Page 33 of Reclaimed (Hostage Rescue Team)

She shot a furtive glance at Jim. He knew exactly what kind of sensitive intel she had on her laptop. Not everything, not the Top Security files, but enough that it could help Hadad’s network, and hinder U.S. and allied forces’ efforts to curtail them. Jim stared back at her, his expression giving away nothing.

If she did this, lives would be put in danger, maybe even Adam’s. She thought of how worried he must be right now, waiting for word on whether she was alive or not. He’d be searching for her, planning some kind of rescue op with the other intelligence personnel.

For just a moment, a desperate plan formed in her mind. Without an Internet connection she’d never be able to send a message to anyone.

But if she was fast enough, maybe she could access the most sensitive files and delete them without Hadad noticing. She could make it look like she was accessing something for him, quickly erase a few files without drawing attention to it. They’d still be buried on here somewhere but maybe she could hide them deep enough that they wouldn’t be able to find them.

Maybe.

“The password,” Hadad growled. “Now.”

When she hesitated he signaled to one of the guards, who immediately pulled a wicked-looking blade from his belt and stalked toward Jim.

“No!” she cried, fingers reaching for the keyboard. She told the password to him as she typed it in, waited until her desktop loaded. “There, it’s done.” She flipped it around for him to see.

“Show me the files on it.”

Averting her eyes to hide her intent, she turned it toward her and searched up a folder containing some of the more sensitive intel. Moving fast, she pulled up a less critical one and opened it.

But when she had the opportunity to delete it, she hesitated. Hadad was watching her too closely. If he saw her or suspected what she was doing…she didn’t even want to think about the consequences.

He peered at the screen, seemed to be reading the contents of the first document she’d opened. About suspected ATB strength and movement along the Syrian border with Jordan.

Her heart drummed in her ears. She stood there without moving, cold sweat gathering beneath her arms as she waited for his reaction.

His radio beeped. Without taking his eyes from the screen he answered it in Arabic. A man warned him that a reward had been offered for information leading to their location. The Americans and Jordanians were looking for them, might have a drone or two searching right now.

Summer kept her gaze on the floor, listening to every word. She didn’t catch all of them, but enough to know the pressure was on. Her heart thudded harder, this time with a renewed burst of hope.

Suddenly Hadad snapped the laptop shut, the sound overly loud in the enclosed space. He stared at her for a long moment, then jerked his chin toward her and the others, his jaw tight. “Get them out of here,” he growled to his men.

He was going to move them again.

No!The thought reverberated in her skull. If people were out looking for them and there might be drones in the area, moving again would reduce the chance of being found.

One of the guards grabbed her arms and secured her hands behind her while others seized Mark and Jim. Even though she knew there was no hope of escape, she couldn’t just stand there, docile as a lamb while they took them to a new hiding location.

She flung her head back in an attempt to avoid the hood the guard tried to put on her, then lashed out with a foot to kick him in the knee. He hissed in a breath then seized her chin in one hand and squeezed, his bushy black eyebrows knitted together in a fierce frown.

Fuck you, Summer told him silently, glaring right back, and sunk her teeth into his hand. He cursed and jerked his hand away, then backhanded her.

The blow caught her across the face, stunning her. She stumbled backward, crashing into the wall.

“Hurry,” Hadad snapped. “Move themnow.”

Two more guards converged on her. She tensed and ducked her head, bracing for the beating she was sure was coming. But they only plunged the hood back over her head, secured her ankles and carried her outside.

She could hear engines already running. Rough ones, as though the trucks were old.

Again her captors flung her into the back of one. She hit the metal bed with a bone-jarring thud, her right hip and shoulder taking the brunt of the impact.

Summer gritted her teeth, a pained groan slipping out as she tried to roll over. Heavy blankets were piled on her, then the tarp was secured on top. Within seconds the truck was moving, taking her out of the village.

She lay pinned in place, despair and hopelessness a crushing weight on her chest.

If they smuggled her across the border and into Syria, chances were she’d never get out alive.

Chapter Eleven

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