”
“Good. I can’t wait to see you.”
I felt the same.

I T WAS VERY EARLY in the morning when I returned to the villa. Darius’s men
had already departed, but there was still a retinal scan before the front door
opened. It was comforting.
And there was Owen, asleep on the couch in the living room. I didn’t
want to wake him. He needed his rest—we’d talked last at a ridiculous hour
of the morning—but I suspected that not waking him would be a mistake.
 I crouched down beside him and kissed his forehead. When his eyes
drifted open, all I saw was warmth and love. I was a lucky man.
“I was thinking,” he said, his voice gravelly with sleep, “that when we get
home, we should go to the pound and get a dog. I’ve wanted one, but I’ve
been putting it off, not knowing what would happen with us.”
“That’s a good plan. I love that plan.”
“Okay,” he said.
I leaned down, he opened his arms, and then we were hugging. It was so
good, so warm, so new, yet familiar at the same time. I wanted to stay there
forever.
“Lie down,” he prodded me, and I didn’t question him. Instead, I
snuggled in right there on the couch, and we were tangled in seconds. I toed
off my shoes, sighed deeply, and closed my eyes. “Oh yes, this is perfect,” he
whispered in my ear.
And it was.

I CALLED the ambassador the next day, thanked him for his assistance, and
told him I was leaving. He thanked me for letting him know and told me to
please consider waiting until he transferred to return.
“Yeah, he hates you,” Jing assured me when we parted at the commercial
terminal. She was flying first class home to Paris, and Garland, who, it turned
out, wasn’t needed on the op, was meeting her there. “I mean, really, you
could try the patience of a saint.”
When I looked to Owen for help, he just squinted at me. Apparently, he
agreed.
I hugged Jing really tight, and she said to please not wrinkle her.
“Rest a bit,” she told me, then hugged Arden and Owen. “Maybe stay
home and watch some TV.”
She was cackling as she strutted away from us.
Once Owen and I were seated on our plane, Arden took us smoothly up
into the sky.
“I can’t wait to get home.” Owen sighed, his head on my shoulder.
“I have a question,” I said, and he lifted his head and looked at me. “Nam
told me that you had hundreds of pictures of me on your phone that you
showed him.”
“Of course I have pictures of you. Why wouldn’t I?”
 “It just never crossed my mind that you would.”
“I’m madly in love with you,” he said dismissively. “And everyone’s
phone is filled with pictures of their family and of their one and only. Don’t
be dumb.”
His honesty rendered me mute. He had pictures of me because I was his
love, simple as that.
“Just so we’re clear, anyone who looks into you going forward will find
me everywhere. They won’t be able to miss that I’m the man in your life.”
“No, Owen, that could be dangerous.”
“Not anymore. I look at Dante, I look at Darius, and they live their lives
in the open. Aaron Sutter has a husband whom everyone on the planet knows.
We’re going to be just like that. We’re done with all the cloak-and-dagger
bullshit. Wait until we get married. It’s going to be really obnoxious.”
Married? I couldn’t stop staring at him.
“You look a bit stunned. Here, put your head down on my shoulder and
rest. You’ll feel better if you get some sleep.”
Ready or not.
 EIGHTEEN

