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Of course, I’d leave the interrogation of the two Serbian traffickers—thankfully happening in the shed out back and not in the room next door—to the team.
At one point, Carter had returned to the cottage with blood on his forearm and shirt. He’d peered at me, then at his arm, then shook his head and disappeared, returning with a white shirt. Probably not the best choice since he’d returned from another go at the men in the shed with blood on that shirt, too.
After he’d changed again, donning a black shirt (way to make smart choices), I’d casually let him know I was going to shower. A more thorough one this time. Pretty sure Carter hadn’t rinsed all the soap from my hair earlier. Of course, I wouldn’t mind having him massage my scalp again while I was more coherent and not shaking nonstop from drugs and fear.
So, there we were. Shower complete. Teeth brushed. Hair clean and towel-dried. Carter still hovering outside the room, babysitting me when he ought to be working.
Unmistakable frustration pushed through his voice as he asked, “You almost done?”
“I could pass a sobriety test, just so you know,” I called back through the door. “Ask me to touch my nose. Walk in a straight line. No problem.” But prevent my heart from skipping into my throat every time this man locked eyes with me? Nope, that I couldn’t do.
“You could still lose your balance. You’ve been through a lot.”
If he was going to be stubborn, so was I. “I’m fine.”
“Griffin reminded me nothing good ever happens when a woman says she’s fine.”
I could’ve laughed at that, but I abruptly swung open the door instead, and he nearly fell into me. You really were leaning right against it, huh?
He shot his hand out against the door, steadying himself as his gaze flew over my PJs. Of course Mom had packed as if I’d been going for a nice stay at the Ritz. Pink silk pajamas with my initials monogrammed on the front pocket.
Locating my glasses on the vanity, I slipped them back on. Those full lips of his wore a smile beautifully, and somehow he also managed to pull off handsome even when frowning like now.
“You need to change.” Carter and his way of grunting words like each delivered a command all on its own.
“Do you find my pajamas that offensive? We are sleeping here, right?” I flicked the front of my shirt. “Nighttime protocol dictates sleepwear.” Now that I wasn’t drugged or hungry, I was back to myself again. That me would take orders if it meant keeping safe and not compromising the integrity of his mission, especially with so much on the line—but I drew the line at having him dictate what was acceptable clothing.
Still waiting for him to answer me, I set my hip against the counter, trying to pull off casual when I was fairly certain the moon could knock out of orbit and I wouldn’t notice, completely captivated by the very way this man stared at me.
“I’m fine with your pajamas, but we’re not going to be here long, and we’re about to have visitors. So, you may want to hold off with the nighttime protocol until we’re at our next destination.”
My eyes cut to his hand on the door, to the visible veins running along the back of it and up across his arm. “What kind of visitors?”
Carter brought two fingers to the side of his face, then tapped at his ear. “My team can hear us, and I can hear them, so I’m muting the comms on my side.”
“Ah. Those devices have come a long way since the embassy.” I worked a little smile to my lips, and he lowered his hand from the doorway, eyes moving over my shoulder toward the shower. “I assume you have the comm in your ear so your teammates can let you know when the guests arrive?” At his nod, I asked, “What kind of guests are we talking about? Polish-the-good-silverware kind? Or should we be sharpening the knives?”
That subtle lift of only the side of his lip could destroy me. Sink a battleship. Just take me out. I was in trouble. So much trouble. Falling hard. Falling fast. Who am I kidding? I fell thirteen years ago (figuratively and literally, almost through the floor if not for him).
“Somewhere in between those two.” He turned, heading into the small bedroom, which was only a slight upgrade in size from the priest’s room.
I followed him and made a beeline for my bag atop the bed to find something more suitable to wear. Of course Mom didn’t include any T-shirts I’d left at her place in D.C. “So, who are these visitors?” Jeans would have to make do. A gold V-neck silk blouse for the top.
“The woman who helped me locate you will be here soon.” He pointed to the ceiling. “Helo. Fast-rope approach. We have eyes on their movement. No surprise attack, don’t worry.”
Somehow, I wasn’t worried. Being in Carter’s presence may have made my pulse soar, but it wasn’t because I feared for my life. No, I felt safe with him, like there was an impenetrable force field surrounding me.
“So, she’s betraying you?” Sounds like knives are needed, then.
Still in the black fatigues he’d changed into in Latvia, he hid his hands in his pockets. “I’m assuming she figured out you’re more valuable than she originally realized, and she wants you for herself.”
“Why didn’t she come for me at the warehouse instead? Why let you get to me first?”
“By letting me take you, she doesn’t get blamed. She can be the hero. Locate us and turn you over to whoever wants you.” He kept a few feet away from me, quietly observing me. Continuing to remain calm.
“Is she a criminal, then?”
“Yes.”
