With Ridge’s encouragement ringing in her ears and the tingle of his lips warming her cheek, Chloe slipped away from the garden where they’d found shelter. Behind her, Ridge yelled, then stumbled around, slapping branches and crunching dried leaves or twigs. For a man who up until then had been practically soundless, he certainly could make noise. No one would ever miss this commotion.

As she fled, Ridge’s racket faded into the background. The whine of the motorcycle also receded. With all her senses on alert, Chloe could detect no one in pursuit, and her relief at no longer hearing the motorcycle expressed itself in a sharp inhale. She felt encouraged, and she picked up her pace, not an easy thing to do. The street she was on had a decent incline, and it cost her exhausted legs serious effort to go up it. But she was determined to reach the consulate safely and with the fragments intact.

While fear birthed in her the strongest urge to scoot from one hiding place to the next, she knew that would make her highly conspicuous along a city street. Dredging up all her courage, Chloe squared her shoulders, twisted her camera case on its long strap across her body like a purse, and pretended to be another of the few pedestrians she passed.

She wished Ridge was with her. His absence emphasized how safe she felt when at his side. She glanced back, but didn’t see him.

The memory of the sweet kiss he’d pressed onto her cheek lingered. On top of that, he’d voiced more confidence in her than she remembered anyone else doing in a very long time. It was this effect that kept her from falling apart, that kept her moving toward the consulate in spite of her fear. She lifted her fingers to the skin his lips had touched. He was a complex man, and undeniably intriguing.

By that point it seemed as though he’d been gone for ages. Where was he? She wished he’d catch up to her.

But wishing did her no good. She had to focus on getting herself and the manuscript fragments to safety. After a nerve-wracking eternity, she reached the top of the hill. The sight of the American flag waving over the building on the down side of the incline spurred her the rest of the way. As she hurried up to the entrance a tall, black man standing by the door caught her attention.

“Max!” she cried.

He spun, and a relieved smile brightened his face. “Miss Williams—“

“Please, call me Chloe. After all this…” she gestured vaguely, and then shrugged.

He smiled. “I understand. Anyway, I’m glad to see you. Let’s go inside. A representative from the Citizen Services unit has arranged to meet us privately. As you can imagine, they have a ton of questions for you and Ridge. Speaking of Ridge, where is he?”

Chloe darted a glance behind her, but of course, Ridge wasn’t there. “I don’t know. We went to the Institute of Archaeology to return their truck and catch a cab here, but before we even went inside, we realized we were being followed.”

Max frowned. “Did you get a look at who was following you?”

“He may have. All I saw was a gray car. And I can’t even help you much with that. I’m not a car person. The only things I noticed were the color—gray—and that it wasn’t an SUV.”

He gestured toward a bank of elevators. “This way.”

Chloe followed, crossing the reception area at his side, the weight of responsibility increasing her awareness of the contents of the camera case. She wanted to pass the artifacts on to someone who could protect them better than she could, but also, to someone who would do justice to the history and faith they represented. They needed translating and protecting. Truth mattered.

“I can assume Ridge went after whoever was tailing you,” Max said.

“There were at least two by the time we separated. There was the gray car behind us, and a man on the motorcycle showed up, coming down the road toward us. That motorcycle has shown up every time there’s been an incident, a murder. Ridge insisted on distracting them both to give me time to get here safely. I…I’m worried. About him. I’d hoped he would beat me here.”

In the elevator, Max rubbed his forehead, clearly troubled about his boss, his friend. “Tell you what. Let’s get you to the meeting room, and I’ll go see if he needs me out there. You’ll be safe here, and I can help even the odds for him. Can’t say I like the idea of two against one when there’s already been a number of deaths.”

“Makes sense.” Chloe couldn’t stand the thought of two attackers against Ridge. As much as she’d hated the interrogation of the night before, she could handle questions. She had no idea what Ridge might be facing, and she didn’t want to dwell on it. “We should hurry. I’m sure Ridge can use your help.”

Moments later, they entered a meeting room. A large library table lined with a dozen chairs ran the length of the space. A window let in the late afternoon light, reminding Chloe of the passage of time. Ridge still hadn’t appeared.

“Why don’t you go on ahead?” she asked Max. “I’ll be fine now that we’re inside United States property.”

“I’m sure the gentleman who’s meeting us will be here any minute now—”

The door opened behind them, and Richard Hobbes, the man who’d been present during Chloe’s interrogation the night before, walked in. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Williams,” he said. “Even if I’d much rather it be under better circumstances. Please. Let’s all take a seat.”