I was happy, and so since I was, I kept waiting for something horrible to
happen.
We went to the pound and got Ernie, a black-and-white pit bull who’d
been there almost a year and who was the absolute sweetest boy. We also got
Lulu, a Pomeranian-Chihuahua mix, because she was adorable and no one
wanted her because she was eleven. Who in their right mind got rid of a dog
that had been with them for so long? It was like throwing away a member of
the family. Owen said that perhaps her owner had died and there had been no
provisions made for the dog. When we got home, I made him check, and with
a few keystrokes we found out that Lulu had been surrendered because her
people got a new puppy.
“You see?” I told him. “People suck.”
He nodded and hugged me and passed me Lulu, who had liked me right
off. She’d stuck her little paw through the bars to get my attention. I carried
her the rest of the time we were at the shelter and almost chicken-winged a
woman who reached out to pet her. She was already mine, best everyone
knew.
I kept waiting for someone to make a remark about Owen and me, about
our age difference, and the lady taking our information at the shelter—I just
knew—was going to ask me if the dogs were for my son. Instead, she told us
how happy she was that Ernie was going home with such a great couple.
Owen had waggled his eyebrows at me.
We went out to dinner, and the hostess came to tell me our table was
ready, and then, making conversation on the way to the table, asked Owen
how long we’d been married.
“I guess you look like you belong to me,” he teased, leaning sideways in
the booth to kiss the side of my neck.
At work, walking in, holding Owen’s hand, no one paid us any attention.
Not even a look. Only Benji congratulated Owen on me finally pulling my
head out of my ass.
“What did he say?” I asked when we were alone in my office.
Taking my face in his hands, he eased me close so he could kiss me.
“Everyone knew it would happen, Jared. It was just a question of when.”
Skyping with Croy, one of my old fixers who now worked as a private
investigator in Las Vegas—a business I owned half of—when he saw Owen
kiss my cheek before he left to get lunch, he grinned.
“You have something to say, Croy?”
“No, sir. That’s just nice, is all, and it’s excellent that it happened before
the turn of the century.”
Everyone was a wiseass.
At home, Owen did exactly as he said he would and simply moved his
bedroom. Nothing changed. It was our house, our home, but instead of going
to bed alone, I had him there, reading in bed, tracking something on the
Japanese black market, or watching true-crime dramas or stories about serial
killers.
“Explain the appeal?” I asked him, gesturing at the TV screen.
“The bad guys always get caught. Good always wins.”
I smiled at him because I liked that part too.
Owen had to go out of town to be a guest lecturer at Stanford University,
and made me promise not to invite any strange men home while he was gone.
“Yeah, maybe don’t worry about that,” I told him when I kissed him
goodbye at the security checkpoint.
“Oh, Daddy,” a man said as he passed us.
Owen growled, shooting lasers out of his eyes. “This is why we need to
get married. Guys keep looking at you like…” He huffed in frustration. “You
need a ring.”
I chuckled into his hair, then kissed his cheek. “I don’t need a ring.
You’re the catch. You told me, remember?” I teased him.
“No, Jared,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around my neck. “It’s you.
Oh, baby, it’s so you. You’re the catch, and I’m so happy you’re mine.”
I was. All his.
 At home, I fed the dogs, then took them for a walk. We were on our
regular route, around the park, through the wooded area, when suddenly
Ernie stopped. I was carrying Lulu by that time, just for a little way since her
legs were so much shorter.
“Hey, buddy, let’s go,” I prodded him, but he stepped in front of me, not
letting me move as he stared at the tree line.
Since I wasn’t stupid, I bolted behind a tree, Ernie right behind me as I
heard the first shot.
Setting Lulu on the ground, I gave the command firmly, “Down,” and
was so thankful that Owen had trained them to do this—to lie down and not
move until we called for them.
Lulu did it like a champ. I wish I’d had time to take a picture to show the
trainer who said that could never happen with a Chihuahua, but another shot
tore a chunk out of the tree I was using for cover and I had to lure whoever
away from my dogs. I ran all out for better cover, only making it halfway
before I was hit in the spine by a heavy kick that sent me toppling nose first
into the dirt. I rolled from my belly and scrabbled to my feet barely ahead of
the attacker closing in on me. The Asian man was fit, a Buckmaster 184
clutched in his left hand in the classic knife-fighting position. The assassin
dropped low and made two quick jabs upward, wielding the blade with a
practiced brutal grace. Just as he jabbed, I parried, and the blade scythed
through the air, barely an inch past my face. I clenched a fist, sending my
best haymaker into the man’s jaw as he slashed at my lower abdomen, intent
on sending my bowels spilling out onto the leaf-covered ground. The blow
connected like a piston, sending his world to black, giving me the second I
needed to draw the Glock 43 I never left the house without. I leveled the
handgun and finished the attacker off with two precise shots to the head as he
fell away.
“Fuck,” I hissed, hearing what sounded like heavy footsteps behind me.
Of course, the bastard had a partner in the woods with him trying to kill me. I
spun around toward the source of the sound and saw a shape six or seven
meters away, I calculated, bolting forward. He had the drop on me, but I had
the early evening gloom and undergrowth in my favor. I made an instant
calculation and squeezed two three-round bursts in the direction of the shape.
It was a microsecond before the crack of two suppressed shots in my
direction. I shrieked in pain as I felt hot metal from one of the rounds pierce
my right shoulder.
 Diving for the nearest available cover, I held position, stifling my own
groans as I listened in the dark for any movement. It was impossible with the
rush of blood in my ears, my heart pounding furiously against my rib cage as
I breathed heavily. I was thankful for the silence because my gun was empty.
When I was certain it was safe, I crept in the direction of my shots, finding
where the man landed about two meters away.
I illuminated the dead man with the screen of my iPhone, seeing the look
of dumb surprise on his face, his mouth agape as if to shout. My bullets had
slapped into his neck and upper chest, blood pooling around him.
I holstered the Glock and sank against the nearest tree and called for the
dogs. I praised them both, petted them both, and realized that the round in my
shoulder had simply grazed me. It was good news, as this way Owen
wouldn’t murder me.
I called Darius on FaceTime because the CIA agent in charge in Chicago
was an asshole but I needed help. Calling the police was not an option.
