Raimond was pressing the cold, steel muzzle of his pistol against her temple so hard that her head was craned over to the limit, her ear nearly parallel to the floor. She did not know the identities of her interrogators, but she had learned that Meredith Morley had hired them. Bounty hunters, she surmised. The nature of Raimond’s questions told her that they knew little about her, save her name and the fact that she was with Will. Clearly, Meredith had not told them anything substantive about her. They didn’t know that she was fluent in German, because they had conducted their side conversations within earshot—a lucky break, and one that had saved her a great deal of pain. But the phone call moments ago had changed everything. The news of his brother’s death had flipped a switch in the German boss man’s head, and now he was like a rabid dog. She gave herself a 10 percent chance of survival. Since he couldn’t kill the man on the black motorcycle who he blamed for his brother’s death, odds were she would be an acceptable stand-in for his revenge.
