Hit Hard. Amy J. Fetzer

talk?” Sam pressed.

      “Phan do not know. Hear things. Many people want to buy, only few get to—” he stalled, frowning, searching for the words—“be speaking to.”

      Sam frowned. “Get asked?”

      Phan just stared with the same blank look he’d been giving him for the last half hour. No wonder the enemy used this guy. He gave nothing away.

      In the distance, the train moved over the tracks. Phan glanced in the direction and Sam tightened his grip, bringing his attention back. Then he lifted him off the ground. “Where is Rohki?”

      “No Rohki. Phan swear, swear.”

      “Listen up, pal, I came all the way out here for information. My source says you’re the man. You tell me where he is, or I swear to God, I’ll carve you a new mouth.”

      “No Rohki. I not see buy-man here.”

      No buyer. Disgusted, Sam released him. Phan landed in the dirt, whined a bit, then climbed to his feet. He stepped back into Max.

      “I got no problem with giving you to him,” Max said. “You can see he’s pissed, and right now, I’d cooperate.”

      Phan remained silent.

      “Oh shit, he’s going to string you up by your thumbs.”

      Phan twisted, staring up with wide eyes. Max nodded ahead. Sam pulled out his whip, and let it slither on the ground like a snake. “Now that’s gonna leave a mark.”

      Without much effort, Sam cracked the whip and took off a branch above their heads. Max admired his precision and over Phan’s head, grinned at his teammate.

      “No buy men, only chop man near! Chop man!” Phan blurted, nodding violently.

      Chop man? That could mean a number of things, and he was tired of Phan playing illiterate when he knew from his source he wasn’t.

      Sam rolled in his whip, meeting Max’s gaze. They heard the squeal of the train wheels grinding to a stop, then shouting. Max frowned, eyeing Sam. There wasn’t a train stop near here.

      Max leaned down, his mouth near Phan’s ear. “What do you mean by chop? Hack, dice, slice, cut?”

      At the last word, Phan tensed.

      “Cut man,” Max said, looking up. A diamond cutter.

      “Who hired him?” Find the cutter and they’d find the stones and the source.

      Before Sam could interrogate Phan further, a scream, very female and long, cut through the jungle like a machete.

      Phan dropped to the ground, rolled, but as Max reached for him, like an acrobat, the small man dove into the jungle. Max instantly followed, the vegetation closing in around him. Sam was about to go after Max when he appeared, sweaty and winded—and empty-handed.

      “No trail, not even a bent branch or a damn footprint.” Max looked back the way he’d come, confused. “It’s like someone plucked him out of the forest.”

      “I have another way to find him. Kashir!” Sam called out. “Show yourself.”

      From the branches off to the right, a man swung down, dropped to the clearing. Sam introduced Kashir Fokhouri.

      “Interpol?” Max said, staring at the narrow man who needed a bath.

      “Alexa’s contacts,” Sam said. He was undercover to stop gunrunners, but from what Sam had seen, he didn’t excel at his job.

      “How is the beautiful Miss Gavlin?”

      “Married.”

      Another scream split down Sam’s spine.

      “We can’t ignore that.” Max turned in the direction.

      “I would advise against interfering. Local Jao Pho stop the express train all the time.” Kashir withdrew a thin knife and cleaned his fingernails. “They are just stealing.”

      “Sounds like more than that.”

      Sam was heading in the direction Phan disappeared when the shouts came again. He stopped, let his head loll forward, then met Max’s gaze. “I know I’m going to regret this.”

      “It sounds bad.” Max started toward the noise.

      Sam pointed to Kashir. “You stay put.”

      Kashir shrugged. “I have nowhere to be, cowboy.”

      Sam and Max grabbed up packs and jogged toward the train. The noise grew louder and when they reached the edge of the forest, they hung back enough to get a good view of the express train and the group of armed men robbing the passengers.

      His gaze locked on the woman. “She’s nuts,” Sam said.

      “She’s an American.”

      And a redhead. “Figures.”

      “A plan?”

      “Nope. You?”

      A man had her down on the ground, straddling her hips. He ripped a small box from her hand, tossed it aside, then delivered a grin laced with retribution as he copped a feel of everything she owned, diving his hand between her legs.

      “Be ready to shoot something,” Sam said, then stepped out into the clearing. “We got a problem here, fellas?” he said, aiming his rifle.

      Guns aimed, the bandits, who were watching the show, took a couple steps toward him.

      Sam leveled his shotgun. “At this range I can get half of you in the face.”

      The man on top of the woman looked up. At that instant, she kicked her leg high, hitting him in the back. Her attacker lurched forward and she grabbed his nuts, squeezed and rolled him off. She was agile, in a low squat, little fists primed to hit.

      “Not nice, is it?” she said, straightened. “My body, my temple, touch me again and I’ll—I’ll—”

      “What, lady? What the hell do you think you can do?”

      Viva flicked her gaze to the man, and her first thought was great white hunter. A jungle guide. He seemed completely at ease, his relaxed curiosity utterly annoying. “I’m thinking of something.”

      “Give him what he wants.”

      “No. It’s not his to take.”

      “Twenty guns say it is.”

      “You’re condoning this?”

      “Check the odds.” The weapons were trained more on her than him. How could they be scared of her?

      “He can take any tangible possessions he wants,” she enunciated, taking her body off the list. “But not that box.”

      The man with half an ear reached for the box. Sam snapped the whip, hooking it and dragging it toward him. When weapons cocked, he sent the group a thin look, then bent to pick it up. “What is it?”

      “An ancient bracelet. It has royal Thai markings on it.”

      “Is it worth your life?”

      She looked at him, into dark eyes so penetrating, she lost her thoughts. “It—it’s an artifact, history…priceless,” she said when he just stared. Didn’t he get it? This was like the Holy Grail of Thailand.

      Sam broke open the box, pulled out the bracelet and showed the leader. Half Ear laughed with his men.

      “She’s stupid to fight you over it.”

      “Please try not to insult me. We’ve just met.”

      Sam glanced. Jesus. She understood his crappy Thai. Sam held it out.

      “Don’t give it to him!” Viva tried to grab it.

      Sam held it out of her reach,