“Hey,” he greeted me happily, summer-green eyes glinting as he smiled,
and then instantly his brows furrowed as he looked at me. “What’s wrong?”
I turned the phone so he could see the guys dead a few yards away from
me and then back. “I was ambushed. I need some help.”
“Who the fuck are they?”
“I have no idea, but I caught a bullet and I’m bleeding, so I can’t move
anyone myself.”
“Do you need a doctor?”
“Unfortunately, yes. But only for stitches.”
“Hold tight,” Darius told me, shaking his head.
“This is not my fault,” I said defensively.
He didn’t say anything more before he hung up on me.
Sitting there, with Ernie beside me and Lulu in my lap, I was scared this
was going to keep happening. Perhaps it was time to take Owen and the dogs
and move overseas, someplace safer. I didn’t want to, but I would do
anything to keep my family safe.
And then I jolted, because if I’d been attacked, perhaps Owen had been as
well. I had already arranged for security for him when he got off the plane.
He’d be met by Rais Solano, one of my fixers, who had been in Dublin,
California, on a case that just closed. But there was no one to protect him on
the plane.
I called Darius back. It went to voice mail as I heard sirens in the
distance. Moments later, I saw people coming through the trees, and one face
I knew.
“Doyle?”
Ian Doyle, retired Green Beret, retired Ranger turned deputy US marshal,
came jogging up to me. He crouched down and offered me his hand. He had
been a member of my team many times in the field to retrieve both personnel
and weapons. Under pressure, there were few better than him.
“Colonel,” he greeted me, taking my hand in both of his, other men
coming up behind him, going to the bodies, stripping off the black ski masks
and gloves, needing identification. “Good to see you, sir.”
“And you,” I said hoarsely, relieved not to be alone. Fucking Doyle, he’d
always shown up when I needed him.
“Just some quick intel before I transport you to the hospital. The flight
Mr. Moss is on has been cleared by Harris and his people, and there are no
active threats there.”
My relief was overwhelming, and I had to put my head down for a
moment.
“Sir, I actually have Harris on the line for you.”
Funny to hear him use Harris instead of Darius or Hawthorne, but that
was how he knew my friend and had clearly never been corrected. He passed
me his phone, gave me a nod, then went to join the others next to the men I’d
killed.
“How do you know Ian Doyle?” I asked Darius.
“I know everybody. And Owen’s safe. I’m sure Doyle informed you.”
“He did. Thank you.”
“The marshal service will take over this crime scene, secure the bodies
for transport, and deliver them to the FBI.”
“Which is great, but…what the hell?”
“Come on, you knew it wasn’t over,” he snapped at me. “There’s always
the final battle.”
“And is this it?”
“It is. You have there two of Tommy Yu’s men.”
I waited.
“Apparently Yu wasn’t stupid and knew that somehow you were
responsible for him not getting paid for delivering you to Suwan.”
“Tommy Yu put a contract on me?”
“Of course he did.”
 “For how much?”
“A million, which would have been good, but who’s going to take the
contract to kill you? And more importantly, who’s going to cross the men
who didn’t take the contract to kill you?”
I thought a moment. “Daoud. Rahm Daoud. He never liked me.”
“Yes, but he likes me,” Darius said with conviction. “And he’d never
cross Chris either.”
Everyone else was either a friend or now worked for Darius. “What about
Farley? Castor Farley? That kid from California?”
“No. He works exclusively in Europe now. We had an altercation a few
years ago. I told him to stay out of Boston, but to be on the safe side, he left
the country.”
Who could blame him?
“So if no one wants the money to kill me, why are there dead men who
just tried to kill me?”
“As I said, when Yu got no takers, he took it upon himself to see you
dead.”
“Okay, but what’s to stop Tommy Yu from sending every member of his
gang after me until I’m dead?”
“Interestingly enough, he was killed by one of his lieutenants two nights
ago. As we always suspected, there is, in fact, no honor among thieves.”
“And the new guy in charge doesn’t care about me?”
“No. It seems that was the point of contention. Most of Yu’s men didn’t
want to wage war with you over money that could never be recouped.
There’s no profit in revenge.”
He was right. There wasn’t.
“Thank you for sending the cavalry,” I said, sighing deeply. “Again.”
“Oh, you didn’t need help, old man. You killed two guys in the woods,
alone, all by yourself. You just need help with the cleanup.”
“And stitches.” I winced.
“How many you think?”
“Ten maybe? Fifteen?”
It was twenty, which was surprising, and as I sat there with Ian Doyle,
who’d been kind enough to have my dogs dropped off at my house, the
curtain was swept sideways and I was faced with Chief Deputy Sam Kage. I
knew him by reputation only, but he was friends with Duncan Stiel, who was
Aaron Sutter’s husband as well as Darius’s oldest friend, so I felt like we
could have met at a dinner party at some point.
Kage said, “I don’t like it when requests don’t come through official
channels, Colonel,” but he walked over and offered me his hand. “And the
FBI and CIA both, on a Sunday night, is a lot.”
“I’m sure it is. And I never liked that either, but there were mitigating
circumstances.”
He nodded, letting go of my hand. “Thank you for your service, Colonel.”
“And yours,” I said, returning the sentiment.
He gave Doyle a tip of his head, and then he was gone.
“I like him,” I told Doyle.
“Yeah. Me too,” he agreed.
Finally home, I collapsed on my bed, with the dogs, and was there when
Owen called.
“Hi,” I greeted him, smiling even though he couldn’t see me.
“Why didn’t you pick up the FaceTime call?”
“Because I look like hammered shit,” I confessed, my eyes closing. “And
I didn’t want to worry you.”
“Worry me?”
“You should know that both your dogs are really good with the down
command. They were awesome.”
He gasped. “What happened?” Worry and fear infused his voice.
“It’s okay, I’m fine, but there were a couple of guys in the woods who
tried to kill me.”
Nothing. Silence.
“But I defended myself successfully, and there won’t be any more guys
coming because the guy who was trying to kill me is dead too.”
Still quiet on his end.
“Owen?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he yelled.
I grunted.
“Jared Colter!”
That was loud.
“How dare you not— I’m coming home.”
“No, no,” I groaned. “You just got there, and everything’s fine. Just stay,
do your talk, get paid, and get all the cheers and adulation. Otherwise you’re
going to get a reputation as a guy who doesn’t keep his commitments—”
“I don’t give a shit,” he rasped. “You know what I do care about?”
 “I know, but really, I’m fine. I have a tiny scratch that needed some
stitches, but I’m fine, and there’s nothing you—”
“A scratch doesn’t need stitches,” he said flatly and hung up.
It was rude, but I forgave him because I was exhausted. I was asleep in
moments.

