Page 69 of Protected Hearts

The crew at the small airstrip was minimal. Nobody was in sight, though the low voices of mechanics and the clink of their tools echoed within the large space.

She stared at William until he was forced to look away—a small victory.

“What the hell is taking this flight crew so long?” He whipped around to look for someone. Spotting a guy, he walked up to him.

She couldn’t hear their discussion, but William’s movements were jerky, showing agitation. She didn’t know if it was good that he was so unhinged…or more terrifying.

“An hour?” William’s shout rebounded off the walls and made her inwardly wince.

An hour. Sixty minutes to figure out how to get out of this.

Sixty minutes for Oaks to find her.

William stormed back to her. “You’re going to give me those files. Now.”

“More delays on the flight?” she asked archly.

“There’s a mechanical issue.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw a man walk by—and look right at her.

They sensed something bad was going down.

Or Oaks alerted them not to let that plane get in the air.

Her heart jogged at the thought that he would be here soon.

William stalked over to the computer bag he took with him everywhere and carried it back. He thrust it at her. “Open those files.”

“You don’t have to be so rude.” She took the bag and set it on the seat beside her. With her captors hovering over her, she pulled out William’s personal device.

“Unlock it for me.” She held it out to him.

He tore it out of her hands and punched in a series of passcodes. When he shoved it back at her, she settled it on her lap and got to work.

He crowded next to her, watching every move she made as she accessed her personal account where the files were stored.

She purposely typed in the wrong series of numbers, and a red box flashed on the screen with a warning.

“Oops. My bad.”

“Fix it.”Hate and fury rioted in his tone.

“Or you’ll kill me? Okay.” She entered the numbers correctly this time, but she still had a fingerprint requirement.

She pressed her finger over the pad in the appropriate spot. Again, the red box popped up.

He let out a menacing growl.

“Wrong finger! Guess it’s off to all the news outlets, the CIA—the real one, not this imposter,” she added, “and the FBI.”

“You didn’t.” William’s face turned the color of ash.

She didn’t. But he didn’t need to know that.

Carefully, she set the device on the seat and folded her arms as if waiting for what was to come. Deep down, her nerves wererattling around, and her teeth were clenched hard enough she felt like they’d all shatter and fall out.

Oaks. I need you. Please get here!

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