Page 35 of The Truths that Deceive

A man into jewelry wouldn’t just wear them to an art show or event. He’d wear them all the time. And a man fitting into the European style his clothes suggest would wear a chunky watch. Maybe a bracelet.

“Are you sitting there silently judging me?”

“I’m admiring your jewelry,” I snap.

I turn away and stare out the window. He left an outfit for me, and I wouldn’t have put it on after my shower except everything else was gone, and I’m not about to go naked for anyone. Not even him. No, wait, especially not him.

So I pick at the dark-blue stretch denim that ends at my ankles. The chunky-heeled slender boots beneath it are comfortable enough, the oversize long-sleeve black top, too. I’m just not a fan of the pretty bra under that.

Modest in the way it covers, but the lace netting is see-through, and the silk flowers over the nipples are there to tease a man.

Or rather, I do like it, but it pisses me off he got it for me. He must have picked it out and paid for it without me seeing while we were out shopping.

“I could run,” I finally say.

“You could.”

“I bet I can outrun you.”

“I’m betting you can’t—besides, how did that work out for you an hour ago?—and you sure as shit can’t outrun a bullet.” He pulls his gun from his lower back and leans over me and opens the door. “By all means, have a go.”

“You’re an asswipe, Smith. A total asswipe.”

He takes hold of my chin and leans in, and my heart starts to go wild as his warm breath teases my lips. “And your hair’s pretty all one color. Dark brown, is it?”

“I prefer my silver hair, thank you.” I sniff as he sits back and I swing a leg out, the cool breeze licking over me. “And of course, you’d use a gun.”

“Here.” He puts it down, next to the driver’s door. “Run.”

“I bet you’ve got some James Bond rings on.”

“James…” He stares at me as a chopper flies over us. “What? Do you think my rings shoot poison darts?”

“I think—” I stop. The helicopter’s louder now as light hits the car, making me jump.

He puts a hand on my thigh and the heat of it burns up the cold from the breeze. “It’s for us.”

No one gets out, but before I can move, Smith is already out of the car—gun nowhere to be seen, and he slams the trunk and runs to the chopper, bent down. Another man gets out and takes the bags from Smith, then Smith comes back, slings my pack over his shoulder… some CIA agent I am, I didn’t even notice him dump it on the grass in the field.

Smith motions to the helicopter and I have no option but to run with him, past the other man whom I don’t really take notice of other than he’s tall like Smith.

Once we’re in the helicopter and in the air, I stare out as the man below gets into the car. It grows smaller and disappears as we head off away from the field.

It takes me a few moments to process everything. This isn’t any kind of CIA or Army chopper. It isn’t even anything I’ve seen in photos from secret deals made.

This is luxury, from the soundproofed inside to the buttery leather seats and carpeted floor.

And Smith, looking completely at home. What the hell is that about? He motions me over. I’m halfway up before I make myself sit again.

The man laughs. “Fucking brat. Get your hot little ass over here.”

“No.”

“Don’t make me force you. Consequences, remember?”

I narrow my eyes and cross my arms. “What are you going to do, strip me naked and fuck me?”

“Yes. And the pilot can see everything. There’s a feed to him.”

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