Page 68 of Ravens
“Weird how that happens after I get half-naked in front of you.” I roll my eyes and shove past him. “If I’m burying a hatchet, William, it will be in your skull at this point.”
He smiles broadly and grabs my arm, running his other fingers down the strap over my shoulder. “Is that your way oftelling me you’re a one-dick pony? My understanding was that Ravens were versatile.”
The first thought I have is to punch him, and the second thought I have is what York said:stop letting him get to me. William must have heard us last night. I doubt he needed to see that little kiss to confirm anything, but he’s using it as an excuse now to proposition me. Interesting that he thinks implying I’m easy will get him somewhere.
I let out a deep breath and adjust the collar on his black jacket with my free hand. “Is that your way of telling me Babylon wouldn’t let you bend her over, and now you think I owe you one?” I tsk quietly. “Being toldnoby two ‘professional sluts’ must be so difficult for you.” I lean in closer and drop my voice. “I thought cowboys were supposed to have manners, but maybe that only applies to the real ones.”
His expression falls flat, and I move around him.
The air outside is cool and breezy as I step out the front door. The scent of leaf rot fills the air, and orange and yellow leaves rain from the half-bare trees surrounding the house.
York takes the duffel from me as I walk out to the car and puts it in the trunk with the other gear. I lay my rifle on top, and then wait outside while they do a final sweep of the house. William and I are outfitted with tactical vests and sidearms before we get in the car, and within the hour we’re back on the highway. Thankfully, William is driving with August riding shotgun. If I had to sit next to him, I might just stab him.
“What’s the play?” I ask August, who’s wearing a suit.
He slides on a pair of glasses and looks back at me. “I’m there for a meeting.”
“At a black site?” I say doubtfully, and he shrugs, turning back to face the front. “Tell them Agent Jeffries asked you to meet him there.”
“Who?”
“Trust me, most of them will know him or at least have heard of him.”
“Yeah.” William laughs. “And what if I splattered his gray matter all over the floor at the gala? Mentioning him will give him away immediately.”
“I didn’t see Jeffries there that night, and if he saw me . . . he would have tried to kill me.” I look out the window. “Besides, I’m not that lucky. I wish he was dead. Trust me.”
“Jeffries,” August repeats with a nod. “Don’t worry about me. Once I’m in there, I’m on my own. Just make sure I can get back out.”
“Don’t worry.” Carter exhales. “I’m going to make it a circus outside. No one will be paying attention to you at all.”
I love the confidence, and I hope he’s right. We don’t have enough intel to be moving on this location. It would have been better to plant an infected flash drive and wait for it to be used, or to at least attempt to hack the system externally before resorting to this. Even blackmailing someone to upload a virus would be better than this. I sink into my seat heavily and let the uncertainty settle like a stone in my gut.
I’m more than capable of this; that isn’t the problem. I’m far more able than I let on, but there is only one person in this vehicle I trust other than myself, and every time I acknowledge that I do trust him, I feel like a fool.
“Just relax,” York murmurs as he rubs the side of my leg discreetly with the back of his fingers. “Hope for the best, plan for the worst, and be ready to pivot.”
“That’s just it.” I shift my attention from the scenery to York. “We have no plan for the worst.”
“What do you think is the worst?” Carter asks.
“Someone gets caught.”
“Not killed?” he says dubiously.
“Trust me when I say getting killed would be easier on everyone else and a mercy for the victim . . . This might be American soil, but if you think the Agency won’t torture you like they’re 1960s Vietnam guerrillas, you’re fucking wrong.”
“Can always rely on the Yanks to uphold the Geneva Convention,” York says sarcastically.
I double-check the ammo in my vest with a snort. “Get off your high horse. Don’t pretend like you don’t have waterboarding going on in your basements too.” I shake my head. “At least I’m not pretending to hold some moral high ground . . . None of us can. The Geneva Convention doesn’t apply to clandestine operations, anyway.”
The vehicle falls silent, and I slip on a ball cap, fishing my ponytail through the back of it. At least if I get caught, I have leverage. None of the rest of them can say the same.
“We aren’t worth capturing,” August says. “We have nothing to give them.”
“But they don’t know that,” York points out. “And if they get us, they get one up on Britain. We don’t need them getting evidence against us before we expose what they’ve done, or they’re going to look like the fucking victims.”
“They’ll take you to get me,” I say firmly. “I won’t take it personally if you crack under torture though.”