In a few minutes, Max had explained Ridge’s situation, and he headed to the door. “I hope to come back soon with Ridge. Please wait for us here, Chloe. We’d rather you not go outside alone.”

“I won’t leave until you and Ridge are back. I’m worried about him.”

Max arched a brow, but only nodded. He slipped from the room. The door closed with a solid thump.

“Well, Miss Williams—”

“Chloe.”

Hobbes nodded. “Chloe, then. Why don’t we start with you giving me an overview of what happened since we last spoke?”

As she told him about the attack at the cave, Chloe realized how insane the details of the last two days sounded. Even to her. But they didn’t seem to faze Hobbes. She was ready to return home, to write her article, read material by other writers, and check into the results of the analyses of the writings on the fragments. She’d had about enough of this assignment.

Exhaustion threatened, and the weight of her head felt more like that of one of the boulders on the way to the caves. Her shoulders sagged, and her whole body ached. Still, she had to see this through. She had to see Ridge again, make sure he was okay.

She forced herself to keep going, describing every step they took, detail after detail. “…and then the bullet hit Dr. Avram.” At that point, she stopped. She couldn’t continue right then.

A knock at the door broke into the silence. “Excuse me, Mr. Hobbes.” A man wearing a white jacket wheeled in a cart that bore a trio of shiny steel domes on its top shelf. “I have the meal you requested.”

Chloe’s stomach responded with a loud growl. “I’m so sorry about that! But thank you both. I just realized we haven’t eaten since breakfast this morning.”

The waiter gave a silent nod, while Hobbes smiled. “Enjoy. It’s nothing fancy, a salad and a sandwich, but it should help.”

A musical chime rang out, and Hobbes rose partway to pull his cell phone from his trousers pocket. “I see…hm…very well. I’ll be right there.” He stood, then turned to Chloe. “Something urgent has come up, and I have to take care of it. It only should take a couple of minutes. I’ll be right back. Enjoy your meal.”

As he left the room, the waiter approached with a condensation-beaded pitcher. “Iced tea, miss?” At her nod, he flipped a footed water glass upright to pour out the amber liquid, leaning along her right side to do so.

“Thank you.” She spread the napkin he’d given her over her lap, then picked up her fork. The salad looked crisp, fresh, and the dressing gave the vegetables a glossy gleam. But as she speared a bite onto her utensil, she sensed the waiter at her back.

“Don’t make noise,” he warned, his voice hard and threatening. Something cold and hard pressed into the base of her skull. “You’re coming with me. And quickly.”

Chloe drew a slow, deep breath. She couldn’t have seen this coming. Not at the American Consulate.

Where was Ridge? Where was Max? Lord, where are you?

But she couldn’t fall apart. She had to stay strong and think clearly if she was to have a chance of surviving this latest attack. The question, though, was why? Why had this man come after her?

“Don’t shoot me,” she said, her voice stronger than she would have expected. “I’ll come with you. What is it you want? What are you after?” She had to know.

“Be quiet! Just do what I say.”

Only then did Chloe notice his accent. He didn’t sound Jewish, but he also didn’t sound American. She shot a glance over her shoulder. Before she got a look at him, he pressed the gun deeper into her skin.

“No! Get up now. Start moving. Do what I say.”

Clearly, he didn’t want her to see his face, and she hadn’t, even before he’d come up behind her. He’d been busy with the wheeled cart, the plate of food, and the tea, while she’d been more focused on her conversation with Hobbes.

Lord, I’m helpless, at the mercy of a gun. Give me strength, give me wisdom, protect me. And Father, please be present with Ridge. Whatever he’s dealing with right now, he took it on for me. Help him, Lord. Help us all…

She looked around the room, seeking a way out, something to help herself. But she saw nothing helpful anywhere. Then a memory from last night came back to her. She had an idea. She understood it offered her one chance, only one. It wasn’t one she was about to squander. Carefully, with deliberate intent, she slipped the strap of her camera case over her head. She set it on the table, then placed both hands flat on the wood surface, one at each side of her full plate. She pushed her chair back.

Thank you, Lord! Don’t abandon me now….

Ridge ran inside the open lobby door of an apartment building. In the cool interior, he stopped, leaned against the smooth stone wall and fought to catch his breath.

He hoped he’d darted and doubled back around enough to have lost both the car and the bike. More importantly, he hoped he’d given Chloe enough time to get to the consulate, to reach safety. He hoped she was even then with Max, a man who would give his life before letting anyone get to her. Max, like the other men from C/O.P.S., took duty seriously.

