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Raketa tried to take a step back, but there was a seat directly behind her.
“You came to me asking for help,” he said, still incredulous that the tack she’d decided to take was to return to Moscow, not that he believed that’s what she was really going to do.
Even as close as he was, leaving her little room to look anywhere but at him, she refused meet his eyes.
Gunner took hold of her arm and pulled her in the direction of the privacy room. She tried to wrench free, but he tightened his grasp, led her into the room, and locked the door behind him.
“One more chance, Rocket Girl. Tell me what this is about.”
—:—
She hated the tone of Gunner’s voice as much as she loved it, especially when he called her Rocket Girl.
He was angry, and he had every right to be, but that didn’t mean she could risk telling him the reason she wanted to return to Baku, or even that she intended to.
This was an op she’d handle on her own because if it failed, she’d never be able to forgive anyone who had been a part of it.
Raketa shook her head when she realized he was still waiting for her to respond.
“You’ll tell me eventually,” he said as he walked out of the room and locked the door. Somehow she knew, like the door of the apartment on Petrov’s compound, that the lock he’d thrown was intended to keep her inside.
—:—
“What the hell?” Shiv asked when Gunner came back into the main cabin.
“You heard her. She’s going back to Russia.”
“Do you believe her?”
“Not even a little.”
“What is this really about, Gunner?”
“My guess is her behavior has something to do with the person who is still being held by Petrov.”
“But she won’t give her up?”
Gunner shook his head.
“I need to know what happened between the two of you.”
“Why?”
Shiv folded his arms but didn’t answer.
“Nothing.”
The MI6 agent raised an eyebrow.
“We were together the same night I killed Lena.”
He nodded his head slowly, his eyes boring into Gunner’s as though he was trying to read his mind.
“But you have feelings for her.”
It wasn’t a question, not that Gunner would’ve answered if it had been. How he felt about anyone or anything was no one’s business. Did he care about Raketa? Obviously he did, to a certain extent, but beyond that, even he didn’t know.
There was something that stirred in him every time he saw her, and got worse if she was near. He wanted her like he’d never wanted another woman. Part of him wished he weren’t so drunk the night they’d spent together, so he could remember more—more than how it had felt to sink deep inside her. He hated that the other events of the day had marred him finally being naked and alone with a woman he so often caught himself fantasizing about.
