Without words, he made it clear his intention was to tuck them behind one of the giant turbines. Only after he got her where he wanted her did he lean in and press his lips to her ear.
“Sit down. Get comfortable.”
Was he crazy?
First of all, it was freezing down here. The floor beneath her feet was a sheet of ice. Second of all, sitting on concrete was many things, but comfortable wasn’t one of them. And last but not least, there was a group of men looking for them up above. And if those men found them, no doubt their orders were to add a few extra holes to their heads.
Comfortable? Comfortable?
She silently slid down the wall until her butt hit the floor. Wrapping her arms around her legs, she tried to preserve her body heat. In the darkness, she couldn’t see Angel, but she could feel him settle in beside her. The subtle clink said he’d set the Glock on the floor, and then his arm was around her, chafing her shoulder in an attempt to keep her warm.
His voice was so low it barely reached her ears when he said, “Try to stay calm. Help should be here soon.”
“What help?” she whispered and felt him shrug.
“I sent a Mayday text to the Black Knights.”
“What did you say?”
“Position compromised. Trapped. Will hide and wait for help.”
She nearly groaned. “What do you think they’ll do? The Black Knights, I mean.”
“Try to reach my contact in the SIS. Or bust ass to get to us.”
“What about the local police?”
“The Knights won’t trust the local police to know one group of foreigners from the next. Locals have a bad habit of turning these sorts of things into bloodbaths.”
She wished she could argue with him, but she’d worked for Interpol long enough to see the wisdom in his statement. Local authorities were good at handling local issues, not so good at managing international intrigue. Those kinds of situations turned them into shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later sorts.
“Then there is the question of my cover,” he continued in his raspy whisper. “The SIS will keep their damn mouths shut. The local five-o? Not so much. Plus, we have no idea what happened at the café. The crowd out front saw us. I think a few might have even recorded some video. No doubt the local police are looking for us in connection with those deaths.”
How she’d forgotten about the café carnage, she’d never know.
“If I called Zhao Longwei,” she whispered, “he might be able to put together some sort of rescue that wouldn’t jeopardize your cover and could save us from having to answer questions we don’t want to—”
She cut herself off when a flash of light illuminated the darkness before disappearing. Angel had briefly turned on the cell phone. “No service down here.”
“That’s why you sent the text before we came down,” she realized.
“Exactly.”
The man thought of everything. A master strategist. Explained how he’d managed to stay alive working as a double agent inside Iran for all those years.
Despite Angel’s body heat beside her, the cold from the concrete floor seeped through her slacks, flash-freezing her flesh and nipping at her bones. She began to shiver uncontrollably.
“Come here.” He tugged her into his lap, opening the front of his jacket and pulling her against his chest. He folded the halves of leather around them, creating a warm cocoon.
Maybe she should have insisted she was fine. This was the twenty-first century, after all. Equality of the sexes stipulated she look after her own ass. But…the room was so cold and he was so warm. And despite how desperate their situation was, being inside the protection of his strong arms, breathing in the spicy scent of his aftershave, brought her a small measure of comfort.
So, okay, screw equality of the sexes. Right then she was happy to let him be all chivalrous and gallant. Happy to play the part of the fragile damsel seeking the solace of the hero’s arms.
And he was a hero. The stuff of legends and romance novels and Academy Award–winning cinema. When she thought about it, Humphrey Bogart’s Rick Blaine character from Casablanca had nothing on Angel.
“So what do we do now?” she whispered, blinking owlishly into the darkness.
Oh, how she wished she’d kept her mouth shut when his only answer was “We wait for our fate…”
