Page 58 of The Truths that Deceive

I sigh and follow him.

Smith grabs me and shoves me against the wall, just inside the door.

“What—?”

“Did you hear something?”

I frown. “No…”

But he holds a finger to his lips and hands me the pack. Shaking, I put it on. There’s training and there’s fieldwork, and this… something that’s changed in the air.

Then I hear it.

A low voice, probably closer to the jungle than us.

I don’t catch it, what’s said, but he leans in.

“The fucking car wasn’t there when we got back. And the men Rodriguez had here earlier don’t sneak around.”

“Then…” I stare at him, clenching my hands. “Smith, do you think your friend double-crossed us?”

“I don’t know. Everyone has a price. Or a breaking point. Or maybe this is something else.”

His low words don’t hold accusation. They don’t have to. There’s more than enough in there. In his meaning. I’m somehow a hot commodity. After all, if he’s here to deliver me for a paycheck, it stands to reasons others might want a slice of the pie.

But others on what side?

Who else wants me outside the CIA? Outside of him?

It’s the ever-revolving question, the one with countless what-ifs and no answers I can see.

Smith might be my prison guard, but I shift, moving closer to him, closer to his heat and strength.

“What do we do?”

“They’ll probably come in through the other door, nearer where the bedrooms are. There are a couple of lights on, but mainly to see outside.”

“So we can see if someone approaches.”

“That was the idea. Like the light outside the kitchen.”

“Maybe they’re?—”

“Calista, anyone out there is considered our enemy until we know otherwise. We’re going to make a break for it. Try and reach the jungle.”

“Try?” I stop. “Because the lights work both ways.”

“They can see us like we can see them. Ready?”

I nod.

“Run.”

Chapter 17

Smith

Fuck.

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