Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
If she wasn’t around, maybe I had a hope of focusing on what I’d come here to do.
Thank fuck she listened.
“Where is she?” Giovanni asked, watching the path, waiting for Olivia.
“She didn’t look too good. She might have gotten sick,” I lied.
He waved the statement away. “She’ll be all right.”
It was surprising that she had seemed all right. No screams, no tears. I’d seen plenty over the years to recognize her reaction was different. The shooting had been traumatic, but not traumatizing for her.
Had she seen death up close before?
I reminded myself of my objective for the millionth time. Giovanni had yet to meet with anyone, or discuss times and locations, but the logical voice in my head would not be quiet. I needed to stick closer to him and stay far away from her.
It didn’t fucking help that the Italian man’s gaze was permanently fixed in the direction of her cabin. He salivated like a dog after a bone.
Hopefully, the encounter with the poachers had clued Olivia in. She was not equipped to handle Giovanni like she claimed she was.
“Go fetch her,” he snapped, tired of waiting.
Shit. “Of course. Perhaps . . .” I hesitated. “Never mind.” I shoved back my chair.
He took the bait. “What is it?”
“Maybe you should wait. The violence might have left her cold.” I received a blank look. For as classy as he thought he was, the man couldn’t understand a goddamn thing unless it was crude. “After watching that man die, I don’t think she’s going to spread her legs for you tonight.”
He looked smug. “Death can be an aphrodisiac.”
My fist tightened into a ball, willing the dark thoughts away. The mission, my brain reminded. Focus. You are not responsible for protecting Olivia Wallace.
I’d only taken a step away from the table when he spoke again.
“You’re probably right, though. Sit. I don’t need that American bitch colder than she already is. I can try romance.”
The relief that seized me was too strong to ignore. It was only because I didn’t want the added complication. It had nothing to do with her mouth, or the things she said, or the way she tried to dominate our every kiss. Jesus, kissing her . . .
Stop thinking about it.
Giovanni constantly checked his phone throughout dinner, stopping once to type out a response, then tossed the phone down with a curse.
“Something wrong?”
“My father,” he said. “When I didn’t answer him on my mobile last night, he called the main lodge. He wants me back in Rome immediately.”
I knew not to push. He liked talking about himself, so there was no need to prompt him.
“Something has happened,” he continued.
Beneath the surface, my heart kicked. Had Vitale discovered Constantine’s fate? “The plane is fueled, if you—”
“No,” he snapped, then calmed. “I need at least another day. I . . . just got here.”
He’d already satisfied his urge for blood with the poacher, and he wouldn’t disobey Vitale’s order to return home unless he had a good reason. More proof this trip wasn’t about the safari.
When dinner was over, I escorted him along the dark path, lined with bushy trees.
“Can I get you anything?” I asked.
He waved a hand, a clear go away. “No, I’m tired. I’ll see you in the morning.”
The door banged closed in my face. Rather than be annoyed, I checked to see if the sensor I’d placed in the door hinge was still hidden. It was. And I knew it was operating because my phone had vibrated as soon as I’d pulled open the door.
If Giovanni had plans of slipping out without me knowing—too bad.
I spent the next hour in my cabin scanning the recording of the listening device I’d placed in Giovanni’s room, and then reported in with my handler, Daniel. Neither activity was useful. No one in my field office knew why Vitale wanted his son to come home. How many ops had I gone unsupported on now?
It felt like all of them.
The pressure to find the terrorist cell’s connection to the Abramos built with every passing day. We were only a month from the anniversary of the radical Serbian group’s last attack. The terrorists were going to want to make another statement, and most likely with a higher body count this time. Tomorrow, I’d redouble my efforts. I’d do everything possible to show Giovanni I could be trusted.
There was an email in one of my dummy accounts from Jason Dunn. The marshal wanted me to know I had an invitation to Shawn and Kara’s wedding, but Jason needed an address to send it. The invitations were coded, and security would be tight. With everything that had happened, the Dunns needed to take precautions.
My worries concerning the Dunns had increased. The situation with Constantine’s death could bring the Abramos to my friends’ doorsteps.
Friends.
Was that the correct word to use? They’d invited me to the wedding, but I hadn’t done a damn thing right by them. The CIA was even worse. Using Jason’s wife as a pawn. Failing to protect the Dunns when the Agency lost control of an obsessed hitman. That Juric mission was supposed to be my last for a good, long while.