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down."
    "What!" Chloe's voice trembled. She looked
at him as though he were insane for the suggestion. She gave a
little whimper as she looked at the tight space between him and the
console.
    He didn’t so much as glance at her as he
steered from the passenger seat. "Just do it."
    Shakily, she managed, lifting herself from
the seat and trying not to make contact with the stranger as she
slipped over the console. Her knees and butt dipped to the
floorboard, and she pulled her legs through the gap, then inched
onto the seat and buckled herself in.
    The man commandeering her rental pulled
himself into the driver's seat after her and adjusted for his
height, muttering curses as the driver’s seat slammed back to
accommodate his legs. Their car shot forward and turned right.
    "Who are you?" Chloe asked as she ducked
into her lap and splayed her hands against the back of her midnight
hair. "Please, oh please, tell me you're not a terrorist or in a
cartel." She panicked, fear bringing sobs. She squeezed her eyes,
berating herself for the burst of impulsiveness.
    The car rocked as he swerved for a
pedestrian. Chloe's head shot up in alarm. A stack of papers
knocked from the hands of the person on the street fluttered behind
them.
    She tried to scream, opened her mouth, but
nothing came out, and so she quickly dropped her head back to her
lap and silently prayed she wouldn’t get killed.
    "My name is Jericho Eden." He paused to
glance back at her. "And no, I am not a terrorist—unless of course
you're a terrorist, then you might consider me such … You're not a
terrorist, are you?" He cut another quick glance into the backseat,
in attempt to ease her fear, and grinned despite the blood caked on
the side of his face and in his hair, evident bruising swelled
along a strong, darkly-bristled jaw.
    Chloe shook her head dumbly, peeping up from
her knees. "Me? No."
    "Good, Chloe. Things might have gotten
really awkward between us had you said yes."
    She paused, then came to edge around the
seat precariously. "How do you know my name?"
    "It's on your bag," he said, turning off the
road they had been on, onto the tight street she had traveled some
twenty minutes earlier.
    They sped along, the people there scattering
out of their path. Chloe peeked from over the console. He turned
the car back in the exact direction she had come and then off the
road the jeep had taken earlier when the sedan sped off the
road.
    As their car bounced over
the unpaved area, Chloe cut her eyes to her bag beside her in the
backseat. Of course , she mentally grumbled.
    "Don't worry. I promise I won't hurt you."
Chloe's attention flinched back to him. Their eyes caught in the
rear-view mirror. "I'm one of the good guys," he said.
    She swallowed hard, but didn’t drop her
gaze. "Then how did you end up in someone's trunk and looking like
that?" she asked, her tone rattled. She flicked her gaze over his
torn and bloodied clothing, his bruises and cuts.
    The stranger winced as a grim expression
crossed over him. His stare returned to the road ahead, a darkness
filling his gaze.

Chapter Two
     
    0200 hours, 12 hours earlier, Thursday
    Outside Rio de Janeiro, Brazil
     
    "Break Contact!" Special Forces Master
Sergeant Jericho Eden shouted.
    Flashes of the explosion seared into his
mind forever in that moment, just before the blackness of night
surrounded him again.
    Rounds pounded the dirt at his feet as he
ran. The missed shots became heavy thunks penetrating into the
ground, sending sprays of soil upward around his footfalls.
    Maloney was dead. Dead! He
couldn’t believe it. The visual of his fellow
soldier— his friend! —diving over the grenade ripped through him. He wanted to let
loose all his anger, but could not. He alone was responsible for
getting the rest of them back, and he wouldn’t let Maloney's
sacrifice be for nothing.
    A sacrifice that should have been his own,
had he been closer.
    Regret swelled in Jericho, and he pushed
himself through the