16. Easton
Easton
“I was just coming to rescue you.”
“Rescue me?” How fast this woman can make me smile should be studied by scientists all over the world.
“I overheard Constantine tell Dad you were on the phone with your sister, and I knew that call would be tough. Figured you’d need someone to bail you out at some point.” She shrugs. “My gut told me now was the time.”
“Thank you, but I managed a clean exfil on my own.”
“I can see that.” She turns to the side, glancing in the direction of the cabin, but we’re too far away to see anyone. “Did Carter fill you in on how I was taken?” She pins her back to the wall, slipping her hands behind her.
I shift around to stand in front of her so she doesn’t have to strain her neck to look at me. I also want to be able to catch her in case we hit any unexpected turbulence.
“I don’t think he did.” I squint, trying to recall. “I wasn’t listening that well, to be honest.”
This time, her smile makes it all the way to those beautiful eyes of hers. “Want me to tell you what I now know so you don’t have to admit to the big scary man that you weren’t paying attention?”
Forget studying me, someone needs to look into this woman and how she can be a ray of fucking sunshine after escaping actual Hell.
The way her eyes lift to my mouth and stay there for three and a half seconds too long—and yeah, I counted—has me doing something stupid. I rest my hand on the wall over her shoulder and lean closer. But now I’m staring at her mouth, and I need to stop.
I rip my eyes away from her lips and follow her line of sight. She’s staring at the vein in my forearm. I inwardly curse when I realize what I’m doing. I don’t want to remind her of that monster and how he had her against the wall.
I start to push away, but she reaches for me, and I go still.
Her eyes thin, and she lightly shakes her head.
“I wasn’t thinking about that.” She keeps her hand on top of my forearm, so I let my palm return to the wall and remain rooted in place.
“You just have nice arms. They distract me sometimes.”
Like the way your mouth distracts me? Thankfully kept that shit to myself.
Her eyes are back on mine, and the way she’s staring at me feels like a promise of something we can never have. Like intimacy.
I clock the pulse point at the side of her neck like a territorial hawk about to dive for its prey. Then lose my mind and inhale deeply. Dolce & Gabbana, Light Blue. Her signature scent.
“You see, this one vein here, for instance . . .” And we’re back to my arms, are we? She traces the vein that’s visible. “It just calls out my name.”
Why one finger trailing along my forearm sends a jolt of something down my body is beyond me, but it happens. And she’s managing to rescue me again. From that room. From all the lives I had to take. From the desire to take even more.
“Nurse in another life, like your sister maybe?”
I swallow, doing my damnedest not to lean in even closer, to see whether she meets me halfway and finishes what I’m not allowed to start.
“We, uh . . .” What were we supposed to be talking about again? I need to regroup, and fast. Before all that’s thrown from the plane is my sense of control. “How you were taken, right?”
Her fingers linger on my arm for a touch longer before she lets go. “Would you like the op-y explanation, or prefer the quick version?”
“You pick.” I should also stop being this damn close to her like it’s just the two of us on this plane, and we don’t have a thirteen-year age difference, and her dad isn’t my friend and on board.
Before I can get my head out of my ass, we’re interrupted.
“Everything okay?” Julian, not Wyatt, which is possibly worse for my blood pressure.
I push off the wall and hide my hands in my cargo pants’ pockets so I don’t act on the urge to break the man’s fingers so he can’t code shit for a month.
Because yeah, I know he’s got a thing for Gwen.
Why wouldn’t he? She’s smart, beautiful, funny, and all the things that are good and right in the world.
So, it’s not his fault, really. Can’t blame the guy for using his eyes to see what’s right in front of him.
I suppose that means he gets to keep his fingers. For now.
Gwen doesn’t explain why we were in that position. She simply folds her arms and faces him, propping her shoulder against the wall. “I was about to tell him how I was taken. Do you have anything new to add to the story?”
There’s not enough room for us to stand side by side, so I stay behind her, letting her take the lead since Julian’s her friend, not mine.
He hooks his thumbs in his front jeans pockets, his green eyes flying back and forth between us.
“Two hotel staff members aside from the server were in on it. One in security. Another in maintenance. They were each paid off to help with the getaway,” he says steadily, his clean-shaven jawline tight.
“The security officer released some type of non-lethal gas to knock out his colleagues, and he handled the cameras.”
“And the man in maintenance worked the lift controls to ensure I arrived on the service floor leading out by the dumpsters,” Gwen tacks on.
