Page 94 of Wyatt

She sat, her back against some ridiculous foam padding strapped to the hull of the plane, her body on a hard, wooden bench. She was shivering under his jersey, and according to her watch, they still had ten hours to go.

Wyatt’s arm went around her and pulled her close. He was shivering too.

Perfect. They weren’t going to die from an assassin’s bullet. Just good, old-fashioned hypothermia.

It was her fault, really.

She’d never been to Vladivostok and hadn’t realized the train station was about fifty thousand miles from the airport.

She’d also been lulled into a false sense of security when York had texted Wyatt with the news that they’d gotten an international medical pass for Mikka. They were booked on a flight to Seattle later that morning.

Which meant York, Sarai, and Mikka were probably already in Seattle. So, she could release the tightly knotted breath she’d been holding since leaving Khabarovsk.

They’d disembarked the train near the harbor. Ocean-going vessels were moored at long piers. Seagulls strutted down the boardwalk, and a great bell clanged from a nearby tugboat. The air stirred with brine and seaweed and the piquant odor of fish.

Wyatt had been trying to text his teammates while she flagged down a cab under the sunlight of a beautiful day.

That was the first time she asked if he’d be okay.

He looked up at her question. “I’ll be fine. We just need to get to the airport. I can’t get a hold of Deke. Or Kalen.”

The wind raked through his brown hair, the sun lifting the copper from his beard, and when his brown eyes settled on her, the otherwise cool day heated to molten through her entire body.

He’d behaved himself last night.

And while yes, she knew it was so she’d feel safe, a deeper part of her easily remembered…

Well,remembered.

Admittedly, his wordsI walked away from you with so much shame I could hardly breathefelt a little like she’d been slapped, but maybe he was right. She couldn’t exactly look Gerri Marshall, her foster mom, in the eye after that.

She’d trampled on their trust as much as Wyatt felt like he’d trampled over his family’s values.

So probably, he was right. Starting over could keep them from opening old wounds, maybe.

A taxi had driven up and she’d waved her hand, nabbing it. “Aeroport?” she asked, and the woman, in her mid-thirties, tattooed, and with her blonde hair pulled back, nodded.

Coco had a momentary flashback of the woman on the train. Then Wyatt settled in beside her in the back seat, his presence large and in charge, and her heartbeat settled back down.

He put his arm around her as they drove north of the city. “I got ahold of Deke and he said they were already aboard the flight.”

She leaned forward and asked the woman to drive faster.

The shiny, mirrored blue airport terminal rose in the distance. The driver pulled up, and Wyatt was nearly out of the car before it stopped. He handed the woman a wad of dollars and got out.

He couldn’t stifle his moan, however.

Coco kept up with his long legs by nearly running. He hit the terminal building and strode down the corridor, past purple sofas and a long information desk, and toward the Korean Air gate.

He already had his passport out when he approached the desk. She dug out hers from her backpack. The last time she’d arrived in Russia, she’d used her American passport, with a visa her father had obtained for her.

Once inside, she switched to her Russian credentials.

It felt odd to be reverting back to her American self. But she smiled like an American and stood next to Wyatt, a little small in his shadow.

“We need to get on the flight with the Blue Ox hockey team,” he said. “I’m booked on it and I need one more ticket.”

The woman across from him was Russian but wore the red uniform of the Korean airline. She typed in his name, then took Coco’s passport and did the same.

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