Page 60 of Trapped With the Secret Agent

How could they keep so still? Eight men and not one fidgeting like a normal person would while sitting in the dark, waiting. She glanced at Peter then Lt. Stokes. Both were as still as statues.

Only a few feet away were soldiers, lots of them if the number of trucks on the street was any indicator. Soldiers that could find them at any moment and arrest them or shoot them. With all the weapons in evidence on the bus and on each SEAL, she was certain that the reaction would be to shoot first and interrogate later.

She moved again, unable to keep still, and a hand reached out and folded over one of hers. She looked up, surprised, and met Peter’s gaze. There was understanding there. It was dark and too quiet, and he was giving her his hand.

He knew what she needed before she did.

Despite her anger with him, she squeezed to say thank you and looked away, afraid he would see the tears welling up in her eyes. He’d hid the truth about himself from her, but she still found comfort in holding his hand.

Georgia sighed. Regardless of how angry she was with him, she had to be honest with herself. She’d known from the start he was different. He handled every problem, every crisis, with a competence that surpassed all expectation.

She’d known what he was—protective, intelligent, deadly, kind, and sly—long before she had a CIA tag to hang on him to explain all his skills. He’d never hidden what he was from her, just the title.

Holding on to him blunted the fear enough that it shocked her. She shouldn’t be so surprised by that; he’d proven himself a good man from the moment she’d first met him.

She was still furious with him, but now she understood why it hurt so much.

That wasn’t going to prevent her from giving him a well-deserved tongue lashing the second she got him alone.

A tell-tale stir in the air alerted her that someone was moving around, and she glanced up in time to see that silent ghost of a SEAL return to the bus, wafting inside like he was nothing more substantial than smoke.

Peter tensed beside her and Stokes leaned forward.

“Boss,” the SEAL said in a tone that carried no farther than two feet. “I found a truck. End of the street.”

Stokes nodded and looked at one of the men sitting behind him. “Carrs go with Squeaker and liberate that truck for us. We’ll meet you one block west.”

“No problem, LT,” Carrs said, sliding out of his seat and following the silent Squeaker out.

Stokes looked at Georgia. “Ma’am, I’m taking point. That means I’ll be in front. Welis will be behind me. I want you to follow him. Do exactly as he does, move when he moves. The rest of the team will follow you. Can you do that?”

She glanced at Peter. His gaze didn’t shy away from hers. She looked at Stokes. “I’ll do my best.”

He smiled at her. “Good.” His gaze lifted and he nodded at Peter. “Let’s move out.”

Stokes moved past her with Peter right behind. Georgia had to scramble to catch up as they slipped off the bus. How did they move so fast without making any noise?

They stopped right outside the door for a moment then traveled forward, hugging the wall. She scurried next to Peter, almost stepping on him when he stopped suddenly. Peter reached back and put a hand on her shoulder, keeping it there for a brief moment.

When he moved, it was in a low crouch. Georgia copied his posture, feeling like a crab out of water as she scuttled along behind. They came to the end of the alley. The street was well lit compared to some, and the light from several restaurants and cafés spilled out, providing even more illumination. Stokes held up a hand in some kind of a signal. At least Georgia assumed it was a signal, because Peter stood and walked out like he had several legitimate reasons to be there. She followed him the standard two paces behind, eyes downcast, looking to all the world like an average submissive woman. She supposed frightened to death was a close enough approximation.

They walked past two storefronts, both busy from the sounds emanating from inside, but no one called out and they continued to the end of the street and across the intersection. A sand-colored, tarp-covered truck waited ahead of them, its engine running.

Stokes walked up to the passenger door, looked in, and flashed another hand signal at Peter.

Peter climbed up the back of the truck and slid through a slit in the tarp. Georgia swallowed a lump of fear and reached up to grab a dangling rope so she could pull herself up. It was too high.

Instantly, Peter was there, pulling her up till she could get one foot on the deck of the truck. He guided her inside, making room for the rest of the men to get in.

Georgia grabbed one of Peter’s hands and took several tentative steps with her other hand out in front of her, unable to see anything in the total darkness. Her knee bumped something and she bent down to feel it. A long plank of wood and a canvas wall behind. She sat, prepared to tug at Peter if necessary to get him to sit as well. They couldn’t very well stand when the truck started moving, but he joined her with no urging at all. The truck pulled away from the curb. Georgia waited for a shout or the discharge of a gun, something that would give away the fact that they’d just stolen a vehicle belonging to the military, but nothing happened.

A beam of light appeared on the back canvas wall. Everyone’s face was lit up briefly, including hers, before it settled on the floor in the middle of the truck. Georgia’s eyes quickly adjusted, and she could see the head, arm, and shoulder of Stokes sticking through another slit in the canvas at the front of the box. “We shouldn’t have any trouble getting through, but if something does go wrong, Welis will make sure everyone gets out and to that tunnel. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ma’am, you stick real close to Welis, but if any of the other guys tell you to do something, don’t hesitate, just do what they ask. They’ll only give you an order if there’s a reason for it. Ok?”

“Yes, I understand,” Georgia said immediately.

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