Page 18 of Trapped With the Secret Agent

“And the president’s phone number?”

“Dial eight, then one thousand.” Ambassador Mitchell stopped to take a breath. “It’s a direct line to the Oval Office.”

Peter continued to stare down into Georgia’s eyes. “Sit tight,” he said, trying to convey a confidence he didn’t feel. He looked away, glancing at In-Charge, whose smile was the epidemy of evil.

“I knew you would be useful.”

* * *

Georgia’s stomach clenched, twisted, and knotted as Peter was led away into the main office, all but one terrorist going with him and their leader. She’d known he was trying to keep her calm when he promised to keep her safe, but no American in the embassy was safe. Not with a nuclear bomb in the basement.

These terrorists had a deadly agenda.

The so-called negotiations were a sham designed to gain attention before they pressed the button and blew up everyone within a large radius. It was nothing short of the plot for a summer blockbuster movie, only this was real life.

How had this become her life?

She sucked in a stuttering breath, her body trying to laugh and cry at the same time. Irony was a sick bitch.

The man left behind to guard her, and her uncle moved to stand in view of the door, but he kept his weapon pointed at her. His eyes were glued to her torso.

Clenching and unclenching her fists, Georgia turned and shifted closer to her uncle.

“Uncle Theo?” she asked in a soft voice, barely letting her lips move.

“I’m all right, Georgia,” he gasped out, his voice strained with pain. “For the moment.”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and put one of her hands on one of his. Her uncle was a good man, a man who’d devoted himself to his country. A minute went by in silence. They could hear Peter’s voice rumbling from the next room.

“Peter’s a good man,” Uncle Theo told her.

She jerked, startled at how similar his thoughts were to her own, only thinking about different people.

“He’ll get the job done.”

Peter was a photographer. “What can he do that you couldn’t?”

One side of Uncle Theo’s mouth slanted upward in a heroic effort to smile. “He’s a good man,” he repeated. Her uncle’s eyes closed, and his head fell back.

What did that mean?

Concerned, Georgia leaned forward and pressed a hand to his face. He felt cold, his body faintly shaking. She searched for a pulse at his neck, finding it fast and thready. He was going into shock.

No, no,no. She couldn’t lose him. Wouldn’t lose him.

Thinking back to her first aid training—he was unconscious, cold, and losing blood—she rolled him carefully onto his right side, making sure she didn’t dislodge the makeshift bandage around his thigh as she did it.

The terrorist guarding her didn’t say anything, but he watched her every move with eyes that made her want to disappear into the floor. Glancing up to gauge his reaction to her maneuvering the ambassador around, she saw the tip of his tongue slip out to wet his lips. She shuddered and turned her head away but jerked it back around when the terrorist moved.

He looked over his shoulder into the other office then glanced back at her and stared at her breasts. Taking a step backward, he leaned down and quietly rested his weapon against the wall near the door. He walked toward her, rubbing his hands against his pants, a growing bulge tenting the fabric, his gaze hot with sexual intent.

At his first step, Georgia scrambled to get away, but in three quick strides he caught her around the waist and lifted her off her feet. Fear and rage combined in a caustic mix inside her and she exploded—screaming and punching and kicking in all directions. For an infinite moment, she was stronger than any man.

The terrorist dropped to the floor with an inarticulate shout and grabbed his crotch.

Georgia scrambled away, tripped, then crab-crawled backward until she bumped into the wall, shaking, her own heavy breathing drowning out every other sound.

The room filled with more men. Filling it with shouting and noise that found its way only hesitantly to her ears.

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