A few blocks from the shelter, Victor swung into a gas station and parked around back. Even though Sean breathed through his mouth, lightheadedness paralyzed him. The overpowering smell of sweet body wash stole all the fresh oxygen.

“What the fuck is going on?” Gretch, seated in the front passenger seat, demanded loudly for the third time.

“Would you shut up already?” Victor threw the car into park and motioned to Black Hoodie. The two men forced them from the Jetta and toward a white van with ELIAS BAKERY stenciled on the sides. Sean scanned the lot. There were no windows on this side of the gas station mart. One security camera hung off-kilter, connected by a lone screw.

“Get your hands off me,” Gretch shrieked. Sean twisted from Black Hoodie and lunged toward the bodybuilder. Victor dragged Gretch in front of him, one hand splayed over her boob, the other aiming the 9mm at Sean’s face. Sean halted feet from impact. A front snap would take care of the weapon, but not the other gun, now trained on him from the left side.

Sean exhaled harshly. “Get your hands off her.” His voice held all the authority of the sensei, and Victor’s brows rose.

“Or what, nerd?”

“Or I’ll fucking kill you.”

Victor snorted and jerked his head. “Get in the van.” His left hand hadn’t moved, and Gretch’s expression mixed mutinous hate with panic. Sean backed away. It was the wisest move, but his martial arts side trembled with bloodlust.

She was shoved in first and cried out in pain. Sean leaped in unassisted and crouched beside her prone body.

“Come here,” he murmured, hauling her upright. The windowless doors were slammed shut, enclosing them in darkness and the residual buttery scent of baked goods. He encircled her shivering body in a tight embrace.

“Who is that? Why is he doing this?” Gretch asked. In two years of dodging her regal insults and haughty retorts, he’d never glimpsed a softer side to her. A side that had turned out to have extensive tentacles of warmth, fear, and love tunneling under her prickly composure. Now the terror in her outraged tone was nakedly transparent.

“Adyton’s great-nephew,” Sean explained.

“Adyton?” She jolted against him, her breath puffing his cheek. “Oh yeah,” she said. “He was one of the bodyguards who came in last Monday.”

“This van is from the bakery next door to Days of Olde, so I guess that’s Adyton’s too, and no doubt where we’re headed.”

The driver’s-side door slammed, and the men spoke unintelligibly beyond the dividing panel.

“You said I was delusional,” Gretch accused. “That only the mob was after us.”

“If there’s a connection between Donatello and Adyton, it has to be micro-thin.”

“Well, here’s your damn proof.” She tsked her disgust. Beneath his palms, her muscles were both rigid and quaking. “If we get out of this, I am totally applying to the FBI.”

“God help us all,” he muttered, then grinned at the kick to his shin. The angrier she got, the less room there was to be afraid.

The van roared to life. “Listen,” he said, stoking the fire. “When we get to wherever he’s taking us, let me do all the talking.”

“You are on my last nerve, Sean Quinn.” Her voice floated viciously in the dark. Strange how if he couldn’t see her wrath, it held less power over him.

“Good. Keep that thought.” Tires screeched, and the van peeled out, tossing them to the floor. Immediately a wheel hit a pothole, which almost dislocated a vertebra in his neck. Gretch uttered profanities, and Sean continued bracing her against him through the aggressive speed and sharp turns, while visually mapping their route. About five minutes later, he was certain they’d entered the I-90 freeway.

“What do you think’s going to happen?” she asked in a small voice.

Damn. The fear had returned. He tightened his arms. “If there’s a God, the police will see this wildly erratic driving and engage in a high-speed pursuit.”

She shrugged out of his grip. “We’re in trouble, Sean. Snap out of the smarty-pants responses.”

Sean kept silent. Social niceties were beyond him on a good day. Spouting false comfort completely eluded him. They were screwed, full stop. He sucked in air to dissipate the despair. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, Gretch,” he said. “I don’t know why Adyton would want us. If only I hadn’t chosen to get off at that fucking El stop.”

A pause. She gripped his hand in hers. “If only I wasn’t such a whack job you had to bodyguard from stalker dates.”

He could barely make out her features in the dark. “You trying to own my guilt?”

“Just sharing the burden. You tend to be very grabby with the martyr role.”

He grinned and squeezed her hand. Yeah. He’d needed her snark as much as she needed to be angry. His thoughts shifted to action. These van doors latched in the middle. At the destination, one of the men would be standing right in the center, well within ambush kicking distance.

