Off the Grid Read online

  “You’re right, but that’s because my guys are trained. They are some of the most elite operatives in the world. You are a reporter!”

  “I trust you and whoever you are talking to on the phone to protect me.”

  He didn’t deserve or want that kind of trust. “It’s not going to happen, Brit.”

  “If I were anyone else, you wouldn’t be acting like this. You are letting your personal feelings blind you to what needs to be done. This isn’t just about you; it’s about the other survivors as well.”

  She was right about his personal feelings. She was Brand’s sister; he’d promised to look out for her, and using her as bait sure as hell didn’t qualify.

  But he knew that wasn’t all of it.

  “I want to do this, John. Not just for me or you or your teammates, but for Brandon. If there is a way I can find out who is responsible for his death, I have to do it. You can see that, can’t you?”

  No. He wasn’t seeing anything right now except her lying in a pool of blood, and that sure as hell wasn’t going to happen. He was breaking into a cold sweat just thinking about it.

  But he wasn’t as deaf or blind to her argument as he wanted to be. She was right. If it were anyone else, he might consider it. But it wasn’t anyone else. It was her, and she was . . .

  Fuck.

  She must have seen the slight opening and gone in for the kill. “Call the guy you are always talking to on the phone. See what he says. If he thinks it’s a good idea, we go forward.”

  “No.”

  “John, you are being—”

  He cut her off. “If he thinks it’s a good idea, I’ll consider it. But only if I can be sure that nothing can go wrong.”

  But he knew that was impossible. Something always went wrong.

  Twenty

  John stared down at the clouds from the airplane’s small window and wondered what the hell he was doing. How had he let them talk him into this?

  He hadn’t slept the entire eight-hour flight from Copenhagen into Toronto. He was too on edge, and his head was spinning.

  He wasn’t thinking about his travel documents (they should hold up) or about sneaking across the porous Canadian border into the US (which was almost child’s play with his training), or even about returning to Washington, DC, where he’d spent enough time to know exactly how dangerous it would be for him to be there.

  He was thinking about the promise he’d made to Brand if anything were to happen to him. Somehow John didn’t think using his sister as bait qualified as watching out for her. He didn’t want to think about the earlier “stay away from her” promise he’d already broken.

  Twice. Pretty spectacularly.

  He looked down at the head resting against his shoulder and felt something inside his chest hitch right up to his throat. He’d probably break that promise a third time, as it seemed he had no control when it came to the woman sleeping like a baby without a care in the world next to him.

  Brittany was putting way too much trust in him, and it was making him uneasy. Despite his joking to the contrary, he wasn’t Superman. He didn’t have any special powers. If something went wrong, there was no guarantee he’d be able to keep her safe.

  The now-familiar knot of fear twisted in his gut again. He’d be lucky if he came out of this little op with just an ulcer.

  Him. The guy with no cares in the world and who never let anything get to him. An ulcer. The world had turned upside down. Or rather, his world had turned upside down since Brittany had walked into that bar.

  She made a small sound of contentment in her sleep and shifted against him. He felt a wave of something powerful crash over him, dragging him down a black hole he wasn’t sure he could pull out of—even if he wanted to.

  He was in trouble. He’d let himself get too close. He cared too much.

  Which made him something he’d never been in his life: unsure of himself. In other words, exactly the opposite of how he usually was when heading into an op.

  This wasn’t good; it wasn’t good at all.

  Brittany shifted again, waking up this time when the flight attendant call buttons chimed and the pilot came on to announce their initial descent.

  The instant smile on her face when she looked at him only increased the unease gnawing in his gut. He should have ended it when he’d had the chance, letting her think he’d slept with someone at the bar. But he hadn’t been able to make himself do it. Not this time.

  “Did you sleep at all?” she asked.

  “A little.”

  She gave him a frown that told him she knew he was lying. “I thought you said it was going to be a long day when we got there and we needed sleep.” It was true; his mind just hadn’t cooperated. “Are you still mad at me?”

  “I’m not mad at you.” He wasn’t. He was mad at himself for agreeing to this.

  Brittany smiled. “Not even for ganging up on you?”

  John should have known better than to run it by the LC. Taylor thought using Brittany to trap the people who were after her—and possibly therefore connected to what happened to them—was a great idea. In fact, he’d been pissed that he hadn’t thought of it himself.

  “I’m worried, Brit. Not angry.”

  “I didn’t think you got worried.”

  He didn’t. Except apparently when it came to her. “Yeah, well, I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

  They didn’t even have a fully formed plan. The LC said he was still getting everything in place. John’s job was to get them both to Washington, DC. Taylor would see them there and fill John in on the rest then.

  He wasn’t all that surprised to learn that the LC would be meeting them in DC. John didn’t know where the other survivors had scattered for operational security reasons. But he’d suspected Taylor was in the US. Maybe even in DC, tracking down leads.

  When the wheels hit the ground in Canada, John’s twitchiness only got worse. He was back on the grid and the clock was ticking. He just hoped to hell time didn’t run out.

  For both of them.

  * * *

  • • •

  Brittany was glad for every hour of sleep she’d gotten on that plane. By the time she opened the door to the big conference hotel John had picked near Dulles Airport, she felt as if she’d been on every mode of transportation between DC and Toronto for the past fifteen hours, including a boat, a train, a bus, a couple of taxis, and a pair of very tired feet that had walked more miles than she wanted to count.

  It had been an adventure, all right, and she was exhausted. She wished she could have gone back to her apartment, but that was out of the question until John and whoever he was working with made sure it was safe.

  She took a nice long bath—for real this time, as she was too tired to work—while John made a call. He was still on the phone, talking in muffled monosyllables, when she came back into the room, dragging a comb through her still damp hair. He glanced over, taking in her borrowed terry robe and slippers with an amused grin. Hey, that was what they were there for. And they were comfy.

  She sat on the edge of the bed while he finished, only half-listening. She knew he wasn’t going to say anything that he didn’t want her to hear. He would have left the room to make the call otherwise. He’d fill her in later on what he thought she needed to know, which probably wasn’t anything close to what she wanted to know.

  She’d finished combing her hair and started to put lotion on her legs when he ended the call. He was staring at her legs with an unmistakable gleam in his eye, which sent a tickle of warmth running up her thighs.

  “You’re distracting,” he said accusingly.

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “Depends on how tired you are.”

  “I’m pretty tired.”

  “Then bad.”

  She smiled. “You gonna fill me in on