The gun, my lover, I caress the trigger.C’mon, boys, make your move.
All at once, John, orZhun, as he pronounces it, whispers, “There’s no one out there. Let’s go. We have another run before dawn.”
As they pass by me, the foreigners mutter. If my Farsi is accurate, they have an even lower opinion of the French Canadian than me. Hard to believe.
Safe now, I walk behind at a distance. After their taillights disappear down the narrow road, I race to where I hid my vehicle. Jumping in the driver’s seat, I follow the tracker I placed under their chassis.
The signal leads me to a swanky motel near the slopes, where they exit their white Mercedes van. I snap pictures of their now uncovered faces. After storing images in the cloud, I text the URL’s to Wulf and Patten, then order a drink in the lobby bar.
Done for the night, I crash on Kelly’s couch, my pistol on the floor beside me.
In the morning, I rise to the scent of coffee. O’Malley’s green eyes lock onto me, sharp as a sniper’s aim. “Yo, Wildlife, want to tell me where you went yesterday evening?”
Busted.
My gut tightens at the distrust in her gaze.
“Babe.” Rubbing my eyes, I stand, swivel my feet toward my weapon and open my arms.
She crosses hers. “No, Hunt. No babe.”
Shit.If I want this relationship to move forward, I’m going to have to tell her the truth.“Bourdin was in the woods last night, leading a group of Iranians from Canada. They’re staying at The Alpine Luxe Resort.”
Istep in, praying I haven’t fucked things up.
Her brows furrow more. “Why didn’t you bring me? I’m the border agent, not you.”
She’s right, and yet, oh so wrong. “You told me you haven’t been in the field since your attack. I couldn’t risk it.”
A gasp escapes from her lungs.
Have I overstepped? Dammit, I’m in uncharted territory. I was looking forward to another round of love-making. Instead, an angry stranger stands in front of me.
Tone all business, she paces her living room. “What are we thinking? Fentanyl? Sex slaves? Have you seen any girls?”
Trying not to let her see me bleed inside, I match her tenor. “No, mostly middle-aged men. Black hair, brown skin, bearded. Spoke Farsi. One had a signet ring. I sent jpgs to the FBI and another group I trust.”
She glances at her phone, then rolls her eyes. “Listen, I don’t have time for this. Can you bring me to work?”
“About last night…” I want to tell her how everything changed in her arms, but she gives me a cold shoulder.
“Later.”
I drive her to the station in one of the most uncomfortable silences I have ever experienced. I half expect her to lock me out.
Unable to broach her emotional wall, I park in a chair, lift my feet, and close my eyes. Sometime around noon, her ringtone startles me awake.
“Hello… Yup.” Face pale, she sits, listening intently. A few minutes go by before she sighs, massaging her temples. “Thanks for letting me know. Buh-bye.”
Cell phone down, she turns to me, face soft, perhaps a bit apologetic. “That was Ames. My brake line exploded. The control box had been tampered with, and they found traces of C4 near the gas tank. Thank you, again, for saving my life.”
“Please don’t. The FBI brought this to your doorstep.” Gaze locked on hers, I walk to her side, hoping she’s not still mad at me.
My heart pounds when she meets me halfway. “This problem existed long before you came. You can’t hold yourself responsible, Wildlife.”
With her back in my arms, the despair from earlier melts away. She’s giving me another chance. This time, I won’t fuck it up.
Her phone rings again. After she picks up, she stiffens and pulls from my embrace. “What? Say again… No way… How bad is it?”
