---

Fear coursed through her veins. The thick-necked goon gripped Tara around the throat and held a gun to her head. He could just as easily snap her neck.

“Come out, McCall. I know you’re watching. If you don’t want me to put a bullet in her head, you’ll do as I say.”

Her legs wobbled. They would fall out from under her. “Don’t do it, Grant. Save yourself!”

The man jabbed the gun into her temple. Blinding pain forced tears down her cheeks.

Then Grant stepped out from behind a tree, his hands held high and the pistol dangling from a finger.

“Now, toss your weapon over.”

“Let her go and I will.”

He yanked her hair. She couldn’t stop the scream that erupted, though she hadn’t wanted to give him the satisfaction. She pleaded with her eyes for Grant to keep his weapon. To get out of here and come back for her, or at least survive. One of them needed to live to expose the men responsible for what happened in Africa. Tara wanted to live. She wasn’t ready to die, but she shouldn’t have survived the village massacre. She’d been living on borrowed time.

Grant tossed the weapon over, his expression clear.

I’m so sorry…

It wasn’t his fault. He’d only tried to help her. She didn’t blame him, and she wanted the chance to tell him that.

She had a few skills of her own. Time to risk her life to give them both a chance to live.

“Pick it up,” the man jabbed her again.

He would keep his weapon trained on her. No doubt there. So it would be a risk.

Now. Now’s my chance.

She bent down and wrapped her hand around the weapon.

Gunfire resounded as a bullet slammed into the ground next to her feet. “Don’t try anything.”

“Tara, do as he says.” This from Grant.

She did as Grant had done and dangled it from her finger even as she twisted to kick the man full on where it would hurt the most. Doubling over, he fired his weapon again, missing her. She tossed the gun back to Grant as she ran for him.

They were going to make it, after all. He grabbed her to dash into the woods.

The door to the cabin flew open.

“Tara!”

She whirled to see Jason exiting the cabin, a gun at his head now. Grant snatched her up to keep running.

“No, I can’t.” She tore away from him.

Grant quickly pushed her behind him and trained his weapon on Jason’s abductor. Then she recognized him.

Bruce…Bruce Parker. “It’s him,” she whispered. The man who’d killed Jamila and Mercy. The man who was responsible for all of this.

And now he had Dr. Steller.

“Lower your weapon, McCall. Or Dr. Steller will die.”

“Grant, you can’t let him kill Jason.”

The burly man had recovered from Tara’s kick, and remained at a distance, waiting and watching for his chance to get his hands on Tara again.

“I won’t let him take you. I’m sorry about Steller. I’ll try to save him, but he was part of luring you here. It was a trap.”

Jason’s eyes widened and then he hung his head, expecting to be killed.

“No!” She screamed and ran from Grant’s protection. “Don’t kill Jason. Just tell me what you want.”

“I want to get back inside.” Bruce glanced around as though he thought the woods might have eyes and ears. To his henchman, he said, “Gates, you stand guard out here.”

Maybe the woods did have eyes and ears. Maybe Kent was watching and would call in reinforcements. Maybe Grant had a Plan B. But until then, she had to stall.

“Toss it over, McCall. That is, if you’re coming. You might try to flee but I assure you I have men in the woods. You won’t get far.”

“The same men you used to destroy the village?” Tara asked. Stupid.

Bruce offered a smug smile. “I suspected you might have been a witness since we couldn’t find your remains.”

“Go, Grant. Get away.” She wanted him to save himself and come back with reinforcements that would likely take entirely too long, but another part of her desperately wanted him to stay. It might do neither of them any good. But if he stayed, maybe there was one chance in a million they could still escape before anyone was harmed.

Grant once again did as he was told, and tossed the pistol. It landed in the gravel. Bruce waited and watched cautiously as Grant stormed into the cabin, outrage evident in his sullen features. He didn’t look at her. Did he blame her? No. Grant was more likely to blame himself.

Inside the cabin, Bruce wielded his weapon and forced them to sit in chairs lined against the wall.

“What do you want with us?” Grant asked.

“Why not just kill us?” Jason asked.

Really? Tara tossed him a warning glare.

“Patience, Dr. Steller.” Bruce frowned. “I never wanted it to come to this, Tara. You have to believe me. But I can’t have witnesses. You would have already been eliminated if I didn’t need something from you.”

“I don’t have the sample anymore.” She refused to look at Jason.

Bruce eyed her. “And neither does Dr. Steller.”

She gasped. Turned to Jason. “You lied to me. You told me you still had it.”

“As he was instructed to do. We picked up Dr. Steller then destroyed his lab and any evidence he might have left there. It was only a matter of time before you contacted him.”

“I’m so sorry, Tara.” Jason stared at the floor.

“I don’t get it.” She started to rise, but Bruce pointed the gun at her and she stayed glued to the chair. “Why are you keeping us here? What do you want?” Bruce would simply have killed them like he’d done Jamila and Mercy and the others, unless they had something he wanted.

“Unfortunately right after we razed the village to cover our tracks and hide evidence of the test, our manufacturing facility was destroyed. The research, the virus and the vaccine reduced to ash.”

“I’m surprised your mole wasn’t able to prevent the destruction.” Grant kept his voice even, but Tara didn’t miss the fury rolling beneath his composed veneer.

Bruce glared at Grant who remained noncommittal, giving away nothing. Had Grant’s organization been responsible for destroying the bioterrorism facility? He had left out that small detail. Tara wanted to give Bruce her own smug smile, but not until she and her friends were safe.

“This still doesn’t explain why you need me.” She shifted on the uncomfortable chair, unsure if she wanted to know the answer.

Bruce arched a brow, an incredulous grin on his lips. And also a familiar quirk that sent pangs through her. She loathed the fact that she had ever looked up to him.

