“Not long now, miss,” Yitzhak, the Israeli driver who’d brought her out to the dig site, said in his accented English.

Chloe Williams nodded, burrowed her fingers between two rocks to huff up the final few yards to the top of the limestone cliff. Despite the evening hour, the temperature still hovered around unbearable. For an ultra-fair skinned redhead, the Judean Desert climate could prove lethal. But this assignment was much too important to her. She had to be there. She had to know. So, she’d come to Israel.

She hiked on. Her every breath came punctuated with a litany of, go, go, go!

She pushed the pale green silk scarf off her brow and wiped away the perspiration. No sooner had she rearranged the shielding fabric than the arid winds redeposited more of the fine desert sand on her face. She continued toward the clifftop.

On the drive from Jerusalem to Qumran, in the massive SUV rented by the magazine that had contracted her, they’d bumped down a stark desert highway, past irrigated plantings, a couple of kibbutzim, and then finally down a gravel access road in the Qumran National Park. Despite the rough ride, Chloe’s anticipation had continued to grow, but she’d tempered it with unwavering resolve. After each bounce had knocked her to one side or the other, she’d snapped back up to stare at the oceans of wheat-hued sand and rock that spread out past them in the desert. The wavy lakes faked on the expanse by mirages occasionally broke up the view. Toward the end of the drive, she’d also gazed out over the settled area on the shores of the Dead Sea.

The Dead Sea…

Who would have thought she’d actually be here?

But she was, and before long they’d arrived at the cliffs where the fragments of Scripture had been discovered in the 1940s. To get to their ultimate destination, the most recently uncovered cave, they had to hike up the side of the cliff. They quickly started up, and a short time later, the black opening over a ridge in the bluff drew her with a magnetic pull.

A new cave.

At Qumran.

The first caves found had hidden earthenware jars where the well-preserved biblical treasures had been stored more or less two millennia before. The parched desert air had helped protect the vellum parchment and papyrus fragments. After this latest discovery, a joint team of Israeli and American archaeologists had begun the process of unearthing whatever treasures it might have concealed. If the rumors that had been swirling since the experts began their efforts held any credibility, the world’s concept of historical truth could be turned upside-down.

“Are you part of the team of archaeologists?” she asked Yitzhak.

“Sorry, Miss Williams. I don’t know archaeology. I’m to drive you from the hotel to the dig and back.”

“Have you ever been to the cave?”

A minimal pause. “Yes, once or twice.”

Yitzhak was not a talkative man. Chloe focused on the rugged terrain around her, still stunned by its stark, raw beauty. The land itself was going to make this assignment difficult. But as physically challenging as her job promised to be, she would do whatever it took to complete it. At the very least, she could work at the site in the late afternoon and early evenings when the heat wasn’t quite as brutal. One way or another, she would find a way to cope with the heat and the sun.

Truth.

It was all about truth.

Biblical, historical truth.

A cascade of loosened limestone crumbled down as her right foot sought purchase on the cliff face.

“Careful, miss,” Yitzhak warned.

“Trying.” Respect for the land grew and came out in her voice. Her heart pounded, excitement blazed.

She wriggled the toes of her hiking boots into a firmer hold, and then, with a Herculean pull, she crested the edge of the ridge. Panting, she paused to catch her breath and stare at the opening in the rock a handful of yards ahead. Nothing could have kept her from stepping forward.

A rough path had formed between piles of excavated and discarded rock at either side of the entrance and stretched to the edge of the cliff. Dry breezes carried fine sand and brushed it across her skin. She covered her nose and lips with the green silk as she approached the cave.

Something dark had been dropped in a pile just inside the shadowed hole in the stone face. Further into the cave, in deeper shadow, she saw equipment neatly stacked on the ground and against the walls. Maybe the team of archeologists was still around, even though the silence felt thick and heavy. It was an unusual place with an unusual atmosphere. Chloe’s gut tightened.

