her throat.
Each one of them held a black-as-night AK-47 on his hip.
She sank to the floor, ran her finger over Kafara’s twelve-year-old face. She knew it, she just knew that when his letters stopped, when she’d heard of the raid in his village, that General Mubar had “recruited” Kafara into his private army of enforcers.
Please, God, don’t let him have been used for minesweeping, or to murder someone.
Her hand shook as she saved the picture to her files. Yes, she’d most definitely have to shake Brody Wickham off her trail, whatever it took.
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