Page 8 of Going Rogue
At least the adrenaline pumping through his body heightened his senses. While he strained to listen for threats, her sweetly spicy fragrance overpowered any other scent.
Trying his best to ignore it, Crane gripped the Ka-Bar in his palm even tighter. If they were about to have company, he wanted to deal with it as quietly as possible, or they’d be well and truly fucked.
Seconds passed with nothing except the hammering of his pulse in his ears.
We should move.
Rogue had to be getting restless, but some instinct froze him in place.
One breath.
Two.
Then, a heated discussion between two men in Arabic reached them. It grew louder the closer the militants came to their position.
The men argued about the fertilizer and were likely on their way to check the area by the cargo container it had been transported in. Another heartbeat, and they drew closer. Crane felt Rogue’s sharp intake of breath andshifted his feet into a better fighting stance.
They were going to be in a lot of shit when the militants found most of the fertilizer gone . . . unless he took out these fuckers before they realized.
Ready to do it, Crane eased his hold on Rogue, trusting she’d stay put.
Big fucking mistake.
As soon as he no longer restrained her, she took off, darting between containers like a cat. His bowels seized as if he was about to shit a brick. Cursing, he kept his eyes trained on her shadow, tracking her as the militants walked past his position, but he couldn’t do anything about them now. He had no choice but to follow Rogue or lose her in the dark.
Anger rose to match the fear she’d triggered in him. The rapid rise and fall of his chest didn’t ease when he reached her. Gripping her elbow, he growled in her ear. “What the hell are you doing? I was going to take out those tangoes.”
She jerked her arm away with a grunt. “Putting our plan in motion. We don’t have time to waste.”
When he thought she’d take off again, she turned and gripped his forearm. “We’re going to have to split up. I’ll take what we planted on the western half of the compound. You take the east. We meet at the truck.”
In reflex, a protest started up his throat, but he swallowed it because it had become their only option now that the militants were about to discover what they’d done. But damned if the thought of letting her go it alone didn’t break him out in cold sweats.
Something suspiciously like panic crept up his back as he worked to unclench his jaw.Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
Right now was not the time to lose his shit. Too much was at stake. “Rogue . . .”
God, he wanted to kiss her, hold her, never let her out of his sight.
Instead, he settled for a quick embrace. With his arms around her, it became even harder to let go.
But he had to.
Kissing the top of her head, he released her with a stern demand. “Don’t die.”
He caught a flash of her bright teeth. Then she said, “You either.”
Before she could leave him there with his chest gaping open, he stopped her. “Wait.” Taking off his tactical vest, he placed it in her hands. “Wear this.” It would be a little big but better than sending her out there—alone—with no protection.
He could sense her consternation. “But what about you?”
When she made no move to put on the bulletproof vest, he helped her into it. “You wear it or we’re not separating.”
“But—”
As his fingers fastened the straps, he cut her off, “I’ll be fine. And this way, I’m not distracted worrying about you.”
At his admission, she didn’t say anything else in protest. When he’d secured the vest as tight as it would go, she squeezed his hand before melting into the night.
