Page 11 of Going Rogue
She scoffed at that. “I never do.”
This time, he let her go when she climbed over the seat. If they had a tail, the only solution was to get rid of it. Or their elaborate escape would’ve been for naught. That fact didn’t help ease the rock his gut had turned into. He hoped like hell those fuckers couldn’t drive and shoot at the same time. One stray bullet and . ..
Crane stopped those thoughts in their tracks. Whatever the hell was going on with him, he’d examine later. Now, the priority had to be getting to safety. They couldn’t exactly take the road, so he cut across the desert in the direction he knew as north—toward TOP’s safehouse. The speedometer read 50 despite the pedal being all the way to the floor.
“Come on, baby. You’ve got more than this.” He stroked the dash. “It’s okay, you can show off for me.”
Rogue heard his crooning because she didn’t miss the chance to tease him. “Are you sweet-talking the Humvee?” Her chuckle tightened his stomach muscles as if she’d caressed him there. “I’m pretty sure it’s a dude.”
She hadn’t started shooting yet, and he began to wonder if something was wrong with the equipment, but he said, “Doesn’t mean he won’t like being called ‘baby.’”
She snorted, then let out a shout filled with disturbing glee. Clearly, whatever the hang-up had been, she’d fixed it. “Time to pay, assholes.”
The rapid report of the machine gun drowned out the noise of the engine as Rogue aimed at the two dirt bikes following them. He didn’t know how much ammo she had up there but hoped it would be enough.
Through the windshield, darkness encased them, split only by the tunnel carved from the Humvee’s headlights. So when a flash from the side-view mirror drew his eye, Crane paid attention. The light proved too dim to see what had happened, but only a single beam bounced in the reflection. Rogue had gotten one.
Nice shooting, baby.
The unbidden use of the endearment made him frown. Since when did he call Rogue ‘baby’? She’d probably slug him if he tried it out loud. Distracted, they hit a pothole, and her ass bounced into his face along with a stream of curses.
He gripped her right cheek, ostensibly to push her out of the way but really to take advantage of the unintentional opportunity to feel those curves.
“Dammit, Crane!” The shout came before she righted herself, smacking his hand away. “I’m almost out of ammo. Keep it steady.”
“Kind of hard to avoid potholes in the dark,” he mumbled with a grin she couldn’t see.
The sound of the machine gun firing sobered him up. He needed to focus on the task at hand, not think about what he wanted to do with Rogue’s backside.
Down boy.Shifting in his seat, he willed his dick to behave. The relief-charged adrenaline filtering through his veins wasn’t helping.
The militants’ compound had been around eighty miles from Baghdad, which meant they could be to the safehouse outside Al Asad within a couple of hours. If they were lucky, the rest of the team would still be there.
Rogue dropped into the seat next to him with a satisfied gleam in her eyes. “Tangoes eliminated.”
He smiled in response. They were one step closer to getting the hell out of this country. The rock in his gut felt lighter until his eye landed on another problem.
Staring at the reading on the dashboard,it sank like a stone, heavy enough to drag all hope down with it.
With a glance at Rogue’s profile, Crane uttered five words capable of turning their clean escape into an easy recapture. “We’re running out of gas.”
CHAPTER 5
Rogue
“I’m not in the mood for jokes.” Even though Rogue wanted those words to be filled with exasperation, they came out hesitant. Because something in Crane’s tone had told her he wasn’t kidding.
Theywererunning out of gas.
He didn’t respond, but the rigid set of his jaw meant they were in trouble.
Swallowing down the dread rushing up her throat, she asked in a voice she hardly recognized, “How long?”
“At this rate?” His laugh lacked any humor. “Maybe we’ll get a couple more miles.”
Not good.
They hadn’t gone nearly far enough away from the militants’ camp to be comfortable. The fear she’d successfully battled all day threatened to overwhelm her when a fresh tide swamped her. Fighting against its tug, she clenched her hands into fists on her lap. “I won’t go back there.” Her quiet statement was both a promise and a plea.
