Page 20

Callum’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, the stolen car careening down the empty road. His mind raced, adrenaline still pumping through his veins from their narrow escape. Beside him, Sloane slept fitfully, her brow furrowed even in slumber.

He glanced over at her, his chest tightening. She looked so young and vulnerable curled up in the passenger seat, a stray lock of dark hair falling across her face. He resisted the urge to brush it back, not wanting to wake her.

She’d been through so fucking much. The stress on her system had been ridiculous.

Kidnapped…assaulted…running for her life time after time. They’d leaped over a fucking building today, for God’s sake. And yet the only thing she’d cried about was not being able to get back to that damned art textbook.

Sure, there had been good stressors too—all the time they’d spent in bed and enjoying each other. He hadn’t even tried to keep his hands off her since that first time she’d made it known she wanted him. She made him feel like he was twenty-five again himself instead of in his mid-forties.

But as amazing as their lovemaking had been, he knew even good stress was still stress. And between the trauma and the intimacy, Sloane’s mind and body had been put through the wringer nonstop.

He tightened his hands on the wheel again, jaw clenching. It killed him that he kept promising her safety, swearing each time was the last close call, only to have those Kozak bastards show up again like cockroaches. He couldn’t wait to get her to Barcelona, where they’d be well out of their enemy’s reach.

The tires crunched over gravel as Callum pulled the car to a stop just shy of the Ukraine border crossing. He killed the engine and headlights, casting a wary look through the windshield at the checkpoint ahead. A few guards milled about, but their stance was casual, unconcerned. It looked quiet, but he wasn’t going to take any chances.

He reached over to gently shake her shoulder. “Sloane, angel, time to wake up. We’re here.”

“Hmm?” She blinked drowsily, rubbing her eyes as she sat up straighter. “We made it to Odesa?”

“Not quite. We’re at the Ukraine border. And I’m afraid this is where we ditch this car.” He nodded toward the crossing. “No way we’re driving through without papers. If the Kozaks have half a brain, they’ll have eyes posted—not to mention official immigration isn’t going to let us through without passports.”

Sloane bit her lip, her gaze uncertainly following his. “So, what do we do?”

“We go on foot.” Callum was already opening his door, scanning the tree line that ran alongside the road. “Cut through the woods, bypass the checkpoint altogether. It’s probably a few miles to the closest town once we cross over.”

“You really think we can sneak across? Just like that?” Worry threaded through her tone as she climbed out to join him.

He forced a confidence he didn’t quite feel into his voice. “The Ukrainians have bigger problems right now than a couple of civilians slipping by. But we should hurry. Every second we stay here, the more of a chance we’ll be discovered.”

They got out of the car and melted into the sheltering darkness of the trees, picking their way through the brush. The uneven ground made the hike grueling, but Callum didn’t dare risk the exposure of the road. Sloane kept pace with him, without complaint, as always. He had no idea at what point they actually crossed into Ukraine, but it was without fanfare.

It took them a couple hours to reach the first sign of civilization on the other side. The little village was barely a blip, just a scattered handful of tired-looking buildings and weary people. But to Callum’s relief, he spotted a rusting sedan parked in front of what passed for the town market. It only took him a minute to get it started.

He was becoming ridiculously efficient at hot-wiring.

He pulled onto the road, keeping an eye out behind them. Nothing. They drove mostly in silence the rest of the way to Odesa. A wave of relief washed over him as he eventually spotted the ferry office up ahead.

Finally, something was going right. He pulled the car over and turned to Sloane. “Wait here. I’ll be right back with our documents.”

She nodded, exhaustion evident in the dark circles under her eyes. He hurried into the small building, keeping a wary eye out for any signs of trouble, both around him and the car. But the exchange went smoothly. The forged papers were right where Lincoln had said they would be at a receptionist’s desk. The folder felt reassuringly solid in Callum’s hands as he returned to the car.

“Ready?” He flashed Sloane an encouraging smile, holding up the documents. “Meet Eric and Angelica Johnson.”

Sloane took the passport he offered, a flicker of amusement crossing her face as she read the name. “Angelica, huh? Angel.” Her fingers drifted to the pendant at her neck. “It’s perfect.”

He watched her as she studied the passport, wishing he could do more for her. With her. Wishing they could have a few weeks together without danger hounding them.

But right now, they needed to get on that ferry and out of this part of Europe.

They made their way to the ticket counter, his senses still on high alert as he scanned the crowd for any potential threats. But no one paid them any mind as they purchased their tickets for a sleeper cabin. The worker barely glanced at their documents, his eyes flicking knowingly between them. Clearly, he thought they were married.

Pretending to be a married couple should bother Callum, but it didn’t. He wasn’t sure how to process that, so he wasn’t even going to try.

Tickets in hand, they boarded the ferry, Callum ushering Sloane ahead of him. They lingered just inside the entrance as the other passengers filed on, Callum keeping watch until the boat finally pulled away from the dock.

As the shore receded behind them, he let out a long breath, some of the coiled tension leaving his shoulders. They’d made it. No one had followed them. For the first time in days, he let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, the worst was behind them.

“We should be golden now.” His hand found hers as they walked down the narrow hallway toward the sleeper berth. “The ferry doesn’t stop again until Barcelona tomorrow. Let’s go check out our cabin.”

The room was remarkably similar to their safe house—small and sparse, little more than a bed and a tiny attached bathroom. Not that that bothered him. He glanced over at Sloane and saw the small smile playing at her lips. She was thinking the same thing.