“All three men were killed, though. Loose ends,” he adds. “The men took her to a private condo that was close to the hotel. Boarded a yacht that had a helipad from there, then she was transported to an island. After that, well, you get the idea.”
“Who owned the house? The boat?” My body goes stiff as I mentally play out the events they described, enraged all over again. I can’t begin to imagine how Wyatt and the others felt having her stolen right out from under them.
“The homeowners are in San Diego and haven’t been in Dubai in months. If there’s a connection, we’ll find it, but I doubt there is. It looks like the house was broken into, and the boat was stolen, then ditched. More than likely, the house and boat were pre-scouted to be used for her abduction.”
“Had to be pros to get her out so fast, even with insider help.” Doesn’t make sense. “For that matter, how’d they find out she was going to be at the hotel in the first place? How’d they have so much time to figure out which staff could be bought off without risking ruining their plans?”
“Still working on that.” Julian stares at me another second, then shifts to Gwen as I widen my stance and brace a hand to the wall. “You two ready to join us in the cabin now?”
Gwen faces me, and I’m about to order her to strap in, because I can feel something coming, but that something beats me to it.
The jet bucks. A light chop, at first. Probably a shear layer the pilot plans to break through.
But the next one? Not a chop. It slams like a vertical gust, punching the belly of the jet.
The floor drops out hard enough that Gwen and Julian shoot backward and straight for me.
I barely have time to brace before both of them slam into me, the impact shoving all of us straight through the bedroom doorway behind me.
My ass hits the bed, and I wind up in a seated position with Gwen on top of me. Julian thankfully shifts fast enough to drop to the floor, so he doesn’t land on us.
I keep a firm hold of her upper arms, and my thigh muscles lock around her to keep her from slipping or getting thrown into the wall. We ride the waves for a few more seconds before the sky finally calms down.
“You o—” Wyatt drops his words, and I don’t blame him. His daughter is on my lap and Julian is on his knees right beside us.
Spectacular.
Wyatt reaches for Gwen and hauls her up to her feet, pulling her to his side as both Julian and I stand.
“Turbulence,” Gwen sputters.
“Yeah, I know.” Wyatt grimaces, his gaze snapping between me and Julian. “Cabin. Now. Buckled.”
That’s an order I can get behind, and if he didn’t issue it to her, I would have.
I wait for Wyatt to guide her away before budging myself, but Julian’s hand on my arm has me putting on the brakes from following them.
“Whatever you think,” he begins while meeting my eyes, his forehead tightening, “unthink it now.” He lets me go and tears his hands through his hair, and I lose sight of his eyes. “That didn’t come out right.”
“I’m hoping not,” I say under my breath before I rage-throw him from the plane.
“There’s nothing going on between us, that’s all I’m trying to make clear. I don’t need you hating me, man.” He holds up his hands. “Just want to get along.”
I jut my chin out, shocked we’re having this conversation. Carter already did a number on me, and I don’t need this now. “And there’s nothing between Gwen and me, either.”
He angles his head as if he doesn’t believe me.
Shit. Can I call for a redo and take those words back? Because did I just give him the green light to go after her? Not that it’s up to me who she dates, but it sure as hell sounded like I said I wouldn’t stand in the way if he hit on her.
Thing is? I might, and I’m not sure how to process that.
“Whatever, man. Just stop looking at me like you want to kill me. I’m not your enemy.” He shakes his head. “I served, too, by the way. Not only from behind a keyboard.”
I already knew he was military and helped out both the CIA and MI6 on occasion.
His brother-in-law, Jason Reed from Delta Shield Security, gave me his background report—along with everyone else’s in his family—when they met up with us at The Sapphire last fall for an op.
What I don’t understand is why he’s telling me that.
“Even if I want . . .”
Even if you want what? Gwen? My pulse is motherfucking flying.
“I’m sure as hell not about to cross any lines with a fellow operator’s .
. .” He doesn’t finish his dangling sentence, and I don’t do it for him.
Instead, he tosses out a quick, “Invisible lines or not,” as if I’m supposed to decrypt what he’s talking about without the master key.
He steps back and extends a peace offering in the form of a handshake, and I stare at it like it’s a grenade with the pin pulled. “We’re on the same side.”
I could really use some gum, so I don’t destroy my teeth with how damn hard I’m clenching my jaw.
I hesitantly accept his olive branch, because what choice do I have? We need to work together, and there is no Gwen and I (me and Gwen?). Fucking grammar. Not my thing.
“Yeah, okay. Fine.” I guess only time will tell whether we can really be friends.