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As soon as she thought he was safely out of harm’s way, she’d tell him she couldn’t go with him.
“Ten feet,” she heard him whisper into the mic in his earpiece. When they’d covered that distance, another door flew open. Just as he placed her on the seat of the waiting SUV and climbed in behind her, she heard the gunfire of those who had followed, but not quickly enough to stop them.
Four things happened simultaneously: Gunner pulled the SUV’s door closed. The man in the passenger seat yelled, “Go, go, go!” The driver put the vehicle in gear and sped away. And Raketa’s heart sank. She had no choice but to go with them now, at least temporarily. Instead of figuring out a way to get out of Petrov’s compound without getting killed, she had to figure out a way to get back in.
Raketa grasped the door handle with one hand and the seat with the other as the vehicle careened through the narrow cobblestone streets of Old City.
She and Gunner made brief eye contact, but didn’t speak. Instead, she listened as he rattled off instructions to the driver.
It appeared that the plan they had prior to her extraction, had changed. Or Gunner was changing it as they went. From what she could glean, they would be traveling north to Georgia, and then west into Armenia. The driver seemed to think they could cross directly from Azerbaijan into their final destination, but Gunner disagreed.
He hadn’t asked, but if he had, she would’ve concurred with his assessment. While they might be permitted to cross the border into Armenia, it would be at far greater risk than if they went through Georgia first. However, if they tried to cross over the border and were detained, she’d have a better chance of getting away from the K19 team and back to Baku.
They were just outside the gates of Old City when two other SUVs came at them from either direction. Gunner grabbed her arm and pulled her from the vehicle they were in, to the SUV that appeared on their left. When the back passenger door opened, they slid inside.
“Good to see you, Raketa,” said a man she never would’ve predicted would be a willing participant in her extraction—Striker Ellis, former CIA lead operative.
Alegria, in the front passenger seat, nodded.
Gunner sat closer to her than he’d been in the previous vehicle, enough so that she could hear him breathing. She couldn’t explain why, but it soothed her. He turned and caught her studying him.
Their eyes met, and it was all she could do to not lean forward and brush his lips with hers. The only thing stopping her was the likelihood he’d push her away.
When Raketa shifted and her arm brushed up against his, he flinched, just slightly, but didn’t move it.
“Izvini,” she whispered, moving hers away.
“I’ve received the flight plan,” Alegria reported.
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“Where’s Shiv?” Gunner asked.
“Meeting us in Alat.”
“Petrov?”
“No sign of him.”
“Fuck.”
“We’re a little less than three hundred kilometers from Ganja,” Striker told him.
Gunner nodded again, but not enough that either of the two people in the front seats could’ve seen the slight motion of his head.
Out of the corner of her eye, Raketa looked down at his arm, close enough that if she only moved a few centimeters, she’d be able to touch him again.
—:—
In her sleep, Raketa rested her body against his and her head on his shoulder, snoring softly. He turned his head so his lips were close enough to brush her forehead, but pulled away when he glanced up and met Striker’s gaze in the rear-view mirror.
He sighed and looked out at the darkness. In less than twelve hours, they’d be in London. Gunner hadn’t decided yet where he or Raketa would go from there.
Alegria turned in her seat and looked first at Raketa and then at him.
“The other person…”
Gunner shook his head.
