Page 12 of It's Always Been You

He reached a haphazardly parked Audi. Two men were down with bullet holes in their head. Sarah was standing over another man whose nose was clearly broken. She had a gun pointed at him. The man had an outstretched arm begging her to let him live, but she was staring down at him with an expression so lifeless that it raised goose bumps on his skin.

“Sarah?”

The gun shifted to him.Shit.

“She’s crazy, man. She’s fucking crazy,” the man on the ground said.

Her pupils were dilated.What the fuck?

“Sarah? Babe, it’s me. Travis.” Fuck. That was really stupid. She didn’t fucking know him. The hand on the gun tightened.

“Caitlin.” Her eyes blinked.That’s it.

“Caitlin. Give me the gun, babe.” Travis inched closer and spotted Nate making his move behind her. The finger on the trigger squeezed just as Nate knocked her arm upward and wrestled her to the ground.

“Don’t hurt her!” Travis yelled.

Nate grunted as Sarah landed an elbow into his gut. Shespun her legs in an upward scissor, the momentum bringing her back to her feet. When had she become Bruce Lee?

She came right at him. Her fist flying out so fast, he barely had time to dodge the blow. He came up under her and had her in a sleeper hold. She struggled. Damn, she was strong.

Too strong, Travis noted grimly.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Travis whispered as her struggles diminished with the reduced blood supply to her brain. He noted belatedly that Nate had gone after the man with the broken nose. Security swarmed around them as Sarah finally succumbed to his stranglehold.

Travis swept her up in his arms and marched back to the embassy.

“You’re so beautiful, sunshine girl.”

“Keep that thing away from me.”

“Sex hair. You look thoroughly fucked.”

Laughter.

“I love you, Sarah.”

Caitlin opened her eyes. That was new. The recurring dream always ended with the laughter. In the dream she was in bed, a rumpled white sheet partially covering her nakedness. The window was open, an ocean breeze fluttering the gauzy drapes. A face was blurry and blocked mostly by a smartphone taking pictures of her. Travis. It was his voice. Either the dream was a memory or a complete figment of her subconscious.

Her eyes took in where she was. She had woken up earlier, disoriented and a bit panicked. A soothing baritone voice coaxed her to take some water and, she suspected, a sedative. She always roused alert, this grogginess was drug-induced.

She blacked out and probably scared the shit out of everyone. The embassy wouldn’t want to protect an unstableperson. Dangerous. Liability. She wouldn’t be surprised if Travis Blake hightailed it out of Berlin and figured the best recourse was to let the dead stay buried. Only Jase knew how to talk her down from losing control, which was why when they were being pursued by assassins, she was herself.

A voice floated in from the outside room. Caitlin frowned and appraised where she was. This was not a typical budget hotel. Luxurious beddings surrounding her in such opulent warmth, she loathed to emerge from its depths. The walls were Italian plaster that was finished with a damask stencil; the room was five-star deluxe all the way.

She reluctantly swung her legs to the floor. Her limbs were bare. She was in her underwear.What the hell?

Caitlin was no prude, but getting undressed by a stranger was still mortifying. She had to admit that it was probably to make her feel comfortable. She tamped back her indignation and decided to suck it up and be grateful to whoever put her into bed.

She padded to the closet. A hotel of this caliber should have a robe. Finding one, she wrapped her aching body in plush terry cotton. Her muscles were always sore after an episode, although she wouldn’t put it past whoever subdued her to use justifiable force. Neither her jaw nor head hurt, but her throat was a bit tender. Blood choke.

She opened the door and immediately spied Travis Blake standing by the window with a phone to his ear. He immediately turned to face her and ended his call. He was barefoot, his long legs encased in worn jeans, and a white undershirt outlined an impressive upper body. Her eyes tracked past his neck, the firm lips, the high-bridged manly nose, until finally, she was arrested by piercing sapphire blue eyes. Her mouth went dry as she felt the magnetic pull of pure masculine sex on a stick.

What the hell was wrong with her? Even if Jase lied to her, he was her man until three days ago or three months ago,depending how she defined their relationship.And Travis is your husband, a righteous voice nagged her.

“How are you feeling?”

Standard question.

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