Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
“I don’t care. And I could stay with Dozer’s father. His compound is impenetrable.”
Bebe sighs and rubs her fingers along the bridge of her nose, a clear indication that I’ve given her a headache.
“Bebe,” I say. When she focuses on me, I give it to her as real as I can. “I didn’t get to say what I needed to say to Dozer last night. I didn’t say it again this morning.”
She frowns and tips her head. “You haven’t told him that you love him?”
“Of course, I told him I love him,” I grumble irritably. “That’s a given.”
“I’m not following.”
“I didn’t tell Dozer that I want a future with him. That I want to be his wife and I want to have babies. I didn’t get a chance to tell him that I would follow him to the ends of the earth if that’s what he wanted. He left here, possibly to lay his life down for me, and he doesn’t even know how deeply my love goes. He needs to know exactly what he’s fighting for.”
“He knows,” Bebe asserts.
“He doesn’t,” I exclaim. “Because we lapsed into old habits after our initial admission of our feelings. We’re both afraid to truly express ourselves. This is so new and fragile, we’re treating it too carefully. We don’t have time to do that, and now I’ve let him leave without giving him the hope of something to come back to.”
Bebe grinds her teeth. “Goddamn it,” she mutters. “Why did you have to tell me that?”
“So you understand how important it is I get to Miami.”
I see her resolve thinning, and yet she still attempts to dissuade me. “Pick up the phone and call him. You can reach him on the private plane.”
I glare in frustration at her. “I certainly don’t know what you feel for Griff or how your relationship is, but one doesn’t commit their entire life and allegiance and loyalty until death do us part over the phone.” By the time I utter those last words, I’m almost yelling at her.
To my surprise and annoyance, Bebe starts laughing. “Girl, I’m going to go ahead and award you this year’s Oscar for Best Dramatic Performance.”
“I’m not being dramatic. I’m being real.”
Bebe waves a hand, still chuckling. “I know you’re being real. And it makes me adore you even more. Dozer is a lucky man.”
My heart sinks because she’s not giving me what I want. “Does that mean you’re not going to help me?”
It’s a question but also a statement because I pretty much know the answer.
Bebe leans over and logs out of her computer. When she turns back to me, she says, “I’m absolutely going to help you. I really want to go, too, and you’re just what my conscience needs to break the rules. Let’s go.”
♦
It takes me all of five minutes to pack. Bebe has what she calls a “go bag,” something every agent keeps at headquarters in case they’re called out on a mission on a moment’s notice.
It’s no easy feat to get past the handful of agents on the second floor. If any one of them sees me or Bebe heading out with bags to the freight elevator that leads to the garage, we’ll be stopped.
Bebe is not only intelligent but devious. She emailed those agents, telling them that urgent information just came in from the FBI field office and that everybody needed to get into the conference room for a debriefing.
The minute the conference room door closes and those poor men and women are inside waiting for Bebe to give them an update, we haul ass to the freight elevator. My heart pounds the entire time until we make it to the garage.
“We don’t have time to dawdle. Regardless of who comes in or out of the doors, an alert goes to all smartphones. They’ll be coming after us now.”
“Shit,” I exclaim, my heart now ready to explode. I didn’t think we’d be pursued yet, and a wave of panic paralyzes me.
But Bebe grabs my wrist, and we jog through the lot to her car, a slick BMW sedan. She aims her fob at the vehicle and the trunk rises.
“Get in,” she says, nodding.
“What?” I exclaim, still terrified agents will be on us imminently.
“We don’t know if Russians are in Pittsburgh. They could be watching this building. I drive out of here, it’s going to be me alone, in case they’re watching.”
“I can lie down in the back seat,” I suggest.
“Trunk,” she asserts. “It’s the safest. I’ll let you out as soon as I can.”
“Fine,” I exclaim, tossing in my bag and climbing in after it. Bebe winks before she locks me into darkness.
It’s not long before Bebe pulls over and lets me out of the trunk. I quickly get into the passenger seat, and we’re zooming toward the airport.