“You’re so brilliant, so beautiful, and yet, even you missed this. Come here.”

She shook her head. “Why?”

“Refuse and I kill McCall. I don’t need him anyway.” He aimed the weapon at Grant.

“No, no! Bruce, I’m coming over.” She rose from the seat on shaky legs and closed the distance. When she was near enough she slapped him hard across the face, wishing she could get away with more. Given the chance, she’d take him out like the guy outside.

Bruce rubbed his cheek and narrowed his eyes, then that arrogant grin sprouted back in place. “I deserved that. But I have some news I think you’ll find interesting.”

Uh, oh. Tendrils of terror crawled over her skin. “What?” she croaked out the question.

“You’re an incubator for the virus.”

A lump grew in Grant’s throat. “Tara, you didn’t know?”

She could have infected them all. Carole, Kent and then eventually the others.

“Don’t worry, McCall. She’s the incubator but not contagious.”

Like it mattered. The guy would kill them all anyway.

“Sandra explained it to me”—he frowned deeply—“before she was killed. An unfortunate casualty of war. When you became suddenly ill you passed out, fell and hit your head. She moved you to the clinic. You had only mild symptoms. You’re obviously resistant to the virus so we can extract it from you to develop a new vaccine.” Bruce’s gaze flicked to Dr. Steller. “And thanks to your doctor friend here, we have a lab in the basement.”

Jason shook his head vehemently. “No, I can’t be part of this.”

“Tara, you’re safe with me,” Bruce said. “I need you to get our plans back on track.”

“And just what are your plans?” Grant asked. “Why would you, someone who has spent his life helping to save people become involved with a bioterrorism plot?”

“You think too simplistically, McCall. My goal remains the same. I want to help people. I want to make the world a better place. A safer place. Haven’t you paid any attention to the population explosion? It’s not sustainable.”

Oh. This guy was one of those—someone who wanted to play God. Grant had to keep him talking and get more details. “Does the group you’re working for know about your plans?” Grant had learned the bioterrorism group had planned to sell biological weapons to the highest bidding countries—those who were willing to conduct war using abhorrent methods. But this guy sounded like he had plans of his own.

“I would think you had bigger things to worry about, like getting your affairs in order with whatever god you worship. Even atheists can find religion moments before they die.”

Grants affairs were already in order, if he counted daily prayer and trusting God. But the guy might kill him sooner if he said he was ready, so he kept those thoughts to himself. He wasn’t ready until he knew Tara was safe. He’d give his life for her.

God, help us get out of this.

“As I was saying, I’m going to need you, Tara, so you have nothing to fear.”

“He’s going to kill you!” Jason fisted his hands and rose from the chair as if he might rush Bruce.

“Would you like to go first?” Bruce aimed the weapon at Jason.

His face paled and he eased back into the chair.

Terror took hold of her, evident on her face as realization dawned in her eyes. Grant’s gut twisted as he too realized that this sick and perverse man, with his distorted perspective of what was good for the planet, had equally devastating plans for Tara.

She slowly lifted her gaze and stared at Bruce. “It’s gone. It’s no longer in my blood. My immune system has cleared out my blood by now.”

“Very good,” Bruce grinned.

“Then, where has it hidden? Ebola hides in testicles or ocular fluid. Where has this virus hidden?” Fear rippled across her features as she slowly lifted her pained gaze to Bruce. “Oh, no…What have you done?”

“Your liver, Tara. I’m afraid we have to take it. We need all of it.”

Grant kicked the chair from under him as he jumped to his feet. “No! You can’t do that. There must be another way.”

Tara shook her head slowly, as if she had accepted her fate. She understood far more about what was going on here, but Grant wouldn’t accept this.

Bile rose in his throat as fear drove him to the edge of hopelessness.

Oh, God! Oh, God…they would kill her, take her liver out just to find the virus. And for the first time, Grant doubted his Plan B could help them, if it worked at all.

He had to save her. He had to get them out of this!

Tears emerged and spilled down her cheeks. She’d given up.

And if this was her fate—she glanced at Jason and when she looked at Grant, the despair in her eyes was gut-wrenching. Grant gripped Dr. Steller’s chair to steady himself. Grant was the one to agree to meet Dr. Steller. He had done this to her.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Bruce said. “You must know their survival depends on your cooperation.”

Right. He couldn’t let any of them live. They were witnesses.

“What happened to you?” Grant asked. “How did you get involved with the wrong people?”

He shrugged. “The good guys. The bad guys. It’s all a matter of perspective.”

The big guy—Gates—stepped into the cabin. Bruce gave a subtle nod.

Time was up. Could Grant take on these two thugs with guns? Would he have to?

Gates approached, aiming his nine millimeter at Grant, but he moved in too close and Grant promptly relieved him of his weapon, then used the big man as his shield when Bruce fired at him. Gates dropped to the floor. Before Bruce could try again, Tara punched him in the solar plexus and kicked his more vulnerable parts, giving Grant the opportunity to approach and relieve him of his weapon too.

Striking Bruce in the nose, Grant forced him to the floor and put his knee in his back, planning to use the plastic ties he spotted on the counter. Someone opened the door.

Grant shifted around and aimed the weapon he’d confiscated from Bruce, prepared to use it. Mark, his superior, stepped inside and Grant lowered the weapon. “You couldn’t have come at a better time, Mark. Tara, this is my superior, Mark Summer.”

“I got your message.”

Except Grant hadn’t left a message. What game was Mark playing? How much time did Grant have left on the game board? Slowly he tried to shift his weapon into position. “What message was that?”

Mark already pointed a gun at Grant. “That you’d found Tara, of course. It’s nothing personal. I’m sorry about this.”

Then Mark pulled the trigger and fired twice.