“We’re going tonight?” She’d put the sandwiches on napkins. “Is Hana strong enough?” They’d pulled her out of a cancer ward, after all.

“Yes.” Ziggy had a slight accent—RJ couldn’t place it, but it sounded Italian, maybe. Or Greek. Which might be where she got her dark, exotic European look. “She doesn’t have cancer.”

A beat, and RJ frowned. “But —”

“Another one of Mad’s lies,” Ziggy said and took the sandwich from RJ. “Johan has the best liverwurst.”

For a moment, RJ was back at the hospital, walking out with Hana in a wheelchair, the little girl confused but silent as her “father” fetched her from treatment—for her own safety.

RJ had thought herself a hero. Thought herself brave and crafty and smart, having outwitted Ruslan Gustov, a Russian scientist-slash-assassin, and Alan Martin, ex-CIA global terrorist. She’d gotten to Hana first—she and Mads—had rescued the little girl from being used as leverage.

Instead, they’d used her as bait. Because as she and Mads walked out under the cast of the late afternoon sun, a man had come up behind them and pressed a gun into her spine.

“Get in the van.”

RJ’s heart stopped on the voice of Alan Martin.

How—

Then, a van pulled up, doors opened.

She wasn’t sure how it all went down behind her because suddenly Martin grunted, the gun left her spine and Mads, who RJ thought might reach for Hana to protect her, lit out for the van.

Leaving her and Hana on the sidewalk. RJ had grabbed the wheelchair and whirled around intending to run for the hospital.

Instead, she spotted Martin lying right there on the ground, bleeding from a gash on his temple, then glanced at the woman who’d felled him—she carried a crowbar—and froze.

“Roy sent me. C’mon.” She gestured with her head, then took off.

It was then that Hana got up out of her chair, looked at RJ, and started to run.

So, not crippled, wasting away, about to die as Mads said.

RJ glanced over her shoulder at the van where she spotted Gustov, with his long blond hair, tall, imposing build—getting out.

Roger that.

She took off at a sprint, and noticed that Ziggy had grabbed Hana’s hand, was pulling her along. Lights flickered on a late model 2-door BMW and Ziggy opened the door and practically shoved Hana in.

“Hurry up!”

RJ didn’t look behind her, didn’t think, just rounded the car and jumped in.

In moments, she was in a Bond movie, peeling out of the parking lot—reaching for the belt, of course, and making sure Hana was belted too—and winding through the streets of Heidelberg at high speed.

The car was sleek—black interior, stick shift, sunroof, and the woman at the wheel knew how to lose a tail.