When it reaches zero, you die. #1 New York Times bestselling author Iris Johansen sets her readers’ pulses racing once again in this relentless psychological thriller of a young woman caught in a maze of secrets and stalked by a merciless killer. The countdown begins the moment you open this riveting novel that only grows more electrifying as the pages turn, more exciting as time runs out. . . . “Don’t kill her. She’s no good to us dead.” These words haunt Jane MacGuire after a shocking attack shatters her world in an instant. Was it a random kidnapping attempt–or the countdown to something far more sinister? Who is after her–and what do they want so badly they’ll kill anyone in their way? That’s what Jane is determined to find out, without the help of the police, the FBI, or her adoptive parents, forensic sculptor Eve Duncan and her husband, Joe Quinn, of the Atlanta PD–because whoever is after her won’t hesitate to hurt those she loves the most. Now Jane will go on the run with the only man who may be more dangerous than those who are pursuing her. A smuggler, a con man, and who knew what else, Mark Trevor had his own mysterious reasons for wanting to keep Jane safe and out of the hands of a killer obsessed with a two-thousand-year-old mystery that could rock the modern-day world. Orphaned at an early age, Jane grew up the hard way, but she was given a new life, a loving family, and a chance to pursue her interest in one of the greatest archaeological finds ever unearthed. Now someone was trying to destroy that new life before it could even get started. The past is returning with the kind of vengeance that knows no mercy. The countdown has already begun, and it’s approaching zero faster than anyone thinks. From the Hardcover edition. "[A] thrill ride.... Action, romance, castles, bomb plots and a booby-trapped hideaway in snowbound Idaho—what more could Johansen fans want?"— Publishers Weekly From the Hardcover edition. Iris Johansen, who has more than twenty-five million copies of her books in print, has won many awards for her achievements in writing. The bestselling author of Firestorm, Fatal Tide, Dead Aim, No One to Trust, Body of Lies, The Search, Final Target, and many other novels, she lives near Atlanta, Georgia, where she is currently at work on a new novel. Chapter One Aberdeen, Scotland Find the key. The hotel room was dark but he didn’t dare turn on a light. Leonard had told him that Trevor and Bartlett were usually in the restaurant for an hour, but he couldn’t count on it. Grozak had experience with that son of a bitch over the years and he knew Trevor’s instincts were still as keen as they had been when he was a mercenary in Colombia. So he’d give himself ten minutes tops and get out of here. His penlight flashed around the room. As sterile and impersonal as most hotel rooms. Take the bureau drawers first. He moved quickly across to the bureau and started going through them. Nothing. He went to the closet and dragged out the duffel and searched through it hurriedly. Nothing. Five minutes to go. He went to the bedside table and opened the drawer. A notepad and pen. Find the key, the Achilles’ heel. Everyone had one. Try the bathroom. Nothing in the drawers. The grooming kit. Pay dirt! Maybe. Yes. At the bottom of the kit was a small, worn leather folder. Photos of a woman. Notes. Newspaper clippings with photos of the same woman. Disappointment surged through him. Nothing about MacDuff’s Run. Nothing about the gold. Nothing here to really help him. Hell, he’d hoped it was– Wait. The woman’s face was damn familiar. . . . No time to read them. He pulled out his digital camera and began to take the pictures. Send the prints to Reilly and show him that he might have the ammunition that he needed to control Trevor. But this might not be enough for him. One more search of the bedroom and that duffel . . . The worn, dog-eared sketchbook was under the protective board at the bottom of the duffel. Probably nothing of value. He quickly flipped through the pages. Faces. Nothing but faces. He shouldn’t have taken the extra time. Trevor would be here any minute. Nothing but a bunch of sketches of kids and old people and that bastard– My God. Jackpot! He tucked the sketchbook under his arm and headed for the door, filled with heady exultation. He almost wished that he’d run into Trevor in the hall so that he’d have the chance to kill the son of a bitch. No, that would spoil everything. I’ve got you, Trevor. * * * The alarm in Trevor’s pocket was vibrating. Trevor tensed. “Son of a bitch.” “What’s wrong?” Bartlett asked. “Maybe nothing. There’s someone in my hotel room.” He threw some money down on the table and stood up. “It could be the maid turning down my bed.” “But you don’t think so.” Bartlett followed him from the room to the elevator. “Grozak?” “We’ll see.” “A trap?” “Not likely. He wants me dead but he wants the gold more. He’s probably tr