Page 81 of Double Bucked

I turn the blade and hold it to my throat. That gets the desired response. A brief, momentary flicker of fear in his eyes. “Tell me who you are,” I say, “or watch me bleed out. Your call.”

James takes a single, slow step toward me. All my muscles go rigid. Suddenly, his hand whips out, and before I can react, he has my wrist in a tight grip.

“Claire.” There’s a deep, dark edge to his voice that swoops through my belly. “Never hold a weapon unless you intend to use it.”

The knife is cold on my throat. With his hand on my wrist, he guides it closer. The blade presses deeper, stinging my skin, and I gasp.

“Get the hell away from her,” Ransom growls.

Ransom starts toward us, but James says, “Be a good boy and stay put.”

Ransom stops. I don’t blame him.

I would, too.

James’s eyes are locked on mine. Those blues are so cold, so compassionless, and I can’t wrap my head around it.

“This,” he says, “will only slice your trachea. You’ll live, but you’ll breathe out of a tube for the rest of your life.” He guides my wrist, shifting the blade to the side of my throat. I can feel my pulse pounding against the thin line of the knife. “If you want to die, you cut here,” he explains as simply as if he were reciting words from a dictionary. “Your carotid artery…” He guides the tip of my knife down my belly until it’s resting right underneath my breasts. “Or the heart.” And the knife travels lower still. The pointy blade scrapes down the center of my body, down my pelvis, and then nuzzles between my legs. He presses the flat of the blade to my thigh. “Or here. Your femoral artery. A slow way to bleed out, but without quick intervention, effective all the same.”

His breath hits my cheek. Then, his voice drops to a low whisper. “Am I still boring you, Claire?”

His accent. It’s gone. No trace of the British gentleman I once knew.

There’s nothing but this hard, dark, American voice now.

He releases me. I’m shaking. I drop the knife, and it clatters to the floor.

Ransom goes to me. He puts an arm around me protectively. His hand pushes my hair back, inspecting my throat. “You okay, princess?”

If he cut me, I don’t feel it.

I don’t feel anything but this heavy ice in my chest.

“Meeting you,” I say, “that day in the café. It wasn’t an accident.”

James grips the granite island to steady himself. He stares at me.

“No,” he admits. “It wasn’t an accident.”

“You were waiting for me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I’m a special agent. I work for an organization that takes missions no one else will. Your father hired me to keep you safe.”

There it is.

The truth that turns my entire body numb.

I can’t feel anything except this blood rush, this red heat that flames over my face.

He’s been lying to you the entire time, and you were too self-absorbed to see it.

“You. You’re Semper Fi. You’re the one he’s sending this money to.”

“Yes.”

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