Page 88 of Betrayed

God knowsI am. “Not necessarily. Why do you think you should be?”

She looked towards Jay’s truck, then down at the vest covering her chest. “All this. You have a gun.” I had two, plus my rifle. “They have rifles. And I don't know what’ll happen.”

“So why aren’t you terrified?” I asked.

She turned towards me and laughed. Not a ‘that was a great joke’ laugh, but the type of laugh one releases when they’re two seconds from losing their shit. “Because you have a gun, and they have rifles, and I know you won’t let them hurt me.”

That was not what I expected her to say.

I turned to her and met her eyes for a second. “Damn straight,” I said, before turning my attention back to the road. I held out my hand and waited for her to take it.

Our relationship had changed in the last twelve hours. It happened without effort. Without my consent, and against my wishes.I kissed her. What was I thinking?

It didn't matter; that kiss had rocked my world and I couldn't wait until I could do it again.

Blake Davenport had snuck in under my radar and taken root in my heart.There’s no going back now.

When her fingers curled around mine, my heartbeat slowed to normal for the first time since drawing my gun on Jack.She’s mine to protect. And I would, no matter what it took.

We rode in silence until my phone rang.

“Sierra Four. You’re on speaker.” Jack would know to be careful with his word choice.

“Copy. They sent instructions. Sierra One will update at Base Camp. Already notified Seven.”

“Plans to keep Aurora safe?”

“Six is back. She and Five are working on it.”

“Copy that,” I said.

Jack disconnected the call. Maxwell being back was good news. One more warrior to help rescue Meg and Blake.

I squeezed Blake’s hand to offer what little assurance I could.

“We’re back to code names?” she asked.

Why does she sound annoyed?

We’d transitioned from casual to mission so many times it came easy to us. Switching to our call signs came with the mindset shift.But Blake doesn’t have our experience.

“We’re in mission mode.”

Before I could explain, she said, “I don’t like it.”

A quick glance was all I needed to see the tears forming in her eyes. I squeezed her hand again. “I know, and I’m sorry, but we have to.”

“Is it easier for you if it’s impersonal?” she asked, her former attitude coming back. “Does it help to dehumanize us?”

“What? No.” Nothing about this job was impersonal. Quite the opposite. “The call signs aren’t to depersonalize or dehumanize anyone. It’s a safety protocol.”

“I don’t like it,” she repeated with a huff while pulling her hand away.

I left my hand on the center console, palm up, ready for her if she changed her mind. “Want me to tell you who’s who, so it feels less impersonal?”

“Sure.”

Wanting to eat up time, I gave a longer explanation than necessary. “Sierra is the military phonetic for the letter S.”

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