There were boxes piled on one wall about three deep. Several were labeled Christmas, and a few more had the name Annie scribbled on top. Gwen kicked at a box that wasn’t labeled. When the box hardly moved, she pushed her knee into it.

Heavy.

With a little effort, she twisted her hands to the box and used her fingertips to pry open the cardboard.

Books. Looks like I found Ruth’s library.

She couldn’t imagine books doing her a lot of good. Perhaps if her hands were free she could throw them at Charles, but that wasn’t an option in her current state.

Gwen turned toward the boxes with Annie’s name on them. Inside one box was what looked like a gallery of children’s artwork. The kind a child would bring home from primary school and litter the refrigerator with. Gwen easily pushed one box off of the other and opened another one. This one held items from an earlier time. Plush toys, a baby blanket. Nothing useful.

The Christmas boxes held the typical suspects. Lights, ornaments, knickknacks that needed to be dusted throughout the month of December and then put away again. The thought of the holiday brought a chill down her spine. If she didn’t find a way out of this basement, she might never see another Christmas.

What about Neil? He was out there thinking she was safe…and the man he chose to protect her wanted him dead. The back of her throat tightened.

He can take care of himself.

She had to believe that.

Gwen backed away from the boxes and leaned against the arm of the dirty couch.

Think, Gwen. What can I use here?

The boxes represented the women in Charles’s life. His wife’s books, which he apparently didn’t care for. And his daughter’s childhood. A daughter whom he wasn’t happy with at the current time. It seemed he’d packed up his daughter and tucked her away. Out of sight, out of mind. Much like Gwen’s own father had done. Yet Gwen knew her father loved her in his own way.

But did Charles always think about Annie in such a sour way? If he saw the items in the boxes, would they evoke a compassionate memory? A memorable and pleasant holiday? The man had already made it clear he planned on killing her. Provoking him to hasten his desire wasn’t smart…but maybe reminding him of what he’d lose if caught would make him think twice.

If she made him hesitate…

Gwen leaned on the edge of the couch and lifted her right leg to her hands behind her back. She assured herself that she could reach what she secured to her ankle before she’d left the house.

Removing the revolver now, however, wasn’t necessary. She could reach it, which gave her some comfort. Not that she knew how she would fire the thing at him from behind her back, but she damn well would if she had to.

Neil met up with Rick, seeing him face-to-face for the first time in three days.

His friend’s questioning eyes met his. It killed Neil to put his thoughts to words. “It’s Mickey.”

Rick’s face went stark white. “What the—”

Neil opened his palm and displayed the bits of candy he’d found on the path. “Know anyone else who eats this stuff like it’s crack?”

Rick grabbed at the candy, stared at it, and then threw it to the ground in disgust. “Fuck. Why? Why would he do this?”

“I don’t know. But if we find out we stand a chance of getting him out of here alive…so he can get help.”

“The f**ker killed Billy. I don’t give a crap if he has a lunch date with the devil.”

Neil grabbed Rick’s arm as he turned away. “It’s Mickey, Rick. C’mon. Of all of us, he’s the one who lost the most. The man doesn’t even have his balls anymore.” The groin injury left the man impotent. A fact Neil forgot until the moment he knew Mickey was the one gunning for them.

“You think he blames us for that?”

Neil let Rick go when his friend stopped pulling away. “I don’t know. Maybe. I know he was dating someone before Operation Raven and when he returned she let him go.”

“We were all on the same mission. None of us is to blame.”

“Logic doesn’t play into a sick mind. Explains all the class A military bugs and toys he’s using. Stuff that’s come about since we were in.”

Rick turned in a circle, and then glared at the face of the cliff. “I checked on him. Heard he was deep undercover.”

“Who told you that?”

“The major.”

Neil’s skin chilled. “The major?”

“I called him…you know, hey, how ya doing…by the way do you have any idea where Mickey ended up? I didn’t want to alarm the guy. He said he’d get back to me. Called a couple days later and said Mickey’s file indicated an assignment.”

Neil took a breath. “What made you think he was deep undercover?”

Rick shook his head. “I found Mickey’s dad’s number. The old man said his son was on a secret mission. Dads do that. Brag about their kids. I added the information together.”

“Only we’re his secret mission.”

“Wouldn’t his superiors realize he was AWOL?”

“Blayney doesn’t know,” Neil said.

“How can you be sure?”

Neil clenched his teeth. “I left Gwen with him.”

Rick stilled and stared. “For her protection?”

“Right. Who better than the US Marines to protect my wife?”

“Your wife?”

“Married her right before I met up with you.”

“Damn, Neil. Why didn’t you tell me? That’s huge.”

Yeah, well, now wasn’t the time for pats on the back and the sharing of beer. “Chuck implied that he’d have a better chance of keeping her safe if she were my wife. In case she started to get anxious and wanted to leave. I didn’t want Raven…Mickey finding her and using her against me like Billy and his wife.”

Rick narrowed his eyes. “So you married her only to keep her safe?”

Neil shook his head. He loved her. Oh, how he loved her. “Would have married her anyway.”

“Chuck suggested marriage?”

“No. I suggested marriage, Chuck expedited the priest and stood as witness.”

Neil peered toward the cliff, wondering if Mickey watched them as he kept hidden behind the cropping of trees.

“Something doesn’t feel right,” Rick said. “If that’s Mickey up there then someone knows he’s AWOL. Unless there is a price on our heads.”

It didn’t feel right to Neil either. “We need to find out who Mickey is working with. The guy was good, but I never thought he’d win a prize for intelligence.” Mickey was the youngest one on their team. What he lacked in leadership ability, he made up for with raw power and enthusiasm. Always popping his sugar fix and pushing the team to move faster. Neil remembered when he’d heard about the extent of Mickey’s injury, that the man would survive mentally so long as he had an outlet for his energy. The marines always needed men like him.