Istanbul’s heat clings to my skin as I walk with Lenore through the market. Three days of guarding a sheik’s son, and I just wanted quiet. Then she shows up—my ex-wife, my daughter. A gift. A trap.

I see them before they see me—two men in dark jackets, too still, too focused. I tell Lenore to run. She hesitates. I push her. They grab her.

I surrender.

Now I’m zip-tied to a pipe, wrists burning, head pounding. My phone’s in my sock—tiny, untraceable. I call Kim. She’s alone in the hotel. Scared. I tell her to hide. She does.

Then she calls back. 'Dad… I have your case.'

I hear the grenade before I feel it. The blast echoes off the rooftops. I close my eyes. That sound—it’s a compass.

I whisper instructions. Another explosion. Another. The steam from a chimney. The gun she drops down.

I’m getting out. And when I do, someone’s going to pay.