“Excellent.” The plan calls for us to land about a dozen miles from the suspected terrorist hideout in the Pamir Mountains and fly by helicopters the rest of the way. “Any unusual activities in that area?”

He shakes his head. “No, everything is quiet.”

“Good.” Entering the cabin, I sit down next to Lucas in the copilot’s seat and strap myself in. “How was the Russian girl last night?”

A rare smile flashes across his stony face. “Quite satisfying. You missed out.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” I say, though I don’t feel even the slightest flicker of regret. There’s no way some one-night stand can approximate the intensity of my connection with Nora, and I have no desire to settle for anything less than that.

Lucas grins—an expression that’s even more uncommon on his hard features. “I have to say, I never expected to see you as a happily married man.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Is that right?” This is probably the most personal observation he’s ever made to me. In all the years he’s been with my organization, Lucas has never before bridged the distance from loyal employee to friend—not that I’ve encouraged him to do so. Trust has never come easy to me, and there have been only a handful of individuals I’ve been able to call ‘friend.’

He shrugs, his face smoothing out into his usual impassive mask, though a hint of amusement still lurks in his eyes. “Sure. People like us aren’t generally considered good husband material.”

An involuntary chuckle escapes my throat. “Well, I don’t know if, strictly speaking, Nora considers me ‘good husband material.’” A monster who abducted her and fucked with her head, sure. But a good husband? Somehow I doubt it.

“Well, if she doesn’t, then she should,” Lucas says, turning his attention back to the controls. “You don’t cheat, you take good care of her, and you’ve risked your life to save her before. If that’s not being a good husband, then I don’t know what is.” As he speaks, I see a small frown appearing on his face as he peers at something on the radar screen.

“What is it?” I ask sharply, all of my instincts suddenly on alert.

“I’m not sure,” Lucas begins saying, and at that moment, the plane bucks so violently that I’m nearly thrown out of my seat. It’s only the seatbelt I’d strapped on out of habit that prevents me from hitting the ceiling as the plane takes a sudden nosedive.

Lucas grabs the controls, a steady stream of obscenities coming out of his mouth as he frantically tries to correct our course. “Shit, fuck, shit, shit, motherfucking shit—”

“What hit us?” My voice is steady, my mind strangely calm as I assess the situation. There is a grinding, sputtering noise coming from the engines. I can smell smoke and hear screams in the back, so I know there’s a fire. It had to be an explosion. That means someone either shot at us from another plane or a surface-to-air missile exploded in close vicinity, damaging one or more of the engines. It couldn’t have been a direct missile hit because the Boeing is equipped with an anti-missile defense that’s designed to repel all but the most advanced weapons—and because we are still alive and not blown into pieces.