Unstoppable by Laura Griffin Page A

people who had been executed by their own government. He didn’t know a lot of people who’d sign up for a job like that.
    “So”—he cleared his throat—“do you ever talk to anyone about it?”
    “Not really. What about you?”
    “Not really.”
    “I had some friends while I was there,” she said. “One friend, really. I talked to him some. He was on a counterterrorism task force, so he’d seen things. He understood.”
    Gage wasn’t sure he wanted to hear this but he persisted anyway. “You talk to him anymore?”
    “Not a lot.” She sounded guarded now and he knew he’d guessed right. This was an intimate friend. “We run into each other every now and then, but it’s not the same. Our relationship more or less ended when I left.”
    He filed that away for later. How did she run into him still if the relationship was over? A sour ball of resentment formed in his stomach. Which was crazy, he knew. How could he be jealous when she wasn’t even his girlfriend? This thing was temporary, and they both knew it, so why should he care who the hell she ran into “every now and then”?
    She sat up. “I’m going to take that shower now. Want to come?” She gave him a look over her shoulder that made his just-returning-to-normal pulse kick up again. Then she turned to face him, emphasizing the invitation with a view of her lush breasts.
    He sighed. “How did I ever mistake you for skinny?”
    She scowled at him and swung her legs over the side of the bed. He caught her around the waist.
    “I meant that in a nice way.”
    “That was so rude.” She swatted his hand. “You are not invited into my shower!”
    He scooped her up and carried her into the bathroom, ignoring the way she pounded his chest.
    “I’m serious!”
    “My room, my shower.” He put her on her feet in the tub, then climbed in with her. Blocking her exit with his arm, he reached over and turned on the water, and she squealed as an icy spray shot down from the faucet.
    “Gage!”
    He silenced her protest with a kiss, not letting her up for air until the water flowed hot and her arms draped over his shoulders and she was completely convinced of how attracted he was to her very amazing, unskinny body.
    He pulled back to look at her. Lips parted, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed with desire—she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he had the overwhelming wish to freeze this image, this moment, in his head so he could take a part of her with him when he left.

Nine
     
    Mia knocked again and glanced at her watch. She tapped her foot impatiently. Finally the door swung back and her jaw dropped open at the sight of the gorgeous, half-naked man standing before her.
    She cast a glance over her shoulder. Yep, it was Kelsey’s Suburban, parked right in front of this motel room.
    “I’m sorry.” She turned back to face him, and he hadn’t somehow managed to put on a shirt in the intervening two seconds. She concentrated on not drooling as he looked her over with a calm, blue-eyed gaze.
    “Excuse me,” she said. “I think I have the wrong room.”
    “Mia?” Kelsey appeared in the doorway. “What are you doing here?”
    Mia took in the wet hair, the bare feet, the towel in her friend’s hand.
    Oh, damn. She cast an apprehensive glance at the parking lot. “Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to let you know we’re here. Obviously.”
    The man’s eyebrows tipped up. “We?”
    “Yes, me. And some . . . colleagues.” She glanced at Kelsey.
    “It’s okay. He knows everything.” Kelsey made quick introductions, acting as if it made perfect sense for a naval lieutenant to be out here in the middle of nowhere providing security for an archaeology dig.
    “Kelsey, can I talk to you for a sec? Privately?”
    The lieutenant disappeared into the dim room as Kelsey stepped outside and pulled the door shut.
    “Oh my gosh, Kels.”
    “What?”
    “Where do I start? The FBI is here. The CT task force out of San Antonio. There’s a