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kicked against his legs lying over hers, but he only laughed in her ear.
    " Sssh ," he blew against her hair. "This won't hurt at all."
    Won't hurt?
    Her mind scrambled as she felt him begin to hike her dress up to her hip.
    " Nooo , " she screamed against his hand. "Please!"
    Mara began to hyperventilate against his rough fingers, whimpering, too, at the thought of what was to come.
    She squeezed her eyes shut as he wound his hand into her hair, and she flinched as something stung her thigh through her pantyhose.
    Within an instant, she stopped struggling and her eyes rolled back.
    Mara went limp under him.

Chapter Five
     
    2100 hours, Sunday
    Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan
     
    Logan's head rolled limply against his shoulder, and he groaned as he began to stir to awareness. He tried to lift his head, but he wasn’t sure he even made a single movement.
    They had pumped him so full of drugs he didn’t know his head from his feet at the moment. Slowly, excruciatingly slowly—complete with bright stabs of light flashing behind his eyes and pain spiking into his skull—the effects were wearing off.
    Logan paused to listen. He wasn’t alone.
    He used every fiber of his conscious mind to open his eyes and test his vision, but found only a sea of dull colors. Minimally, as the room swirled, he realized he was no longer on the table, but at some point, they had moved him to a chair. A faint scuffling noise caught his ear, and Logan strained to hear past the sound of his blood pumping, the sound of his own breathing.
    There was something over his mouth. Tape? Logan rolled his head again and felt a tingle. He would suspect they had tied him to the chair, but he did not yet have the strength to find out. Hell, how long had he been here like this? How long since the last thing he remembered, which was Conyers leaving the room after sending a man to collect Mara?
    His thought process halted.
    Did they have her?
    A cry split his head, and Logan made a sound of pain against the tape covering his mouth. He tossed his head against the chair back to clear the echoing scream from his mind and looked up to see a wide blur of color expanding and contracting distortedly as it entered the room, mostly black and—his brow pinched … peach?
    Mara?
    A flicker of strength stirred in him at the thought of that blur of color in a sea of drab being his ex-wife.
    "Logan!" a female voice cried frantically.
    A voice he had not thought he would ever hear again.
    Logan growled and shifted in his seat, pulling at his arms where they were taped to the chair at his wrists and again directly below his elbows.
    A murderous rage began to storm through him at the thought of what they may have done to her. He would kill every last one of them.
    Logan attempted to move his legs, but got less of a response than he had wished, just enough to tell that his ankles were also trapped to the chair.
    "I've brought you a surprise," Conyers said. The man leaned down, and Logan let his head fall back so he could focus on his former handler.
    Conyers bent down further, braced his hands on his knees, and gave Logan a wide grin. "Thought you might like to see the love of your miserable life one last time." He ticked his head to the side and waited, studying Logan. "You clearheaded enough to talk yet?" Conyers rose and turned to someone across the room. "How long has he been conscious?"
    "He just came to, boss," an Arab voice said.
    Logan grunted. His vision was steadily becoming clearer as he strained to see. He looked behind Conyers, back to where he thought Mara was, and tried to bring her into focus. Slowly, the peach-colored dress came together and the twin images of her met to form one body. She was barefoot, and her hair streamed around her wildly. Tears streaked her cheeks, the wet trails slightly darkened by the remnants of her makeup. Patchy bloodstains smeared her tattered dress, her hose ripped and torn around her knees. There was a slight bruise on her cheek and a dried