Free Dead By Nightfall by Beverly Barton

weakness,” she told him.
    He lifted his brow and stared at her. “Duly warned. Now come along. I’ll show you where the prized stock is kept before we join the others in today’s hunt.”
    Nic forced herself to keep moving, to stay at Linden’s side without betraying any sign of emotion. He had to know that she possessed some knowledge of Griff’s experiences on Amara and therefore had some idea what to expect. But like a little boy eager to show off his new bicycle, Linden hurried her along, away from the house and down a long, winding, brick walkway. All the while he softly hummed a rather pleasant tune. A building that vaguely resembled an open-air pavilion stood at the top of a nearby hill. Mentally and emotionally preparing herself for whatever she might see, Nic didn’t slow her pace as she followed Linden up the steps set into the hillside that took them all the way to the large, thatch-roofed structure. She wanted to stop, to turn around, and run away as fast as she could. But she didn’t run.
    Do what you have to do. Stay strong. Show no weakness.
    As they approached the huge dirt-floored hut, she noticed several armed guards patrolling the area. Linden guided her from one large wooden cage to the next, each of the first four empty.
    “These four are taking part in today’s hunt,” Linden said. “It’s a small party today. Only six hunters.”
    She stopped and stared at the empty cages. Her own husband had once lived inside a cage as these men did.
    “Come along. I’ll show you the two lucky bastards who weren’t chosen for today’s adventure.”
    The two remaining cages were occupied by young men, both bearded and dirty, their hair touching their shoulders, their pants and shirts in rags. She forced herself to look at them, to really see them, and reminded herself that this was what it must have been like for Griff on Amara. One man lay on the dirt floor, his scrawny body curled into a fetal ball, his eyes closed, and a soft moan coming from deep in his chest. The other man wore a set of leg irons and wrist manacles, the two connected to restrict his movements. When Nic stopped in front of his cage, he stared straight at her.
    “Come to feed the animals?” he asked.
    His question startled her. She jerked back and away from the cage.
    He was tall and still somewhat muscular, despite being much too thin. His cheeks were sunken and she could count his ribs. But there was fire in his brown eyes, a blaze born of anger and hatred and a will to live. She recognized that look only too well.
    “I’m not here by choice either,” she told him.
    “Then God help you.”
     
    By the end of the day, approximately twenty-eight hours after Nicole Baxter Powell had disappeared, the Powell Agency’s all-out manhunt for her was fully operational. Every resource known to man had been employed. Every contact Griff, Sanders, Luke Sentell, Brendan Richter, and Derek Lawrence knew, on even the most superficial level, had been utilized. The resources of the FBI, the CIA, Scotland Yard, MI6, and Interpol had been unofficially placed at Griffin Powell’s disposal. There wasn’t a law enforcement or government agent in the Free World who wasn’t interested in apprehending Anthony Linden and anyone associated with him.
    Maleah had set aside her anger, realizing that venting her feelings toward Griff would be counterproductive to the goal they shared. Besides that, she didn’t doubt for a minute that there was nothing she could say that Griff hadn’t already said to himself. He knew the part his duplicity had played in Nic’s present fate. He blamed himself, as well he should, for what had happened to her.
    Derek came up beside her and whispered in her ear, “You’re staring daggers at Griff again.”
    She glanced at Derek, her brand-new fiancé, with whom she wanted to spend the rest of her life. Under normal circumstances, they would be discussing wedding and honeymoon plans.
    “I’ll try not to throw any more