Page 125 of Ford

“Idti-tooydah,” the guard said, and she remembered enough Russian to form comprehension.Come over here.

RJ wore the same cool expression as her brother. Sheesh.

They walked toward a building, and Scarlett glanced toward the edge of the platform, gauging the distance. They could make a break for it, jump off—

Ford’s hand tightened. “Trust.”

Oh, please let them not end up eating gruel and digging ditches.

The door opened to a tiny office with a desk and four straight-backed chairs. She didn’tseeany bright lights, any dental equipment.

The guard motioned them over to the chairs. He closed the door behind him.

She tried to listen for the sound of a lock.

As Ford sat, his phone rang, and he pulled it from his pocket. Glanced at Scarlett as he answered. “Ham.”

Scarlett might have held her breath, she wasn’t sure, but her chest certainly tightened when she saw Ford wince. “Ah, yeah, we’re already here… Okay. I’ll do my best.”

He hung up. “We need to stall. Ham’s guy is late. Trying to get us passes on a flight out.”

Scarlett nodded. Looked at the room. No windows, not even a vent. Probably so no one could hear them scream.

“God is our breacher,” Ford said quietly.

She looked at him. “What?”

“It’s what Ham said on the train. That we don’t have to figure everything out. God is already here, already stalling for us.”

She didn’t want to disagree, but hello… God? Here, in Kazakhstan?

Except, maybe that was her problem. She didn’t expect anything from God. But it just felt safer that way. Then He could never disappoint.

She glanced at Ford. He smiled down at her, no teeth, but definitely not despair on his face.

She could almost hear his voice, as if spoken aloud.Maybe that’s why God sent me into your life because whatever happens, I will show up for you, Red. Whatever happens.

Maybe that’s why God—

The door opened, and she braced herself.

Then the blood rushed from her body, her breath catching. A man stood in the doorway. He wore a leather jacket, a button-down shirt, and jeans. Tall, dark hair and matching eyes, and as he walked in, he shook his head, almost in disbelief. “Seriously?”

Then—she wasn’t sure who said it—she thought the word came from her mouth, but the twins on either side of her were in sync when they uttered his name.

“Roy?”

The good news was that they were so far under the radar, their path home so haphazard, that neither the CIA nor the FSB would be able to track them.

Frankly, Ford could barely keep track of where he, RJ, and Scarlett were. He had a sketchy memory of Kazakhstan from his training, remembered they were a former Soviet satellite—although the remnants of the Communist arm still embedded the country, from the Cyrillic alphabet to the architecture.

He’d never flown on Kazakh Air, but it couldn’t be worse than the Aeroflot flight to Yekaterinburg. He’d longed for the relative rugged appeal of a C-130—at least he knew the plane wouldn’t break apart with one significant gust and litter their bodies on the eternal steppe that spanned central Kazakhstan. He might have taken his chances on a camel or one of the magnificent horses tended by the many tribes in the country.

The thought had hung in his mind for too long, his hand folded into Scarlett’s as he closed his eyes, reached for some shut-eye.

He’d dreamed of the ranch, of their horseback ride so many weeks ago, of feeling her holding onto him. When this was over, he’d take her home, get her on her own horse, show her more of the ranch, and embed her into a family who could watch over her while he deployed.

And there he went again, dreaming up a future for them.