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husband’s the cook. They’re like family to me. They’re…Oh, God. Walter’s hurt.”
    A plump, blond man was pushed from the shadows beneath the gallery by a fourth gunman. He staggered toward the woman and child. Blood darkened his forehead and the right side of his face.
    Mitch guessed even before Chantal told him that this was the boy’s father. Obviously, the man had tried to defend his family and had been struck for his efforts. There was no way to tell for certain from here how serious the injury was. From the look of it, Mitch guessed he’d been pistol-whipped rather than shot.
    The young couple who had helped carry the guests’ luggage the night before were the last to be brought in. Their resemblance to each other was more obvious than it had been yesterday—they must be brother and sister. Neither attempted any heroics. They moved like people in shock.
    At least they were able to move. Considering all the rounds that he’d heard fired earlier, Mitch had been prepared to see far worse. “Is that everyone?” he whispered. “All your staff?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then aside from Walter, no one’s been harmed. It looks as if they wanted hostages.”
    “Hostages?”
    “Altogether they’ve got thirteen. They’ve assembled everyone in one place to make it easier to keep track of them.”
    “Why? What could they want?”
    “At this stage, all that matters is that they want everyone alive.” For now, he added silently. The fact the gunmen were all masked could indicate they meant to leave survivors.
    Or it could mean they simply wanted to intimidate their captives. Not being able to see an attacker’s face was bound to instill fear. It was another technique familiar to Eagle Squadron—they often donned masks themselves when executing a raid. “Our priority is to get help before someone matches the number of people to the number of beds and realizes they’re two short.”
    A tall man with a chest like a barrel appeared at the gallery railing. He seemed to be giving orders to the others, so evidently, this was the leader. Like the rest of the men, his face was concealed by a balaclava. Only his air of command distinguished him from the others. That, and the sidearm he wore at his waist. He spoke into a handheld walkie-talkie as he surveyed the room, then suddenly turned his head to look out the side window.
    Mitch splayed his hand, gently increasing the pressure on Chantal’s back. “Don’t move,” he breathed.
    She began to tremble. “Oh, God. He’s looking straight at us.”
    “We’ve got the junipers in front of us and the sun’s in his face. He probably can’t see much against the glare. Stay down and we’ll be fine.”
    “What are we going to do if he does see us?”
    “We’ll use an old army trick.”
    “What?”
    “We run like hell.”
    Her breath hitched. “I hate the army.”
    “You? A general’s daughter?”
    “Never knew that, did you.”
    He suspected there were plenty of things he didn’t know about Chantal, both the old and the new versions.
    Except, surprisingly, she still smelled the same. Even with the scents of rock, lichen and evergreens that surrounded them, he could pick hers out. Roses. It was old-fashioned. Feminine. He’d never been able to smell it without remembering a rainy, October night and the touch of soft flesh…
    Mitch gave himself a mental shake. What the hell was he thinking? He lifted his hand from Chantal’s back. “Okay, he’s looking the other way. Slide back to those boulders.”
    “Then what?”
    “Then we find a way to—”
    Gunfire blasted from behind them. Mitch automatically cupped the back of Chantal’s head and pushed her face into his shoulder, giving her what protection he could. He felt rather than heard her cry out as bullets pinged from the rock beside them.
    The firing ended as quickly as it had begun. A man spoke into the sudden silence. “Got ’em, Knox!”

Chapter 3
    C hantal sensed that Mitch was trying to tell her