Page 23

Kelly

As soon as he’s free, Bourdin will come after everyone I love. Like a catchy, terrible song, the thought replays on an endless loop.

Heart racing, I glance over my shoulder, then at the driver. “What’re we going to do with him?”

The G-man smiles as if he hadn’t just trussed up a dangerous criminal and stuffed him in the back of his Ford. “Me? I’m not going to do anything, you are. A Canadian entered the United States illegally. He’s your prisoner, Border Agent O’Malley. Where do you want him?”

“Gina’s cells are the closest.” While I program the dashboard’s GPS, thick gray clouds race across the sky. We’re in for a helluva storm.

“Seems to me you should’ve arrested him long before now.” Pursing his lips, he checks on the asshole in the rearview mirror.

“Dante said he had it handled, and I believed him. Honestly, until last week, we had an agreement of sorts—a truce, if you will.” I hate how defensive I sound.

“So, this is my fault?” When his brows shoot up, mine furrow.

Hissing out my breath, my shoulders heave. “No, let me explain. There aren’t many jobs around here. Most pay minimum wage. I inherited a fixer-upper, Mack is going to college soon, and I have zero savings. Are you getting the picture? I can’t tell. Can’t move. Can’t change jobs. Stuck.” I stare across the cupholder, willing him to understand my hopeless situation.

“So, you turned a blind eye to his trafficking?” He white-knuckles the steering wheel.

How dare he get angry at me? “Wrong. Dante assigned me the port. The forests are not my job.”

“Semantics, Kelly.” The guy pokes and pokes. Why can’t he leave me be? “My boss said he would take care of it. Unlike you, I have a life. It’s easy to be brave when you have little to lose.”

His jaw muscles pulse. “You know nothing about me.”

“You’re right,” I snap. Tears well, but I hold them back.

“Just sex, remember?” Eyes on the road, the cold stranger refuses to meet my gaze.

I clunk my forehead against the cold, passenger side window. “Grahhh! This is exactly why I don’t do relation—”

“No, ma’am. You don’t get involved because you’re scared.” His curt tone is so out of line.

“Hey, that’s not fair.” That’s my comeback? A whiney two-year-old?

“You’ve built a wall of excuses, but the truth is, you don’t want to get hurt.”

For a moment, I hate him more than I have ever hated anyone in my life. “Fine. Terrorists scare the hell out of me. So, tell me, Mr. FBI man. What’s going to happen when you go back to DC, leaving me to deal with the fallout, huh? Do you think the president is going to send an army to guard a tiny piece of land? These guys have power, guns, money. I. Have. Nothing.”

For this one instant, there’s blessed silence. I figure we’re done until he curses under his breath. “So have you heard from Dante or is that a lie, too?”

“Are you for real?” I screech. I’ve been nothing but trustworthy since he arrived. “You know what? Just shut up and drive. I’m calling Gina to let her know we’re coming.”

He mutters under his breath, then clicks his tongue. “The bugs in the office? It all makes sense now. You’re working for the other team.”

My stomach drops. Now he’s accusing me? The lump in my throat grows, making it hard to swallow. Betrayal mixed with real hurt slams against the walls of my mental prison. Shaking all over, I try to clamp down to reinforce the welded seal, but no can do. A deafening, shattering burst scatters fragments of steel and unleashes a tsunami of emotions so fierce, I can’t breathe. Fury, fueled by heartbreak, roars to my tongue, arming it with a sharp retort.

“I would never help them.” My airway tightens. Words, desperate and raw, claw to the surface as I bite my lower lip until it bleeds. It’s useless. Once let loose, feelings don’t stop. They can’t be buried. Starved for air, they tear free.

"I was raped." Not wanting to see the pity on Hunt’s face, I close my eyes.

Brakes squeal. As tires crunch against the gravel, the trussed up snake in the back senses blood and hisses.

From the driver’s side? Nothing. No gasp, no fumbling for the right speech. Just the soft sound of his breath—too even, too controlled.

Why doesn’t he say anything?

Pulse rate maxed, I sit with my hands clamped over my mouth, waiting for the guys in white jackets.

More silence. Jesus, God almighty. I’ve never said those words out loud. Shouldn’t my head be exploding? Why is everything so fucking normal?

Scared? Hell no. I’m terrified.

His door slams. A moment later, mine opens.

Outside, his too-tight, overly calm voice cuts through the dead air. “Dante knew and didn’t do anything?”

“Other than the doctor, no one knows, or rather knew, until this second.” I crack open my lids to search his face. Pity? Anger? Disgust? Damn his FBI training.

“Why, babe?” When his fingers squeeze my hand, I let out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding.

Perhaps what I broke, I can now mend. “Could you be a bit more specific?”

His eyes soften as he cups my face. “To start with, why did you not press charges?”

“I was roofied. I don’t know who, how, where, or why. Who would take my case?”

“Surely, the DNA—” He swallows hard, no doubt thinking he can swoop in to save the day.

Too late for that, I shake my head back and forth. “He used a condom. Cleaned me. Nothing.”

His cheeks darken, his lids lowering halfway. “I am so, so, sorry. Had I known I never—”

“Would’ve agreed to ‘friends with benefits’?” I force a smile. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

His blue eyes search my face, sharp, penetrating, giving no quarter. “Why me? Why now?”

I shrug, my chest so tight it hurts. “You needed to know I would never ever help them.”

Hunt’s expression hardens as he points to the hatch. “Tell me—was it the bastard in our back seat?”

As the seconds tick by, his brows furrow deeper, while my heartrate spikes. If I say yes, will he put a bullet through my prisoner’s brain?