“Why are you telling me this?” she asked bluntly in English as she stared directly into his gaze, trying to pick up on any tell, any indication of his intentions.

But he remained devoid of emotion, his expression utterly inscrutable. He gave nothing of himself away, which frustrated Honor. Everyone gave up something. It was always there for a trained eye to see. But this man was impossible to read, as though he’d had years to perfect a facade that no one could penetrate.

He could be military. She hoped with all she had that he was U.S. military and that his hard shell was a result of his training and experience in a region of the world where bloodshed was more common than running water.

“Because I’m going to take you with me so you aren’t captured by the men who won’t stop until they’ve captured their prey.”

She studied him for another long moment. “So you’ve come to rescue me? Who are you? Who sent you?”

He arched one eyebrow, clearly surprised by her resistance. Perhaps he’d expected her to fall into his arms, sobbing hysterically, thinking him her savior. But she hadn’t stayed alive as long as she had by blindly believing anything. Or taking anything at face value. And she couldn’t afford to start now. Not when she was so close to her ultimate goal of finding her way home.

“Does it matter?” he asked mildly. “All you need to know is that my men and I will get you out of the country and out of A New Era’s reach. Or would you prefer to take your chances with your group of protectors and lead them blindly to certain death?”

Honor bit into her lip, deeply conflicted. Why wasn’t she happier to see him? Why wasn’t she falling into his arms, relieved and grateful? Was that not why she was so desperate to cross the border into a country where there was an American presence? And that presence had just planted itself in her path, offering her safe passage. Perhaps it was because it had been too easy, too convenient, the timing either impeccable or coincidental. And she wasn’t a believer in coincidences. Especially when it came to her life.

“If they’re searching everyone leaving the village and if they have, as you say, a perimeter set up encompassing all routes leading out of the village, then how do you and your men possibly think you will be able to get past their roadblocks, impervious to the very thing you’ve sworn will happen if I leave the village with a group of people? Aren’t you a group of people just the same?”

White teeth flashed and she was reminded of a predator’s teeth set in a snarl as they closed in on their prey. A shiver of apprehension skated down her spine and she absently rubbed at one arm through the heavy material of her garment.

“I plan to drive right past them.”

Honor went rigid with fear. The people who’d awaited her were clearly uneasy and were inching away, clearly wanting to be out of this place. And to be rid of her. They well knew what they risked by allowing her to travel with them, and now, with the arrival of this ominous-looking stranger, they were even more nervous. She couldn’t blame them. And neither could she consign them to certain death. She couldn’t take the chance that this man wasn’t telling her the absolute truth. She would not be responsible for these people’s deaths.

She waved them off, making that sudden decision when it became clear that they knew she was a death trap. The American was right. She wouldn’t simply lead her supposed saviors meekly to the slaughter when it gave her absolutely no chance of escape. He, on the other hand, was offering one, and his arrogance suggested he actually thought—knew—he would be successful.

It came down to the lesser of two evils. One known and one unknown. She knew what fate awaited her at the hands of the savages who hunted her. She didn’t know what the American’s intentions were, but given that her only other option was certain torture, endless agony and death, it made the decision to go with the unknown the only logical choice.

“You’ve made your decision. Now move it,” he said, no gentleness to his voice.

Somehow she’d imagined her rescue a little different. Perhaps at the hands of American soldiers who would at least acknowledge her as a sister, inquire as to her health. Not taunt her into making a decision. For that matter, shouldn’t he have identified himself as a member of the U.S. military? Shouldn’t he have identified himself, period?

She frowned. The military didn’t just order people around for their own good, did they? But then she supposed that was exactly what they did on a daily basis when rescuing captives or hostages. Time was critical, and following orders was essential to their survival.

“What branch of the military do you serve and where are your dog tags?” she blurted, even as she stumbled along beside him, attempting to match his much longer stride.

She bit into her lip to quell the sound of pain as her knee protested the vigorous motion it was unused to. It was silly, but she didn’t want to show weakness in front of this warrior. And he clearly was a warrior. She wanted to show only strength, give him no reason to fault her, and she’d be damned if she’d slow him down.

Again his teeth flashed, but in no way was it in a smile. Quite frankly, he scared her every time he did it. He reminded her too much of the big bad wolf about to devour Little Red Riding Hood, only in Honor’s case, she’d been wandering through the desert, not the forest, and there were no wolves here. But there were plenty of demons. Spawns of Satan himself. Evil ran strong here, stained with the blood of the innocents.

“It’s a little late to be asking me for ID now,” he said mildly.

He arrived at a military-looking vehicle and for the first time her blood pulsed wildly with excitement. It looked American, and while that might sound like a stupid thought from a clueless civilian, she’d worked throughout this region for a good while and she’d come into contact with all manner of military equipment and vehicles. She’d quickly learned to recognize friend or foe by subtle things maybe others wouldn’t notice. But when your life depended on knowing, and assuming would get you killed faster than a stray bullet in a fight zone, you tended to fast become an expert on learning the differences between those who would kill you and those who would save you.

He all but shoved her into the back and slid in beside her, slamming his door closed while she struggled to right herself from where her head had plunged toward the floorboard and the heavy material covered her and twisted around her, preventing her from gracefully extricating herself. Then the vehicle lurched into motion, flattening her once more. Frustrated and angry with the lack of care her “rescuer” had offered thus far, she planted her hands on the floorboard and attempted to push herself upward and out of the tangle of material effectively trapping her legs and obscuring her vision.

To her shock, he planted a firm hand in the middle of her back and shoved her even farther down onto the floor. Another man already seated in the back of the utility vehicle pushed her head underneath his legs, but he used care that the first man forwent.

When she would have protested, a hand circled her nape and fingers tightened around the slim column of her neck in warning. And though she’d been acquainted with the man who’d intercepted her in the village for merely a few minutes, she knew it was his hand on her neck, not that of the second who’d helped pushed her to the floorboard.