Page 84 of Hot Intent

Stunned at the power of it, he stared down at the contours of Katie’s covered face. As he watched, a small circle of wetness appeared in the center of Katie’s forehead, darkening the gray cotton.

Dammit. That came from him, not her.

Swearing, he pushed away from her and rolled out of bed, swiping at his eyes. He did not cry. Not for her. Not for himself. Not ever.

He stormed into the bathroom and ran himself a steaming hot shower. It pounded his flesh into gelatin but did nothing to soothe the fury tearing apart his heart. Nothing could soothe it.

When he came out of the bathroom, Katie was dressed and curled up in a chair, going through the motions of reading a book on her cell phone.

Devastated at how easily she’d apparently disengaged from the overwhelming emotional power of their lovemaking, he pulled out his laptop and read up some more on the drug he’d been given.

So much about the end of his Cuba mission made sense now. The fog of terror, the extreme measures he’d taken to hide and to escape Katie—he’d been flailing in an artificially induced paranoid state. He hadn’t been losing his mind, after all.

Small comfort, that.

Thing was, the CCRE was well clear of his system by now. Any paranoia or suspicion he was currently experiencing was wholly his own. His doubts about Katie were not drug induced. None of it was drug induced.

Absently, he fiddled with the flash drive he’d brought out of Cuba. The one holding all the evidence of the chemical weapons secretly stored in Cuba.

“Oh my God!” Katie exclaimed without warning. “Is that what I think it is?”

He jammed the drive back in his pocket. “Depends on what you think it is.”

“Is that your pictures from Cuba? Did you mange to run the samples we got from that bunker? Are the results on that drive, too?”

“It’s nothing,” he lied. “Just some personal information I’ll need to set up a new identity.”

“Bull,” she retorted bluntly. “That’s the evidence of the Sarin.”

He didn’t bother denying it. She knew him too well for him to successfully lie to her.

She demanded, “Why do you still have it? Weren’t you supposed to hand that over to André?” She paused, but then continued in a breathless rush, “Are you using that as insurance to make your escape?” She didn’t even stop for him to answer. “How could you? We were supposed to give that to André. It’s vitally important to America’s national security that he get it!”

“Are you done?” he snapped.

“No, I’m not. No wonder everyone and their uncle is running around trying to catch or kill us. You need to send that to André immediately. He can clear up this whole mess if you let him. Do your job. Show you’re a good agent and can be relied upon. I’m sure that’s all it will take for the dogs to be called off.”

“Hah,” he retorted. “For all we know, the only reason the dogs haven’t already killed us is because of this flash drive. If I hand it over, they may blow us to smithereens.”

“You told André you’d get him the proof,” she accused.

“No, you told him that.”

She opened her mouth, but shut it again as it obviously dawned on her that he was right.

“There’s actually a good argument to be made for destroying this evidence,” he said thoughtfully.

“That sounds like your father talking.”

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. My father is not always wrong. If what’s on this drive were to come to light, a massive international crisis on the scale of the Cuban Missile Crisis would likely follow. Do you have absolute faith your government to do the reasonable thing and save the world this time around?”

She got a stubborn look on her face.

He added, “Even if you do trust your own government, do you trust the Russian government to get it right? Do you see the current regime backing down meekly and removing the chemicals from Cuba?”

That made her wince.

“My point, exactly. I think the best thing to do is destroy the drive.”

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