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glanced at the thick, ancient lock, then the sturdy wooden door. Despite how easy they made it look in the movies, in real life it was time consuming to shoot open a door. But she didn’t have a key and there wasn’t time to find one. She kicked the door once in frustration, then prepared to fire on the lock.
    She didn’t have to. As her foot connected with the wood, the door swung open. She immediately crouched down and moved away from the opening, prepared to shoot whoever was hiding inside.
    No one appeared. She held her gun in front of her as she entered the cell. When she cleared the door, she jumped back and aimed her gun. But there was no enemy.
    Zach stirred slightly. She heard the unmistakable clink of metal on metal. The unlocked door suddenly made sense. They didn’t need to lock him inside. He wasn’t going anywhere; they had him chained.
    She was at his side in less than a heartbeat. His clothing hung in tatters, and there were bruises everywhere. She didn’t want to think about that. She had to concentrate on getting him out of there. She touched his shoulder, and he moaned.
    “It’s all right,” she murmured. “You’ll be fine.”
    She lowered her backpack onto the dirty straw and flipped open the flap. Her supplies were packed in the order shewould need them. Her clippers were on top. As she reached for them, Zach rolled onto his back. Her body stiffened.
    She knew about torture. She’d been beaten herself, threatened with death, shot, stabbed. She’d seen prisoners with broken legs and missing limbs. In her head, she’d known what he would look like when she found him. She’d promised herself she would ignore his condition long enough to make their escape. Seeing him now, that emotional distance wasn’t possible. Every fiber of her being rebelled against the truth.
    Blood matted his dark hair and stained his face. His mouth was swollen, his lips cracked. He wore a black T-shirt over army-issue trousers. His arms were purple and red with welts and bruises. His skin had been split in dozens of places, and most of those were infected. His trousers were rags. She could see more bruises and open wounds on his legs. Some looked as if they’d been made that morning. He was painfully thin and dehydrated. She touched his forehead. Fever, too.
    Next to him was a small bowl of grayish gruel and a cup of water. Neither had been touched.
    Four minutes thirty-five seconds.
    Time was running out. But instead of moving him, she brushed her fingers against his cheek. “Oh, Zach, I’m so sorry.”
    The feelings returned. They sucked her under like a riptide, threatening to drag her out to open sea. She remembered what it had been like to see him that first day of training. Tall, strong and powerful. He’d held the keys to what she most wanted in the world—a job with the agency. How she’d tried so hard to impress him and how discouraged she’d been when he never seemed to notice. She’d fought against her crush and the odds to be a success. In the end, she’d made it because he’d pushed her so hard.
    She remembered their week together, the joy she’d found in his arms, then the pain of realizing he didn’t want her. Sheremembered how long it had taken to forget him and the endless nights when she wondered if she ever really would.
    It had been seven years. Why hadn’t she been able to let him go?
    Five minutes.
    She shook her head to clear it and ignored the lingering memories. No time for them now. She pulled a penlight out of a slender pocket on her thigh and checked his eyes. His pupils responded to light. Thank God. From another pocket, she removed a syringe filled with morphine.
    “This is going to be a long, painful trip,” she said as she gave him the shot. He didn’t stir. Next she used the clippers to cut the chains. She didn’t worry about the collar around his neck. They could get that off on the plane.
    She grabbed both of his arms and pulled him into a sitting position. He was