Page 11 of Trapped With the Secret Agent

“By watching, listening, and asking the right questions.”

Georgia snorted. “It sounds like you’ve done this before. Where’d you learn that?”

The pause before he answered her question was one second too long. “I was in the military. Some things you never forget.” He paused and added so softly she almost missed the words. “Some things I wish I could forget.”

“I vote for selective amnesia for this whole...” She couldn’t find an appropriate word in her vocabulary.

Peter offered one. “Clusterfuck.”

That almost made her laugh. “That seems like an accurate description.”

He snorted. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Being down here is doing my stomach and head a world of good, but it hasn’t improved my claustrophobia.”

Large hands, one on each of her arms, rubbed her skin soothingly through her suit jacket.

“How do you know it’s small in here? It’s too dark to tell. Use your imagination. This isn’t some crummy storage room it’s...what?

What imaginary place would make her feel better? Her favorite spot on her family’s farm was the... “The horse barn at night.”

“Why?”

“The smell of the hay and horses. They’re sleeping, except for the one who’s nuzzling my hand, looking for a treat.”

“Perfect.”

Georgia straightened a bit, leaning her head back against Peter’s warm chest behind her, letting his musky, masculine scent carry her away. She could picture the barn perfectly in her mind. It had been filled with hay, horses, and tack.

“How are you feeling, now?”

“I feel...” Georgia thought about it. “Better.” She frowned. That was strange, she should be going crazy. “How did you do that?”

“The mind is an amazing thing. Top athletes mentally picture themselves crossing the finish line in first place, going through every step, every motion to achieve that goal with careful precision before they even leave the starting block. Most of the time the one who wins the competition, or a battle, isn’t necessarily the strongest physically, but the toughest mentally.”

His hands were still rubbing her arms, making her pulse drum heavily, and not from fear.

“Is there anything you don’t know?”

“Lots of things.”

“Like what?”

“Like how many guys are coming down the stairs.”

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