Page 66 of Extracted

Gemma stepped out of the shower and mopped her face with the gritty white towel that had seen too many rounds of bleach. Tears mixed with the water droplets on her face, and she exhaled into the terrycloth to prevent a scream.

Men.

Well, she couldn’t exactly blame all men for Dallas’s stubbornness, but god he was hardheaded. If he wanted to sit in Ecuador as a wanted person, when literally anyone on the street could be paid to kill him, then so be it. That’s not what she wanted for herself. She wanted all of this to go away.

Being hunted. Running for her life. Men showing up at every corner trying to murder her. How much could a person take? Not to mention everyone, like everyone, including her family, surely thought she’d been cloned or was being held captive or something because there was no way anyone would accept that she was behind a bombing.

As shitty as it was, the quicker she got back into the CIA’s good graces, the quicker all this nastiness would go away. And the quicker Dallas could have his life back and not feel he needed to hover over her as bodyguard. She had to accept the reality—the only reason they were in the same motel right now was because people were after her.

He could act as if she was the one to cut and run after every romp, but he sure as hell hadn’t complained. Hadn’t tried to call. Hadn’t expressed that he wanted more. She hadn’t given him her phone number, but so what? Clearly the guy had the resources to find her if he desired.

Her insides constricted and sadness stung her tear ducts all over again. Okay, so maybe he’d said on more than one occasion that they shouldn’t wait a year to see each other. But still. They had been offhand, playful remarks and not ones she could place weight on.

Nope.

Dallas was as uninterested in having a relationship with her as she was with him.

She wrapped the towel around her torso and tucked the end between her breasts with more force than necessary.

Sure, Dallas could be boyfriend material. Really, the dude had it all. He was built like a linebacker, hot as hell, hung, incredible in bed, and devilishly good-looking—like geez, just take my panties. He was also sensitive, and caring, and . . . protective.

All the things she’d always hoped for in a boyfriend.

Except there was one major red flag.

He was . . . how had he put it? A mercenary. Made a living committing crimes. And his family, though he hadn’t said a lot, was cut from the same cloth. She couldn’t live her life worrying about him. He traveled for work, would be gone all the time. He could end up in a foreign prison, and every time he left, there was a chance he’d return in a casket.

So, no. As perfect as Dallas was, she couldn’t go there. Nor would she let him act as though she’d screwed him over by calling Charlene. All she’d done was throw him a freaking lifeline, and he’d spat on it.

Combing her damp hair into a side braid, she fought to keep the fumes of her fury under control. Showing Dallas how upset she was wouldn’t help matters. She needed to channel the cool and confident Gemma who managed to get her shit together and walk away from him every year.

This was no different.

She stepped into her shorts—hopefully this time her plane didn’t crash—and fit a black tank over her head. She badly needed to wash her clothes, but at least her body was clean. She brushed her teeth then tossed all her toiletries into her travel kit.

In a few short hours she’d be out of Ecuador.

Dread made her stomach clench, and a warning touched her spine. Dallas’s words echoed in her head: They can’t be trusted.

He might be right. But she also didn’t have much choice.

Not if she wanted to live.

* * *

Dallas stepped outside as he stared at the unfamiliar number lighting the screen of his phone. He shut the door behind him. Now that he had cell service, messages were coming in. He’d surely missed a few calls from Lorenzo.

Clearing his throat, he swiped to answer. “Hello?”

He closed the door behind him and moved into the mostly vacant parking lot. The morning sun hit his face.

“Dallas. You’ve been a hard man to get a hold of.” The slurring voice piqued Dallas’s senses.

Silas.

“Yeah. What a shitshow. I went offline for a few days—just got back on grid last night.”

“You left Cali pretty quickly. We never got to have our meeting.” Suspicion lined every syllable of the man’s words.

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