I GOT up before dawn the next morning, showered, replaced the bandage,
took the antibiotics as directed, and just as I went to the kitchen, the front
door opened and Owen came through. He dropped his duffel and laptop bag
by the door, and the dogs ran to greet him, happy and excited, even at the
ridiculous hour of a little after four in the morning.
I went to him immediately, and he wrapped me in his arms and stood
there, breathing me in. Neither of us said a word until he inhaled deeply and
looked up at me, scowling.
“You shouldn’t have come back, but I’m deliriously happy to see you.”
He put his hand on my cheek, and I leaned into it, closing my eyes.
“I get mad, and then I can’t even speak, and I have to stop that,” Owen
told me, kissing my other cheek before pulling me into another hug. “I won’t
ever hang up on you again, because how are you to know that I’m turning
around and going right back to the airport instead of cursing your name?”
“I thought you were cursing my name,” I said softly, pressing my face
into the side of his neck, kissing over his skin.
“Well, I wasn’t. I just got back on a plane, made lavish apologies, and
said I would do a three-day web seminar instead. They were thrilled, so I’ll
be doing that next week instead of working for the FBI. I’m sure they’ll
understand.”
I lifted my head and grinned at him. “Great. You’re annoying another
three-letter agency. How could that ever backfire?”
“Are you hopped up on painkillers?” he asked me, smiling wide.
“No. Painkillers? For a tiny little cut?”
He walked me to the bathroom, peeled off the large gauze bandage I had
put over it, inspected the wound that did look angry, and then covered it
again and looked up into my face. “That is not a small cut. That was a gaping
wound that I’m sure bled quite a bit.”
I grunted. “Speaking of, my leather jacket is fucked unless someone can
mend it. Maybe we could get a cool patch, get the blood out.”
 He shook his head at me and walked me into our bedroom, to our bed,
and started stripping out of his clothes.
“When those guys attacked me, all I could think…” His Henley flew off,
thrown aside, and his wide, muscular chest distracted me, on top of all that
sleek gold skin that was melting my brain. I tried again. “All I could think
was how mad—glad, I mean—how glad I was that you weren’t— What’re
you doing?”
He toed off his Converse, then undid his button-fly jeans and shucked
them off.
“You say you’re fine, so show me,” Owen said flatly, his tone brooking
no protest, only possessiveness and dominance.
My breath caught, and I started stripping as he pulled off his boxer briefs
and went to the nightstand. I was naked by the time he lay down in bed,
noting he was already hard, and watched, mesmerized, as he opened the lube
and started greasing his long, thick cock.
“I would have sucked that for you,” I barely got out.
“And you will, later,” he promised, “but right now, I want you to crawl
up here and ride me, because I need to be inside you.”
I did as I was told. I crawled up the bed and straddled his hips, moaning
loudly when he took hold of me in his slick grip.
“Go slow,” he ordered, “but take me in.”
Taking hold of him, I pressed the wide head to my entrance and began
slowly sinking over him. No one who hadn’t been in bed with Owen Moss
would ever imagine that he was endowed with a club of a cock. He felt
incredible, but steady and easy was the only way to go. It had the added
benefit, as my muscles stretched and opened for him, of driving him mad.
“Fuck,” he rasped, his hands on my thighs so tight, they were shaking.
I pressed down, then lifted up, working his cock deep inside, my hands on
his chest gripping hard.
“You feel so good, so good,” he husked, lifting his chin, pleading in his
gaze. “Come here, kiss me. Kiss me now.”
I grinned instead, levering up and then lowering over him, seating myself
fully, ass to groin, before clenching my muscles around him.
“Jared!” he yelled as I began to move, pressing deeper, moving on his
cock, grinding over him, loving the twinges of pain combined with the
rubbing that caused wave after wave of heat and near, but not quite, release.
“You’re so hard, and you feel so good,” I murmured, lifting up and
driving back down, over and over, leaning forward to get more slide, more
friction, just more of his cock in my ass.
He caught my mouth, his kisses voracious, ravaging as I rode him, and
then he lifted and flipped me to my hands and knees. I braced myself as he
took hold of my hips and thrust inside me, instantly easing back, then
thrusting again, giving me the pounding I craved and begged for, the slapping
of our skin loud in the room.
Gripping my shoulder and hip, he held me tightly, firmly, making sure I
couldn’t move as he plunged deep and hard, sending me over the edge, my
cum spattering the sheets beneath me as my muscles tensed all at once.
I felt his orgasm before he howled my name, coming in spasms, sliding
out before I was ready, still twitching, shaking, and then his tongue was there,
tasting himself in my body, licking, laving, taking his time. I shuddered as he
slid back inside me, his cock still so hard, gliding easily through lube and
cum. He rolled me onto my side, his arms and legs wrapped around me,
holding me tight as I came apart in his arms.
“You’re so mine,” he whispered in my ear, his breath hot and wet. “I
want to be inside you for the rest of my life, having you whenever I want.
Promise me.”
I nodded because speaking was beyond me at the moment. My skin was
hot and tight, he was buried inside me, and the feeling of fullness was
overwhelming and needed at the same time. His mouth on the side of my
neck, the kisses and bites and licking, made me jolt in his embrace.
“I love you more than anything, and I need to be here, with you, in you,
by your side, as long as we both shall live.”
I smiled then. We were back to this.
“Your ring is going to be so ridiculous and over-the-top,” Owen cackled
softly, taking hold of my half-hard cock and squeezing gently, making me
hiss with the sensation. “Big diamonds, lots of platinum so everyone will
know you belong to me.”
I nodded as he stroked me, slowly, decadently, feeling the haze of sex, of
that loop of pleasure I’d only ever felt with him. He moved gently behind me,
my head on his bicep as he rocked forward and back, pushing inside,
undulating against me, and just that he wanted me, had to have me, laid claim
inside and out, made me spurt over his hand. It wasn’t much, nor was what he
pumped inside me the second time, but I had never been so sated, so utterly at
peace.
 “I love you,” I whispered so he’d know, just in case there was any
question.
“I know,” he whispered back, arm around my chest as he pressed his face
to my nape.
I could have lain there like that forever.