If Ridge’s calculations were correct, he was only about six blocks away. Normally, it wouldn’t take much time to get there, but at the moment, he had no idea what he would face once he stepped outside again. He didn’t even know if one of the men who’d tailed them was about to run in here, loaded and ready to finish him off.

But he wasn’t ready to give them the satisfaction.

He had Chloe to think of. One way or another, he had to make sure she was safe. He’d done what he could at the moment, sending her ahead. Now he had to survive to get her home safely. And, since it mattered so much to her, to make certain the artifacts were in the hands of the right experts.

Once again, that random, spontaneous prayer rose inside him, and this time, he gave it voice.

“Help us, Lord,” he whispered, realizing how sincerely he meant it. “I’ve not thought about you in too long, relying only on my training and my strength. But since I’m still alive, in spite of the messes I deal with every day, it seems as though you’ve been on my side, probably thanks to Mom’s prayers. Maybe this latest mess is one I needed to face for this new awareness of you to return. Help us through this, Lord.”

As he prayed, he couldn’t help but smile. Growing up, he’d often heard his mother quote a Scripture about raising children in the way they should go. She always added that sooner or later, they would return to their faith roots. It appeared he was proving her right. Again.

He recognized the trigger hadn’t come from facing a life or death situation. His line of work always meant life or death for someone. This time it was all about Chloe. If he made any mistakes, she could wind up hurt. Or worse. The thought of Chloe in that kind of danger raised something fierce inside him.

But he wasn’t helping her as long as he stayed in this lobby. He had to get to the consulate and make the necessary arrangements that would protect her from those that were after them.

After her.

There. He’d finally admitted it. While he’d made a fair number of enemies in his line of work, any one of them could have gotten to him at any given time. This had to do with Qumran. This had to do with the cave. And since Chloe was so determined to be a part of the discoveries there, she had made herself a part of that flow of history. She’d aligned herself closely to the archeological finds.

All his years of experience led him to believe they were dealing with extremists rather than thieves.

They wanted to silence her, the words she might write.

They were after her, and like they’d done with other cultural sites, most likely their plans included the destruction of the caves and anything that might still be in them. He’d considered it before. They probably planned to eliminate anyone who had witnessed the discoveries, anyone who could speak to what they might mean.

As he acknowledged the only conclusion that made any sense, he stepped back outside. After a quick glance down both sides of the street, he began to jog again. Hurry…hurry…hurry.

At the top of the hill a long block away from the consulate, he gave up all attempt at discreet movement. He ran full-out, anxiety growing. The lack of pursuit didn’t give him any peace. Instead it made him worry even more about Chloe’s safety. If the men weren’t after him, they were most likely after her again.

He soon spotted Max running up to the consulate doors. “Hey!” he yelled to catch his operations expert’s attention. “Where’s Chloe?”

“She’s okay, with Hobbes, inside the consulate.” Relief rang in Max’s voice. “Where’ve you been? I went all over the neighborhood looking for you.”

“I had to hide for a while, to make sure I wouldn’t draw the men who’d been following us back to Chloe.” He looked around the front of the building, checked out the passersby, but saw nothing to alert his senses. “I think I lost them, but we still need the police. The officers have probably been waiting for us at her hotel all this time. Why don’t you call them? While you’re at it, let the military police here know we need their help, too.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Just tell me where you left her, and I’ll go find her.”

Max gave him another pointed stare but didn’t argue. “Top floor, the meeting room at the end of hall to the right. She should be done with her meal by now.”

When Max turned aside to place his call, Ridge hurried indoors. As he approached the elevators, a man in a white food service-style jacket stepped out of the last one in the row, pushing a cart with three silver-dome food covers. But it wasn’t the cart that caught Ridge’s attention. It was something about the man himself. The waiter struck him as familiar, but he couldn’t quite place him. Something…something elusive rang a bell.

Then a fork fell off the cart. The waiter bent to retrieve it. As he stood up again, the answer hit Ridge with the force of a punch to the gut.

The hotel!

The man who’d set the tray in the hall outside a room the night before. This was that man.

It struck Ridge as unlikely that a simple waiter from the consulate would stay at an upscale luxury hotel. It seemed even more unlikely for it to be the same hotel where the reporter writing a story for a prominent archeology magazine was staying. A reporter who’d been pursued by killers. More than once. And it would be the height of coincidence for that waiter to have the room on the same floor the same night as the reporter—no! Ridge had never believed in coincidences.

He wasn’t about to start.

