by Miley Maine
“What’s going on? Are you hotwiring a car?” I asked.
“No, I’m breaking in. I see the extra keys inside,” he said.
I wasn’t expecting car theft from a government agent, but I guessed he had to do what was necessary.
“I thought this bust would be really calm and organized.”
“They rarely go as expected,” he said.
“Why are we leaving? They have Laurent. There’s no way he got away from two soldiers holding his arms and another with a machine gun.”
“Right. They have him, but he has people here who will want to catch me. And if they don’t get me, they’ll settle for you. Because they’ll know you’re mine. So we have to go.”
“Was that part of the plan?”
“No. Not at all. Some intel was bad. I thought the butler was clean. He wasn’t. I told him to go. Rookie mistake on my part. Jeopardized the operation.” He shook his head. “Our original plan was to seize Laurent on his way home. He’d have been in his car with two guards. Much easier arrest than going into a mansion filled with staff, some innocent, and some not.”
“Should I drive?” I asked. Owen’s breathing labored. I wasn’t sure he should be behind the wheel of a car. “Where are we going?”
“Safe House,” he said. “No. I’m driving. People will be coming after us.”
He handed me a handgun. “Keep that. And duck if you hear gunshots.”
I buckled my seatbelt and held on with one hand as Owen sped through the streets of Santiago. He narrowly missed several parked cars, and he broke the speed limit, but no one pulled us over. At the edge of the city, a black Ford pulled up next to us.
“Shit,” Owen breathed. “Get down. Now!” he shouted at me.
I crawled onto the floor, clutching the handgun. I held my breath on and off, unable to see as Owen drove, weaving all over the road. “Hold onto the seatbelt,” he told me.
Then gunshots shattered the glass in the car, and Owen accelerated. “Hold the steering wheel steady,” he said. I reached up and held the wheel, while Owen used his good arm to shoot at the other car.
He cursed a few more times, and then put his hands back on the steering wheel, just as we rammed into the other car.
“Stay there,” he said. He got out of the car and disappeared. Still wedged onto the floor, I was finally able to take a real breath. I had to hold the gun with both hands to keep it from shaking out of my grip. Even my teeth were chattering from nerves.
Owen climbed back into the car. “He’s dead. This car is barely limping along. The whole front is smashed up. But we can’t stop now.”
He patted the seat. “Back up here, and buckle up.”
I listened and did as he said.
“I’m going to call for help and get us over the border into Argentina. Laurent’s men will have a harder time getting us there.”
“Another agent?”
“No,” Owen said. “A border patrol buddy.”
“I have the feeling your friend letting us through isn’t officially sanctioned.”
Owen chuckled a little, which was surprising considering the circumstances. “Part-time border control, part-time mercenary. Does that bother you?” he asked.
“I think I'm past the point of caring.”
Owen called his friend, who promised a smooth border crossing into Argentina.
“Whew,” Owen said. “It’s not always an easy place to get into. Not only do we not have your passport, but you need a permit to drive a rental car into Argentina. I wonder what they’d say about a stolen car.”
“I’m sure they’d detain us,” I said.
“Correct. But not now,” Owen said. “This is the road tourists take to Mendoza. Make sure to look out the front window. These roads are crazy, and a lot of people get motion sickness.”
I winced, but it was hard to be too upset when Owen was alive beside me as we left the city, and stunning didn’t come close to describing the landscape of rural Chile. And I hadn’t expected the extra bonus of getting to see the Andes Mountains.
“Not exactly the style to which we’re accustomed,” Owen said as we walked into the safehouse his friend kept. His mercenary friend had given him the keycode during their phone call, and hours later, we were walking into the barren apartment outside Mendoza, Argentina.
“I’m accustomed,” I said. “This feels familiar. It doesn’t feel good, but it feels like home.”
“Your parents’ house?” he asked.
“Yes. And many of my other family members too.” It smelled a little like a rancid pond, where the water had sat for too long. The walls were dingy, the ceilings were low, and the floors were bare concrete. At least it was intact. In one of the mobile homes my aunt lived in, there was a huge hole in the floor.
Owen dug through one of the upper cabinets. “There’s running water, barely. And canned food. So we’ll be fine.”
“And stacks of cargo pants and black t-shirts.” I looked through a wooden chest that sat in the only bedroom. I kept looking, opening every cabinet until I found what I was looking for. “And a first aid kit.” I pointed at the kitchen chair. “Let me look at your arm.”
“I can do it,” Owen said. “The bullet’s not in there.”
“Now it’s my turn to give orders. Sit down.”
He sat, and I scrubbed my hands in the sink, hoping the water was clean enough. There was no stove to boil water, but there were a pair of gloves and some rubbing alcohol in the kit.
“Something’s ringing,” I said to Owen. “Is it your regular phone, or your secret agent phone?”
I peeled his shirt away. The blood had clotted, thank goodness.
One corner of his mouth turned up. “It’s my secret agent phone. It’s my supervisor, and he’s going to be fucking pissed that I left Laurent’s house. With good reason.” He pulled the phone from his pocket. “Here,” he said. “I’ll show you.” With his one working hand, he pressed a few buttons on the phone.