M UCH LATER , we both got up, took showers, and he made sure my wound
stayed dry and then changed the bandage. He was out of the room fast, but I
had to find my sweats since the house was decidedly cold.
“I think we need to turn on the…heat,” I finished when I reached the
kitchen and found him down on one knee with an open ring box in his hand
—two wide diamond baguettes channel-set in satin-finish platinum. I
couldn’t contain my grin. “How long have you had that?”
“A long time. Since I moved back.”
“And you just knew?”
“I just knew,” Owen ground out, his voice thick and husky.
“Some way, somehow, I was gonna marry you. That’s your story?” I
teased him, smiling wide, holding out my hand.
“Yes,” he croaked out, taking the thick ring—that was not at all
ostentatious or ridiculous, but instead sturdy and classic and beautiful—and
sliding it onto my finger. It fit perfectly. “I knew. I always knew. It couldn’t
be any other way. I had to have you. Without you, I could never be this
happy, this content…this me.”
“Same,” I told him, and he stood and staggered forward into my arms. I
hugged him tight, and he hugged me back, crying softly into the side of my
neck. “I love you, Owen. I told you before, and you know it’s true. And I’m
gonna drive you nuts, but just remember who got whom a ring.”
“Oh, I’ll remember.” He chuckled softly in my ear. “Now kiss me.”
And I did.
 A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