“Why don’t you rest for a bit?” He fought the urge to smooth the hair back from her face, to pull her into his arms and just hold her. “We’ve got eighteen hours until we reach Barcelona.”

“Barcelona,” she repeated. “I can’t believe we’re actually going to make it.”

“Yep. Then onward to home. Finally able to move on with our lives.”

Sloane tried not to take Callum’s words as something negative. After all, making it home was the primary goal, right?

Even if it meant goodbye.

“Like you said, at least we’re safe. Even if we are stuck in close quarters again.” She pointed to the small bed. “How about if we use that thing for a little something more than just resting? If we only have eighteen hours left until Barcelona, we should make the most of it.”

Not boohoo over things that could never be.

Callum’s face softened, and he hooked an arm around her waist, pulling her against him.

“About that…” He pressed a tender kiss to her lips. “How would you feel about spending two or three days together in Spain before heading home? Just us enjoying time with each other. I could get Lincoln to cover for us, let everyone know we’re safe but need some decompression time.”

“Where would we stay?”

“We could get Linc to find us another safe house. Or hell, an actual hotel. We won’t be on the run, so we could do what we want.”

Sloane’s heart soared. It didn’t mean anything permanent, but it at least meant Callum wanted to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him, even if it could only be for a few days.

“I would love that,” she breathed, rising up on her toes to claim his mouth in a searing kiss. Desire ignited low in her belly as she pressed herself against his muscular frame. Rational thought scattered, and she gave him a playful shove, toppling them both onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

Her hands roamed over his broad shoulders and down his chest, reveling in his solid strength. His lips blazed a trail of fire along her jaw and down the column of her throat, each brush of his mouth stoking the flames of need higher.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against her skin, callused palms skimming reverently along her sides.

Sloane’s heart clenched at the raw emotion in his voice, the vulnerability he allowed her to glimpse. This man, who had endured so much loss and dedicated himself to protecting others, deserved all the love and happiness in the world. She yearned to be the one to give that to him, even if only for a little while.

Callum slid his fingers under the hem of her shirt, rough skin igniting sparks everywhere he touched, as always. Sloane arched into the contact with a breathy moan, craving more. She tugged impatiently at his clothes, desperate to feel every inch of him against her.

He obliged, stripping them both with quick, efficient movements until nothing separated them. Sloane drank in the sight of his bared body, all hard lines and scarred skin. Evidence of a life lived in service and sacrifice.

She traced the marks with gentle fingertips, marveling at the resilience of this incredible man.

“You amaze me,” she whispered, pouring her admiration into every word, every touch. “So strong, so brave. I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Callum’s eyes darkened with desire and emotion, pulling her flush against him. “You’ve turned my world upside down in the best way, angel.”

Their lips crashed together in a fevered kiss, bodies moving as one. Sloane lost herself in the drugging slide of skin against skin, the exquisite fullness as Callum filled her completely. Each powerful thrust drove her higher, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.

Release crashed over her in a blinding wave, and she clung to Callum as the storm swept her away. He followed her over the edge with a hoarse cry, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

She would never tire of the sound of her name on his lips as passion overtook him.

They collapsed back onto the bed, limbs entwined and hearts racing. She nestled into his embrace, luxuriating in the way he made her feel cherished and alive. The future was a looming question mark, but she refused to let it taint this slice of perfection.

For now—and for the next couple of days—she had more than she ever dreamed she would have.

Nothing could erase the smile from her face.

They were out on deck the next morning as the ferry docked in the Barcelona port. Anticipation bubbled through Sloane’s veins. A few days alone with Callum, exploring the city and each other, sounded like heaven.

As they took the pedestrian gangway onto the dock, the bustle of the port greeted them. They went through immigration, their fake passports barely garnering a glance from the agent.

They’d really made it.

She slipped her hand into his as they exited the port into the parking lot.

“Please don’t tell me we have to steal another car.”

He chuckled. “How about if we legit rent one? First, let’s get to one more internet café so I can contact Lincoln, let him know we made it, and?—”

His words faded as two sleek black cars and three police vehicles came screeching into view, surrounding them on all sides. Her heart kicked into overdrive. Had the Kozaks’ men found them after all?

She looked to Callum for guidance, expecting him to grab her hand and make a run for it. But he stood perfectly still, resignation etched into the lines of his face.

Confusion swamped her. Why wasn’t he moving?

“I’m sorry, angel,” he said quietly, his voice raw with regret.

Before Sloane could demand an explanation, the cars emptied and familiar faces emerged. Theo and Bear, the men who had assisted in Marissa’s and her rescue, greeted Callum with hearty backslaps and relieved grins. He returned their embraces, but the set of his shoulders betrayed his tension.

And then William Getty climbed out of the lead car, Marissa on his heels. Sloane’s heart plummeted.

No.

This couldn’t be happening. Not now, not when she’d finally found a tiny sliver of happiness.

Her father strode toward her, his expression thunderous. “Get in the car, Sloane. It’s time to go home.” He spared Callum a curt nod. “I’ll take care of compensating Mr. Webb for his services, although I shouldn’t.”

Services . The word echoed in her head, cold and impersonal. As if all she’d ever been to Callum was a job.

“But…”

“You’ll need to give a statement to Interpol,” one of the police officers standing just behind her father said. “Go over everything that has happened.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but her father’s security team was already ushering her toward the waiting car. She craned her neck, desperate for one last glimpse of Callum, for a chance to say goodbye, to tell him how much he meant to her.

But the door slammed shut, and the car peeled away from the curb.

There was nothing Sloane could do but try to blink back her tears.