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“Can you walk?” he asked roughly, an agony of feeling in his softly spoken words.
“Fuck that,” she said. “I can run if I have to.” She grabbed up her gloves, putting them on over her severely cold hands, returning the weapons where they belonged, then donning the tactical vest.
He chuckled low and soft, the relief in his voice clear, then urged her to hurry to the door.
“Wait,” she said, resisting. She reached out and scooped up the locket, opening it and removing the chip inside that had been concealed under Mila’s grandmother’s picture. She discarded it, tucked the necklace into her vest pocket, and zipped it to keep it safe.
12
He should havehis gun up as they moved back through the field, be vigilant. But he could only bask in her presence as she walked alongside him, whole, alive, nothing but a serious black eye and bruised cheek. He wondered if she was as wrecked as he was.
She’d risked her life for the mission without even thinking. He was so torn. He could almost feel himself on some mental edge between rage and relief.
They reached the car, and he stopped in a small grove of trees out of sight of the road and his lone passenger. “This was all my fault,” she whispered, her shoulders sinking with resignation.
“How so?”
She pushed her hair back, winced as she brushed against the bruise on her eye, her hands trembling, and he realized she was still scared. “I shouldn’t have let my sentimentality get in the way. The locket was bugged with a GPS chip. I put every single one of you in danger.” She stopped, her heart in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Callen. You were right. I’m a rookie when it comes to these types of missions.” Her voice was hoarse with the sound of her shame. “I don’t have the training and I almost died back there.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Only because you came for me.” She seemed to crumble, her shoulders sagging for just a moment, then she squared them. Her show of vulnerability, then her small rally did him in. He took one step, then another, and he was on her in a heartbeat, pulling her flush against him. He didn’t have to seek, she was there, and he took her mouth, then took more. His relief swelled and he unleashed it, his hands mapping her contours as the kiss turned raw, primal. She drew him to her, stealing away the last of his defenses, her mouth molded savagely over his. Up to this moment, with her passion flooding over him, he hadn’t realized how dead he was inside.
He tore his mouth from hers and drew back suddenly, then carefully removed his hands. He couldn’t resist her before, and now… His chest expanded with the realization that he wasn’t falling for her anymore, he had fallen against every wall, barrier, rationalization, and defense he had ever thought or built.
Her voice was uneven, and her mouth trembled. “I used to think I didn’t really need anyone, that I could survive on my own through anything. I had to, for so many years, be my own protector, my own teacher, my own everything.” She released a self-deprecating laugh. “‘Fake it until you make it’ has always been my motto.”
“Bree, everyone makes mistakes. True, in this environment, any mistake can get us killed but it didn’t. It’s best to leave this to the past and not to dwell on it.” It was good advice and he wished he could take his own counseling for a lot of different things. “We survived—”
Her expression brightened. “And I got valuable intel.”
His brows rose. “You did?”
“Olenska has missiles and he’s going to use them soon.”
“What’s the target?”
“I don’t know. That’s all those goons said.” She looked around, her arms coming up like she got a chill, remembering what the Z Militia was capable of. “We better get out of here before more of our friends show up. I don’t want to meet any more of them any time soon…or forever. But I know that’s unrealistic.”
He looked back at the barn, deciding that it was time to get the fuck out of here. She was right. Anyone could show up at any moment, and it was prudent to get lost. Their main priority was to get the hell out of Russia as quickly as possible.
But before they left, he had one more problem to solve. He looked at the car.
“Bree. I have a hostage and I’m going to interrogate him, then do what’s necessary before we leave.” Her eyes widened when she caught his meaning. “Go ahead to the car. I shouldn’t be long.”
He walked to the passenger door and found his captive awake. He hadn’t moved a muscle. Blitz released the cord around his neck and the zip tie from his ankles and dragged the guy out.
Bree, a mixture of sadness and resignation in her eyes, got into the passenger seat and closed the door.
He walked the man away from the car. Whether he’d had time to think or not, he was in complete survival mode.
“Please, don’t kill me.”
“What do you know about the location of Leonid Olenska?” Blitz went into SEAL mode, doing away with anything that would weigh on him. He was always ready and willing to kill his enemy.
The man’s eyes flashed, realizing that either way he was a dead man. But there was that sliver of hope. “I know that you’ll never find him.”
“Why is that?”
