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earlier.
    “How long have you been working at WG Oil?”
    “For about a year now.”
    “Your father owns the plant, correct?”
    “Not outright. He only owns part of it. He’s one of five partners in the management structure. But he does have a fifteen percent stake in the company.”
    “Does your father have any enemies that you are aware of?” the Commander continued. “Someone who may have wanted to get even with him for some business dealing that may have gone sour?”
    This must be what the Spanish Inquisition felt like. “I wouldn’t know anything about that. My father has many different companies, and I do not discuss the ins and outs of his business operations with him. If you need answers to these questions, shouldn’t you be asking him?”
    “We will,” the Commander said. All three men sat there glaring at her, and it was maddening. What did they hope to gain by asking these pointless questions? They were wasting time when they should be out there looking for the rest of the terrorists who held her hostage and murdered her friends.
    “I’m sorry, but what does my father’s business acquaintances have to do with what just happened?” she asked. “We were attacked by a terrorist group, not one of my father’s friends.”
    Lena raked a hand through her hair, stopping short when she remembered that most of it was back on a blood-stained concrete floor miles away from here. Frustrated, she scrubbed her hands over her face.
    “The group is named AnSawar. And yes, it looks like it was just a random attack. But we have to cover all of our bases here. As you know, many of your colleagues weren’t as lucky as you were.”
    Lucky . Yeah, she guessed she was lucky—it just didn’t feel that way right now. “What about Steven? Did you find Steven?” Absentmindedly, she tugged at the pewter, gothic cross pendant around her neck that she always wore. It was an inexpensive, simple trinket. Steven had given it to her as a gift for her fifteenth birthday. She’d been an unusually morose teenager who’d had an affinity for all things black and purple, but Steven’s positive reinforcement helped her get through those troubling years in one piece. Even though she rarely went to church services, unless it was for Christmas Mass or a wedding, she never took her necklace off. By some rare good luck, the terrorists had not stripped her out of her clothes when they’d performed a basic weapons search on her, so she still had her necklace—eternally a reminder of her fallen friend.
    The Commander glanced over at the FBI Agent, Michael Gerard, who answered, “Steven Cutler? No. We just got off the phone with members of the African Union security force in Somalia. They scoured the facility a few hours after we left...there was no sign of Mr. Cutler.”
    “No. He was there. I was not imagining it. I saw him, they killed him. That monster killed him, right in front of me.”
    All three of the men gaped at her, their unease and doubt evident on their faces. They probably thought she was about to burst into a simpering mess of tears. They didn’t have to say it; she could see it in their eyes. None of them believed her story.
    “It’s not that we don’t believe you, Ms. Westlake,” Gerard said. “But you’ve been under a tremendous amount of stress these past few days. And no one would blame you if you were...mistaken. You said he was killed in the utility room right above the entrance to the underground chamber?”
    Wearily nodding her head, Lena propped her chin up on her hands.
    “After we left, AU soldiers specifically checked that room, and his body wasn’t accounted for. Now, it is possible AnSawar could’ve moved his body.” From the grave intonation of Gerard’s voice, Lena could sense a “but” coming. “However, from the time frame you’ve given us it doesn’t seem likely. You estimated that from the point Mr. Cutler was stabbed to when you heard the first shots of gunfire of the SEAL Team