The guy on his right—head shaved bald and arms built like a tank—tugged Sam forward as a blue SUV pulled to a stop fifteen feet away. The random lights of the airstrip made it hard to decipher anything within that vehicle. Passenger-side door opened, a man stepped out and started toward them. He had short-cropped light brown hair with a receding hairline. All the same, the guy looked thirty-five, maybe forty at most. Though the late hour cast shadows over the man’s face, it only added to the grim, terse expression he wore. Ticked. How Sam knew, he couldn’t be sure. But that anger combined with at least two concealed weapons that Sam could detect—one beneath a lightweight jacket and one at the ankle—put Sam on edge.
The way he moved, head up, gaze swiveling to take in their surroundings, identify threats or trouble, the grim set of his mouth and jaw, the way he homed in on Sam without reservation. . .this guy had military written all over him. Usually, that worked to Sam’s benefit, able to connect on a brothers-in-arms level. But with the way he stalked toward them, staring—no, glaring—Sam knew there was nothing brotherly here.
“He say anything?” the new guy asked the man on his right.
“Not a word, Colonel.”
Military—yeah, pegged that one. Being called a colonel didn’t mean the guy was still active duty. Active or not, he wasn’t in uniform, so this was either an unofficial mission or worse, unsanctioned.
“Just sat there like a good Boy Scout,” the tank-like guy said.
The colonel raked a gaze over Sam, his green eyes both assessing and condemning. “Too busy trying to figure out what’s going on.”
Sam felt naked the way this guy could read him. And angry—he’d surrendered too much control to them. Had to swing some power back into his court. “Thinking you could fill me in.”
“Might want to stop thinking before you hurt yourself.” The colonel turned slowly, his irritation evident as he took a few steps away. “Let’s go.”
Tank tugged him toward the vehicle.
No. It wasn’t happening like this. They weren’t going to get the luxury of him going quietly. Not anymore. He had a theory to test. A question burning his mind. In a defensive posture, Sam moved his right foot back.
Tension cracked the air.
Tank shifted. “Hey!”
But Sam trained on the leader. “Annie Palermo.”
Lightning fast, the colonel spun around. His fist drove into Sam’s jaw. The strike whipped Sam to the right. Out of the Tank’s grip. Though pain spiked through his face and neck, Sam rolled with the momentum and stayed on his feet—barely, thanks to the chains. Straightening in the face of the attack, he gave a grin, one he knew would stoke the fires of contempt, and ignored the warmth sliding down his chin and neck.
The driver’s side door of the vehicle now hung open, a Dwayne Johnson wannabe standing there in the beam of a massive lamp. But Sam kept his gaze on the colonel in front of him. The man he would guess was none other than Trace Weston, the man Francesca Solomon mentioned. The responsible party, and that he’d riled the man gave Sam a sick sense of pleasure. “Hit a nerve, Colonel?”
The man launched at him.
Barreled into Sam. Knocked him backward, his chained hands unable to lift for defense. Another hard right drove straight into Sam’s cheek. With a sickening crack, Sam’s head bounced off the tarmac. Spots sprinkled through his vision as the man’s fist loomed again. Fiery pain exploded in Sam’s side.
“Hey, hey!” someone shouted.
The colonel was dragged off him by Tank and Wannabe.
Sam curled onto his side to haul himself up. White-hot fire blazed through his side, filling his lungs with painful breaths. The man might’ve broken a rib. On one knee, he wobbled but steadied himself. Spit the sweet, metallic taste from his mouth—blood.
More shouts and angry epithets flew. Sam closed his puffy eye and glanced up at the trio. Even as he stared at the colonel, his eye swelled, partially blocking his view. The colonel was out of control. Was this how he led? Sam sneered at him. If Solomon had been right, it wouldn’t take long to bring this guy down.
The colonel tugged himself free and stretched his neck.
Pressing his right arm against his side, Sam pushed to his feet, struggling for a breath that didn’t hurt. Having gained some control of power with a few words gave Sam new courage. “Where is she?”
The colonel rubbed his hand. “You piece of dirt. So obsessed with your need to have her, you never once thought about the danger you put her in!”
Sam stilled. Swallowed, assessing the flimsy information he had. It renewed his concern for Ashland. For her safety. “So she is in danger?”
“Not here,” Wannabe said to the colonel, who spun on his heels and stalked to the vehicle.
Wannabe came toward Sam, who tensed when he reached forward.
Sam moved a foot back, ready to fight again.
“Easy,” Wannabe growled and held up something. A key. He motioned to the chains. “Unless I need those on you.”
Sam’s gaze skipped to the colonel, who now stood at the vehicle, watching. “Only if you want him to kill me.”
Wannabe smirked. “Not a bad idea after the harm you’ve done.”
“I only wanted to know she was safe.”
“So you put her in danger to find out.” Thick-necked and barrel-chested, the man shook his head. “I think you spent too much time in the water, Frogman.”