Chapter 17
ETHAN
I never had a hard time doing what needed to be done. I was well trained in recognizing the bigger picture, and it had gotten me through the worst of Croatia. But now, there was hesitation in my hands. Worry pooled in her eyes and echoed what I felt.
“It’s okay,” I lied in my most soothing voice. “We’re almost done, but I need you to come here.” I extended a hand, gently asking her. I knew she wanted to run, but she couldn’t. Gio would be able to see us out the cabin windows unless she moved closer.
Her eyes were fixed on my knife. “I will. I just need a minute.”
I didn’t get nervous, but this woman obliterated everything I was used to. I backed off, and the distance between us helped draw her toward the plane. Another step, and I was sure she’d be out of view. “Are you right or left-handed? I’ve seen you use both.”
“I use my right mostly.” She’d stopped moving.
We’d stalled long enough. Time to get on with it. We were probably safe, and I couldn’t miss this tiny window or we’d be completely fucked. I lurched forward, seizing her left wrist before turning her palm up to the sky.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
I dug the knife into the heel of her palm and sliced a line all the way to the base of her fingers. I did it as fast as possible so she wouldn’t jerk and make me cut any deeper than I had to. Thick, red blood sprang from the angry wound.
It wasn’t a scream, just a loud gasp of pain and shock, and she reared back.
I used her surprise to gently push her shoulders down and back, so she fell into the back seat, her head narrowly missing the frame of the roof.
Lines of red flowed down through her fingers and dripped onto her lap as she sat on her dead copilot’s legs.
Her hand was weeping blood, and I pressed it to her stomach.
“Hold it here, tight,” I commanded. “This is where I shot you.”
She looked too stunned to speak. I closed the knife and switched it to my left so I could draw my weapon. Cold metal felt familiar in my hand, but the guilt over the pain I’d caused her did not.
She flinched at the gunshot when I fired at the pavement, the starting pistol for my deception of Gio. I pushed her back, forcing her to lie on top of the other bloody body, disregarding her accusing look that might render me immobile.
“Close your eyes,” I urged. “No matter what happens, you don’t open them until you hear me speaking English. I just killed you, so look dead, or we’ll both be.” That was a lie. Gio would never be smart enough to get the drop on me.
Rapid footsteps pounded down the jet stairs, and I spied him dashing toward the car. “What—”
“She tried to run.” I let the comment roll off my tongue easily.
The information stopped him cold. “You killed her?”
“She was too much of a risk.”
Displeasure smeared on the bastard’s face. “What the hell? If you couldn’t have her, no one could?” He moved closer, rounding the car and peering into the open door, eying Olivia’s bloody hands clasped to the nonexistent hole in her stomach. She did her part, not moving, barely breathing.
He exhaled with disappointment. “I was going to have fun with her. What a waste.”
I still had the SIG in my right hand and the knife in my left, and for a moment I wasn’t sure which one I wanted to use on Gio more. Instead, I slammed the door shut. “I should go. Someone might have heard the shot.”
I went to the open hold and yanked suitcases out, knowing I’d have to leave Olivia’s and the crew’s behind.
There wasn’t any room left in Gio’s tiny car, and what use would the dead have for their luggage?
I tossed my suitcase in the passenger seat.
Near the hangar, a dark car prowled forward and flashed its running lights once, signaling Gio’s ride had arrived.
“I’ll handle the rest of the luggage. Ring me when it’s done.” He was speaking of the disposal of the bodies, and then he was off, dragging his suitcase toward the car.
Getting out of the private airfield with a car full of bodies wasn’t a problem. The security guard took one look at my plates and waved me through the checkpoint. There had been no immigration officials, and no one following the car as I headed away from downtown, racing against the sunrise.
“Stay down,” I said. “Are you all right?”
She didn’t say anything.
My guilt mixed with anger. “Answer me.”
“I’ll live.” The voice was bitter, but I was grateful for it. And that was the whole point, right? That she made it out alive?
Grapevines clung to trellises that zigzagged across the hilly, lush landscape. The meet-up was ten minutes away. There was a vineyard away from the main road, and I crawled the car up the winding path, pulling in behind the main house so I was out of sight.
My friend Fletcher waited there, leaning up against the front end of a car that looked nondescript. But it was sure to contain a beast of an engine beneath the hood, or “bonnet,” as the Englishman called it. I left the car running, flung my door open, and didn’t bother to greet him.
My feet crunched over gravel as I strode to the back door.
“Hey.” I spoke softly when I pulled it open. “Is your hand still bleeding?”
She had it wrapped in the scarf she’d been wearing around her neck. She sat up, her desire to get out of the car clear on her face. It had to be awkward getting out with only one hand, and she was trying not to disturb the body.
I grasped her arm to help—
“No.” Her words were ice as she climbed out. “I’ve got it.”
“I thought you said you had the pilot,” Fletcher commented.
The discussion of what was going to happen after landing never made it this far, so she didn’t know someone else was around.
When she took in the Englishman’s broad shoulders and intimidating expression, she slipped behind me, letting me shield her.
Her instincts were correct. To most, Fletcher was viewed as a threat, but not in this situation. He was there to help.
I felt shot to hell. “She’s the pilot.”
Fletcher pulled his shoulders back, and I could only imagine that was what I had looked like when I’d assumed she was the cabin attendant.
Actually, you thought she was little more than an in-flight hooker. I’d been so wrong about the woman she really was.
She’d been through hell, and still, she held herself together.
Her back straightened to her full height as she stood on the gravel road, glaring at Fletcher but saying nothing. She’d clearly missed her calling; she would have been an impressive operative.
“Oh,” Fletcher said. “Sorry.” The embarrassed expression drained away when his focus switched to me. “How many bodies?”
“Two from the crew, and Renzo Librizzi.”