She heard nothing, and saw nothing more. The vastness of the land struck her again. It felt as though she and Yitzhak were alone in the immeasurable Middle Eastern desert. For the first time since she’d learned of the opportunity to come, a dose of anxiety entered into the mix.

Her nerves felt as though she’d been plugged into an outlet. Wired. Tense. Weird.

“Yitzhak?” she called. “How late does the team usually work? Do you think anyone’s still out here?”

“It’s near six, Miss Williams. As I said when I met you at the hotel, I think they maybe left already.”

Unease deepened.

When Chloe decided to come straight out to the site after she’d landed in Jerusalem, she’d known she’d be taking a chance she’d find no one at the dig site. But she hadn’t wanted to wait until the morning. Determination compelled her forward. Still, the silence and that dark bundle of cloth….

She hadn’t felt apprehension. Until then.

But since this precise location, this exact moment was the reason she’d traveled halfway around the world, she stepped ahead. Then wished she hadn’t. “Oh, no!”

The moan ripped from her throat. Horror struck. She stared at the bundle…that wasn’t a bundle. It was a man.

A dark rusty-red halo oozed out from under his head, blotching the golden sand beneath with a tarry, russet tone. A hole was bored through the back of the victim’s skull. The coppery stench of blood struck her nose. She gagged.

Keening tore through the heavy silence. Her throat burned, and she realized she was the one wailing. Terror kept her cries coming. She shook. Tears blinded her. Through sheer willpower, she forced herself to twist around, searching for Yitzhak, for anything normal. She never seen the victim of a gunshot wound.

To her left, the driver drew himself up onto the ridge. “Wha—”

Thwup!

Yitzhak fell.

A moment later, Chloe was struck in the back. The blow sent her forward to the ground. A heavy weight crushed her into the sand-covered rock. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t open her eyes. Couldn’t move out from under the pressure. For a second she wondered if she’d died.

Blinding pain proved she hadn’t. Her right wrist ached, and her tears flooded her face. She must have reached out to catch herself on the way down. It hadn’t worked.

Paralyzing pressure immobilized her upper body. Even her lungs. She strained to free herself, tried to speak, fought to open her mouth, but sand abraded her lips. She tried to grunt, even fight off whatever held her pinned to the hard, sandy rock.

Nothing.

Bursts of light seared the inside of her eyelids. Her lungs, her lungs! She grew lightheaded. With a last bit of breath, she pushed out a sound, not the moan or cry for help she’d hoped for, but a sound of protest.

“Don’t,” a male voice ordered in her ear, silent as a voice could be.

She fought against him.

He eased up off her enough so she could lift her head from the sand. Chloe sucked in air that was gritty, yes, but air, even so. “Who are you?” she rasped out. “What’s going on? Did you shoot Yitzhak?”

“Shh!”

His large hand pressed her head back down, but he didn’t hurt her. He did keep her down with this new pressure, but he managed to let her breathe. Regardless, she got his message. She shut up.

Her thoughts, however, didn’t stop. The thud she’d heard moments before, the sound that had felled her driver, could only have been a gunshot. She’d known it the moment she heard it.

Common sense said this man couldn’t have shot the Israeli and reached her so fast. But who was he? Certainly, no archaeologist.

Was he for her or against?

Was Yitzhak dead or alive?

Panic threatened, and she cried out in silence. Lord God, Help!

As seconds crept by, she became aware of the man’s heartbeat against her back. It throbbed a steady pace, if fast. His breaths came quickly, too, as if meeting only his most basic need. As it had before the shot, the silence grew heavy and dense.

What felt like an eternity later, the man eased off her and to the right. His large hand remained on her back, and Chloe respected the warning it conveyed. Until she knew who she was dealing with, she’d follow orders.

Within reason.

“Are you the reporter?” he asked.

Interesting. “So, since you know who I am,” she countered, “who are you?”

A rough sound came from behind the black fabric mask. With his weight off her, Chloe eased up her head and shot him a sideways glance. A touch of humor lit the steel-gray eyes visible in the slit formed by the parted lengths of black cloth over his face.

