Gavin rubbed his hands together, causing the tattoos on his arms to ripple. “I talked to your dad quite a bit while you were recovering.”

“He’s not a dad. He’s a general.” A pause. “And I didn’t realize you two were on such friendly terms.” She’d admit to being curious—and wary.

“We weren’t. I knew who he was, of course, but hadn’t met him until he contacted me to lead your rescue. I also didn’t realize he was your father until I helped Asher keep Brooke safe last year when they were caught up in that organ trafficking ring.”

She shuddered. “That was truly awful. All that aside, what are you trying to say?”

“He’s not sure your kidnapping and subsequent transport to Omar’s compound was simply a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Sarah closed her eyes, not wanting to relive the nightmare, but unable to stop the flashes. Rough hands, terror, gunshots. Her guard’s face exploding milliseconds after she pulled the trigger. She sucked in a deep breath and opened her eyes. “I still think about the man I thought I killed. I could have sworn that was my bullet that . . .”

“It wasn’t. Ballistics proved it. One of mine hit him and so did the soldier’s behind you.”

“I’m glad I wasn’t responsible, even though he was so . . . evil.” A shudder rippled up her spine. “I saw his eyes just before I pulled the trigger and there wasn’t anything there. Just black pits of darkness.”

“And he’ll never hurt anyone again.”

She shook her head. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go off on all of that. What were you saying about the kidnapping? It was something more than a random thing?” She was quite proud of her outward composure.

“He said he was worried your kidnapping had something to do with the threats against him. It was one of the reasons he did what he did with getting you discharged.” He held up a hand when she started to protest. “I’m not saying what he did was right, I’m just telling you the reasoning behind it.”

Sarah snapped her lips shut, keeping a tight rein on the bubbling rage. “You’re defending him.”

“No. But maybe trying to understand and . . . explain him?”

“You’re trying to explain him?” Of all the nerve. “That’s almost worse. You don’t know him well enough to be able to do that.” She paused. “And if you do, then it’s time for you to leave.”

The words were cold, frigid even. Not caring one bit, she held his gaze when she said them, feeling betrayed, but mostly angry that he would side with her father.

“Of course,” he finally said, “you’re absolutely right. I don’t know him like you do. All I have are impressions from our conversations.”