Page 30 of Trapped With the Secret Agent

Chapter Seven

He grunted and lookedaway for a moment, obviously thinking hard.

She stared at his profile. He knew how frightened she was; he couldn’t not know. She’d seen too many awful things, been threatened with too many awful things, and could imagine too many awful things to be truly calm about the situation. But his face looked composed. His wind-browned, laugh-lined, intelligent face. Damn. Even now, she wanted to kiss him.

His gaze returned to hers. “I’m scared, too, but I won’t let that stop me.”

He didn’t look scared.

“Stop you from what?”

“From doing whatever I have to, to get you out of here. From doing whatever is required to stop them from detonating that nuke.”

Georgia’s breath caught in her throat. The deep, resonant tone of his voice and his determined expression told her those weren’t just words. More than a promise—a vow.

Falling for him would be a stupid idea. She wanted kisses, that was all.

“Being afraid isn’t a bad thing in a situation like this,” he said.

“It’s not?”

One side of his lip curled up slightly. “No. It helps keep you focused and alert. The trick is to use your fear, to control it, rather than let it control you.”

“You learn that from interviewing those FBI agents?”

“No, I learned that driving in Beirut traffic.”

Surprised, Georgia laughed. The sudden lightening of her mood caused tears to form and trickle down her cheeks.

Peter held out a hand. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise.”

He wanted her to trust him, Georgia realized. So, what if not everything he said made sense? Nothing about what was happening made sense. His bottomless blue eyes couldn’t be lying to her. Her heart was urging her to trust him, but her head still wasn’t sure.

Peter’s hand waited patiently, mid-air, for her to make a decision.

Georgia took it. His palm was big and warm. “I believe you.”

He nodded and started walking, keeping a tight grip on her fingers.

Neither said anything for a few minutes as they crept through the tunnel, trying to avoid stirring up too much of the dust and debris littering the floor. In a few places, the walls had caved partially in, forcing them to skirt large piles of rubble single file.

“You’d think someone would have kept this escape route in better repair,” Georgia said, letting go of Peter’s hand for the third time so she could inch past a mountain of rock and dirt blocking the tunnel.

“Shhh.” Peter stopped and waved at her to be quiet.

Georgia froze, but she couldn’t hear anything.

He signaled her to move closer. She crept forward slowly, around the mound, hyperventilating to keep herself under control. The walls were not closing in. The ceiling was not falling down. Eventually, she stood next to him, ridiculously happy that she made it through. The soft sound of voices percolated through the rock, speaking the lyrical language of the region.

Peter stood, stooped over, listening intently to the conversation. Only after it died away did he move, taking her hand and pulling her after him.

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