Gretch snuggled back in Sean’s arms and sighed. “We need to think. Preplan. I say Adyton is aware I’m behind the eBay bid.”

“Or he caught you in one of those lies Tuesday. But that would mean he never bought my Bixby role or the conduit service between art buyers and sellers. So why keep the Quran at Moore and Morrow for restoration? Why waste my time the next day at that warehouse on Knox?”

“Knox?”

“Mmhmm. Hundreds of crates. You can’t believe how much black-market smuggling is going on right beneath Chicago’s noses.”

The van exited the freeway. Their bodies swayed together with each acceleration and brake just like Tuesday on the train. Sean let his head loll on the metal siding, picturing the van parking, doors opening, him crouched to kick the gun out of Victor’s hand.

“There may be another connection,” Gretch said softly.

“What?”

“I saw an inventory list on Walter’s desk last Monday from Adyton, listing a Knox address. Twenty items totaling a hundred thousand dollars. But after he met with Adyton, he gave me the list to type up and the price had been whited out and changed to sixty million.”

“Sixty?” A chill spread goosebumps along Sean’s arms. “What kind of items?”

“Pottery, statues, reliefs… that sort of thing. And a few words were handwritten in Arabic. I meant to go back in and use the translating app on my cell, but forgot.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

She snorted. “The week got a little crazy after that.”

Sean processed the information and shook his head. “There’s no way Walter is involved.”

“You’d think, right? What with the whole churchgoing, ‘our company’s reputation is critical’ thing he’s got going on?”

“Do you remember the buyer?”

She whistled out a breath. “Umm… Tomas Hussain. Not a name I recognized. Not one of our regulars.”

The van braked hard again, and they fought for balance. After righting herself and swearing revenge, Gretch said, “Walter’s definitely been in a crappy mood lately, though. I just figured it was issues at home. I know his daughter goes off to college this fall. What if he needs more money? What if he thought connecting up with Adyton’s crates of artifacts would help expand the business? The week goes on, your brother and Margo storm the office…” Her shoulders rose and fell. “Suddenly there’s suspicion the Quran may be connected to terrorism. Walter’s bad mood could be his guilty conscience.”

Sean shook his head again. “It’s not Walter. We need to find out who this Hussain is. A hundred thousand changed to sixty mil sounds like massive bribery to me. Or hiding money.”

“Hiding money?”

“Massively overpaying for goods or real estate, like in messy divorce proceedings, for example. The husband might divest as many assets as possible before the wife’s lawyer finds them.”

“How is that hiding? Now the husband is out sixty million.”

“Because in return, the other guy, the buyer, will sell something back at a later date for the same figure minus a generous fee.” So the question was: had Dwayne found out about this list? And what did this have to do with them being dragged here at gunpoint?

The van whipped in a tight circle, throwing them to the cold metal floor again. A grind of gears, and the van lurched in reverse. They righted themselves once more, and Gretch’s string of profanities grew.

“Listen,” Sean said, leaning so close his nose bumped her neck. “The second Victor stops this van, I’ll be looking for a chance to kick his ass. If there’s even a remote opportunity, you need to run, okay?”

“Wait—”

“Run, Gretch. Doesn’t matter where. Don’t look back.”

The motor died. Two doors slammed, rocking the van. Sean scooted to the middle and lay on his coccyx with his knees raised, feet aimed at the latches.

“Sean, wait,” she whispered urgently.

“Shh!”

The doors whipped open. Light blinded him, but not enough that he couldn’t see. No Victor. Instead Black Hoodie and another young man stood on either side of the open doors, .45s pressed low to their sides. Because the open doors blocked them, no one outside the van would see the guns. Shit.

“Hop along,” Victor said, rounding from the driver’s side. Sean studied the three men—two on the right, one on the left. All holding guns. Behind them was the open back entrance to the bakery. The freshly baked aromas were tantalizing and completely at odds with the threat they faced.

Sean was manhandled out and shoved through the door. “Tie him,” Victor called, and in seconds, more slim plastic encircled his wrists. Behind him, a scuffle ensued and Gretch swore loudly. Sean spun and plowed into the other two men. Black Hoodie fell with the loud thump, but the other guy jabbed his gun in Sean’s side. He froze as the hammer was cocked.

