Page 41 of Her Mercenary

“Then why did the guard call you that?”

“Never trust the words from a dying man’s lips.”

“I thought it was the opposite ... that a man is never more honest than when he’s dying.”

“You don’t believe me?” I asked.

The question lingered. Answer enough.

A long moment stretched between us.

“You’re Irish,” she said eventually.

So, she’d noticed my accent. I suddenly felt like I was losing the anonymity I’d so carefully crafted. I didn’t want her to know me.

“Ardri means high king in Gaelic, I know this,” she said. “Why do they call you that?”

“Because they don’t know better. Hush. We need to be quiet.” I closed the few feet between us and reached behind her.

When she flinched, I froze. Blinked. Stared back at her.

It was then that I realized that I wasn’t the only one unsettled by the situation we’d found ourselves in. Although I’d rescued her from being raped by two drunk animals, Samantha didn’t trust me.

For a second, I actually thought she was going to attack me, right there in the cave. And I wanted her to, I realized. It would make this easier. Make me hate her. Redirect my attention away from her and back to the mission at hand—delivering her to Bear, then going after Conor.

A beam of moonlight caught her face, her narrowed eyes active, flickering like an animal backed against a wall.

Watching her, I yanked loose the small pack I’d hidden in the cave two days earlier when I’d mapped out my exit route. My exit route—intended for after I’d handed Samantha Greene off to Bear. I dropped the pack in her lap.

She gave me a confused look. “What’s this?”

“Survival pack.”

“You ... you planted this here?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

I ignored the question, growing annoyed by her interrogation.

“You knew this was going to happen?” she asked.

I knew I was eventually going to need it—not us.

Samantha set the bag aside and refocused on me in a way that reminded me of my supervisor in basic training. “Who are you?” she asked, a bit of sharpness to her tone.

“I told you—”

“No, who are you, Roman? Are you in the military?”

“Not anymore.”

“Do you work for the US government?”

“No.”

“Do you work for the Mexican government?”

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