Page 55 of France Face-Off
Alex smiled at Striker. “Thanks for sending him.” Her brow furrowed. “Before we fly to the States, shouldn’t we take him to a hospital?”
The man who’d spoken German to the guards at the transfer station climbed into the plane and closed the hatch. He brought with him a box with a red cross on it. “I believe you might need this,” he said with an English accent. “Do you require assistance with it?”
“I’ll assist him.” Alex took the box from the man.
Ace waved a hand toward the man with the English accent. “This is Peter Atkins, former British SAS, another one of our team with mad German language skills.” He clapped a hand on the man’s back.
“Agreed,” Alex said. “He did a good job convincing the guards he was Interpol.” She opened the kit, took out packets of gauze and a small bottle of alcohol.
Then she helped Striker remove his shirt.
He winced, wishing he was getting naked with this woman instead of getting first aid.
With the alcohol and gauze in hand, Alex hesitated, frowning heavily. “Are you sure we don’t need to take you to a doctor?”
Striker shook his head. “It’s just a flesh wound.”
“He’s a Navy SEAL. That’s what they all say,” Griff said. “He’s probably mortally wounded, but he won’t admit it.”
“Seriously,” Striker said. “It barely nicked me.”
“Hush and let me clean the wound,” Alex said. “Then I’ll be the judge of it.”
“I like a woman who takes charge,” Striker said with a grin. When she poured alcohol on the wound, he bit down hard on his tongue to keep from cursing.
Griff chuckled. “Then you must like Alex a lot.”
Striker nodded through the pain. “And I like a woman who fights for what she believes in and for the people she cares about.” Striker tipped up Alex’s chin. “What are you going to do now that your quest is over?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. My parents worked for the CIA. At one time, I thought about applying there. But now, I’m not certain they’d have me.”
“What about the interpreting gig?” Striker asked. “There’s a demand for interpreters who speak Russian and German, especially in Europe.”
“Good thing to know I have options.” She sighed. “I feel a little lost, like a woman without a country. I don’t even have my backpack that carries everything I own. It was my world. I could go anywhere with it.”
“We can contact the Hotel Le Negresco and have them send it to you,” Striker suggested.
“That would be nice.” Alex finished cleaning his injury. “You’re right. It’s just a flesh wound. You’ll be healed in no time.” She applied a bandage and smiled. “Better?”
“Much.” Striker pulled his damaged shirt back over his head and settled into his seat. “Looks like we’ll have decisions to make when this is all over.”
Alex leaned back, nodded and closed her eyes. “Tomorrow will come soon enough for decisions.”
“Sleep,” Striker said.
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I hope one of your decisions is to spend some time with me,” he whispered.
“I’d like that very much. Are you sure you want to be with me?”
“More than anything,” he said.
“Could you two shut up?” Griff grumbled. “Trying to sleep here.”
Striker cupped her cheek and then pressed his lips to hers in a brief kiss. “See you when we wake up on the other side of the pond.”
Epilogue