Two feet away, Victor and Gretch were in an all-out struggle, him trying to take liberties and her attempting castration by kicking. “You and me,” Victor muttered with a leer, “we’re going to have some fun.”

Sean yanked at the zip tie, and last night’s scabs split open. “Leave her alone,” he snarled. Black Hoodie staggered to his feet and jammed his gun against Sean’s forehead.

“I will kill you,” Gretch shrieked. She let fly another off-balanced kick that Victor easily sidestepped.

“Vic, she’s making too much noise.”

“Fuck it. My great-uncle hates delays.” Victor spun her around and pushed hard. Teeth gritted in fury, eyes glassy with hate, she plowed into Sean’s chest and bounced off with a whoof.

“Move out,” Victor barked. They trooped single file through a large storage room, weaving between boxed items stacked on carts, ready to be loaded onto the van. The two men dropped back, and Victor led them to a door. He knocked a rapid beat and, at a muffled sound, threw it open. Adyton’s moldy-smelling office lay beyond. Victor shoved Sean over the threshold first. The old man sat at his desk, black-framed glasses on the tip of his nose, scribbling something in Arabic.

Gretch halted next to Sean, her eyes searching his. He shook his head. He had no hope to give. Her brow furrowed as she looked away, and before she clamped her jaw, her chin trembled.

Victor closed the door on the other two men and stood in front of it, gun aimed casually at the floor. Adyton signed his name with a flourish and glanced up.

“Ah, Miss Allen.” Adyton smiled thinly. “You look a bit…different. And Mr. Quinn.”

Sean blinked at the correct use of his name. “When did you know I wasn’t Bixby?”

“When a Suburban very clearly belonging to the Feds screeched to a halt outside my door.”

About a second after they met on Tuesday. “Then why the ruse of returning the next day to discuss our services? Why did I hoof it all the way to Knox for the statuette?”

“That’s information you don’t need to know.”

“My brother is FBI. He was in that Suburban.”

“I knew that within a few hours on Tuesday as well.” Adyton removed his glasses and folded them. The merry old man was long gone. A ruthlessness carved his features. “You see, I know Walter Morrow quite well.”

Sean swallowed his panic. Walter’s pristine reputation had cloaked a massive operation of blood artifacts right underneath his employees’ noses. Surely if he was in bed with Adyton, it gave them purchase. “Gretch is innocent in all this, and Walter knows it. Let her go.”

Adyton laughed. “She lied from the moment she opened her mouth in here. It was you we had questions about. The blank look on your face when you came in to collect Miss Allen on Tuesday made me think you might be innocent, in which case I was willing to let you continue with the restoration. Instead you signed your death warrant by spewing more lies the next day. Quite unfortunate that a federal agent tailed you and Victor to the warehouse.”

“They probably still are,” Sean replied, scrounging for anything that would slow this train wreck. “They know all about the document charging sixty million for artifacts worth a hundred thousand, so they’ve got you on money laundering. I doubt you want kidnapping charges on top of that.”

Gretch stepped closer to Adyton. Victor watched her lazily. “Did you kill Dwayne?” she asked in a steely voice.

Adyton shrugged and steepled his fingers. His lack of surprise and silence were clear admissions.

“Just tell me why,” she whispered, her chin quivering again. “He was my oldest friend. You aren’t going to let us live, so why not tell us?”

“And why use an ISIS method?” Sean asked. “We know you’re not. You’re the Syrian president’s cousin. Your black market profits support his chemical warfare against innocent people.”

Gretch gasped. In the chaos of the week, Sean had forgotten to share Jace’s revelation about Adyton’s connection to Bashar al-Assad. Unfortunately, with her arms behind her back, the gasp showed off her assets, and Victor stared with open lust. This was going to be a huge problem. Sean ground his teeth and tried to flex his wrists another millimeter apart.

“You’re a heinous beast,” Gretch shouted, which startled the old man into a series of rapid blinks. “How do you sleep at night?”

“Quite easily, Miss Allen.” Adyton’s features sharpened into suppressed anger as he primly folded the document he’d just been signing. “I am a proud nationalist living in a country I hate, to support one I love.” He began stuffing the letter into an addressed envelope, but a quiver in his hand made it a clumsy task. He slapped the items aside. “Your presidents have systematically supported the overthrow of Middle Eastern rulers since Victor here was a babe. One by one the countries have fallen like dominos, citizens initially rejoicing, believing that they too will have cars for each family member, televisions in every room, liberation for all.” A muscle in his cheek twitched. “Alas, we are a different kind of people. Every single nation is much worse off because of U.S. policy and the destruction you left in your wake.”