“I heard you were daring,” he murmured, “sometimes unwisely.”

She glared and wrested out from under his hand. “I can’t imagine who’d say something so ridiculous—”

“Quiet!” The heavy hand came down again, that time on her shoulder.

She stopped. Horror flooded her again. Images filled her thoughts. The shot. Her driver. The body. “What’s happening? Why?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out. But you have to do what I tell you. That is, if you don’t want them to land a bullet on you, too.”

Chloe wasn’t sure if she’d nodded or if the shudder that racked her had made her head move enough for her captor to take it as a nod. Then it hit her.

He was American.

“Who are you?” She stared at him. “Why should I do what you say?”

His eyes narrowed. “You don’t have much choice.”

She couldn’t argue with his logic. “Okay. But who are you?” she asked for a third time. “You can at least give me that. You don’t sound like the average terrorist, but you certainly don’t strike me as an archaeologist, either.”

He took his hand away. “Just don’t move, okay? And you’re right. I’m neither. Ridge,” he said with a slight nod in her direction. “I’m Steven Ridgeway, but everyone calls me Ridge. I’m head of security for the dig.”

She chuckled with little humor. “Your name matches the landscape.”

Another of those sharp sounds. Had to be a laugh, some kind of dark humor. “Now that you mention it…” He raised his black-clad head again. Looked around. She doubted those eyes missed much. “But this isn’t a meet-and-greet,” he added. “I’ve got to see about Yitzhak then get us all out of here alive. Unlike Ari.”

She followed his gaze to where the dead man lay and shuddered. “You knew him?”

“He works—worked for me.” The words rang rough.

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” he said with emotion. “He’s…was a good man. Wife and kids. They’ll need help.”

As surreal as the day had been up until then, and as welcome as Ridge’s humanity was, Chloe held little hope for change in the immediate future. Despite what he’d said about working security, the site wasn’t secure at all. “What’s next?” she asked.

“Can you crawl to the entrance of the cave?”

Panic built inside her. “Past him?” She pointed to the dead man—Ari.

“Unless you want to stay here and risk a bullet from his killers. I’m not kidding here. I can’t be sure there’s no one left out here armed and ready. There’s a measure of safety inside the cave.”

She looked the hole in the rock skeptically. “There wasn’t much safety there for your man.”

He flinched. “I doubt they’re still in there. They shot Yitzhak from outside, from a rear vantage point, not from the cave.”

“You have a point.” Reluctantly, Chloe pushed up on her hands.

The heavy hand came down on her shoulder again. “No! Crawl. Don’t become a target. I’m almost sure the shot came from one of the nearby cliffs, but like I said, I don’t know beyond any doubt that they’re gone. Stay low.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Please.”

She dragged herself across the sandy rock, scraping her elbows against the gritty surface, recognizing the logic in his statements and how out-of-place she was right then. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this. Bachelor’s and master’s degrees in archaeology, followed by a career as a freelance writer specializing in her field of study—none of that had prepared her to handle gunshots and dead security men. How, Lord? How did I go from writing about ancient finds to belly-crawling away from killers in the desert?

As she passed Ari’s body, she noticed a gun a couple of feet from his outstretched left hand. As if the man’s corpse weren’t horror enough, Chloe had never been near a gun in her life, much less touched one. But at that moment…nothing about that moment fit into her previous life. She suspected nothing in her future would feel like her past, either.

Seconds later, she wrapped icy fingers around the metal. It felt real, too real. As did the Middle Eastern heat still raging around her. The gun was warmer than she’d expected, especially against her cold hand. Despite her aversion to the weapon, she held it tighter and crawled the rest of the way to the inner wall of the cave, just inside the opening. She sat with her back against the stone and slowly eased up to standing, somewhat reassured by its solid toughness. She scoured her inner depths for strength.

Chloe drew the gun closer as she stared out toward the Dead Sea.

“Lord, help me!” she prayed. “I don’t know how to help myself.”

What genius at the magazine thought it would be a good idea to send a fragile, Victorian paper doll-type to an archeological dig? In the desert?

