The American accent, a hint of the south, a drawl so subtle it nearly wasn’t audible. But she had an affinity for languages and accents, and her ears were sensitive to subtle nuances others would likely be unaware of. But he too obviously had a talent for languages or at least the one she’d spoken to him since he’d been aware that he could detect no accent, and he’d been looking for one.
Her pulse leapt again, this time thundering like a tornado through her veins but for a different reason altogether. He was American. He knew her name. Was he here to rescue her? Had news of her survival and of the militant group turning the earth over in search of her reached the public? Had he been sent to extract her? And if so, why hadn’t he simply identified himself and stated his objective? Had he been concerned that her relief would give them away? That she’d become a hysterical, shrill twit and attract the focus of everyone in the entire village? Something about this—him—just didn’t feel right.
Trust no one.
The woman’s words filtered through her mind, dimming her excitement, and she forced herself to act indifferent, puzzled even, as though she didn’t understand the language he spoke. Daringly, she turned her head up, meeting his gaze, forcing hers into one of confusion.
She cocked her head and shook it slightly, frowning even as she said in the local dialect, “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. I don’t speak your language.”
A glint of amusement briefly flickered in his eyes before his gaze hardened and his expression became equally hard—and gravely serious.
He wore the clothing of a native and yet there was no attempt on his part to hide what he was. Caucasian. Perhaps the reason he didn’t show fear was that he was protected by his membership in a terrorist organization.
“I don’t have time to play games. You don’t have the time to waste. You were probably told that the men hunting you are waiting until dark, when you are normally on the move and that they will be looking for an older woman with a slow, shuffling gait and that they aren’t checking those leaving the village. But that’s untrue. They’ve set a perimeter well beyond the outskirts of the village so it doesn’t appear that anyone is being investigated, but in fact, they’ve stopped every single person departing since the market opened and they are not simply waiting around for dark for you to fall into their hands. And despite the clever change in disguise and doing the unexpected, it will do you no good. They will stop your entire group and search each of you thoroughly and when it’s discovered you are with this group preparing to depart, they’ll slaughter every single one of them and they’ll take you—alive—and into your worst nightmare.”
The iron will that had kept Honor alive and moving since the day of the attack crumbled and lay in ruins around her, and she knew stark fear shone brightly in her eyes, giving herself completely away to a man whose agenda she was ignorant of. She didn’t know if he was friend or foe. And it was obvious he knew a damn lot about her, which put her at a distinct disadvantage because she didn’t have the first clue who he was. Only that he was American, which should have relieved her, but there was something in that rock-hard face, the ruthlessness she could see lurking in the shadows of his eyes. At this moment she didn’t know whom she feared more, the American or the militants lying in wait for her.
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked bluntly in English as she stared directly into his gaze, trying to pick up on any tell, any indication of his intentions.
But he remained devoid of emotion, his expression utterly inscrutable. He gave nothing of himself away, which frustrated Honor. Everyone gave up something. It was always there for a trained eye to see. But this man was impossible to read, as though he’d had years to perfect a facade that no one could penetrate.
He could be military. She hoped with all she had that he was U.S. military and that his hard shell was a result of his training and experience in a region of the world where bloodshed was more common than running water.
“Because I’m going to take you with me so you aren’t captured by the men who won’t stop until they’ve captured their prey.”
She studied him for another long moment. “So you’ve come to rescue me? Who are you? Who sent you?”
He arched one eyebrow, clearly surprised by her resistance. Perhaps he’d expected her to fall into his arms, sobbing hysterically, thinking him her savior. But she hadn’t stayed alive as long as she had by blindly believing anything. Or taking anything at face value. And she couldn’t afford to start now. Not when she was so close to her ultimate goal of finding her way home.
“Does it matter?” he asked mildly. “All you need to know is that my men and I will get you out of the country and out of A New Era’s reach. Or would you prefer to take your chances with your group of protectors and lead them blindly to certain death?”
Honor bit into her lip, deeply conflicted. Why wasn’t she happier to see him? Why wasn’t she falling into his arms, relieved and grateful? Was that not why she was so desperate to cross the border into a country where there was an American presence? And that presence had just planted itself in her path, offering her safe passage. Perhaps it was because it had been too easy, too convenient, the timing either impeccable or coincidental. And she wasn’t a believer in coincidences. Especially when it came to her life.
“If they’re searching everyone leaving the village and if they have, as you say, a perimeter set up encompassing all routes leading out of the village, then how do you and your men possibly think you will be able to get past their roadblocks, impervious to the very thing you’ve sworn will happen if I leave the village with a group of people? Aren’t you a group of people just the same?”
White teeth flashed and she was reminded of a predator’s teeth set in a snarl as they closed in on their prey. A shiver of apprehension skated down her spine and she absently rubbed at one arm through the heavy material of her garment.
“I plan to drive right past them.”
Honor went rigid with fear. The people who’d awaited her were clearly uneasy and were inching away, clearly wanting to be out of this place. And to be rid of her. They well knew what they risked by allowing her to travel with them, and now, with the arrival of this ominous-looking stranger, they were even more nervous. She couldn’t blame them. And neither could she consign them to certain death. She couldn’t take the chance that this man wasn’t telling her the absolute truth. She would not be responsible for these people’s deaths.
She waved them off, making that sudden decision when it became clear that they knew she was a death trap. The American was right. She wouldn’t simply lead her supposed saviors meekly to the slaughter when it gave her absolutely no chance of escape. He, on the other hand, was offering one, and his arrogance suggested he actually thought—knew—he would be successful.
It came down to the lesser of two evils. One known and one unknown. She knew what fate awaited her at the hands of the savages who hunted her. She didn’t know what the American’s intentions were, but given that her only other option was certain torture, endless agony and death, it made the decision to go with the unknown the only logical choice.
“You’ve made your decision. Now move it,” he said, no gentleness to his voice.
Somehow she’d imagined her rescue a little different. Perhaps at the hands of American soldiers who would at least acknowledge her as a sister, inquire as to her health. Not taunt her into making a decision. For that matter, shouldn’t he have identified himself as a member of the U.S. military? Shouldn’t he have identified himself, period?
She frowned. The military didn’t just order people around for their own good, did they? But then she supposed that was exactly what they did on a daily basis when rescuing captives or hostages. Time was critical, and following orders was essential to their survival.