Page 13 of Jason Bourne
13
Jason
The sun was low by the time we stepped out of the clinic, a warm breeze sweeping the salt smell off the ocean. The parking lot was mostly empty, just the soft hum of insects and the distant rush of cars on the highway.
The guys were waiting in a new vehicle.
Lane leaned against the hood of her Dad’s SUV, sleeves pushed to her elbows, arms folded tight like she was holding herself together from the inside out.
I stood beside her, close enough that our shoulders brushed every time she shifted.
She didn’t look at me right away. Just stared at the asphalt, lips pressed tight.
“You okay?” I asked, voice low.
She huffed a dry laugh. “I’m standing here. Thor’s alive. Zoe’s alive. You’re alive. So, yeah… I’m okay.” She paused. Then softer: “I just… don’t know what comes next.”
I turned, bracing a hand on the hood behind her so she had no choice but to face me. Her eyes found mine — tired, fierce, still a little raw from everything she’d had to survive.
“You come home with me,” I said simply.
Her throat bobbed. “Jason…”
“You do. We get Zoe somewhere safe. Thor will love being on the mountain. I live on Frasier’s mountain. We’ll fix the holes in you, and then we’ll go after who took you.”
A flicker of that old wildfire sparked behind her eyes. “You always did make that sound so easy.”
I leaned in, brushing my nose against hers. “Itiseasy. It’s us, Lane. Has been since the day you called me an arrogant asshole in front of half my team.”
She snorted — a real, exhausted laugh that made something deep in my chest unclench. “You were an arrogant asshole.”
I grinned, pressing a soft kiss to her mouth. “Still am.”
She kissed me back — slow, gentle, nothing like last night’s hunger. When she pulled back, her palm rested over my heart, fingers splayed like she was staking her claim.
“I’m not running this time, Jason. Not from you. Not from this.”
I covered her hand with mine, pressing it tighter to my chest. “Good. Because you and me? We’ve got unfinished business.”
She tipped her head back, eyes glinting. “You talking about revenge, or round two in that crappy safe house bed?”
I laughed — full and deep. “Both, sweetheart. Absolutely both. But this time we’ll have a nice soft bed.”
She hooked her finger through my belt loop and tugged me closer until our hips touched, her voice dropping to a promise.
“Then you’d better keep up. But first, I have to contact the FBI office.”
“Why do you need to contact the FBI?”
“Because I’m an FBI agent and I have to report what's been going on.”
“You’re an FBI agent? Since when?”
“Four years this month.”
I heard the guys laughing and flipped them off. That’s when I remembered them talking about her being an FBI agent.
“We’ll go with you to speak to the FBI.”
