him. Which, maybe not so strangely, Rainie did. A lot. How had that happened so quickly? Him, the bitter war fighter, gone all soft and mushy.
He wished like hell it weren’t such a classic Casablanca moment.
But instead of stopping by the car and turning bravely to him with tears in her eyes, spouting on about hills of beans, she just kept walking determinedly next to Forsythe, who was clearly headed for the C-17’s rear cargo ramp. Hello?
“Hey. Where are you going?” he called, limping after her. For some unknown reason, his pulse quickened. Instinct?
Her feet stuttered to a stop, then her shoulders squared and she started walking again. “Same place you are,” she said without turning, her voice strained.
“ What? ” Disbelief slammed through him. Oh, no. No, no, no. He grabbed Forsythe’s shoulder and spun him around. “Goddamn it! What the hell have you done?” he growled. “I swear I’ll—”
There was a thump, and the business end of the guard’s MP-7 appeared in front of his face. Forsythe waved the goon off. Probably not the smartest move.
Kick wrapped his hand around the CIA jerk’s throat. “She is not getting on that plane with us,” he ground out, too angry to care when the MP-7 reappeared.
“Calm down, Jackson,” Forsythe wheezed. “She’s only coming along to administer the final meds for your detox. Doc said you need to be monitored for seventy-two. She volunteered.”
“You’re lying.”
“She won’t be in any danger. She’ll never leave the plane.”
Kick took another calming breath, shook off the top layer of fury, and let him go. He turned to Rainie. She was so damn beautiful. But her face looked pale, her skin clammy, her red-rimmed eyes wide and dilated. As in, scared to death but trying her damndest not to show it.
That newspaper article she’d shown him. It hadn’t been just about the detox. He should have known.
“They’re blackmailing you into coming along, aren’t they?” he demanded.
Of all the unconscionable things they’d ever done to him, this was by far the worst. He didn’t want her anywhere near this mission. Any mission. Didn’t want to spoil the little good they’d shared together by having her find out what he really was, what he was about to do.
And they fucking well knew it.
A muscle ticked in her jaw, and she cleared her throat. “I believe the proper term is extortion . But I want you to know I have no problem taking care of you. It’s the plane ride I’m afraid of.”
Something clicked in his mind. Leaving the hotel that first night, she’d said she didn’t like cars. Both times riding in the SUV she hadn’t said a word, but sat curled up tight on the seat, trembling, her face pressed into his shoulder as he held her close. The first time he’d assumed she was terrified of what was happening, and tonight that she was vibrating from sheer exhaustion—he’d been that tired himself before. But now he didn’t think exhaustion had anything to do with it. It was terror, all right. But not of the gun.
As if reading his mind, she said in a stiff voice, “My parents were killed in a car hijacking. I’m petrified of getting into a vehicle of any kind. I’ve never even been in a plane.”
He finally understood what he should have seen that very first night. He stared at her for a long second, then turned on Forsythe, even angrier. “Let her go home. I’m fine . I don’t need a goddamn nurse.”
“It’s okay,” she intervened. “The panic attacks never last more than five or ten minutes. I should be okay then. Theoretically.”
“Jesus,” he muttered, slashing a hand through his hair. “And you’re okay with that?”
“Do I have a choice?”
He ground his teeth in frustration. “This is completely out of control.”
“Tell me about it. Still, I probably should have faced my fears a long time ago. Now I have a good reason.” She tried to smile, but failed miserably. “Besides, I’ve
He wished like hell it weren’t such a classic Casablanca moment.
But instead of stopping by the car and turning bravely to him with tears in her eyes, spouting on about hills of beans, she just kept walking determinedly next to Forsythe, who was clearly headed for the C-17’s rear cargo ramp. Hello?
“Hey. Where are you going?” he called, limping after her. For some unknown reason, his pulse quickened. Instinct?
Her feet stuttered to a stop, then her shoulders squared and she started walking again. “Same place you are,” she said without turning, her voice strained.
“ What? ” Disbelief slammed through him. Oh, no. No, no, no. He grabbed Forsythe’s shoulder and spun him around. “Goddamn it! What the hell have you done?” he growled. “I swear I’ll—”
There was a thump, and the business end of the guard’s MP-7 appeared in front of his face. Forsythe waved the goon off. Probably not the smartest move.
Kick wrapped his hand around the CIA jerk’s throat. “She is not getting on that plane with us,” he ground out, too angry to care when the MP-7 reappeared.
“Calm down, Jackson,” Forsythe wheezed. “She’s only coming along to administer the final meds for your detox. Doc said you need to be monitored for seventy-two. She volunteered.”
“You’re lying.”
“She won’t be in any danger. She’ll never leave the plane.”
Kick took another calming breath, shook off the top layer of fury, and let him go. He turned to Rainie. She was so damn beautiful. But her face looked pale, her skin clammy, her red-rimmed eyes wide and dilated. As in, scared to death but trying her damndest not to show it.
That newspaper article she’d shown him. It hadn’t been just about the detox. He should have known.
“They’re blackmailing you into coming along, aren’t they?” he demanded.
Of all the unconscionable things they’d ever done to him, this was by far the worst. He didn’t want her anywhere near this mission. Any mission. Didn’t want to spoil the little good they’d shared together by having her find out what he really was, what he was about to do.
And they fucking well knew it.
A muscle ticked in her jaw, and she cleared her throat. “I believe the proper term is extortion . But I want you to know I have no problem taking care of you. It’s the plane ride I’m afraid of.”
Something clicked in his mind. Leaving the hotel that first night, she’d said she didn’t like cars. Both times riding in the SUV she hadn’t said a word, but sat curled up tight on the seat, trembling, her face pressed into his shoulder as he held her close. The first time he’d assumed she was terrified of what was happening, and tonight that she was vibrating from sheer exhaustion—he’d been that tired himself before. But now he didn’t think exhaustion had anything to do with it. It was terror, all right. But not of the gun.
As if reading his mind, she said in a stiff voice, “My parents were killed in a car hijacking. I’m petrified of getting into a vehicle of any kind. I’ve never even been in a plane.”
He finally understood what he should have seen that very first night. He stared at her for a long second, then turned on Forsythe, even angrier. “Let her go home. I’m fine . I don’t need a goddamn nurse.”
“It’s okay,” she intervened. “The panic attacks never last more than five or ten minutes. I should be okay then. Theoretically.”
“Jesus,” he muttered, slashing a hand through his hair. “And you’re okay with that?”
“Do I have a choice?”
He ground his teeth in frustration. “This is completely out of control.”
“Tell me about it. Still, I probably should have faced my fears a long time ago. Now I have a good reason.” She tried to smile, but failed miserably. “Besides, I’ve
Similar Books
