Way of the Warrior (Troubleshooters #17.5)(59)

He breathed deep and glanced at her, gaze hard, face blank. “It’ll only take one.”

She didn’t know what to make of that. General Arbor was the first step, not the last. “Do you know something I don’t?”

His lips curved, and his face warmed. “Nobody knows more than you, Vivi. That’s what Michael always said. He showed me your picture once.”

She cocked her head. “I hope it was a good one.”

That panty-dropping smile was back in place, and she actually took a step toward him.

“You were wearing a teeny-tiny red bikini.” He licked his lips. Vivi went liquid. “I never knew red was my favorite color.”

Desire curled low in her body, loosening her muscles and flowing through her like a luxurious wave. “Maybe I’ll wear it for you one day.”

She wanted to slap her hand over her mouth. What the hell?

“Goddamn, I hope so.”

Four words and he stole her heart. It was insanity. Along with all the intelligence her brother had lauded her for, all the stubbornness he bemoaned, Vivi was an all-in kinda gal. And in the space of nine hours, she’d gone all in with Rook Granger.

She hoped so, too. She really hoped she got to spend some time with SFC Rook Granger, either with or without the teeny-tiny red bikini.

“Wish I knew what was going on in that brain of yours.” He tapped her nose. “But we need to move.”

She nodded, shoving down her desires and forcing herself into business mode.

“You’ll take my flank. I go in first. Watch for my signal before you make entrance,” he said.

“Got it. Um, Rook?”

He had turned away from her, grabbing up the backpack she’d brought for him. “Yeah?”

“What do you think I’d have to do to become a full-fledged CIA field operative?”

He shrugged those massive shoulders, but a grin played about his lips. “I don’t know. Get shot or some crazy shit like that?”

She nodded and bit her lip. He turned away.

“Um, Rook? One more thing?”

He stopped and looked at her over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“What’s the signal?”

“You’ll know,” he told her before he took off in the direction of General Arbor’s place.

“Great,” she muttered as she watched him disappear into the copse of cedars at the edge of the clearing where she’d parked.

It took them thirty minutes instead of the fifteen she’d prepped for. The heavy snow, wind, and darkness took their toll on her pretty quickly, so when Rook raised his fist in the air, she was grateful for the reprieve.

Ahead of them was a lone cabin, no lights, only the occasional moonbeam dancing between the towering trees and shadows. Something stirred to her right, and she pulled her pistol, training it on the spot before she noticed it was just a low-hanging branch.

She glanced back to where she’d last seen Rook, sifting through the darkness but only finding more darkness. Fear tripped through her belly, knocking her heart like a pinball against her ribs. The silence was deafening, not even the shushing fall of snow on top of more snow could be heard.

A twig snapped, and she turned in a circle, searching for the source. Muted footfalls echoed, then complete quiet.

“Turn around, Ms. Bentwood.”

She knew that voice. Had spoken to the man just yesterday, outlining her plans. All except for coming to Warrenton. That she’d told no one except the man in Washington.

She searched the shadows once more, seeing no sign of Rook. They’d not made a contingency plan, though she had no doubt he’d be fine on his own.

Vivi, however, was toast. She raised her hands, knowing before she turned there was a gun held on her.

“Brigadier General Johansen,” she said aloud, hearing her voice echo back to her.

To her left, lights speared the darkness.

“Tell him to come out,” Johansen bit out.

He pushed the barrel of the gun against her cheek.

Johansen had once been a fine-looking man. Nearing fifty, he still had the regal bearing of a soldier, but his face was lined now. Stress and regret carved a map in harsh relief on his handsome features.

“Don’t try me, Ms. Bentwood.”

“I didn’t have you pegged as a traitor, Brigadier General.”

He pressed harder, and Vivi wanted to beg him to remove the gun. The cold of the barrel against her face was like acid.

“I’m no goddamn traitor!” Spittle lined his lips, some of it landing on Vivi’s cheek. Disgust curled through her then. She’d played right into his hands.

“Who’s pulling your strings?” she asked, not bothering to veil her rage. She was shaking. Not with cold but with a volcanic anger.

“Have him come out, Ms. Bentwood,” he said again. In his voice was the promise of something really bad should she not obey.

Vivi had known the price she might pay. Her brother had been worth it. Then she’d looked into Rook Granger’s pitch-black eyes, and he’d become worth it. So Vivi straightened her shoulders, tipped her head back in spite of the gun digging into her cheek and she said two words, “Run, Rook!”

Johansen’s face hardened though his eyes widened in what Vivi imagined was disbelief. She saw his hand rise, felt the barrel of his weapon leave her cheek, heard the sharp report of a weapon discharging, winced as the hot slide of a bullet kissed her neck, and then…darkness.