She sucks in a sob. I reach for her hand, squeezing to reassure her.
“You’re safe now. You don’t have anything to be afraid of.”
I’m still not sure about her involvement. The realization that Georginne hired her the night after we met is a red flag. My chief of staff has only worked for me for a year and a half. I’m extremely careful with my investigation of Reid’s death. There’snothing on my phones or laptops. The idea that someone in my company is spying on me isn’t absurd. I’ve considered it before. That’s why I’m as guarded as I am. That, and the fact that Tycos has sent beautiful women to spy on me before.
Was someone watching me, waiting for an opening to get into my private life? Kate’s the first woman I’ve ever shown interest in since the night of the failed mission when Reid was killed. The Russians are still watching and waiting to figure out what we know. The US government is taking their sweet time on the investigation.
“I need to change your bandage and go back to the cockpit.”
She nods, turning to the side. Jackson cut off the sleeve of her hoodie in the car to get to it. Using the med kit supplies, I gently remove the bandage. The wound is deep, possibly hitting the bone.
For a moment, the adrenaline rushing in my veins overwhelms me, and I have to pause to focus on my breathing. The fact that she’s got a stab wound, that no doubt was meant for her heart and possibly because of my interest in her, makes me sick.
If she is simply a sweet, normal girl and I’m dragging her into a dangerous pit of destruction, I don’t know how she’ll ever forgive me. My life has become a twisted web of lies and deception ever since Steelhart, my last mission in the field.
“Does this hurt?”
She’s clenching her teeth, but she shakes her head. I rub some of the antiseptic salve on it, praying it doesn’t get infected. Jackson was an incredible field surgeon, and his skills are still sharp. He somehow stitched her up in the back of a moving vehicle. The blood is barely seeping out now, and I do my best to wrap the gauze securely around her without making it too tight.
“Who’s flying the plane?” she asks.
“I am.” I look up to see her brows pinched together in confusion. “Autopilot.”
“Is there anything you can’t do?”
I contemplate the question as I finish wrapping her arm up. The answer forms in my mind, but I almost don’t share it with her.
She just got stabbed because of you.
“I’ve never...been creative. Artistic people blow my mind. The way you can create something from nothing that’s so unique and simply for enjoyment is...” I shake my head, unable to finish the sentence.
Her body stills at my confession. Emotional vulnerability doesn’t come naturally to me, but I want to grow closer to this woman for some reason.
Rain begins to pelt the windows, and I slowly stand. My muscles are already starting to ache from the fight, and I know I’ll feel significantly worse tomorrow.
“Do you want to sit up front with me?”
She nods, and I reach out to grab her hand. We settle into the seats, and I put the headset on, only covering one ear so I can talk to her.
“Have you ever sat up front in an aircraft?”
“No. I’m just a regular old commercial flyer.”
I chuckle, reaching forward to remove the autopilot setting.
“I was a fighter pilot in the Navy before I became a SEAL. Having wings is the ultimate high.”
She snorts at my lame joke, and I turn to see her faint smile.
“So, where are we flying to?”
“My farmhouse in North Carolina.”
I don’t mention that it’s on a ten-thousand-acre farm. The deed is under a pseudonym, and I have an old couple living there as caretakers. They manage the contractors who help maintain the residence and immediate grounds.
“What kind of farm is it?”
“Years ago, it was for peaches, sweet potatoes, apples, and Christmas trees.”
