Page 20 of The Truths that Deceive

The curtain yanks back, the rings scraping the top of the metal bar.

Smith steps into the small space as the assistant hangs up a pile of clothes. Then with a longing look at him, she disappears. I roll my eyes.

“I could have been naked.”

He pulls the curtain shut and crowds me against the soft pile of clothes. “Could’ve been, but you’re not. How the fuck did you get to be in the CIA if you can’t follow simple instructions?”

I poke his chest, trying to push him back, too aware of him, his strength, his presence. The scent of him is earthy and dark, a hint of spice like a desecrated church. Like sin. Dark and boozy and sex and cigarettes.

And that scent coils down in me, stroking over me, down into my pussy and I struggle to drag in breath, keep hold of some semblance of reality.

I’m a fugitive. And his captive.

“It depends on who gives me the instruction,” I say.

He moves in a little closer, his mouth against the column of my throat as he whispers, “I like a challenge. Why does the CIA want you?”

“I don’t know.” I push the words out. It’s true, I don’t. I have my suspicions but I’m not going anywhere near one of their strongholds until I have the cards. “But I don’t answer to you.”

“No,” he says, lifting his head. “You don’t, Calista. But I need you to work with me until I can hand you over.”

“I’m more than capable of heading into the Berlin HQ. I don’t need your help. And I don’t need to helpyou.”

“You’re mistaking me for someone who gives a fuck. I don’t. But I’m not tasked with that. I’m tasked with a handover in the United States. So?—”

“Do as you say, or you’ll hurt my brother?”

“Something like that, but no. I need what you have. It’ll help your case and possibly save your ass.”

He has the face of a killer. Not the psychos who’ll do anything for the thrill or the payout, but a man who’s killed and will kill again without remorse or regret.

Smith might have a tattoo that represents his daughter, but I’m betting he’d sell his loved ones.

So I need to go along with him until I can make sureHenry’s safe. I’ll be compliant and hide behind the snark until I can make my escape.

“I don’t have anything.” I shove my hands against his chest. He steps back and I know it’s only because he chose to.

Smith doesn’t say anything, but it’s clear from the way he’s studying me that he doesn’t believe a word.

I chew on the inside of my mouth. The new passport will get me back home, and then?—

“Stop plotting,” he says, all soft menace, “because I will break all your shit. All of it. People, things, freedoms. Just because you’ll piss me off.Knowyou can’t get away. I’m excellent at everything I do, and the chase?”

Smith tips up my chin a little too harshly.

“The chase, Calista, is my fucking jam. You’ll either love it or hate it. Depending.”

I swallow over the sudden lump in my throat and try to breathe with the tightness in my chest. “On?”

“On whether it’s a chase for fun or one where you try and get away.” He steps back and opens the curtain. “The only reason I want what you have is to find out exactly how short to keep the leash and who else might be after you. I’m getting you back stateside as tasked, whether you like it or not.”

“I’m not a traitor.”

He remains emotionless. “I’ll be waiting. Show me the outfits.”

I slide down the wall after he leaves as the tight band holding me hostage loosens and my head spins. “Breathe. Just breathe.”

I do, deep and slow, and then I push up, my legs a little shaky.

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