“Librizzi’s dead?” Fletcher wasn’t easy to surprise, but this did it. “How?”
“Giovanni.”
“Bollocks. First Constantine and now Librizzi. Do we know who took out Constantine?”
“No.” I ignored Olivia’s stare. My head ached. “We’ve been up a long time and need someplace to crash.”
He gave me a set of keys and directions to the hotel room he’d procured.
“What’s going to happen to my crew?” she asked when I opened the passenger door of Fletcher’s car, gesturing for her to get in.
“They’ll be held somewhere safe.”
For the first time, she looked beaten as she watched the other man get into Gio’s car. She was rapidly reaching her breaking point, so I needed to get us going. I lobbed a thanks at Fletcher and moved to the driver’s seat of the car he’d arrived in.
Her lack of movement was . . . concerning.
I knew I shouldn’t speed because it might attract attention, but I did it anyway. The sunlight crept over the ridge in the distance, and now I could see the dried crust of blood on her black uniform. Her blood that I’d spilled.
“I’m sorry about your hand,” I said.
She turned away to look out the window. “It had to be done.”
There was a twinge of relief at her understanding. “I didn’t want—”
“What happens now?” she said flatly.
“You’ll get some sleep, and I can figure out what the next step is.”
The hotel had a side entrance, and I brought my suitcase up with us, ducking into the room and making sure it was clear. It was cramped. A full-sized bed with a dingy, lumpy comforter and lopsided curtains that made no effort to block daylight. It had an en-suite though, thank God.
“Okay,” I said, after I’d gotten her inside and locked the door behind us. “Let me take a look at that hand.”
“It’s fine.” The stiff words were a warning to keep my distance. Understandably, she wasn’t too happy with what I’d done.
“Are you hungry? I could go downstairs and get something if you want to take a shower.” She hadn’t mentioned that, but I’d assumed.
“No. I’m not hungry.”
Food was probably the last thing on her mind. She went into the bathroom, closed the door, and there was a tiny click as she locked the flimsy doorknob that would be even quicker to kick open than pick. Plus, she was aware I knew my way around a lock, wasn’t she?
Moments later, the shower was running.
I set my suitcase on top of the dresser and dug out a white t-shirt for her to wear until Fletcher arrived with new clothes. Until then, she’d have to wear my shirt. That image stirred something inside my chest that was scary. I was coming apart with exhaustion; that was what this had to be.
I folded the shirt and placed it by the door then sat on the bed. I leaned back against the headboard and closed my eyes to rest for a moment . . .
The mattress jostled, waking me. Shit.
I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. Olivia climbed under the covers beside me in the microscopic bed, my undershirt clinging to her damp skin. Her exhausted stare crept up to mine, her eyes shuttered and guarded.
I got off the bed to give her space to sleep and went to grab a shower for myself.
I’d been careful with the bodies, but I had blood on my hands—some of which I felt might never wash off.
The showerhead only came up to my chin, so I put my hands on the wall and hunched over, letting the water rain down over the back of my head as I tried not to fall asleep standing up.
Europeans and their silly low handheld nozzles. The American in me refused to use them as intended.
I pulled on a fresh pair of boxers and tried to shove away thoughts of the woman in the bed, but it was impossible.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her. It made me mad, this total lack of self-control.
Passing her off to someone else was what I should have done.
If I’d notified Daniel as I was supposed to, she’d be moving through the Agency machine right now, and on her way to being gone forever from my life.
I couldn’t have that. Fuck, I was a selfish bastard.
Olivia quickly rolled over in the bed, turning her back to me when I emerged, but she wasn’t fast enough.
I saw the tears glistening on her face and the hand she used to wipe them away.
Seeing her vulnerable triggered more feelings I didn’t want to have.
It prevented me from going to my suitcase and finishing my task of getting dressed.
“Where are you sleeping?” she asked in an emotionless voice.
I was exhausted, and the room was too small for me to sleep anywhere but the bed, unless I wanted to be balled up on the floor. Fletcher had assumed I wouldn’t be staying with the pilot, but I wasn’t about to leave her after what she’d been through.
“I can sleep on the—” I started.
She sighed, made as much room as she could, and tossed back the covers. “Come on.”
The tightness in my chest eased slightly. I wanted this more than I cared to admit. To simply lie beside her on that tiny mattress because I could use it as an excuse to be close. To fit her against me in my arms.
We’d already slept together, so it seemed unfair to not actually sleep with her.
Call Gio, my brain ordered, as the sheets were in my hands.
Don’t, it commanded when I settled down on the hard mattress. The slender curve of her neck beckoned to me. I wanted to kiss her there. But she was still trying to get her emotions in check, and I wasn’t going to take advantage of that.
She flinched when I adjusted my position, my arm against her, unavoidably touching her.
“You’re okay,” I whispered.
The only answer was her rapid, anxious breathing. We remained like that for an eternity, both too exhausted and tense to be able to find sleep. It was bright outside, and even with the curtains drawn, our bodies were resistant.
“Do you have enough room?” It was impossible to tell if she was genuine or sarcastic.
“It’s fine.”
My feet hung off the edge of the mattress, but that wasn’t her fault, and I’d grown used to it.
Then, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I had to hold her, to offer security and comfort after what I’d done and what had happened. Would she allow it?
“I need to . . . get closer.” I hoped she couldn’t tell the true meaning of my words.
Abruptly, she sat upright, making the bed rock. She wrapped a hand around my arm that was closest to her and flung it onto her side of the bed. It was so she could lie down with my arm beneath her. Her warm cheek rested on my bare chest, her damp hair falling across my shoulder.
“I don’t usually do this,” she said.
I swallowed a breath and tightened my hold, pressing her against me. I turned my head toward her, brushing my lips over her hairline. “Me neither.”