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Not this time.
Because this time, he gambled with the lives of Tracy and Luke Rhodes.
Existences he had to hide from the world, even if that meant tossing his feelings down the garbage disposal. He’d dig the remains out of the pipes later—if there was anything left to salvage. If there was anything left of him to salvage.
And wasn’t that a fun way for fate to come knocking at his consciousness again?
He could practically hear the little fucker giggling. Watching in glee as realization took over, shining on his psyche like a sudden blare of light…
Was this why his remains hadn’t become Kaua’i fertilizer yet?
Was this the mission his sorry ass had been saved for?
To save her?
The irony of the recognition was subtle as a Skrillex riff. John freakin’ Franzen, sidelined from the job he loved because of politicians and their machinations—only to be tasked to save one of them. One of the most prominent players on the field.
No.
Technically, she’d just become the biggest player on the field.
Yeah. Skrillex was sounding pretty fucking perfect by the minute.
The newscaster on the monitor clearly played the same soundtrack. He jolted up so violently, his chair was upended. Every viewer confronted his incensed gaze into the camera, and watched his trembling hands fist atop the stainless steel desk.
“Okay, people. Listen to me. The world is a changed place, which means we have to change. We have to be better than we were when we woke up this morning. Braver than we were; stronger than we already are—not just for our country, but for the whole world. Right now, we have a couple of black eyes, but we’re not down for the count. We’re not—”
John shut off the feed.
Silence again.
But not peace.
A stiff desert wind buffeted the left side of the car. The rumble of the road was a taunting lull.
As they went where?
The guy’s gaze, glancing expectantly to Franz via the rearview, conveyed a silent repeat of the query. Aloud, the guy muttered, “Fuck me five ways.”
“Not now, honey.” The quip thinned the tension for half a second. Franz enjoyed it while he could, having to switch back to cold mission mode. “We have more important things to focus on.”
“Like what?” Tracy beat Shep to the response. Not surprising, since it was backed with a stare of a thousand more questions—and shoulders weighted by the very huge world just dropped upon them. With his hand dropped to her nape, it was easy to detect the tension. Not so easy? Resisting the craving to rub his touch outward, to help ease that massive load on her.
She was so small.
She was so devastated.
And he was about to make it worse. But waiting “until a better time” was not an option.
He took a deep breath. Secured his hold on her a little tighter, then simply got the damn words out. “Like accomplishing what Sol Wrightman mandated me to do.”
She searched his face again with those miss-nothing eyes. For a second, seemed confused. “What? Get me back to Washington in the middle of this shit storm?”
“Get you off the damn grid in the middle of this shit storm.”
She went weirdly still. Finally rocked her head, pushing back against his fingers. “Excuse the hell out of me?”
John dipped his head. Settled his gaze more directly with hers. “They think you’re dead—and you’re going to stay that way. Completely dark. And I’m in charge of getting you there.”
