Page 65 of Extracted

Her cool demeanor was one he could pick up from a mile away. And usually, it sprang forth minutes after sex.

She stopped at the bed and scooped up the shirt of his she’d worn when they went to bed. She pulled it over her head and sat on the mattress then placed her phone on the nightstand. “Don’t be angry.” Her large, wary eyes shook his brain.

“I’m going to get really fucking angry if you don’t tell me what’s going on.” He opened and closed his fists at his sides, but the action did nothing to lower his blood pressure, which was rising with the force of a rocket. “Tell me what the fuck you did, dammit,” he hissed.

Her eyes turned glassy and for a flicker of an instant, the pain and fear in her gaze almost dropped him to his knees.

She dipped her chin to stare at the ground. At least she was showing enough shame not to look in his eyes. “I called Charlene.” Her breath rushed out along with the words. “She’s getting us out of here.”

His nerves fizzled, but some of the anger dissipated. “You didn’t need to do that. I’ve got it covered.”

She lifted her lips. “We have no guarantee that either of your brothers can get us out today. It’s not like we have the luxury to wait it out—not when there’s a hit on our heads. This way, all you need to do is get to the airport, and—”

“All I need to do?”

She nodded, barely moving an inch. “That was our agreement. She’ll get you a passport and on the next flight to the US while I’ll . . . I’ll be sent to my next posting. Wherever that will be.”

Fresh anger rushed forward like a flash fire. He folded his arms across his chest, not giving a damn that he was still in his briefs and she’d put on a shirt, as if speaking to him half-naked was uncomfortable for her now. “Why the fuck would you do that? You said you wanted to quit.”

She pressed her hands into the edges of the mattress on either side of her thighs. Her face bore a little redness from the outdoors and sun the last few days.

And probably embarrassment, too.

“You’re right. I want to quit. But I knew there was a chance they wouldn’t help us unless I agreed to come back.”

Disgust rolled through him in waves. “You made it sound like the last five years with them was hell. Must have been pretty awful then, huh? How much are they paying you?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You think this is about money? I want to get you out of here safely. They’re after me. Not you—”

“No, they’re after me, too. Especially since I killed a couple of Silas’s men.” He dropped his arms and took a step forward. Part of him wanted to rage. To storm out. Not take her—or the CIA’s—help. But if he did that, he’d have to walk away from Gemma forever.

He might not have a choice.

“Just forget all this, okay? We’re safe here for now. Cole will get back to me soon, and we could have a way out of here.”

She snorted. “Even if we can get out of Ecuador, how are we going to get back to the US? We’ll need to make stops, and my face is all over the goddamn news. Everyone thinks I’m a bomber.”

He winced. “So you’ll get a new passport—”

“That takes time. The CIA already has one done for me. And you.” She stood and caught his hands. “Please understand. This is my mess. I’m responsible for getting you into it, now let me be responsible for getting you out.”

Slowly he shook his head. “I won’t take help from them. The CIA knows my history by now. They’ll just pass me off to the feds. I can’t risk it.”

Her shoulders sank an inch. “I made a deal, Dallas. They won’t double-cross me.” She jerked her gaze to the clock on the nightstand. “We have two hours to get to the airstrip. Let’s hurry.”

He dragged a hand over his face, not hiding his disbelief. “For someone who’s been in this game so long, you’re really not seeing the big picture. They already double-crossed you when they set off the bombs, knowing you’d take the rap. They can’t be trusted.” He turned away. “I’ll shower. Then I’ll drop you off.”

He shut the bathroom door hard and braced himself on the vanity. The anger fuming inside him became something else.

What? What was this scorching emotion below the surface of his skin that made his eyes feel as if they were swollen? Anguish? Betrayal? Fuck.

She’d bailed on him. Lied. And now she was doing what she’d done best for the last five years.

Running away . . . from him.

This time, he wouldn’t be waiting when she came back.

CHAPTER 18

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