Page 33 of Trapped With the Secret Agent

“All you need is ten minutes?” She snapped her fingers. “And you get to sleep just like that?”

“Yeah.” He ducked his head and managed to look sheepish. “Ok, so I perfected the art of napping during college. It’s come in handy several times since then, believe me.” He leaned in closer, glanced around furtively, and whispered, “Besides, napping was a definite survival tactic needed for some of the classes I had to take.”

Georgia shook her head.

Nice try, buddy, but it didn’t wash.

She would find out what it was about this man that set him apart. He wasn’t like any other man she’d ever met.

Now wasn’t the time to ask all the questions tumbling about in her head, but she would ask them.

“Sure,” she said with a yawn. “A nap feels like a good idea right now anyway.” All the stress and confusion and terror of the day had worn her out. She closed her eyes. Just a few minutes would feel good.

Georgia came awake in an instant. Disorientated by the darkness and quiet, for a moment she didn’t know where she was. She fought down panic and her hand knocked something over. Confusion passed and her memory came back in a rush.

The terrorists. The tunnel. Peter.

“Peter?” she whispered.

No answer. She was alone.

The darkness pressed in on her and she took a deep breath. It wasn’t so confined in here; it was a big tunnel and her flashlight must be somewhere close by.

She felt around, brushing something plastic and cylindrical in the dark. She picked it up and found the switch on the side. Flashing the beam of light around, everything looked the same as it did, but no Peter. Georgia snuck up to the door and looked out. It was too dark to see anything. She pushed the door open a little more and took one, two steps outside, breathing in the smell of green growing things and damp earth deeply.

Still no Peter.

He told her he was going to get her something to wear. Her business suit was expected at the embassy but wasn’t anywhere near modest enough for being out in public in this part of the world.

He wouldn’t be gone long. He might not be telling her everything about himself, but he was trustworthy. Somehow, she knew he was. Somehow, she knew he wouldn’t abandon her.

There was an openness about his face and tone of voice that told her he was a survivor.

He wasn’t handsome, his bone structure too harsh, too masculine for that with wide blue eyes, wavy, too-long chestnut hair that curled a little around his ears. His crooked nose looked like it had been broken once and not allowed to heal straight, but that only made his face more interesting to look at.

The color of his hair made her think of liquid milk chocolate spilling off a spoon. Her stomach rumbled. His deep resonate voice did other things to her insides. Things she had no business feeling.

Then there were his broad shoulders, slim hips, and—

Oh Lord, why did he have to be so darn yummy?

She went back inside the tunnel to wait. Trying to keep her thoughts off Peter and food.

Neither topic was safe for consumption.

* * *

Peter stopped and hunkereddown in the shadow of a short palm tree, waiting to see if he had been followed. The importance of getting back to the tunnel entrance undetected was infinite. He couldn’t let the bastards get their hands on Georgia.

Claustrophobic, suspicious, tough, beautiful Georgia.

After a few minutes, he judged it safe and, dodging more palm trees and tropical shrubs, approached the tomb-ish stone door that was the entrance to the tunnel. He paused again to look over his shoulder before going inside, shutting the door silently behind himself.

A flashlight flicked on, illuminating Georgia’s face.

“Get any sleep?” he asked.

“Yes. I woke up a little while ago. How long were you gone?”

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