Off the Grid Read online

  “A few more minutes. It took me more than two hours to pack to come here. You can’t expect me to do this in a few minutes. I don’t want to forget anything.”

  “We can always buy something if you need it.”

  “My credit cards are already maxed out after the last-minute trip to get here.”

  Which meant he was pretty damned sure she wasn’t going to like what he wanted her to do before they went to the freight office to send her bag to her apartment.

  “Change my ticket to the next flight?” she repeated, aghast. “Do you have any idea how expensive that is going to be?”

  “I’d pay with cash, but I don’t want to draw attention to anything.” He had a clean credit card in the name of his fake passport, but he avoided using it unless he had to. “We want anyone tracking you to think you and your bag hightailed it home.” He paused. “And your phone, too.”

  If he thought downsizing the luggage or the five hundred dollars to change to the next flight were bad, her reaction at the thought of sending her phone in her luggage was even worse.

  Millennials and their attachments to their devices. John didn’t get it. He wasn’t into smartphones or “i” anything. He probably wouldn’t have a cell phone at all if it weren’t necessary.

  He didn’t like being so . . . accessible.

  Social media of any type went into the same basket. It wasn’t just the job or that he was intensely private—both of which were true—he just didn’t think it was a good idea to have even seemingly innocuous information out there for anyone to see. If he wanted someone to know something about him, he’d tell them. Face-to-face. Not over a medium where God only knew who else could see it.

  “Do you have a laptop or tablet?”

  She shook her head. “No. I didn’t bring it with me.” She glared at him. “I was traveling light.”

  He laughed.

  She must have recognized that his plan had merit because she only put up a feeble protest before dropping her phone into the inside pocket of her suitcase and zipping it up. From her mournful expression, you would have thought someone had died as she watched the freight agent put the bag on the belt to disappear behind the black rubber curtain.

  With her backpack and duffel in tow, they left the airport and followed the sidewalk walkway to the train station. Careful to avoid cameras as much as possible, John retrieved his bag from a storage locker and paid for two tickets on the night train to Stockholm in cash.

  Last-minute train fares weren’t much cheaper than last-minute air fares, but the agent didn’t balk as the wad of Danish kroner passed under the glass.

  After a short train ride to Åre in Sweden, they caught the main line to Stockholm. Despite being exhausted, neither of them slept much on the seven-hour journey. Nor did they sleep much more over the next twelve hours as they zigzagged their way across Norway and Sweden before finally arriving in Copenhagen, Denmark, that night.

  John had been too amped to sleep. Too watchful. He wouldn’t be able to relax until they were safe.

  Brittany must have been feeling the same. But once or twice she’d relaxed enough to close her eyes, and somehow her head made its way to his shoulder.

  He resisted the urge to put his arm around her and draw her in closer. Mostly because he didn’t want to disturb her. But also because he feared how much it would disturb him and his certainty about what this was about.

  He caught himself looking down at the dark head and soft cheek resting on his arm a few times, but the resulting tight squeezing in his chest made him stop.

  She just looked so damned peaceful and sweet. And the responsibility of protecting her seemed almost overwhelming. He wasn’t intimidated by much, but this . . .

  This was different.

  He hadn’t been able to save his friend, but John swore that he would do whatever it took to keep Brittany safe.

  Even from himself.

  Eleven

  Colt had always known how to keep her guessing. When they’d first met, it had taken Kate months of sporadic dates—and very hot sex sessions—to figure out that he wasn’t as indifferent to her as he appeared. In those early days, every time he left, whether it was in the wee hours of the morning after a wild night or on a deployment, she didn’t know if she would ever see him again.

  Today was no different. She wasn’t sure he would show up until she saw him sauntering down the aisle toward her a few minutes before the gate closed.

  He was always cutting it close. It had driven her crazy when they were married. She liked to leave plenty of time. Case in point, she’d arrived at six a.m. for their eight a.m. flight this morning.

  She’d delayed this trip as long as she could with the excuse that the admiral couldn’t see them. But the clock was ticking on the week Colt had given her, and she knew she couldn’t put it off anymore.

  They planned to fly back on the red-eye to DC later that evening, so he hadn’t brought a bag and didn’t need to shove anything in the overhead before plopping down in the aisle seat beside her. Just like that the oxygen around her was gone. His size—his sheer physicality—had always overwhelmed her.

  The flight attendant immediately came by to ask him what he wanted to drink. Proving his continued appeal to the opposite sex, she gave him a lingering smile and an unabashed look of interest, which he ignored. Kate knew it wasn’t for her benefit. It was just the way he was. He didn’t flirt. He didn’t play games. If he wanted a woman, he would make the first move.

  But maybe he had changed a little. The old Colt would have ordered a Bloody Mary after a long night at the bar, but he just asked for water.

  He stretched his legs out in front of him. “Nice seats. As I’m sure Uncle Sam didn’t spring for this, Lord Percy must be treating you right.” He paused to look at her. “I’m just surprised that I’m not sitting in the last row rather than the first.”

  He knew very well that she didn’t need Percy’s money, and the jibe about him being a lord wasn’t funny the first time. Colt was just trying to make Percy seem stuffy and pompous, which he wasn’t. Usually. “If you’d rather, I’m sure someone would be happy to switch. You were doing a favor for me, so I thought I’d try to make it as pleasant for you as possible. But if you want to sit somewhere else, please don’t let me stop you.”

  She turned to look out the small window, studying with fierce intensity the guys loading the luggage into the plane next to theirs. Her heart was pounding hard in her chest. How could he still get her so angry so quickly?

  “Hey.” He put his hand on her arm. She was so surprised by his touch that she flinched. He removed it immediately. “I shouldn’t have said that. Thanks for the seats. It’s a hell of a lot more comfortable up here than it is in steerage.”

  That hurt more than it should. Her heart squeezed. Steerage had been an inside joke between them. It had started on their honeymoon, when her godfather had lent them his private plane. Colt had had only a couple days off, and it had enabled them to eke out as much time as possible in Cabo.

  On boarding Colt had taken one look around at the luxurious leather bucket seats and shiny wood and quipped, “I’m going to have a hell of a time going back to steerage after this, Kiki.” They’d done one of those “what’s your stripper name?” games, and guess what hers came out to be? “The manner I’ve grown accustomed to has just gotten a little pricier for you in a divorce.”

  It had been funny then. But maybe joking about divorce on their honeymoon had said a lot more than she realized. He was already setting them up for the fall.

  Ironically, as much as he’d given her a hard time about “steerage” and the lifestyle in which she’d been raised, he hadn’t wanted a penny of her money in the divorce.

  Her godfather had been furious when she’d married Colt without a prenup. But she’d been right: she hadn’t needed one.

  Of course, she’d