Ridge shook his head.

The reporter’s filmy white top and perfectly pressed buff-colored pants went well with the perfect manicure and slinky scarf around her head. Not so well with her assignment, Ridge thought.

He palmed his Glock then chambered a round and aimed the gun straight ahead, finger on the trigger. He rose to a low crouch and stared out, visually combing the area for any sign of movement. He was glad the sun had gone down enough to provide him with a degree of shade from a nearby outcropping. A glance back as he crept to the rim of the ridge showed him the reporter pressed tight against the cave wall inside the entrance.

Her position didn’t provide her with decent protection from a would-be assassin, but it was the best they had at the moment. Any deeper into the cave, with its other small but usable opening on the next ridge, and she might walk right into a trap. He wasn’t going to leave her for long, just long enough to see to Yitzhak. He had no idea where the shooter might be. She was still in danger, though. They all were. And she was his responsibility.

Just like Ari had been.

And Yitzhak still was.

Ridge worked in a dangerous world. Security, of necessity, meant life or death. Not more than forty-five minutes earlier he’d found Ari, one of the best among his men, shot dead. He’d set off to trail the killer, but had seen only motorcycle tracks on the hard sand leading to the gravel access road at the foot of the cliffs. At that point, he had to give up, and was on his way back to the dig site when he spotted Yitzhak and the woman hiking up the rock face.

He’d kept silent, not wanting to draw attention to them, just in case. Finally, the woman had hauled herself up over the crest. Seconds later, he’d watched Yitzhak drop, and he’d known the man had been shot. With a gun outfitted with a silencer. It would only have made a sizzle and a thump, not enough to be heard from any distance. That’s when he’d scrambled the last few feet across the plateaued top of the bluff and dropped down onto the reporter to shield her, more out of instinct than any conscious thought.

He had to get to Yitzhak, hurt but still alive.

Unlike Ari.

He held his breath to listen better. The breeze had picked up. No other sounds, though. No voices. Or engines.

Just the silence of death.

He inched toward the edge. Shortly after Ridge and his partner, Troy Porter, had retired from their military intelligence careers and founded their security services firm they’d been hired to work a mission where they’d coordinated with Israeli Special Forces. Ari had been their liaison in the Sayeret.

Since then, the three men worked together numerous times. Ari on behalf of the Nation of Israel, and Ridge and Troy as principals in their own firm. The name Ridge and Troy had chosen for the company said it all: Covert/Overt Precision Security, Inc., C/O.P.S. for short. Intelligence and protection was their specialty.

Once Ari left active duty as well, he’d joined C/O.P.S. He’d been fiercely loyal, fearless, and brilliant. Not to mention, one of Ridge’s two closest friends. Now, a terrorist’s bullet had put an end to that good man’s life. He couldn’t let himself consider what the loss of that friendship would mean. Not yet. He had to bring the killer to justice. And finish his job with the magazine. He had to keep the delicate reporter from meeting Ari’s fate.

How was he going to do that with Yitzhak lying in a pool of blood from his pierced shoulder?

Easing over the edge, he called out. “How’re you doing?”

“Hurt and hungry,” Yitzhak answered, as always trying for a light twist to the situation.

“Don’t give me that.” Ridge wrapped an arm round his wounded guard, then began the more-slide-than-hike back down to the sandy base of the cliff. “How are you really doing?”

“Lost some blood.”

Ridge nodded. “And…”

“I will live, my friend.” Yitzhak chuckled. “But Miriam will kill you.”

Glad to relieve some inner tension, Ridge laughed at the thought of Yitzhak’s fiery wife. “I expect nothing less.” He shot another look at his man’s shoulder. “Looks like the bullet went through.”

“Clean through.”

Ridge eased them down another distance, but his right foot slid and knocked off a shower of rocks. The spill set off a rumble that echoed, loud as an avalanche. He tightened his arm around Yitzhak’s back. “You okay?” he asked.

Yitzhak nodded. “Steadier than you, boss. Take care.”

