Page 84 of Extracted

She looped her arms around Cory’s neck and glanced over her shoulder. Dallas walked next to Silas, his stride brisk and his jaw in a hard line.

He was pissed.

Was he angry? Had he seen her?

He breezed by without so much as a look in her direction. No, there was no way he’d spotted her. Shit. She should have done something to get his attention. If she could get word to him that she was here, he might clue in that the CIA was also here targeting Silas.

The men walked toward the hall and entered the room. It had to be Silas’s office. Thank god. They weren’t far. But she had to do something. Charlene was still waiting to hear from her. And likely losing her patience by the second.

Cory’s hand moved to her cheek, and he dipped his chin to kiss her.

Jerking her head back and out of reach, she pushed on his shoulder. “Ah, sorry. I need to use the ladies’ room and make a call. Hold that thought.” She slipped out of his arms and bumped through the crowd. As she passed a garbage can, she tossed her half-empty drink inside.

Pulsing bodies littered the dance floor, making getting through worse than an obstacle course. More than one person slammed into her, and drinks sloshed on the linoleum.

God, she couldn’t wait to get out of this place.

She shoved open the bathroom door and found an empty stall. Locking it, she pulled out her phone and stared at the screen. She could try to call Dallas again, but more than likely he wouldn’t answer—or he would and his reaction to her being at the bar would give him away.

She couldn’t risk it.

But . . . maybe someone else could phone him. A relative with an emergency. All she needed was for him to step outside long enough for Charlene to make her move. Then bam, Silas would be dead, she’d be free, and Dallas wouldn’t be in the line of fire.

She dug into her purse again and pulled out the card Dallas had given her. Her hand shook as she dialed Cole’s number. He’d been MIA the last time she was with Dallas, but maybe he had his phone now.

“Hello?” a man’s deep voice growled with annoyance.

She swallowed. “Um, hi. Is this Cole?”

“Who wants to know?”

“This is Gemma Turner. I’m a friend of Dallas’s—”

“I know who you are. Is my brother with you?”

That was a loaded question. “Well, not really. He’s in trouble though and . . . actually, you know, he’s been trying to reach you all day.” She tried to keep the accusation out of her tone, but dammit, Dallas had needed to hear from him, and maybe if Cole had called earlier and had a solution for them, she could have avoided this whole situation with the CIA.

“I was a little busy. I’m just getting in my rental car at the Ibarra airport and haven’t had the chance to call him.”

Hope rose from her belly. She squeezed her phone. “You’re here?”

“How the hell else was I supposed to give Dallas the new passports? Yeah, I’m fucking here. Now tell me why Dallas is in trouble.”

She couldn’t avoid telling him about the CIA. To hell with what he thought of her. All that mattered was getting Dallas out alive. She rattled off everything she could think of while he listened.

When she was done, he said, “So you’re at the club and the CIA is waiting for your cue to make a move on Silas?” The gentle hum of a motor in the background told her he was on his way.

“Yes,” she said, her heart thudding. “But I’m afraid that they’ll think it’s worth taking out Dallas, or that he could get caught in harm’s way. Last time they set off bombs without telling me, and I can’t guarantee they won’t take the same risk again.”

“All right. This is what I want you to do. Call your boss—or whoever the fuck this broad is—and tell her you don’t have eyes on him. Buy some time. I’ll call Dallas and see if I can get him out of there. Keep your phone on you and I’ll call with a plan whether I speak to Dallas or not. Got it?”

“Okay.” The agreement came out breathless and somewhat needy.

“He’ll be fine.” The call ended and her stomach bunched into a million knots. They were nowhere near out of this, but at least now they weren’t alone. If Cole could coax Dallas away from Silas, they might all live.

She hit Charlene’s number and returned the phone to her ear. A woman’s cackling laugh echoed in the tiled bathroom, and the door of the stall next to hers slammed shut.

“Where the hell have you been?” Viciousness clung to every syllable of Charlene’s words.

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