“You worried about anything happening?” Tom asked. Outside the car, their security team was armed and observant.

“Bryan says he has it under control.” Riley was still nervous, although he said nothing to Tom. He’d done his bit by agreeing to government-sanctioned security, knowing it was the right thing to do, and alongside the policía única, they were providing Riley and Tom with clear support.

“Ironic that bringing in foreign energy companies will cut down on locals being dragged into the cartels,” Tom commented.

“Yeah.” Offering jobs in the oil industry to people who might otherwise work for the cartels was certainly one way of fixing problems. The best way to counterattack organized crime was by generating jobs in areas that were heavily influenced by criminals, at least according to what the Mexican ambassador said when they last met. Riley could see the point of what he was saying.

“Anyway, what did Bryan say to you?” Riley was quick to ask. The head of their security detail, with four other men working under him, was point on where and when it was safe to go to the area they wanted access to.

“Said we had the all clear for a two-hour window, is all.”

Riley huffed. “We can’t get what we want in two hours.” He glanced out at the other support vehicle set up with all the technical supplies they were using. He didn’t mean to come across as irritable, but he had so much he needed to do and really, he was past all this on-the-ground stuff now. He wanted to be home with his family, and the longer they were tied up in red tape, the less understanding he had. “Can’t we pay someone off? What’s the point of me having all this money and not being able to get things done?”

Tom looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and Riley was instantly ashamed of his outburst, which spoke of a shitty attitude. Tom didn’t have to say anything, and Riley ended up offering an apologetic smile before checking his cell again for a reply. He wasn’t that person anymore who had money do everything for him.

The car pulled out and followed the tech support vehicle. They were only three miles from the main site, and Riley pocketed his cell after checking it one last time. He pulled open the last report with the analysis added by Tom and killed the time checking details.

Then the shit hit the fan.

The whole car rocked like it was sliding sideways, and his head contacted the window, Tom thrown in his direction as much as the seat belt allowed. Riley heard shouting—guns, he recognized guns—and abruptly he knew this was going wrong. He reached for his cell, which had fallen from his grip, but it was just out of his reach at the crazy angle the car had come to rest. He tried to loosen the belt, but he fell farther when the car slipped. He heard Tom curse. Looking up, Riley could see blood on Tom’s face.

“What the hell?”

The door was yanked open, and Bryan reached in, grabbing at Riley and then at Tom, pulling at them before Tom scrambled out nearly on top of Riley.

“Stay down,” Bryan snapped. He had them covered with another man, guns out.

“Give me a gun,” Riley snapped. Bryan tossed a weapon back, but Riley couldn’t reach it as bullets strafed the dirt and Bryan fell to the floor, his eyes open, his body lifeless.

Riley reacted immediately. He tossed the first weapon to Tom and then slid on his belly toward Bryan, grabbing at the guard’s gun and pulling it from Bryan’s grasp. They were behind the car, Riley couldn’t see a thing, and his cell was somewhere in the car. He tried to reach in, but bullets hit the metalwork. He shrank back.

“Who is it? Where’re the others?” Tom asked. Riley looked at his assistant and saw the fear and panic in his eyes, which he knew had to be in his own as well. The noise was deafening. An explosion of some kind had both him and Tom scrabbling under the tilted car. More shouting and they crouched as small as they could. Then the shouting came closer, and swiftly there was nothing Riley and Tom could do.

Tom yelped as he was grabbed and dragged back, and Riley pointed his gun at the noise. He saw three men with masks standing above them, guns pointed at them. Riley’s instinct was to shoot, and he dropped the first guy in an instant with a bullet to the chest. The other two were on him as suddenly as the third one fell, and then more, shouting, men, guns, until Riley had no chance to get any shots off. He saw one of them with a knife at Tom’s throat, and he didn’t have to hear the Spanish curses to know what he was being told. “Drop the gun. Do it, or we’ll gut him.” Riley didn’t hesitate; he dropped the gun to the floor, his hands shaking. The rest was a blur. Tom was dragged away, then something hit Riley hard on the side of his head, and abruptly his world was black.

* * * * *

The world was moving, listing to one side, and then with stomach-churning speed, Riley was flung to another side, his body in full contact with another. Riley cracked open his eyes, blinking at moisture that made its way to his lips. Instinct had him licking, and he tasted the metallic of blood. He tried to move, but his hands were tied and there was no space to push himself to his back or in any way upright.

“Stay still.” Tom’s voice.

“Tom…”

Another lurch and Riley landed heavily on his bound wrists and smacking his head on the metal of wherever they were. He blinked against the blood again and tried to make out something, anything, but the pain in his head, a band of steel from one temple to another, was pounding in time with the vehicle they must be in.

“What happened?” Riley concentrated on forcing the words out.

Apparently Tom was way more lucid than him. “Rebels happened. Cartel happened. I don’t know. The security detail is dead, they’re all dead, but they left us alive and pushed us in the trunk of some seventies car. It’s brown, but it doesn’t have any plates.” Riley didn’t say that kind of observation probably wouldn’t help any. He’d read about the rebels on the border, the ones who held working Americans and locals for ransom, and the deaths, he’d seen those. But he’d agreed to the security… he wouldn’t have put Tom in danger…

“Fuck. Sorry,” Riley rasped, then coughed back the acid sickness in his throat.

“Not your fault,” Tom offered with a practical tone. “Can you roll to your left a little more? Reach my wrists?”

Riley was all upside-down, he couldn’t make out his left from his right, but there was no wiggle room. He was a big man, and Tom wasn’t little, and the two of them were in the closed trunk of a car. He tried to move, but every time he did, his wrists twisted, and his ankle was throbbing. He couldn’t push any weight against it, and the pain emanating from his foot was increasing by the minute.

Desperation stifled him, and he heard himself whimper before getting ahold of himself and lying absolutely still. Panicking was not going to get them out of this, only cool clearheaded thinking would. He couldn’t move. He was hurt, with a twisted ankle maybe? His wrists were tied, and he was bleeding pretty freely from a head wound.

“Are you hurt?” he asked Tom.

“No.”

Riley closed his eyes and considered the layout of the trunk. Was he at the back well into the depths of the trunk, or was he closer to sunlight if the trunk was open? He was already on his side, with Tom behind him.

“Can you feel my wrists?” he asked a little desperately.

Tom wriggled a little, but there was no room. None at all. Despair washed over Riley. Then he stopped. People knew he and Tom were there. Any support team backing the guards would have raised the alarm. Right? And if this was murder, then why wasn’t he dead? This had to be a ransom.

Blinding pain reached his eyes, and he retched, the acid burning his mouth.

“Riley? Are you okay? Riley? Riley?”

Riley stopped struggling. It was easier to keep his eyes closed and wait for someone to rescue him. Didn’t stop his trying to loosen the ties that held him, though.