Page 7 of Trapped With the Secret Agent

“Does it matter?”

She groaned as if she were about to protest but moved closer to the wall. “I guess not.” A pause. “Um, I need a boost.”

“Right.”

He crouched down and put one hand on her knee. The hem of her skirt brushed his knuckles. “Bend your leg.”

She did.

“Good. Ready?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Peter grunted. “Nope. Up you go.”

He put his other hand under her thigh and lifted. His palm slipped on the fabric of her skirt, landing under the fleshy part of her behind.

“Ah!” Georgia’s squawk didn’t sound happy.

“Sorry.” He adjusted his hold to a less risqué position and pushed her into the duct. She grunted, wiggled, then slithered inside.

Peter hoisted himself up and squeezed into the passage behind her, sliding along on his stomach. The sound of her labored breathing filled the metal passage, echoing off the thin walls.

“You ok?” he whispered.

“No.” Her voice quivered, but she kept going. “It’s so...dark.”

“I’m right behind you.” He reached forward, his hand brushed something hard, a shoe, and he closed his hand around her ankle. “See? You’re not alone.” He released her and she moved ahead again.

A soft bang ricocheted around them.

“Georgia?”

“I’m ok,” she replied. “There’s a corner here. It turns to the right.” Her voice bounced back softly. “There’s another grill.” That sounded happy. “And light.” Very happy.

Suddenly, she was gone, no longer right in front of him. He reached the corner and curved himself to get past it. There was some light here. He could see the faint outline of Georgia crunched up by the grate she’d found, waiting for him.

“It’s another room,” she whispered.

Peter crawled over to peer through the grill. The room was dark, but not as dark as the black hole they’d just escaped from. He could make out tables and chairs stacked along one wall. The rest of the room was filled with assorted office furniture, but otherwise deserted.

He tested the metal grate. Screwed in tight. Using his watch buckle as a wrench this time, he twisted the screws out as far as he could then wiggled the grill till the screws fell to the floor. Peter pushed the grate out and slipped through the hole. He set it on the floor and waited to help Georgia down.

Her feet came first. He grabbed a leg to help support her as she pushed herself slowly out. Her skirt got caught on the edge of the opening and was dragged up around her waist as she emerged. Peter caught her around the thighs, his hand on her behind again. Georgia braced both hands on his shoulders as she cleared the duct and he lowered her to the ground.

She had a nice ass. Firm and round, like she worked out regularly. Her legs were great, too. Good muscle tone, he could just imagine...no. No, he couldn’t, shouldn’t imagine anything. Damn, what was the matter with him? They were in a desperate situation. His mind had no business dwelling on how good it would feel to have those perfect thighs wrapped around his waist, holding him to her as he—damn it.

Peter thrust aside his wandering thoughts, took her hand then pulled her along behind him, heading for the door.

“Where are we going?” Her hand twisted in his palm and he realized she was trying to shove her skirt down those shapely thighs.

“I need to see what’s happening. Figure out where the terrorists are and what they want.”

“I just thought of something. What if the terrorists come back to get us and we’re not in that room?”

Good question.

“We’ll deal with that if and when it happens.”

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