The latter was unlikely at this late hour, though—unless the residents had security lighting. Few people stayed up past midnight.

She shivered as another blast of cold air swept past.

After everything that had happened over the past seven hours—and after managing to escape from that cistern—wouldn’t it be ironic if she died of hypothermia?

Her sisters and her father would be devastated.

So would Zeke.

At the little nudge from her subconscious, she sighed—and acknowledged the truth.

Maybe the depth of his feelings scared her, but he still loved her, heart and soul.

And despite all that had transpired between them . . . despite their long separation . . . despite the protective wall she’d tried to build around her heart . . . she still loved him too.

Her vision misted, and she stumbled. Choked out a sob. Plodded on.

Only fear had kept her from admitting her feelings.

But a woman who’d survived hours in an underground cistern despite a bone-deep terror of small spaces ought to be able to overcome the fear of another heartbreak.

A fear that was likely groundless, after all the evidence she’d seen over the past month.

So if God blessed her with a second chance at life tonight, how could she refuse to give the only man she’d ever trusted with her heart a second chance at love?

“How’s it going with Jones?” As he entered the room arrayed with video monitors, Zeke checked the feed from the DEA interview room where the man was being questioned. He was sitting with his arms locked tight against his chest, staring at the wall, ignoring the questions being fired at him.

One of the agents watching the screen responded. “He’s not talking.”

“I have information that may encourage him to be more forthcoming. Hernandez gave me a few tidbits.”

“We saw. Have at it.”

Zeke left the room with the monitors, walked a few yards down the hall, and knocked on a closed door.

The agent opened it a few moments later, and Zeke told him the same story.

“You’re welcome to him. I could use another caffeine infusion anyway.”

Zeke entered the room. Took a seat at the small conference table. “I understand you’re not cooperating.”

Jones ignored him.

“Your choice—but it will go easier for you if you talk to us.” Zeke leaned back and folded his arms. “Hernandez is down the hall.”

The man’s left eye twitched slightly, but he didn’t respond.

“He was happy to spill his guts after we showed him your photo and told him you were in custody.”

“I don’t know a Hernandez.”