They dropped a few feet lower.

“What about Miss Williams?” Yitzhak asked.

Ridge glanced upward. “I’ll come back for her, but we need to get you to the SUV.”

“I can go the rest of the way,” the guard answered.

“Not alone, you won’t.”

“But—”

“We don’t have time to argue, not if you’re concerned about our reporter,” Ridge said, his voice steely. “I’ll go back for her as soon as I get you settled—”

“Ow! Oof—oof!”

The muffled cries were punctuated by a cascade of rock from above. “I told you to do exactly what I said!” Ridge hollered. “I didn’t say to move.”

“You also told me to keep quiet,” she countered, the rocks still rolling down. “I’ve been fairly quiet. You’re the one yelling. I didn’t hurt anyone, and I don’t want to get hurt. Staying up there didn’t seem all that safe. You came at me out of nowhere. How do I know the one who shot your friend and Yitzhak isn’t still up there wherever you came from, ready to hit me, too?”

By then, she’d reached Ridge and Yitzhak, about three-quarters of the way down. “Fine. You’re here now. But I’m the chief of security on the dig, and you’re going to have to work with me. I do know what I’m doing.”

“Then get me out of here. I don’t mind these bumps and bruises, but I do mind getting shot.” She slid down another few feet. “And Yitzhak. He needs a doctor.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” The moment he’d laid eyes on Chloe Williams, he’d known she would be trouble. The few minutes he’d now spent in her company had done nothing to change his mind. “Go straight to the SUV. We have to get to Ein Gedi right away. I know a doctor there.”

“Fine,” she called back, not pausing in her descent.

Yitzhak chuckled. “Reminds me of Miriam.”

“I’ve got my hands full, then.” Ridge glanced at the still bleeding shoulder. “I’ve got to get you to a doctor.”

Yitzhak’s jaw turned rocky. “Don’t leave Ari.”

“I’m calling Max.” Max Hilliard was another C/O.P.S. man, part of the security team Ridge had put together for this dig. A logistics genius, Max handled operations in the background, from coordinating with local law enforcement to all advance planning.

Usually, an archaeological site presented the risk of thieves stealing the treasures found. Murder wasn’t a normal part of archaeology. Today had been anything but normal. “He’ll be right out, probably before the authorities get here.”

“You can’t leave the cave unguarded.”

“I can’t have you go on bleeding.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, you are. I’m going to see to it.”

Yitzhak knew Ridge well, and his rolled eyes told Ridge he’d gotten the message. They were on their way to find a doctor.

The three of them reached the SUV in silence. Ridge eased Yitzhak against the rear passenger door, then called museum security about Ari.

When he finished his call, the reporter, who’d removed the green scarf from her head to reveal fiery red hair, turned to him, holding the wad of fabric in one hand and a handgun in the other.

“Whoa!” Ridge stepped in front of Yitzhak, but the man sagged right away. He tightened his hold on the wounded guard.

“What?” she said. “What’s wrong?”

He jabbed his chin toward the gun in her hand. “Drop it.”

“Oh!” She seemed surprised to realize she still held the gun. And none too happy. “This. It must have been Ari’s. I picked it up from near his hand. It made sense to take it for protection.”

“Have you ever shot a gun?”

She shuddered. “Never even held one before.”

“Then put it down. I’ll pick it up. You’re a greater danger to yourself and everyone around you than any attacker. Besides, he seems gone already.”

She narrowed her green eyes. “I don’t think so. I’ll take my chances. I don’t think I’ll shoot off my own foot.” She glanced at Yitzhak. “We’re going to have to do something about his wound. I brought supplies with me, and this”—she waved the scarf—“will work to tie it all up.”

After tossing the silky length at Ridge, she reached into the SUV and hauled out a black leather duffel bag. She set the gun on a rock by her feet, and scrabbled inside the bag. She pulled out boxes of rolled gauze, wound bandages, a small bottle of what looked like hydrogen peroxide, a blue bottle of antiseptic cleaner, a tube of antibiotic ointment, and a cellophane-wrapped Ace bandage.