“Sir,” Owen said.
A man’s voice filled the air. “Where the fuck are you? I’m assuming you have a good reason to not be at the target’s house. Answer me, goddammit!”
“I’m at a safe house, and I’m compromised – Laurent had people in the house who were loyal to him. I didn’t count on them.” His eyes met mine. “I can’t go back now. I need a pick up for the nanny.”
“That ship has sailed. You are not our priority now. I’m having to send multiple agents in to clean up your mess.”
Owen pressed the off button with more force than was necessary.
I poured the alcohol over the wound. “So you’re supposed to be back at the house?”
Owen flinched, but didn’t make noise. “Yes.”
“And you’re not there. Because you’re here. With me.”
Owen inclined his head.
“Why did you leave?” I asked.
“Because it wasn’t safe.”
I pressed gauze to the wound, and wrapped tape around it. I was so grateful the bullet hadn’t done more damage. “Wasn’t safe for who? For me? For you?”
“Well it wasn’t safe for you, and not for me either,” he said. “Seeing as how Laurent’s fucking butler ratted me out. Not just to Laurent. He probably sounded the alarm all over Chile. There could be dozens of thugs looking for us right now. ”
“So you assumed it would be a calmer arrest. And that his men wouldn’t know, and wouldn’t be able to come after you. Or me?”
“Right,” he said. “I was really fucking wrong.”
I didn’t feel like I had much comfort to offer, but I did lay my hand on his good shoulder. I didn’t know what else to do.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Owen
Fucking hell. I was done for.
Running away from a suspect’s arrest while there were dozens of loose ends was not on the approved list of behaviors for a CIA agent, not even if I had done it to save a civilian.
I would be on my supervisor’s shit l
ist for a long time. I was definitely fired from any undercover work. And fieldwork too. If I was lucky, I’d end up tossed somewhere boring to sit at a computer and compile data. If I wasn’t so lucky, I’d end up in a hole in the ground.
But I couldn’t think about that right now. If I did, I’d end up banging my head into the wall, and maybe putting my fist through it too.
After she patched me up, Kate showered first and then disappeared into the bedroom.
The tiny shower was more like a camping shower than a real one, but the water was lukewarm, there was a bar of soap and a towel, so it was good enough. I rinsed off as quickly as I could without getting the gauze wet, and got dressed in the clothes that had looked like they’d fit. The sturdy clothes were a nice find, but neither of us had decent shoes. Until we could find a substitute, I’d be wearing my dress shoes, and she had the flats that went with her dress.
She opened the door. “We match,” she said, looking down at her black t-shirt and cargo pants. “Are these military clothes? CIA? FBI?” she asked.
“All of the above,” I said. “This safehouse is used by more than one person, which is why we’re sleeping fully-dressed and with our weapons under the bed. In fact, we should probably sleep in shifts.” I pointed at the flimsy bed with a threadbare sheet on top. “You go first. Leave your shoes on.”
Instead of arguing, she nodded. “I used to sleep in my clothes as a kid,” she said. “I didn’t really have pajamas or cute nightgowns, but we didn’t just sleep in t-shirts only. I always made sure my sister and I could get out of our window and run if we needed to.”
“That sounds really rough,” I said.
“It was. But I feel bad for sleeping first. You’re the one that got shot. You’re the one that gave up your career, although I hope that’s not true, to keep me out of a jail cell. It’s possible that I won’t suffer at all as a result of this.”
“You won’t have the salary Laurent was paying you. Or your tuition paid.”
“Eh. That was always too good to be true. I should have known.”
“Don’t let that asshole make you cynical,” I said.
“He’s not the first asshole I’ve spent time with. He just happens to have the potential to destroy more people at one time.”
That was true enough. Careful not to touch her, I motioned to the bed. “Go on. Lie down. Sleep if you can. You’re going to need it.”
“You can lie down too. I don’t mind.”
“I can’t. I’ll fall asleep.”
Then suddenly, Kate flung herself into my arms. “I’m so glad you’re not dead,” she said, hugging me.
“Me too.” Not only did I not want to die, but if I had died from Laurent’s gunshot wound, Kate would have been taken into custody by the authorities. With Mrs. Laurent gone, there would have been no one to vouch for her.
I had to suppress a shudder. The thought of her, alone in Santiago, being interrogated by the authorities was chilling. Even more chilling was the thought of her being taken by one of Laurent’s men who might remain loyal to him.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said. There was no need to mention my thoughts to her. Instead, I tried to focus on the way she felt in my arms. It had been a month, thirty long days, since she’d willingly let me touch her. Tentatively, I lifted my good arm and rested my palm against her back.
She didn’t let go. We swayed together, barely moving, a sad imitation of the night we’d danced together in Santiago, on the Laurents’ balcony. I tucked my head against hers, grateful just to feel her heart beating against my chest.
She laid her head on my shoulder, making no move to get away from me. She gave a quiet sigh and shifted, which pressed her breasts against my chest. Despite the persistent ache in my arm, and the pain pill I’d taken, my body started to react.
I took a step backward, not wanting to undo all the progress we’d just made.
She didn’t relax her grip. “Mmm. Don’t go. You’re warm.”
