Honestly, I’ve lost track of the hour.
I’d ask where we’re going, but I doubt he’d give me a straight answer even if he could hear me over the roaring of the wind through the Wrangler’s open roof. I pull my whipping hair up into a high ponytail, then reach into the duffle bag at my feet and dig around until I locate a pair of jeans. It’s past time to ditch the sweatshirt-dress. Comfortable though it may be, it’s not exactly conducive to life on the run. Not unless you plan to distract the bad guys by flashing your lady business before making a swift getaway.
Hell, you never know… it might just work…
We drive through the dark, low-rent neighborhood for another few minutes before we turn down a narrow dead-end street and pull into the driveway of a nondescript, single-story house with a very small, overgrown yard. My eyes widen as I take it in. At least, what little I can see of it illuminated in the headlight beams.
Shabby brick facade, peeling paint, rusted mailbox.
I think we must be lost, but Conor shuts off the engine and hops out onto the cracked pavement. Before I can so much as ponder what we’re doing at a place that — it must be said — makes me homesick for the glamorous Budget Inn, he’s rounded the front of the Jeep and pulled open my door with an aggressive yank.
“Let’s go,” he mutters, grabbing the duffle by my feet.
I decide it’s best not to put up a fuss as I follow him around the side of the dilapidated dwelling, stepping over crushed beer cans and dirty plastic bags. The grass is so long, I don’t think it’s seen a lawnmower since the Paleozoic Era.
Conor stops at the back door and knocks three times. My eyes widen at the sound of approaching footsteps. Someone’s definitely home.
I’m not sure who I expect to open the door —a crack dealer, perhaps?— but when it swings inward, I find myself staring at the last person I’d ever presume to encounter in a place like this.
“Sykes?!”
She smiles faintly and throws the door wider. “Get in here, you two.”
My teeth sink into my bottom lip as Conor ushers me inside, following close on my heels. Given the state of the yard, my expectations are quite low for the interior design of this ramshackle little hovel. Thus, I’m stunned to step into a lovely, updated kitchen complete with granite countertops, modern appliances, and polished chrome light fixtures.
What the eff?
My eyes widen further as Sykes leads us into the living room, where two men in all black are waiting on the plush black sofa, sipping styrofoam cups of coffee and typing rapidly into heavy duty laptops that appear to be military grade. I recognize them from last night — they’re the same agents who drove me to the motel. Evelson and Kaufman. I’m not entirely confident which one is which.
When they spot Conor, they both cease typing long enough to nod and mutter a respectful ‘Sir’before resuming their activities.
What the mother-effing eff?
I feel like I’ve stepped into an episode ofBlack Mirror. Or a fantasy film. Nothing is as it appears. If they led me into the bedroom down the hall and told me there was a magic wardrobe that opened straight into Narnia, I wouldn’t blink twice.
“Where the hell are we?” I ask.
“Safe house,” Conor says flatly, dropping my duffle to the floor with a thud. “May not look like a palace from the outside, but it’s equipped with all the latest tech, a world class security system, satphone capabilities, and bulletproof windows. Should suit our purposes nicely for the next few days.”
I swallow hard. My brain is stuck on the phrasebulletproof windowsand I can’t seem to move past it.
“Hey.” Conor’s eyes find mine. “I told you. Petrov will not get to you. Not here. This place was designed to hide in plain sight. Blackout curtains, no tenants in either of the neighboring houses, and a pantry with a steel-enforced door that doubles as a panic room in a pinch. You’ll be safe here, Hunt. I promise.”
Our gazes lock like magnets, charging the air between us in the length of a heartbeat. I tell myself to look away but I’m completely transfixed. Lost in a deep blue sea, remembering exactly what it felt like to have those indigo eyes three inches away… that body pressed close… that mouth moving against mine with urgency and heat and passion.
It’s probably the last thing I should be thinking about, given the circumstances, but I can’t seem to force my brain to stop replaying our stolen moment against the motel wall, when we set aside our grudge match and struck a temporary truce. One sealed with an unforgettable kiss.
Look away from him, you idiot!
No good will come of this!
It’s all too easy to ignore my own advice.
The moment drags on far longer than it should. I feel heat rise to my cheeks when Agent Sykes clears her throat gently.
“Anyway…”
Conor’s eyes cut away to focus on her. “Status report?”