Page 11 of Ravens
When they call our flight, we line up with the crowd, but as soon as our tickets are scanned, he weasels out of the line of people headed into the corridor for the plane and redirects us back into the airport.
A few gates down, he stops and tells me to take off my coat. I do it, and he does the same, dropping them on a chair and pulling me back into his lap.
“What are we doing?”
“Shh.” He tucks my head into his neck. “Just watch, dove.”
Before the line of people has been entirely scanned onto the plane, Jeffries and two other agents I don’t recognize come rushing down the hall and stop at the gate. I stiffen against him, and his arms tighten around me, stopping me from bolting. The agents disappear down the gangway.
He taps my thigh gently. “Now.”
Standing, he takes my hand, and we grab our bags. He leads us through a maze back to the front of the airport and flags down a car. “Now we know they’ve been watching the whole time.”
“What does that mean?”
The trunk pops open as the car stops in front of us and he drops our cases into it and pulls the door open for me. “It means they can’t afford for you to slip away, so there are redundancies . . . which is interesting.”
“It could also mean they’re onto you,” I point out and climb into the car. “You listened to me though.” He cocks a brow as he sits next to me. “About flying being a bad idea. What made you change your mind?”
“I never intended to get on that plane.”
“This was always a test?” I stare at him. “I thought you were confident we had hours before they figured out I was alive?”
“I’m cocky, not stupid.” He sinks back into the seat and turns his head my way. “My hypothesis needed to be tested.”
I don’t say anything further and he watches me the entire drive. The desire to stare back is there, but I don’t. I keep myeyes mostly cast down, taking the occasional break to look out the window and discover where we are headed.
Less than an hour later, our cab stops near the harbor.
“We need to rest,” he says as the car pulls away.
“Yeah,” I agree, rubbing at my face.
With the harbor to our backs, we walk until we hit a main road and then walk some more. Eventually, we come across a bed and breakfast that is happy to take cash and the fake names we give them without checking our identification. Once in the room with the door locked, I let out a deep breath and lean against the wall.
He sets our bags to the side and pulls my blouse from the waist of my pants. I slap his hand away indignantly, but he slaps my hand back and pulls the top over my head. I rip my arms out of it in frustration, and he grabs my wrists when I try to push him away.
“Breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
Watching me, he releases my wrists and unbuttons his shirt. The way he regards me is unnerving in its consistency. This time, I hold his gaze, ignoring the skin he’s revealing. Finally, he steps back and lays his shirt over a chair. I pant as the tension wanes, and then he removes his slacks and turns down the covers.
There is nowhere else to sleep but the bed, unless I take the floor, but I can’t afford shitty sleep right now. I’m caught between loathing him and feeling some gratitude that we didn’tget trapped on that plane with Jeffries. Closing my eyes for a second, I drop my arms and then undo my jeans and slide them off.
I don’t look at him as I slide under the covers and sink into the feather pillow. I’m so fucking tired; I don’t have the energy to worry about falling asleep beside him. We both need rest to keep going, and there is no way they will find us here, not for a while at least. However, it’s only a matter of time before they comb through the surveillance footage of the airport and see us . . . track us to that cab.
“I’ll make you sleep on the floor if you don’t calm your brain down.”
“I’m perfectly calm,” I lie. “And if you keep threatening me, I’ll hold a pillow over your head as soon as you fall asleep.”
“No, you won’t,” he mumbles and rolls over.
Six
Ican’t tell what time it is when I stir, but the room is steeped in darkness. I blink, trying to see my surroundings, but only the outlines of the bulky furniture that skirts the room are discernible. I’m still exhausted, and I don’t know why I’ve woken up, but York is beside me, soundless, motionless. The blankets are pushed down, gathered around his hips, leaving the outline of his bare chest to rise and fall in the dark.
Contemplating the likelihood of escaping the city or surviving any of this in general, I shift onto my back. The odds feel dismal, but they are better with York than on my own, no matter how much I hate it.
