Page 57 of Extracted

“You can come out now,” one of the guys called.

Gemma tossed off the blanket and sat up. Dallas pushed into a sitting position.

“Keep low,” the same guy instructed. “We’ll be going through town soon and we don’t want your faces spotted.”

Gemma scootched back down to the floor and Dallas did the same. He brought his hand to her braid and stroked it. She swept her gaze to his eyes, which were studying her as if he’d forget her features the next second.

“You okay?” he asked.

She blew a breath through tight lips. “As good as can be expected.” She looked out the window at the setting sun.

“We’ll be in a bed tonight at least,” he said. “Decent food, too.”

“Anything will be decent after eating protein bars and canned goods for two days.”

He chuckled then caught her chin. “Almost through this.”

“Mmm. You’re a shitty liar.”

“Why do you say that?” he said, sounding affronted.

“I heard you talking to your brother . . . You didn’t sound confident we’d get out of Ecuador.”

He rocked his jaw back and forth. “Not going to lie, the odds are against us.”

She twiddled her thumbs over her belly. “I’m going to call Charlene once we get settled. Maybe she can get us passports and—”

“You, maybe. If we’re lucky. I’ll need another way out.”

“I’m not going anywhere without you,” she said sharply. The words had blurted out before she could stop them. Hours ago, she’d been ready to separate to keep him away from the flames that lit her life.

But doing that . . . actually leaving him in a foreign country after he’d done everything in his power to keep her safe . . . she couldn’t. Couldn’t leave and not know if he’d make it out. She was like a burr in his side, a stain he couldn’t wash away. But she had to see that he returned home.

Her stomach flipped over. There was one way she could keep him safe . . . one way to get him away from the target she’d put on their backs. And she had to try.

Even if it meant she’d never see him again.

* * *

“Whatever you’re having,” she told Dallas, as she tucked her tired feet under her legs. The fact that they’d actually made it to a motel made her brain buzz. An hour and a half prior, she hadn’t been so sure they’d even make it out of the back of the SUV.

The sounds of electricity, the fluorescent lights in particular, overpowered her dulled-down system. Nonetheless, her blood pressure felt normal for the first time since she’d jumped out of the plane. Scratch that. Since she’d heard the bombs go off.

“All right. I’m not sure what I’ll end up with, but lock the door and keep the gun close.”

“I know, I know.”

He winked and left, and she went to the door and secured the lock. Turning her attention to the satellite phone he’d left her, she scooped it up and wet her lips. Acid fizzled in her stomach. A warning.

It’d been two days since she spoke to Charlene—the night of the blast. Two days that the CIA had no clue where their informant was. No contact with them was as bad as giving them the finger.

Using Dallas’s phone would ensure the CIA couldn’t trace them. Her phone was encrypted, but encryption didn’t mean a damn thing when it came to the most powerful alphabet government in the world.

Dialing Charlene’s number, which she’d been forced to commit to memory, she sat on the side of the bed. Thankfully they were in the same time zone. It wasn’t even 8:00 p.m. in Virginia.

“Hello?” Charlene’s greeting was clipped.

“Charlene. It’s me . . . Gemma.”

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