Without allowing himself any abrupt gestures, Ridge approached the waiter from behind. In a swift motion, he grabbed the man’s wrist, pulled the arm back, and twisted it up his back. The waiter grunted, but didn’t fight. There were armed MPs—military police—guarding the U.S. Consulate. He was outnumbered, and he knew it. This was no waiter, but rather someone trained.

“Where is Chloe?” Ridge demanded in a deadly quiet voice.

The man tipped up his chin but didn’t speak.

“We’re going back to where you served that meal.” He pushed the man in the direction of the elevators. “We’re going to go together, and we’re going to make sure that Chloe is fine.”

Silent seconds later, they entered the elevator. In silence again, they watched the numbers climb on the digital floor marker. Finally, also in silence, Ridge urged his captive down the hallway in the direction of the room Max had mentioned.

At that exact moment, a piercing alarm went off. Ridge’s ears ached with each peal, and in the sudden shock, he faltered. His prisoner broke free. At that moment, he had a decision to make. Did he go after the man who was flying down the hall or did he go find Chloe?

He wavered for seconds. What if they’d already hurt her? What if the room contained a trap for him? What if…what if…?

Unaccustomed fear hit him, and he struggled within himself. In that struggle, he again turned to God rather than automatically relying on himself. Fear…he didn’t remember the last time it had struck him with any strength. But here he was, and he was afraid. For Chloe.

“Well, Lord?” he asked.

In the end, the decision came easy. Ridge answered his own question, not with the facts and calculations he usually counted on to make decisions, but rather, he trusted words he’d heard from the time he was a child. He refused to fear the evil that might lurk in the dark of the unknown or the weapons that might come at him. God had made him who he was, with talents and instincts to handle even this. He’d also blessed him with years of training. Time to move forward, grateful for those gifts.

Gun in hand, Ridge turned the meeting room door handle.

Nothing. Locked.

Once again, he had to reach a decision. Was Chloe even in there? Where in the room could she be? And what was that alarm about?

He now heard yells and commands all around. Time to act.

After another of those quick prayers, he aimed at the lock and pressed the trigger. Once. Twice. Three times. The handle flew from its former spot.

The door gave as soon as he pushed it inward. He walked in to the sight of a familiar pair of legs, ankles tied with nylon rope, waving inside a broken window. On the floor below her, a wooden storage chest ran the length of the wall. Immediately below her, he spotted a stainless-steel pitcher. Somehow, she’d used the unlikely weapon to get herself into her current predicament.

If he didn’t help her out of that very predicament, she would fall out on her head. They were two floors up from the ground outside. She was still in danger, and that was without taking the killers into account. As far as Ridge knew, there were at least two, most likely three, still on the loose.

He rushed toward her. “Chloe! What are you doing?”

“Um—grm—hm…rrr!”

With his gun back in his waistband, he reached for her and grabbed her legs. “Stop!” he said. “Let me help you down from there.”

She quit her fight, and he eased her limp body back inside the room. As he set her feet on the floor, loud footfalls rushed into the room behind them.

Ridge tossed a glance over his shoulder to see two MPs, guns aimed and ready, less than five feet away. In the doorway, looking satisfied, Max held the false waiter much like Ridge had on their way up the elevator and down the hall.

“The man was moving a mite too fast for my comfort,” Max said.

Ridge turned to the officers. “It’s all under control. Give us a few minutes to get ourselves straightened out, and we’re all yours for questions. I’m Miss Williams’s bodyguard. Mr. Hobbes will vouch for me—for us. We would appreciate your help with the man my operations manager has just caught. He might, in fact, have more answers for you than we do.”

As the police took control of the would-be waiter, Max turned to Ridge. “You don’t need me any more tonight, do you, boss?”

“I have everything under control, but I think the officers want to talk to you.”

Max laughed. Nodding to Ridge, he waved and stepped aside to let the MPs go ahead of him. He followed in the direction of the elevators.

Chloe began to wriggle again. Her eyes blazed with that familiar green fire. Clearly, she wanted him to remove the white napkin tied tight across her mouth and undo her wrist and ankle restraint. Relief hit him then. She was fighting mad. And safe. At least, for the moment.

“I hope,” he said, cutting the ankle tie with the pocket knife on his keychain, “that when I take the gag off you I hear the sweet sounds of gratitude.”

She narrowed her eyes, glared as he held his keychain in front of her, not touching the white linen or the tie at her wrists. Then she shrugged and nodded, none too enthusiastically.

He untied the cloth.

“What took you so long?” she yelled.

So much for gratitude. He grinned.

And he kissed her. This time on her lips.