Page 49 of Elite Metal: Warriors

“James,” she huffed. “Where are you?”

“Michelle.”

Her heart froze. Her lungs locked. She sank down into the chair. It was not James’ voice. It was Ralley.

Her boss.

“Darling? Are you there?” It had always creeped her out that her boss called her “darling” in that slick British accent. It had always creeped her out that he watched her with a too-intent stare. Her fingers tightened. “Darling?”

“Ralley.” The word was choked out. Hell. Had he found her out? Did he know? But how could he? She’d called James from a pay phone in a Chinese restaurant. She’d spoken in code—the code her father had taught her as a child. The code only he and James had known. Ralley couldn’t know. He couldn’t.

“Sorry to call so late.”

Relief gushed through her. She drew in a deep breath. “I, ah, that’s not a problem. What’s up?”

“Nothing much. I was just working late and had a question for you.”

It wasn’t the first time her boss had called her after hours. He was notorious for toiling through the night. “Shoot.”

“It’s a simple question, really.” His tone was casual, languid. It did not prepare her for what he said next. “I was just wondering if you thought I was an idiot.”

Her pulse lurched. Pain radiated through her chest. Clammy talons raked her bowels. “What?” A croak.

“I think you heard me. Did you think I didn’t know? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

“I… I beg your pardon, Ralley. I’m not following you.”

“Aren’t you?” He tsked and his voice took on a timbre she knew well, hard, biting, bitter. “I know what you did.”

Oh. Fuck.

One thought roiled in her head. She had to run. She had to leave. Now.

She wasn’t safe. He would kill her for even thinking of betraying him. She knew it.

Michelle whirled around and paced, calculating her options. She knew what kinds of tracking and surveillance equipment Ralley commanded. Escape would be difficult. A disguise would be necessary. She was contemplating where she could go, where she might be safe, when he broke into her panicked thoughts with a single word. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” A snarl.

“Don’t bother trying to run.”

Fuck.

She forced herself to calm. Took on an innocent mien. “Why would I run? I haven’t done anything wrong.” It was a ploy to draw him out, discover what he really knew. Unfortunately it was a ploy they both knew well.

Also, unfortunately, he knew everything. “Haven’t you? You contacted an NSA operative.”

She swallowed heavily. “I contacted a friend. We were going to have dinner. And…James is retired.”

A chuckle. “Is he?” And then, after a moment, a smug laugh. “Oh yes. I suppose you’re right. He is definitely retired…now.”

Dread curled through her. She knew. She just knew. “What have you done to him?”

Ralley tsked. “You don’t need to worry your pretty little head about James.”

“Don’t I?” She was the one who’d brought him into this.

“No. If I were you, I’d be much more concerned about my own safety.” His casual tone made her gut churn. “But then, you needn’t worry. Not if you come in now.”