Five steps. He’d taken five damn steps before Peterson’s eyes widened and his pace stuttered.

Ice seeped into David’s veins. He didn’t need to look around to know he was about to be taken, and that Peterson probably knew nothing about it. He felt the heat of a large van behind him, and he knew he was too late to run, and clearly was at a disadvantage. A gun cocked.

Shit.

He held his hands out by his waist to minimize any tough-guy heroics these people might decide they need to perform. He took a breath and turned, hoping to see police as the lesser of two evils.

Nope. Three sets of eyes behind three balaclavas looked back at him from the sliding door of a van. Semiautomatic guns aimed at him. Yup. Nothing to see here. He turned back to Peterson, who was looking at his phone in disbelief.

Hands grabbed him and pulled him into the van. David went limp, hoping to keep from getting hurt in a way that might incapacitate him. As he was wondering if Molly was safe, and if he was at least being taken to her, a pinch at his neck filled him with warmth and tiredness.

“David. Wake up. David,” a voice said, over and over. His shoulders hurt, not an unusual occurrence. His mouth burned as if he’d had really bad heartburn. Tasted terrible.

He tried to open his eyes, but couldn’t manage to get them all the way open. And then he was lost in sleep again.

The next time he woke, a sharp pain ripped him from sleep. His shoulders felt like they were being ripped from his sockets.

“You like that?” a male voice asked.

Fuck. What was going on? David opened his eyes. He was in a warehouse, hanging from his hands. He twisted to see who was winching him up. He spun around on the chains. The Russian fucker. He was suspended so high that he could only touch the ground with his toes. And only if he got his shoes in the right position.

He’d been in this position exactly six years ago during his SERE training. He’d been captured, as they all had been, and subjected to questioning by the instructors. In that situation though, he knew they were supposed to hurt him, but not too badly, or with any lasting consequences. Just enough to make it real.

Not so much here.

He tried to kick out at the tall man, but he easily avoided David’s attempt. All the KGB guy did was nod over to the corner.

He spun around again. Molly. His heart clenched.

“What did you do to her?” he growled. She was tied to a chair with some kind of tape, head lolling to one side as if she was asleep. He forced his brain not to consider the possibility that she might be dead. But his heart went there anyway. It was as if his heart was being gripped and wrenched out of his body. Pure anger and frustration poured out of him in a howl of rage.

Before he could test his binds, Molly roused, unfocused and bleary-eyed. “What? Who’s there?” She shook her head several times as if to clear her vision. “What…? David?” She moaned. “I thought it was a dream. I wanted so much for it to have been a dream.”

Relief spiked through him, bringing a calming influence on his body. He still wanted to fucking rip that guy’s head off. Fucking Russians. But at least Molly was alive.

The man in the gray suit popped his cuffs and rolled his neck. “I’m going to leave you two to get reacquainted.” He sauntered to the door as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He probably didn’t.

“Are you okay? What happened?” David tried to see if she’d been harmed. He couldn’t see anything obvious.

“I’m fine. They just keep sedating me with something. I don’t know what it is. One prick and I’m out of it. Are you hurt?” Her voice sounded normal but tense.

“I’m fine,” he said, trying for his own normal voice. “Just, you know, hanging around.”

She choked a laugh, and then reprimanded him. “That’s not funny.”

“Sorry. How did you get here?” He wasn’t going to mention her escape, he didn’t want to remind her that she didn’t trust him…because trussed up like a dead cow on a hook, he probably didn’t instill trust now either.

“Victoria. My reporter friend? She offered me an escape route when the police were closing in on me, and when I opened the car door, he was holding a gun on me.” She nodded toward the door he’d disappeared through. “Are you really all right? You look like hell.”

He shrugged and then winced. “My shoulders is all,” he said, trying to position himself on his toes to relieve some of the strain.

“This is bad isn’t it? They can’t let us go now. Victoria has basically outed herself as a Russian…what? An agent? Collaborator?”

“I suspect she’s an SVR operative, like the suit. Probably deep undercover. She’ll either have to go back to Russia, or yes, eliminate anyone who knows who she is.” There was no point sugarcoating it. “But I’m going to get us out of here. So don’t worry about that.”

Her expression was blank, and he suddenly saw what she saw. A helpless washout, hanging from a meathook in a disused warehouse. How could she possibly have faith in him?

He hoped he could prove her—and maybe himself—wrong.

Hoped.

“I’m so sorry to get you involved in this, David,” she said. “This is all my fault.” She couldn’t even look at him.

“It’s not your fault, it’s Peterson’s fault. And the fucking Russians’ fault. But don’t worry, we’re going to take the whole outfit down when we get out of here.” He hoped he sounded confident, but the frown didn’t fall from her face, so probably he didn’t manage to convince her.

The door slammed again, but he didn’t have the energy to spin around and lose his tenuous grip on the floor with the toe of his shoes.

He looked inquisitively at Molly who mouthed “Victoria” at him.

“You’re both awake. That’s great,” she said in her perfect East Coast accent.

David wondered how long she’d been undercover. He wasn’t going to say anything unless pressed. Chatty Cathies never won the day. Made it too easy for their captors to get what they wanted.

“So,” she continued, as if they were all at some kind of cocktail party. “My people tell me that Doubrov passed you something before he was shot.” She paused for a second as if collecting her thoughts. “He asked to see you, didn’t he?”

Molly started, and David went still. Doubrov asked to see Molly? She hadn’t told him that. A bad feeling wafted through the warehouse like an unwelcome draft. What else hadn’t she told him?

Victoria noticed her response. “I see I am right.” She also seemed surprised. Molly needed to learn a poker face or she was going to give Victoria everything she needed.

“I’m not telling you anything,” Molly said. Her voice wavered but her gaze didn’t. She was one hell of a woman. He looked around for something to use as leverage. Anything that would get him free.

“You have to, sweetie. We don’t have much time. If you tell me what I need to know, I’m going to let you go. Leave you here, obviously, but you’ll be free eventually. I think the warehouse workers start work at seven a.m. on Monday.

David shook his head at Molly from behind Victoria’s head. Don’t believe her. It was a convincing effort from Victoria. Hardship, pain, starvation, but no death. It sounded plausible, but he didn’t believe her for a moment. He willed Molly not to fall for it. But in all honesty, half of him wanted to know what she knew too. Obviously she’d been keeping things from him too. More evidence that she didn’t trust him. Okay. He steeled himself. He probably couldn’t ever persuade her that she could trust him. But he could persuade himself that he was trustworthy.

The only thing he knew was that if the Russians wanted information, he wasn’t going to give it to them. Wait, what had she said? Time was running out? That didn’t sound good. Not good at all. There had to be a larger picture. The big operation that Russia was planning at the G20 meeting? Had to be something huge. Devastating.