Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115997 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“Touchy, aren’t we.” Graham’s grin faded. “I can’t believe they turned down the Chinook.”
I grunted in agreement. Earlier today, I hadn’t given a shit that the politicians had refused to take the armored Chinook—or, as we called it, Embassy Air—from the airport to the US embassy. The seven-kilometer route was safe enough—for now. But that was before I knew it was Izzy we’d be transporting. I wanted her behind bulletproof everything. Hell, I wanted her out of here, period.
We reached the convoy, and the aides split between the center two of the four black SUVs. Holt—the aide Kellman was responsible for—climbed into the back of the second vehicle, Izzy following after.
Her backpack slipped off her shoulder, and I caught it by the strap before it could hit the pavement. The common olive-green fabric was soft and worn, the padding flattened by years of obvious use, but there was no mistaking the cylindrical burn mark near the zipper.
The breath punched out of my lungs, and a wry smile twisted my lips as I lifted the pack, my eyes rising to meet hers, both hidden behind our sunglasses. The lenses made it so much harder to read her. Her body language was a solid attempt at calm and collected, but her eyes had always been the best way to get a feel for what she was thinking. Was she all over the place like I was, or had three years of silence really made her that apathetic?
“Your bag, Ms. Astor,” I said slowly as a breeze from the air-conditioning drifted over my face.
Her lips parted, and she swallowed before taking it from my hands and shifting it to her lap. “Thank you.”
“Can you turn the air up?” Holt asked the driver, tugging on his tie as sweat dripped down his beet-red neck.
Graham looked back over his shoulder from behind the wheel and laughed softly. “Sorry. It’s already on max. It’s just that damned hot here.”
Holt fell back against the seat, looking like someone had shot his puppy.
“For fuck’s sake,” Kellman muttered, already heading toward the tactical seats in the back row.
A quick glance told me all the luggage had been loaded into the rear vehicle, and all the aides were secure. I scanned the perimeter again, even though there were six other operators doing the same, and caught Webb’s nod before he slid into the lead car.
It was time to go.
“Buckle up,” I told Izzy, shutting her door before she could respond.
There. She was behind as much bulletproof glass as I had on hand.
I took the front passenger seat and shut the door. “Go.” I motioned toward the rolling lead car as the manned gate opened in front of us.
The sweet scent of lemons and Chanel no. 5 hit my nose. That vise around my chest tightened another painful notch as I fought off a barrage of memories that I didn’t have time for. That ring on her finger might have been new, but some things hadn’t changed. She still smelled like long summer nights.
Graham put the car in drive and followed, taking us into Kabul. My senses rose to high alert, taking in every detail of the route and those who walked or drove alongside us, scanning for any possible threat.
“About how long until we reach the embassy?” Holt asked, dabbing at his neck.
Kellman had his work cut out for him with this guy. He was going to be a real pain in the ass for the next week. Not that I didn’t have my own hands full.
Isabeau fucking Astor was behind me, less than two feet away for the first time since that rainy night in New York where everything had gone so massively wrong. When had she quit that firm? When had she decided to go work for a senator? I bet her parents were thrilled. They’d always been about that status-driven stuff. What else had changed in the last few years?
Focus.
“Depends on traffic and whether or not your arrival was leaked to the guys who like to make political statements with RPGs,” Graham answered, his southern drawl lingering on that last word.
The back of my neck heated, and I knew if I turned around, I’d find Izzy’s gaze locked on me, the same way mine would have been on her if our positions were reversed. Instead, I kept my attention on our surroundings as we passed the one-kilometer mark and traffic thickened. We’d be in the Green Zone soon.
“So is that, like . . . five minutes? Or ten?” Holt asked, squirming out of his jacket.
It took every muscle in my body not to roll my eyes.
“We’d be there by now if we’d taken the chopper,” Kellman noted from the back.
“It was decided that would send the wrong message about our faith in security during the withdrawal process,” Izzy stated, adjusting her backpack on her lap.