“Now, I have a statement here that you’re going to read,” Cisco said to Jack. “Only, don’t call yourself Lynda Culter, because that would be embarrassing. Just replace that with Jackson where appropriate.”

“Jack,” she said. “Don’t—”

He leaned back as if communicating with her, telling her he could handle it. “Fine. I’ll read your statement.”

“Jack!” she said again.

“Shut up, Lynda.”

“Yeah, Lynda, shut up or I’ll shut you up,” Cisco said.

She looked all around, desperately searching for . . . what? She sat with her hands tied behind her. So far, she’d identified three men in this room besides Jack. Possibly more. She still hadn’t seen the man with the ponytail, so that made four combatants. What did she think she could possibly do?

The light when cast onto Jack created a strange contorted shadow of the two of them tied to the chairs. “I am Jack Haynes, an agent of the United States government. I’m here under that authority, and you can all bite my—”

The sound of a hard hit and cracking bones came a split second before Jack’s howl of pain. Lynda sobbed, wishing she could see what was happening.

“You really shouldn’t improvise,” Cisco said. “Shall we go again? You have another kneecap.”

Lynda thought she had felt fear before, but it didn’t compare to what she felt now. When Jack responded with an expletive and they hit him again, little white dots appeared in front of her eyes and her mouth went completely dry. Then she heard a splash, smelled the undeniable odor of gasoline. Some of it landed against the back of her hand. When she realized they’d doused Jack with gasoline, she started struggling against the restraints, ignoring the cutting pain in her wrists.

“Read the statement. Word for word.”

Another expletive from Jack brought a scuffle behind her.

“No! Not in here,” Cisco said.

Something cold and metal bit against her skin seconds before her hands fell free. With relief, she brought them forward, rubbing her wrists one at a time. The other two men dragged Jack past her line of sight.

He looked at her as they went by. “Don’t give in, Lynda!” he yelled.

They went through a door into another room. Cisco followed. He paused near the doorway and picked up the shotgun leaning against the wall. The men who carried Jack threw him to the ground. He tried to get up but fell again, likely from his busted kneecap.

Cisco stood in front of the open door and lifted his gun. “You’re going to read a statement on behalf of Green War.”

“Make me.”

Lynda struggled, but they had secured her ankles to the chair. Sobbing, she bent over, fumbling to access the knife sheathed against her ankle. She could barely feel her numb fingers, and she couldn’t lift her pants leg because of the zip tie securing it. “Jack!”