Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 145091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
His whole body shuddered, and his head hit the wheel again.
She knocked, pulling on the door handle with her other hand. The motion seemed to rouse him before. “Hey, stay with me. I need you to open the door.”
Nothing.
She kicked the door, making the whole car shake. Movement seemed to disturb him. He might have a concussion, and that meant keeping him awake. There was no blood on his skin, though he was pale as the snow that kept coming down around them.
His head tilted, moving around so she could see his eyes were open slightly. Storm gray eyes stared back at her, dark hair tumbling over his forehead. She would bet he slicked back that hair a lot of the time. “Hey.”
Good. He could talk. “Hey. I need you to open the door so I can get you out of there.”
“I had a car accident. It was bad. I’m not sure I can move.”
She looked to the car. It was fairly pristine, with the singular exception of the tiny dent where he’d hit the tree. What else was going on? “I can help you. We need to get to the cabin. I can call for help from there.”
He nodded and then his hand came out, and she heard the door lock pop.
Taylor breathed a sigh of relief. She opened the door, and that was when she realized he had a gun on her.
Damn it. She held her hands up. “Easy there. I’m Agency.”
He groaned and sat up. Now she could see the blood on his shirt. It stained his left side. “I need to get to the hard line.”
He was obviously serious about the mission. Now she wished she’d gotten his name from base. “Okay, it’s inside, but you need some help.”
Another deep groan and he was twisting his body to get out of the car. “Step back. If you’re here for the package, you should know I already killed the other agent.”
He was a wounded predator, and she had to treat him like it. Dangerous. Any wrong move could set him off. “I’m Agency. I’m stationed here at 124 for a week or so. I do analysis work and serve as backup for my father, Lev Sokolov.”
Normally she wouldn’t mention her dad at all, but he was a legend, and if invoking his name meant she didn’t get shot, she would do it.
He stood. Damn he was tall. At least six four, with a lanky but strong frame. He towered over her five-foot-three-inch self.
“No one’s supposed to be at 124. It’s remote. The only reason we still have it is the hard line,” he said, his voice deep and husky.
Someone a long time ago had taken the time to bury an actual line between 124 and Bucharest, 450 km away. It was considered the most secure way to get important information where it needed to go, but it was hard to keep up which was why there weren’t hard lines across the globe. The Agency had put them in decades before when the world was initially being wired for the Internet. Those old cables had been replaced by satellites and wireless networks, but some of them remained. He’d come all that way injured to use that secure line, and that told her his op was a serious one.
Which made him even more dangerous.
“Yes, the hard line is why I’m here, too. I can’t explain my mission. I don’t know your clearance, but I assure you I’m not working for anyone but the Agency.” She kept her tone as calm as possible. “You look like you took some fire. Can I help you with that? I’m a trained medic. Is it a gunshot wound?”
He looked down to his side as though he’d forgotten it was there and frowned. “I…I was in Kraków and I…” His head shook, and he refocused on her. “Give me the gun.”
Oh, she wasn’t giving up her gun. He was in trouble, and it was obvious he needed help. Like a lot of men, he didn’t know how to ask for it, and also like his brethren, he’d been trained to avoid help if possible. “Your hands are shaking. What can I do to make you comfortable with me? Besides disarming, because I’m not sure you won’t shoot me. You’ve been through something traumatic.”
He huffed. “You think this is traumatic? You think I can’t hand…” He tried to steady himself but he stumbled. “Back away or I’ll shoot.”
And she was done with him. He was off kilter and way past dangerous, and it was time to handle things.
She kicked out, easily sending his semiautomatic into the snow. He started to react, but she reached for his wrist, twisting it up and back, taking control. “Calm down. I told you I’m here to help you, but I can’t let you shoot me. I’ve got a mission, too.”