Tires crunched through the gravel, and then stopped. Over the noise of the idling engine, she heard male voices calling at each other.

In Russian.

She’d studied it in college and, while not fluent, was reasonably conversational. She strained to hear them. One said something to the effect of whatever Timur had seen moving on the horizon must have been an animal. Another voice speculated that it must be a volk—a wolf in Russian.

A third voice corrected him scornfully, saying that out here it would have to be a kohyut—a coyote.

The first voice swore angrily and then snarled, “When we find the girl, kill her. We don’t need her anymore. Haddad only said he wanted the primary target alive.”

Haddad? The terrorist who’d killed Sam was behind her kidnapping? Who were these guys?

“The inside man said he was sure Caldwell would make the trade for the woman. We can fake having the woman when the target shows up at the rendezvous point.”

Griffin was going to hand himself over to these guys in exchange for her?

No. Flipping. Way. She was not letting him sacrifice himself for her.

The first voice snapped at the others to get back in the truck. The engine revved, and tires crunched loudly, spinning and then catching traction in the loose gravel. The vehicle retreated, and silence fell around her.

As much as she hated being buried, she almost hated the idea of sitting up and exposing herself even more. Inch by inch, she eased the cloth shroud down her body. Her face emerged and she pulled in a long breath of blessedly fresh air. The stars in the black sky above were so thick they looked like dust in the heavens. It was stunning. She would love to show Griffin this.

She had to get back to him.

The tire tracks of what looked like some sort of truck or SUV started no more than thirty feet from her hiding place and headed off to the west. That had been way too close a call. She’d gotten complacent and almost gotten caught.

At least she’d probably chosen the right direction to travel. Her captors would be worried she was headed for civilization and help, and they would likely head toward the nearest inhabited area.

On the assumption that they could move much faster than she could, she elected to parallel the tracks and continue westward. She stuck to valleys and swales as much as possible, stopping often to listen for engine noise, approaching each ridge on her belly and peering over before proceeding.

Her chapped lips cracked and bled, and a dull headache crushed her head by slow degrees in a painful vise, but she couldn’t afford to stop and hunt for water. Not with those Russians out here hunting her.

* * *