“You’ll have to excuse the lack of light,” says the guy leaning against the doorjamb. “We’re trying to avoid unwanted visitors.” Everything about him—from his commanding voice to his casual stance—makes it clear he’s the leader.

“Am I really that clumsy?” I ask.

The leader leans down toward me so that we’re eye to eye. “Actually, no. Our guards didn’t see you, and they were under orders to be on the lookout for you. Not bad, overall.” There’s approval in his voice.

Raffe makes a low sound in his throat that reminds me of a dog’s growl.

“You knew I was here?” I ask.

The guy stands straight again. The moonlight isn’t bright enough to show me details of what he looks like, but he’s tall and broad-shouldered. His hair is military short, making Raffe’s hair look ragged and disreputable by comparison. His profile is clean, the lines of his face sharp and defined.

He nods. “We didn’t know for sure, but the gear in his bag looked like half the supplies that a pair might carry. He has a camping stove but no matches, no pots or pans. He has two bowls, two spoons. Stuff like that. We figured someone else was carrying the matching half of the supplies. Although, frankly, I wasn’t expecting a rescue attempt. And certainly not from a girl. No offense meant. I’ve always been a modern guy.” He shrugs. “But times have changed. And we are a camp full of men.” He shrugs again. “That takes guts. Or desperation.”

“You forgot lack of brains,” growls Raffe. “I’m your target here, not her.”

“How do you figure?” asks the leader.

“You need men like me as soldiers,” says Raffe. “Not a skinny little girl like her.”

The leader leans back with his arms crossed. “What makes you think we’re looking for soldiers?”

“You used five men and a pack of dogs to catch one guy,” says Raffe. “At that rate, you’re going to need three armies to get done whatever it is you’re trying to do here.”

The leader nods. “You obviously have prior military experience.” I raise my brows at this, wondering what happened when they captured him.

“You didn’t bat an eye when we pointed the guns at you,” says the leader.

“So maybe he’s not as good he thinks he is if he’s been captured before,” says Raffe’s guard. Raffe doesn’t rise to the bait.

“Or maybe he’s special ops, trained for the worst situations,” says the leader. He pauses, waiting for Raffe to confirm or deny. The moonlight filtering through the window is bright enough to show the leader watching Raffe with the intensity of a wolf watching a rabbit. Or maybe it’s like a rabbit watching a wolf. But Raffe says nothing.

The leader turns to me. “You hungry?”

My stomach picks that moment to growl loudly. It would have been funny in any other situation.

“Let’s get these folks some dinner.” The three men leave.

I test my ropes around my wrists. “Tall, dark and friendly. What more could a girl ask for?”