She kicked her ankle, hard, against the bench they were sitting on. So hard blood showed through her pant leg. She kicked again.

“Hey!” Hector looked astonished. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Ankles, head, hands. She banged her shoulder against the van wall, over and over again, raking her hands over a nail, writhing, kicking. She was in a frenzy now. If they were going to kill her then by God no one was going to think she’d killed herself. No way.

She launched herself at Hector, biting him, scratching his face. There’d be his DNA under her fingernails. Talk that one away, you son of a bitch!

He understood, and tried to keep her away with his gloved hands but Isabel was having none of it. The point was not getting away. She knew she’d never escape, she could only foil his plans.

This was the man who had killed her family. The most wonderful people in the world and he’d killed them for money! Blood was running over her face from a cut in her forehead. She swiped at it and smeared it on Hector, smeared it on the van’s bench.

He was backing away from her but there was no room to avoid her. A low inhuman growl escaped her throat as she beat her bound fists against him, getting in close and unstoppable.

Screams of rage came from her throat now as she kicked, swung her fists, turned her fingers into claws, bit away a chunk of his cheek.

Blood. She tasted his blood and it drove her insane. He should bleed and he should die!

They tumbled around the back of the van as it turned corners fast, sometimes sliding on the icy roads. That was fine, that was great. The more bruises the better. She lunged forward and her elbow caught the driver on the side of the head.

“Hey!” The driver turned, eyes wide and white in the darkness. Isabel turned on him, too. He was perfectly willing to kill her and she was perfectly willing to hurt him. She shoved one foot in Blake’s face and grabbed the driver’s arm.

“You crazy, lady?” His voice was high-pitched, scared. She was right behind him, he couldn’t see her in the rearview mirror, so he was driving with his head on a swivel, watching the road and trying to see the crazy lady behind him. “The fuck? We’re on a fucking bridge, you want us to go over?”

Yes! A voice roared in her head. Explain that to the police!

She launched herself so that she was facedown on the passenger seat, Blake pulling at her legs, the driver trying to punch her but she was unpunchable. She was Isabel the unpunchable, the unstoppable, full of rage, out for revenge.

The overhead streetlights of the bridge lit the driver’s face then left it in darkness and each time it light up he looked more desperate, more wild. His one-handed punches had no effect. She could feel the van sliding on the street and with one last lunge—this one’s for you, Mom and Dad, Teddy and Rob and Jack—she pulled the steering wheel as hard as she could to the right and felt something crunch against the fender and then they were sailing, flying out into the night.

Hector and the driver screamed and Isabel savored their fear, but not for long because the van hit the surface of the river and started sinking.

* * *

The old jalopy pulled away before Joe could even get the door closed.

The car was filled with gear. The homeless guy dumped a small monitor and IR binocs in Joe’s lap. There were handguns and four Maglites in the footwell.

“Watch the screen,” he said.

Joe looked but couldn’t figure out what he was seeing. The man—Jack Delvaux—gave a disgusted noise. “I can’t believe my sister picked such a moron. Look at it, goddamned you! Blake had access to a small EMP generator, it’s the only thing that makes sense. We had intel that the Chinese had come up with something like this only we’d never seen it. But I had a hardened tracker embedded in a plastic that is indistinguishable from human skin and I slapped it onto Blake’s neck. It’s functional. Check that green dot.”

Joe looked down and sure enough, a green dot was running along the river.

“They won’t know we can follow them.” Jack looked briefly over his shoulder. “You two, you’re shooters, right?”

Metal and Jacko nodded. Metal aimed a thumb at Jacko. “He’s the best shot we’ve got. But I’m a medic, too. If anything happens to Isabel, I’m there.”

If anything happens to Isabel. Code for Isabel being shot to death, knifed to death, strangled... A pulse of fear so strong it bathed his body in sweat went through Joe’s system.

Jack shifted his eyes without moving his head. “You. Joe. Former navy SEAL. Keep your fucking head in the fucking game. That’s my sister and we’re bringing her back. Alive.”

“Yeah.” His voice was so hoarse he could hardly talk.

“Believe it. See it, live it.”

Jacko punched Joe’s shoulder from the backseat. Hard. “Yo. I can’t believe you’re letting a CIA punk give you a pep talk. ‘Smatter with you?”

“Help me on this, Joe,” Jack said, watching the road ahead. “I can’t do this without your help and the help of your friends.”

And just like that, Joe’s head was back in the game. Isabel was in danger and she needed him to be coolheaded. She needed him to be an operator, she didn’t need this sweating terrified man. He blew out a breath and checked the monitor.

“Two blocks up, turn right. Then three blocks down turn left. If you go fast we can catch up.”

Jack’s lips pressed together and he pushed on the accelerator so hard it was like being in a rocket. The car looked like it had been rescued from the junk heap but man it was eating up the miles. They were breaking every speed law on the books, but Joe leaned forward, willing it to go faster. To catch up with Isabel, in the hands of a murderer.

“How come this car works when ours don’t?” Metal asked.

“I bought it for cash and had it tuned,” Jack said. “It’s all mechanical. I have been pretending to be homeless and at times I slept in it, but it’s a real lucky break because Blake’s EMP killed everything that has electronics within a hundred, hundred fifty yards. He’s driving a van that doesn’t have electronic components either. I parked a block down, anyway. So my car and my gear work.”

And his foresight might save Isabel’s life.

“So,” Joe said, glancing over. Beneath the filthy dreadlocks, stubble and grime, he could see the resemblance. “Isabel’s brother.”

“Yep.”

“Thought you were dead.”

“So did Blake. That was the point. And I had to stay dead. If Isabel knew I was alive, she wouldn’t be able to hide it. I’ve been investigating, but I don’t have proof yet. But I will. There are other people involved in this and they are not done yet.”

“How’d you hide for six months?”

Jack flashed a grim smile and pointed to himself. “You’d be surprised how invisible the homeless are. That’s how I slapped that tracker onto Blake. Pretended to be a homeless vet at a rally, he had to shake my hand. Looked right into my eyes and he didn’t recognize me. Didn’t even really see me. Where are they?”

“Turn this corner and—” Joe looked up and saw the outline of an ancient van. “There it is!”

Impossibly, Jack stepped on the accelerator harder and they shot forward. “We need to be careful, I don’t want Isabel hurt.”

Joe lifted the IR binocs to his eyes. “I see them,” he reported. “Three outlines. Isabel is sitting on a bench.” Shoulders slumped. In the hands of the enemy. She had no idea they were coming after her. She thought she was alone, abandoned. On her way to her death.

Hang on, honey. Just hang on a little while longer, we’re coming for you.

“Where’s Blake?” Jack asked.

“Sitting next to her,” he answered. “And Isabel is—” He stopped. What was he seeing? The red outlines that were heat images were churning.