Xavier’s brow furrowed. “What makes you think George even knows you’re here?”

“I left him a half dozen messages and told him I was coming. Plus, my SUV is parked right in front of his woodshop. He knows my vehicle.”

“He might not have listened to your messages. He might not have seen your SUV.”

“But what if he did and has? He made pipe bombs in Jeb’s garage last night. He knows what’s going on—probably better than you do, because he might’ve witnessed them digging up the weapons cache. And if he knows I’m here, I think I know where he’ll expect to find me.”

She reached for her clothes from the bottom of the sleeping bag and pulled them on. It was time to pack up and get out of here. They had a long way to go if they were going to have a chance to meet up with George before the moon rose and lit up the forest like a football stadium.

“Where are we going? His cabin? I told you, it’s too close to the storage pit. And the tango we ran into on the cliffside trail could be a sign they were looking for him or his cabin.”

“No. Not his cabin.” She grabbed the zippers of their joined sleeping bags and made quick work of separating them. “Let me tell you a story about a summer afternoon ritual I called ‘teatime with George…’”

Paul was dizzy from loss of blood and lack of sleep, and his legs wobbled as he was led to the restroom for the third time in the last twenty-four hours. Each time he passed through the great room, it was an opportunity to gather intel. Count mercs.

He and his fellow trainers might have been gagged to prevent them from communicating after Smith tended Collins’s gunshot wound, but they’d all been SEALs once upon a time, and they knew how to communicate without words. Between them, they’d determined the minimum number of living mercenaries was eleven.

The current number of living hostages was six. Collins was hanging on. Unconscious thanks to the drugs he’d been given, but breathing.

Now Paul walked across the lodge great room as if he were drunk. The gag chafed, but he paid it no mind. This restroom break was a reconnaissance mission, a chance to see out the front window toward the dock. One of the mercs had just been ordered to pick up more supplies now that the sun had set and the sky remained cloudy. The storm had ended, and the clouds were thinning. The moon would be bright tonight and the boat easy to spot.