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The G-Wagon stopped about fifty feet away. The back door opened, and the man sitting beside him got out and growled, “Follow me.”

While fighting these men was useless, he wasn’t about to go anywhere without having some kind of idea of what he’d gotten himself into. Sean stepped out onto the tarmac. Stopping midstride, he turned to Kingsley and said, “What it is you think you’re going to get from me?”

Kingsley’s eyes went wide with mock shock. “Why, everything, of course.”

Not getting answers was infuriating, but he knew how the game was played. He again took stock and again knew he was out of options. With no other choice, Sean moved toward the chopper. Two things caught his attention as he scrambled into a seat. One, they hadn’t bothered to cover his eyes, so not only did they not care if he saw everyone’s faces, but they also weren’t concerned that he would see where they were going. Which meant only one thing—they planned for this to be a one-way trip for him. Once they got what they wanted, they would kill him.

He had no intention of letting that happen.

He’d been given headphones before the helicopter took off, but Kingsley said little to him, other than to point out a few points of interest as they flew over Los Angeles. Again, the fact that the man didn’t try to hide where they were going was a clear indicator that Sean wasn’t expected to survive this trip. And while that was disquieting, he was more than willing to soak in as much information as he could. He was tracking each landmark and highway. When he escaped—and he would—he wanted to make sure he could find his way back.

An hour and a half later, the helicopter landed on the roof of a mansion. He glanced around, taking in the entire area, which looked to be some kind of fancy resort. He caught a glimpse of tennis courts, an Olympic-sized swimming pool, and a putting green in the distance.

This was not ordinary money. This was generational wealth. Power, prestige, and privilege lay behind every dollar.

Kingsley jumped out of the helicopter and nodded toward Sean to do the same. The instant his feet were on solid ground, he sent the man a sardonic look. “Nice place you got here.”

As expected, the man’s smugness was on full display. “Thanks. It’s one of our smallest, but it serves our purpose.”

“Our?”

Unbelievably, Kingsley looked even smugger when he drawled, “I believe you know us as the Wren Project.”

Oh yes, he’d definitely heard of them. Option Zero had been after the shadow organization for years. As mysterious as they were dangerous, they’d repeatedly proved that they were not only well-funded, but their roots were deep and wide.

And now everything he thought he knew of his abduction had been turned on its head. He had no doubt been taken because of his association with OZ. Kingsley must be a little behind on his information, though, since Sean hadn’t worked for OZ in over a year. Either way, he would take this opportunity to gather as much intel as he could about the mysterious organization.

Still handcuffed, he was led through the massive structure as if he were a guest. Again, no hiding, no attempt to obscure details. Sean took full advantage, looking into every open room they passed. He had been inside many mansions and a few palaces, and while this wasn’t a palace, it was almost as large as one, and the décor was both expensive but also tasteful. Whoever had approved the furnishings had done so with an eye for both comfort and luxury.

He was led into a large room on the second floor. The men who’d been following behind him and Kingsley stopped inside the door. Kingsley made a hand movement toward Sean, and one of the men stepped forward and uncuffed him.

Rubbing his wrists, Sean realized this was most likely Kingsley’s office. While the rooms he’d already seen had looked comfortable, this room was all about power and making a statement. It was pretentious to the point of ridiculous. Two giant bookshelves, housing huge tomes, covered two walls. The floor was a dark hardwood with a thick oriental rug in the middle of the room and a massive dark cherry wood desk. To the right was a large picture window that looked out over the ocean, and to the left sat a big leather sofa and two overstuffed chairs.

Kingsley headed to one of the chairs and waved his hand toward the other one. “Please, take a seat, Sean. Let’s have a chat.”

Hoping to finally get some answers, Sean went toward the chair, noting the armed guards lined up single file just inside the door. They were not going to let him out of the room without Kingsley’s say so.

Settling into the chair, Sean crossed an ankle over a knee as if they were going to have a pleasant chat.

“Let me offer you some refreshments. Would you like coffee, tea, or something stronger, perhaps?”

Figuring the man hadn’t gone to all this trouble just to poison him, Sean said, “Coffee would be nice.”

He nodded at one of the men at the door and then turned his attention back to Sean. “So, I guess you’re wondering all sorts of things. Why you’re here. How we found you. What we want with you.”

“That’s a start.”

“First, let me give you a rundown on what we know so we can avoid redundancies.”

“All right.”

“You are Sean Donavan, born December 8 in Salem, Oregon. You are a former Army Ranger for the United States military, where you served for seven years before you became involved in covert ops. You’ve worked for both the State Department and the CIA.”

A cold chill ran up his spine, and nausea swirled in his gut. This man knew way too much.

“You were once married to Teresa Stafford. You divorced her. You met Serena Renee Snow née Allen at the State Department, and she is your current wife.

“While serving your country, you developed strong friendships with Liam Stryker, Xavier Quinn, Nicholas Hawthorne, and Gideon Wright. You later met Asher Drake. When Drake came to you with the proposal to create an organization called Option Zero, you and Serena both left your positions with the State Department and joined.”