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Nolan and he went to the door to the garage. With Nolan standing with his rifle, he was going to go high, and Ryker was crouching, so he’d go in low. Ryker slowly opened the door. They both nosed in with their rifles, then peeked in to see if there were any unfriendlies.

Nolan stepped into the room and pointed his rifle to the right but didn’t shoot.

“Aw fuck, man,” he muttered.

That was when Ryker was hit with the smell of fresh death. Blood, piss, and shit.

The overhead lights were on. They were too bright, bringing the horror into stark relief. Both he and Nolan were standing in a pool of blood that had come from a woman crushed under a car as a hydraulic lift had been lowered onto her lower torso. Now Ryker looked at what Nolan was staring at. It was a man who had been nailed to a wooden chair in a perfect spot to watch the woman being crushed. He had a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead.

“Shit, they tortured her in front of him. They wanted answers,” Nolan said.

He heard a sharp intake of breath behind him and turned to see Leila’s dark complexion now almost ashen.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She nodded her head.

Ryker turned to Nolan. “There were three desks in the office.”

“Right,” Nolan said.

“Go back into the office, Leila. We’ll call you if we need you.”

She immediately turned and strode back into the office; it was obvious that she didn’t need to be told twice.

Nolan and Ryker spread out and started to search the rest of the garage.

Ryker found another woman. She was tied to a workbench and it was clear that someone had used a welding torch on her—her hands and feet were a bloody, burned mess—before they stabbed her in her stomach. Luckily her hijab covered her face so he didn’t have to see her expression when she died. Then he saw the man who had been forced to watch her torture. He had been tied spread-eagled on another lift. There was a pool of vomit at his feet and a bullet in his forehead. Whoever did this, did they get the information they needed?

Behind him, Ryker heard a moan. He spun around and realized it had come from the woman tied to the workbench.

Jesus, fuck, she’s alive!

“Nolan! I need you now! I’ve got a live one!”

Ryker didn’t want to scare her, so he pushed his rifle over his shoulder and took off his gloves. He’d practiced a couple of words of Turkish on the plane over.

“Merhaba, benim adim Ryker,” he said as soothingly as he could as he pushed back her hijab the smallest bit so he could see her eyes.

“American!” she screeched weakly, as she arched away from him.

“Jesus, Ryker, what did you do?” Nolan growled as he pushed him out of the way.

The woman started begging in Turkish. They might not understand the words, but she was clearly begging not to be hurt.

“Cut her down…gently,” Nolan ordered.

Ryker got his knife out to cut the rope and she started to sob in earnest.

“I don’t get it. Why is she scared of us if was the Turkish mafia who did this to her?”

“She’s saying it was American men who did this to her.”

Ryker whipped around to look at Leila. He’d forgotten she was there once he’d started concentrating on the injured woman. Rookie mistake.

Ryker tapped his communication device on his neck. “Gideon, have you been hearing all of this?”

“No, I’ve been listening in to Kostya and Landon. Whatcha got?”