“Give it to me.”
The short man hesitated, as if realizing the piece of paper was of great value, but handed it over after only a moment, likely realizing that holding the letter hostage would mean losing his own finger. Maybe even death.
Not the brightest bulbs, but not the dimmest either.
Paul studied the leader. He’d removed the NVGs to read the letter in the glow of a red flashlight, but he was too far away and the light too dim for Paul to notice anything distinguishable about his features.
It had been too much to hope the man couldn’t read English, but he let out a nasty cackle as he set the letter on the table. “She’s pregnant. With his bastard.”
Paul had to work to keep his expression blank. Listless.
The archaeologist was pregnant with Rivera’s child? And she’d written him a letter about it? Had she shown up tonight not because of her cameras—it had seemed like a far-fetched excuse—but because she wanted to slip Rivera the letter? Had she interrupted a military op so she could pass him a note like she was in middle school?
And why was their captor so damn happy about this turn of events?
The man spoke again. “This changes things. I need them both alive. Bring me the woman, and I’ll pay double what I promised for Rivera.” He lowered his voice, but still, it carried in the quiet room. “I will cut her while her lover listens to her screams.”