“I don’t want to go,” I said. “But if we stay like this…”
“Then what?”
“My body is already reacting.”
“You almost died,” she said.
I scoffed. “It would take a lot more than a shootout and a graze to keep me from wanting you.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Really.” I inhaled her sweet scent, which was a pleasant change from the musty safe house. I kissed her, moving to wrap my arms around her, but I forgot I’d been shot. I bit down on my lip. I was not going to let a little pain interrupt my time with Kate.
“Be careful,” she said. “You don’t have stitches to pop, but don’t rip your arm apart.”
“It’s fine. But really, we do need to stay mostly dressed.”
“Then this should be interesting.”
“I agree.” With my good arm, I scooped her up and laid her on the bed. She squealed, which was a welcome sound after a month of stilted conversation. “I feel like I should put a protective layer down on this bed.”
“Just don’t think about it,” she said.
The sight of her lying on the bed had me ready to explode. I crawled on top of her and pushed her black t-shirt up. “Nice bra,” I commented. It was solid black and too big for her.
“I’m just glad they had some,” she said. “I guess it means women soldiers come through here sometimes too.”
“I want it off. But I’ll make do.” I pushed her bra up, baring her pert breasts. “You have no idea how much I want you.”
“I feel the same.”
I closed my mouth over her breast.
“Oh God,” she cried. In a flurry of movement, her legs came up and wrapped around my waist.
The pressure against my cock was unbearable. I sat up and popped the button on my pants, just to give myself some space. I moved to the other breast, licking and sucking over her nipple.
“I wish I had my other hand,” I said.
“One is enough right now.” She brought her hand to her breast and cupped it.
“Oh, that is hot.” I moved to lick over the breast she was squeezing. “Keep doing it.”
She moved from cupping her breast to squeezing her nipple, and my cock throbbed. “Watching you touch yourself is killing me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I moved my hand between her legs, over the cargo pants that matched mine. “How about down here? Would you touch yourself here?”
Her eyes went wide while she thought it over. “I will. Yes.”
Oh fuck. I was going to combust. I kissed her stomach and popped open the button on her pants. I tugged them halfway down, just to her knees, but I left her panties on.
“You want to start with those on?”
“Maybe.” She pressed her hand to her cheek. “I can feel my face heating up.”
“Don’t be embarrassed.”
“I’m not. It’s just a first for me,” she said.
“I’m glad you’re willing.” I put my hand on her apex and rubbed her clit over her panties.
She bucked against me, thrashing, wilder than I’d ever seen her. “It’s been so long.”.
Yes it had. Too fucking long. I pulled my hand away and used my good arm to pry my pants open and free my cock. I couldn't stand the pressure any longer. “Now, your turn. I want you to touch yourself.”
She slid her arm down. I tracked her hand with my eyes, not wanting to miss even a second of her hand touching her sweet pussy. Her fingers pushed under the plain black underwear. They kept going until her fingers were over her clit.
Her eyes fluttered shut.
“How does it feel?” I asked.
“Good.”
“Now dip your finger into your pussy.”
She did as I asked, moaning while her index finger slid into her opening.
“I’m going to have to see this up close.” I pulled her panties down, and pushed her legs open, holding onto her at the ankles. Holding her right leg strained m
y bad arm, but I didn’t care. Any pain would be worth it. “Now I can see. Keep going.”
“I thought you said we had to stay dressed,” she said.
“You have your shirt on. If someone shows up, I’ll pull your pants up. We’ll forget the panties.”
She nodded and her entire body flushed pink, from her cheeks to her stomach. But she didn’t push me away or roll over. She left her legs open, with her pussy spread wide, and she slid her fingers over it again, gathering moisture. “Now rub your clit,” I said.
She rubbed over her clit in tiny circles.
“How does that feel?”
“Good,” she said. “But I wish it was you. Feels better then.”
“Feels better for everyone when it’s someone else. I’m going to help you out,” I said. “You keep your fingers on your clit. And I’m going to fill this pussy.” At her loud moan, I pushed a finger into her body. Her warm silk clung to my finger. I added a second finger and crooked them, pressing against her sweet spot while she bucked against me.
I slid my fingers out of her body, and picked up her other hand. “Now you put your fingers in, right where mine were, and keep your other hand on your clit.”
I thought she might protest, but she didn’t. She slipped her fingers into her gleaming pussy, and thrust them in and out, while rubbing over her clit, back and forth.
“Now you’ll be able to do this any night you’re alone,” I said. “If you’re home alone, and I’m on the phone, I’ll be able to tell you to get naked, lie on your back, and plunge your fingers into your pussy.” I leaned down and licked over her clit. “Will you be able to do that?” I asked.
She shuddered. “I don’t know.”
“I know. The answer is, ‘yes, I’ll be able to do it’. Just like you’re going to make yourself come right now.”
“I can’t,” she said, crying out as I licked her clit again.
“I’ll help you out.” I pressed my tongue against her clit, flicking it against her flesh, until she was quivering and shaking on the bed.
“Owen!” she shouted. “I’m about to come.” Her thighs tensed, and her ankles, still held in my grip, shook.
