Long Road Home(41)

She crawled over the seat again and leaned into the back where their bags were. She dug around until she found a T-shirt then shimmied her way to the front seat.

“Got your knife?” she asked.

He sighed. He gripped the steering wheel with his injured arm and dug into his pocket with his left hand.

“It’s just a scratch.”

She flipped open the knife, not responding to his protest. She cut the T-shirt into long strips then tossed the knife onto the floorboard.

With one of the strips, she wiped gently at the blood and inspected the two-inch crease that marred the skin halfway between his elbow and his shoulder.

“It really needs stitches.”

He snorted as he checked his mirrors.

“Did anyone follow us?”

He shook his head. “Nothing suspicious yet. It’s several more miles to the airport.”

His grunted when she tied one of the strips around his arm and tugged on the ends to make sure it was tight.

“Get my phone,” he said. “I’m going to call Tony and tell him to have that damn pilot in the plane and ready to go when we get there. I don’t want to be a sitting duck at some podunk airstrip.”

She handed him the phone and sat back in her seat. As her adrenaline rush wore off, she began to shake. The more she tried to stop, the more she quivered.

Manny could have been killed.

She wanted to call Northstar and ask him what the hell he was trying to pull. He wanted her to complete a mission and yet he had people taking shots at her. The bastard was holding Manny over her head. He had to know if Manny was killed, she’d never agree to anything he asked.

Unless it had all been a warning. A clear message to her that Northstar could find her no matter where she went, even without the tracking device. He was watching her, and if she tried to renege on her agreement, Manny would die.

She closed her eyes and tried to control the mad shaking.

“Damn it, Jules, I said I was all right,” Manny said in exasperation.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, sure her heart was hanging on her sleeve, dangling by a thread.

“Don’t you see, Manny? Don’t you see why you can’t be around me? Do you have any idea what I’d do if you were killed?”

He swore crudely. “I swear, Jules, if you don’t stop being so f**king pig-headed, I’m going to tan your ass. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself. I’ve been shot at, nearly blown up, had my brains scrambled more times than I can count. This isn’t anything new and nothing I can’t handle. If you put yourself in the kind of danger you just put yourself in back there one more time, you aren’t going to have to worry about the NFR, because I’m going to make them look like a group of preschoolers. Are we clear on that?”

She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. And it only served to piss him off further. His scowl deepened.

Her laughter gave way to the rise of hysteria, and suddenly she found herself unable to stop. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, and still she laughed harder, a desperate edge to the sound.

Manny sighed, extended his injured arm across the seat and curled his hand over hers. “I’m okay.”

His voice lost the harsh anger, and it made her shake all the more. He withdrew his hand and moved it over her shoulder, rubbing up and down her back in a soothing motion.

Manuel gripped the steering wheel with his left hand until his knuckles whitened. How the hell had they been found this time? But it was clear Jules had pissed off the wrong people, and they weren’t going to just let her go. And he couldn’t offer her the help or the protection of the CIA. She was a terrorist, for Christ’s sake. Unwilling or not, Uncle Sam wouldn’t care. Capturing a member of the NFR would be a huge coup.

She made a small sound beside him, and he pulled her against his side, wincing when his arm protested. She huddled against him, and he vowed that no matter what it took, he was going to protect her.

“How much further?”

“We’re in town now. Tony said it was only about five minutes from Paris.”

She nodded against him and relaxed. He continued to stroke her hair as he navigated through traffic, ignoring the pain in his arm.

Several minutes later, they pulled onto a dusty county road and drove up to a hangar that resembled a metal barn. A man hopped out of a small jet and waved his arms in the air.

“You Manuel Ramirez?” he shouted over the drone of the engine.

Manuel nodded, and held out a hand to help Jules from the SUV. “I’ll get our bags, you get on the plane.”

She shook her head. “I’ll get the bags. You’re hurt.”

He growled in frustration. “Get your ass on the plane, Jules. I’ll get our stuff.”

She set her lips firmly together, but must have realized they were open targets standing next to the SUV, so she jogged over to the plane. The pilot opened the door and helped her up.

Manuel reached into the back and collected the two bags then hurried over to the plane. He climbed in beside Jules, and the pilot taxied down the paved runway.

He breathed a sigh of relief when the plane took to the air, and he relaxed in the seat. “Are you hurting?” Jules asked.

He shifted so he turned in her direction. “Not nearly as much as I’d be hurting if you’d gotten yourself shot.”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “Then why can’t you see that I feel the same way about you?”