“You only paid me fifty dollars for the kit! Ow!”
Nash had wrenched his arm even higher. “And fifty to keep your mouth shut. I want my money back, you little prick, because clearly, you did not hold up your end of the transaction.”
The little prick began to sob.
Delaney cleared her throat. “Not to be difficult but…” She was still extending the shirt toward Nash. “How about we forget the cash and just get out of here? Not real sure how long we have before Kurt and his goons show up, and I would very much prefer to be gone by the time they arrive.”
“Fuck.” But Nash nodded. He also let go of the intruder’s arm. “Have it your way.” Then he drove his fist into the guy’s face. Hard.
The intruder sprawled on the floor, groaning.
Nash took the cash in the guy’s front pocket. “Mine.”
Seriously? She grabbed Nash’s leather jacket. “Let’s go.”
Nash pointed at the still groaning intruder. “Be smart. Get the hell out of here because you are playing way above your league.” Then he caught Delaney’s hand and hauled her with him toward the door. They ran for the hidden motorcycle, and she shouldered into his coat. He hopped on the bike first, even as he shoved a helmet toward her. She jumped on behind him, secured the helmet, and locked her arms around him right before the engine snarled to life, and they flew into the darkness of the night.
Except they didn’t fly very far. In fact, they only flew a wee bit down the road. Toward a twenty-four-hour diner. Nash parked his motorcycle under some twisting trees and immediately hopped off the bike.
She blinked at him. “What is happening here?” She tried to balance on the seat.
“They know that we are on a motorcycle.”
Um, they had been on a motorcycle. Now he was off it. She was still on it. And growing increasingly terrified. Shouldn’t they be driving away?
“You’re too much of a target on a motorcycle,” Nash told her. “When you’re behind me, they can just shoot you in the back.”
A horrifying visual.
“We need a new ride,” he declared even as he whipped out his phone and seemed to be texting someone.
“And where are we going to get a new ride?”
He shoved his phone into his pocket and pointed to the far right section of the diner’s lot. Three vehicles waited there. A truck, an SUV, and a VW Beetle. “We’re taking the SUV.”
They were? “How?”
“I’m stealing it, of course.”
Of course.
He was already heading toward it, so she scrambled after him. As they closed in on the vehicle, Delaney realized why he’d chosen the SUV. The driver had left the window partially rolled down.
A bad mistake.
Nash shoved his arm inside the open window, and a moment later, he was wrenching the door wide for her. “Get in,” he ordered her.
She scampered inside. Jumped over the console and settled into the passenger seat even as her heart raced. “I have never stolen a car before.” Was it even okay for a CIA spy to do something like this? Wasn’t stealing against the rules for law enforcement? For everyone?
“I get that you never have. And it shows.” He was in the driver’s seat. His hands darted under the dash, and she frowned at him because Delaney was certain he’d just insulted her.
But the engine sparked to life, and a wide smile curved her lips because, yes, she was a bit impressed with his hot-wiring skills.
He straightened in the seat, shoved the vehicle in reverse, and as he got them out of the lot…
“Down, Delaney!”
Down? Like, what did he want? Her, in the floorboard? Her?—