An unexpected laugh burst out. So, the delicate paper doll-reporter wasn’t quite as useless as she appeared. Grudging admiration grew.

“Can you see to his wound in the car while I drive?” he asked.

“Of course. Put him in the back seat, then help me get a seatbelt on him. I’ll do the rest.”

Even though she hadn’t inspired much confidence at first glance, her voice said she could do the job. Determination—or stubbornness—gave her words backbone.

He hoped she really was up to it.

“For all our sakes, please give the gun to Yitzhak,” he said once they were settled in the vehicle. “Even with a bullet in his shoulder, his IDF training makes him far more qualified than you.”

“IDF?” she asked.

“Israeli Defense Forces.”

Another of those green glares came his way. “All I have right now is your word that you’re the head of security for the dig. I wasn’t about to question you when you barreled me down after someone had taken a shot at my driver. Then I saw a dead man. Now you tell me my driver is some kind of Israeli military shooter. I don’t know what to believe.”

She looked from Ridge to Yitzhak, then out the window to the cliff. “You know, that cave looks too…I don’t know, clean for a typical archaeological dig. That’s all I know. How can I be sure you’re telling the truth?”

In frustration, he blew out a gust of air. “We have no time for this, but I don’t blame you for your suspicions.” He reached in his pocket and tossed his worn wallet onto her lap. “Check it out. I have ID of all kinds, and I do have a passport, just not in the wallet or on me right now. We’ll talk later.”

Before she could say anything else, he started the car, heading for the Qumran National Park Museum, where he would be debriefed by park personnel about Ari’s death. They in turn would arrange for the authorities to come out and handle the details. Much as he felt the need to handle these last few mercies for his late friend, he knew he still had a job to finish. As they bounced over the gravel road, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Max.

It took no time to bring the operations expert up to speed. Max agreed to arrange for them to meet with law enforcement in Jerusalem, and for the U.S. Consulate to be notified and present for the questioning. Once Ridge had Yitzhak to a doctor, he’d take over dealing with the authorities himself. He was sure they’d want to interview him and Chloe.

The reality of the situation again struck Ridge. Yitzhak was in pain, and had fallen silent after Chloe had bandaged his shoulder. She, too, had quieted once the first aid was done. With a glance in the rearview mirror, he saw she’d let her head drop back onto the headrest.

Ridge felt as drained as she seemed. As he looked out the windshield again, he caught sight of his reflection. He still had his face covered. With a quick tug, he removed the black fabric and scrubbed his face. No wonder she was struggling to believe he was anything but another potential killer. That’s exactly what he’d looked like the whole time since they’d met.

The cool air from the car’s vents felt great against his overheated skin. Sleep would make a difference, too. But after the events of the day so far, they had hours to go before he could rest. And, since he was dreading the final thing he should do that night, he doubted sleep was anywhere in his near future. Notifying Ari’s wife—widow, now—of her husband’s death would be gut-wrenching.

As he thought back to Ari and Sarah’s wedding day a few years earlier, a sharp whine outside caught his attention. His rearview mirror revealed nothing. The insistent sound drew closer.

“What’s that?” Chloe asked.

“I don’t know.” Then out the passenger window, a distance away, a swirl of sand caught his attention. It puffed up from a modest elevation, and the relentless approach of the whine grew ever louder. It was a motorcycle. More than likely, a tough enduro-type bike, modified to handle the roughest desert terrain. Probably trouble.

He sped up.

The sand cloud kicked up by the black motorcycle moved faster. Then came a gunshot, and the SUV was hit. More bullets hailed down on them from the opposing side. A second bike.

“Get down!” he yelled to his passengers. “We have to outrun them.”

He floored the accelerator and swerved to his left. Their pursuers adjusted. He swerved to the right, hoping to make it harder for the shooter to aim.

Not to aim. To hit.

From the depths of his past, a familiar but long-ago forgotten source of strength came to him. “Lord,” he murmured, “help!”