“Does it involve government-sanctioned violence?”
“It’s not government-sanctioned.”
He sighed. “Tell me about it anyway.”
Blaze was two minutes into explaining the scenario when Sarah’s phone rang. He looked away from the cornfield to her.
Sarah set the gun she was cleaning aside and tugged her phone from her jeans’ hip pocket, a sexy move that drew Blaze’s attention to the curves of her ass and made him want to commit all kinds of breaches of operational security.
Her startled glance worried him.
He held his phone away from his ear. “Who is it?”
She frowned. “I don’t recognize the number.”
Wulfram von Hannover shouldn’t be calling her and had no way of knowing her digits. “Is it just a line of zeroes?”
“No, it’s a two-one-two area code. That’s not from around here.”
Blaze said into his phone, “Calvin? Let me call you back in a minute,” and hung up. “Sarah, that’s New York City.Don’t—”
But Sarah was already lifting her phone to her ear and saying, “Hello?”
Damn.
Sarah stood straighter like she was trying to balance while buffeted by a windstorm. “But we didn’t do anything wrong.”
Blaze dropped his phone on the worn-smooth wood of the dining table as he hurried to the kitchen. “Who is it?”
Sarah glanced up at him, her warm brown eyes wide, and said into her phone, “I don’t know, Logan.”
Blaze held out his hand. “Give it to me.”
Sarah frowned and turned away, putting herself like a shield between him and the phone she held.
Fine. He’d wait.
Sarah’s posture crumpled, cringing, like someone was beating her back and shoulders and she was curling in to protect herself. “I’m sorry I made her angry. I’ll apologize to her in person if she wants. Or over the phone, anyway.”
“At least put him on speaker,” Blaze said. “I won’t say anything.”
“But why would she do that? Logan?Logan?”
She held the phone in front of her and stared at it. Only the lock screen showed on its face.
Blaze’s phone rang.
He answered and, holding his fingers to his lips, put it on speaker. “Yeah, Logan. What do you want?”
“I know you’re right there with her,” Logan’s voice said from the phone.
Sarah leaned back against the kitchen counter, her hands white-knuckling the edge of the laminate top.
Blaze said into his phone, “I asked what you wanted.”
Logan Bell’s voice was pitched low and angry as he whispered in Blaze’s ear above the muttering crowd and growling car engines, like he was walking outside in New York City. “Mary Varvara Bell is pissed. She’s done with both of you. You’ll be dead by the end of week.”
“The end of the week? That’s a long time, Logan. Has the team left yet?”
