Jase Dalton.
Of all the men in all the worst places in the world…
You put him in mine?
He catches my wrist like he was expecting it.
Of course he was.
“Still angry,” he says, like this is amusing. “Good to know.”
“You should have stayed out of this,” I snap.
“Funny,” he replies. “I was about to say the same thing to you.”
I yank my arm free and swim toward the nearest wreck—a half-sunk fishing skiff barely holding itself together.
We drag ourselves aboard.
I’m soaked. Bleeding. Furious.
And entirely too aware of him.
Don’t think about it.
Do not think about it.
“This wasn’t part of the plan,” I say, pushing wet hair out of my face.
“That convoy you were in?” he says. “It was never going to protect you.”
“I know.”
Silence.
I don’t look at him.
I don’t need to.
I can feel it—the shift. The way he’s watching me now.
“You know?” he repeats.
“Yes,” I say. “That’s why I let them take me.”
Another pause.
Longer this time.
Dangerous.
“You did what?”
I turn to face him.
“I needed to see who came for me,” I say. “Now I know.”
“And?” he presses.