Thank you so much for reading The Big Fix, the fifth book in my continuing
Torus series. Hopefully, you loved Jared and Owen in their action-adventure
which is a bit of a departure from the first four. If you did, please consider
leaving a review on Amazon. Reviews help so much with a book’s visibility
and kind words are always appreciated.
Many of the characters in this book have their own books:
Darius Hawthorne is from Late In The Day.
Dante Cerreto is from Again.
And, of course, Sam Kage and Ian Doyle are from my ongoing Marshals
series.
Be sure to follow me on Amazon to stay up to date on new releases and
don’t forget to sign up for my newsletter here.
Please pop by my website or visit me on social media to stay in touch. I
have some really cute pics of my furry ninja on Instagram. And if you like to
listen to your books as well, you can find me on Audible as well.
I hope to see you soon!
ALSO BY MARY CALMES

By Mary Calmes

BREAKING TRADITION
Muscle and Bone
Mist and Marrow

HOUSE OF MAEDOC
His Consort
His Prince

L’ANGE
Old Loyalty, New Love
Fighting Instinct
Chosen Pride
Winter’s Knight

MARSHALS
All Kinds of Tied Down
Fit To Be Tied
Tied Up in Knots
Twisted and Tied
Balanced and Tied

TIMING
Timing
After The Sunset

TORUS INTERCESSION
No Quick Fix
 In A Fix
Fix It Up
The Fix Is In

THE VAULT
A Day Makes
Late In The Day

WARDERS
His Hearth (Warders #1)
Tooth & Nail (Warders #2)
Heart In Hand (Warders #3)
Sinnerman (Warders #4)
Nexus (Warders #5)
Cherish Your Name (Warders #6)

Any Closer
More Than Life
Scratch The Surface
Stand In Place
Steamroller

Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS

www.dreamspinnerpress.com
Acrobat
Again
Floodgates
Frog
The Guardian
Heart of the Race
Ice Around the Edges
Judgment
Just Desserts
Kairos
Lay It Down
Mine
 Romanus * Chevalier
The Servant
Still
What Can Be
Where You Lead
You Never Know

CHANGE OF HEART
Change of Heart
Trusted Bond
Honored Vow
Crucible of Fate
Forging the Future

MANGROVE STORIES
Blue Days
Quiet Nights
Sultry Sunset
Easy Evenings
Sleeping ‘til Sunrise

A MATTER OF TIME
A Matter of Time Vol.1
A Matter of Time Vol. 2
Bulletproof
But For You
Parting Shot
Piece of Cake
 ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Mary Calmes believes in romance, happily ever afters, and the faith it takes for her characters to get
there. She bleeds coffee, thinks chocolate should be its own food group, and currently lives in
Kentucky with a six-pound furry ninja that protects her from baby birds, spiders and the neighbor’s
dogs. To stay up to date on her ponderings and pandemonium (as well as the adventures of the ninja)
follow her on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and subscribe to her newsletter.