Page 13 of Trapped With the Secret Agent

Georgia kept her eyes pinned to the ground even though the tremors going through her body increased in violence and her hands curled into fists.

Damn, look at her toughing it out even though she had to be on the edge of caving in. Thin threads of pride and hope wove around and through him.

The terrorist grabbed her by the chin and brought her face up, examining her with the diligence of a man buying a horse.

“She’s very beautiful,” he said to Peter, and the words clipped those delicate threads short.Fuck.

Peter kept his mouth shut by the slimmest margin; his whole body poised to take the asshole down if he touched Georgia any more than he already had.

Ambassador Mitchell spun around, and a sound of protest left his mouth. He took a step toward the terrorist. “Leave her alone,” he ordered.

What the fuck was Mitchell doing? The man was a career diplomat who knew the value of people as leverage in a negotiation. He’d just shown all his cards to a shark who’d stacked the deck in his favor.

In-Charge, with one final glance at Peter, released Georgia and turned his attention to the ambassador, who was sporting several red marks on his face. He’d probably have a black eye in a few hours.

“Does she belong to you?”

Mitchell made an effort to reign himself in, but that horse had left the barn without him. “She’s a valued employee and an American citizen.”

The terrorist laughed. “Such things mean nothing here. A beautiful woman has but one value to a man.”

“Bastard,” Mitchell said in a low tone.

In-Charge fingered another lock of Georgia’s hair. “Our negotiations go too slow. Perhaps I will entertain myself with this woman.”

The ambassador flashed a glance at Peter, his gaze filled with fear and desperation. He cared about Georgia, more than any boss should and in a second of clear communication, he begged Peter to save her by any means possible.

What a goddamned clusterfuck.

Peter was in no position to save anyone including himself, but Mitchell needed to get his head back in the game, so he gave the man a small nod. A promise to do his best, to use skills he’d packed up and put away, hoping he’d never had to use them again. Those of a liar, a soldier, and an assassin.

“I think I know a way to speed things up,” Mitchell said. A moment ago, the man looked like he was about to be sick with worry, now he appeared calm and in control.

The terrorist laughed again, telling everyone he’d seen what Mitchell was trying to hide. “So, you admit this woman belongs to you.” He walked up to face him. “Very well, speed things up, but if they continue to go too slow for me, I will take your woman and you will be forced to watch.”

The ambassador dipped his head, his expression under control and smoothed to expressionlessness. “I understand.”

In-Charge’s grin said he wasn’t fooled.

The terrorist moved away and spoke to his men. They cheered and shook their rifles in the air. Seeing them so happy only made Peter’s gut tighten up more.

“You will take our pictures,” the terrorist ordered Peter. In his own language, he ordered the man standing closest to Georgia to make her sit down and she was roughly shoved into a chair.

“Get your equipment.” In-Charge pointed at the bag sitting in a heap against a wall.

Peter walked over to his leather bag and pulled out his camera. He grabbed a couple different lenses and shoved them in his pants pockets.

“Ready.”

“Good, you at least are not slow.” The terrorist smiled at him, a greasy I’d-rather-kill-you grin. “Maybe I’ll put you back in that little room with the woman again, huh?”

Did this guy think of nothing else?

Stupid, sex-starved, suicidal fanatics.

The terrorist spoke to his men and they clustered together, brandishing their rifles in what they must have thought were manly poses.

Dick fuckers.

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