“And destroying your own ancient culture restores order?” Sean blurted.

“You need not preach my culture’s history to me!” the old man roared. His rheumy eyes grew bright. “If I have to sell ancient baubles to your greedy society to fight all the factions that have been freed like rats, so be it. I think my ancestors would approve—even offer up their tablets and vases and jewelry. Syria was an ally of the United States. We are founding members of the United Nations. You turned your back on a regime that saw peace for years.”

“But Dwayne,” Gretch insisted. “He was harmless.”

“There is nothing harmless about a gatekeeper interfering with fund transfers from American-Syrians for Syrians.” Adyton’s voice lowered to a growl. “He had no business freezing our accounts. Do you realize how many thousands of people would die on the other side of the world at the stroke of this one man’s pen? His death was celebrated.”

Gretch stepped back, her face draining of color. She clamped her lips shut as her chest rose and fell. Was she going to vomit? Sean dragged his gaze away and steeled himself against the need to comfort her. Here was his opportunity. He gauged everyone’s positions again. Adyton seated to the right and feeble; even with their hands tied, he couldn’t physically stop them from walking out of here. Sean required only one shot at Victor, who conveniently gripped his gun way too loosely, but inconveniently, he was on the other side of Gretch in the tiny office. If Gretch distracted these two by throwing up, Sean would lunge left, execute a front sweep behind Victor’s knees, and head-butt the old man. Then what?

“Accounts don’t unfreeze just because you butchered Dwayne,” Sean said, eyeing Gretch again. The sickly pallor was receding, damn it. “Another banker will step right into his position, probably already has.”

The old man shrugged. “We were able to eliminate Mr. Collins before the freeze went into effect, and I’m happy to report we withdrew our funds from that particular bank with a lesson learned. We’ll be much more diligent in our methods of transferring money in the future.”

“It’s too late. The FBI is closing in.” Sean dredged deep for a casual tone to hide the lie. “Your operation is finished.”

“If the FBI intervenes, it will be extremely detrimental to the city of Chicago. We are prepared to behave like ISIS, as you have already noticed with the unfortunate demise of Mr. Collins. He isn’t the first. We watch in amusement as ISIS gleefully accepts credit for stabbings and bombings in these American cities that they had no hand in.”

Sweat broke out on Sean’s brow. “Then let me make a call and warn them not to go near the warehouse.”

“They’ll know soon enough. And now we have the two of you. You could say we are in a position to finally step out of the shadows. We have all the negotiating power.”

“Negotiate for what?”

Adyton glared at him like a stern schoolmaster. “For the U.S. to withdraw all military interest from Syria.”

Sean laughed without humor. “Yeah, I don’t think the two of us are that important.”

“I agree, Mr. Quinn. You both are mere pawns.”

Sean swallowed the absurd urge to correct him. Gretch was no one’s pawn.

The old man motioned in the direction of the street. “We’ve spent all night placing pipe bombs in public containers around downtown. The more your government chooses not to engage in negotiations, the more trouble we are caused by police or agencies looking for my artifacts or for you, the more bombs we detonate.” Adyton spread his hands. “Naturally, the death of many Chicagoans will be on your heads if you two attempt to escape or alert the authorities.”

The old man stood slowly and stuffed his spectacles in his breast pocket. “That being said, untie them when they get to the attic, Victor. I am confident they won’t try to escape. We’ll finish this at dark.” He white-knuckled his cane and gestured to the bakery. “This way.”

“Finish what?” Gretch sputtered. “You just said you needed us for negotiations.”

“If you knew anything about chess, you would know pawns are sacrificed for long-term strategy. Your officials will not take us seriously until many pawns are sacrificed.” Adyton motioned wearily to his great-nephew. “Go with Victor.”

“No,” Gretch said through barely parted lips. “I’m not going anywhere with him.”

Victor smirked, opening the door. “Like you have a choice, babe.” The other two men filled the doorway. Sean scanned the new fight parameters. Three men, three guns, and an old man to dispatch—all without the use of his arms. Highly improbable. And now every attempt to save themselves would blow innocent people to smithereens.