The Operator

“You owe me.” Her knee hurt as he tied the strip of cloth around it, but it was swelling too much to have a bullet in it.

“I owe you?” he said, but then he squinted up at her, his lips parting. “Shit, you’re serious. Babe, what’s the goal here? To piss Michael off?” His expression cleared. “To turn him against Bill?” He stood, the motion achingly familiar as he tucked his torn shirt in. Even disheveled and in need of a shower, he was gorgeous, beautiful, capable . . . and angry. “Why am I making a rift between Michael and Bill?” he asked. “You think he’s going to kill Bill for you? Bill’s the only reason Michael hasn’t offed you already. The man is nuts.”

Disturbed, Peri checked her Glock. “Let’s go. You can call him in the car,” she said, beginning to limp forward.

“Or are you trying to kill Michael?” Jack guessed, tight beside her. “You think Michael is Bill’s new boy and you need to reclaim your spot? You don’t have to go through all this bullshit. If this is what you want, I can have a chopper pick us up in two hours, though to be honest, I’d rather run and keep running.”

Liar. There was no running. The only way out was through it. “I am not going back,” she said, but her face was cold and she couldn’t look at him. It would be so easy. He is not my partner, and this is not what I want, she told herself. “I’m not job hunting. I’m just hunting. Michael wants me dead. You know it. I know it. But if he kills Bill first, then all the better.”

“Oh my God,” Jack whispered. “Once Michael is done with Bill, he’s going to come after you. Babe, this is a stupid plan.”

“Stop calling me that,” she threatened as she stumbled. Jack caught her arm, and she jerked away. The nearest building was just ahead, a few late-model cars parked outside.

“Sorry.” He hesitated. “It’s just that we’re good together. You deserve more than some pathetic government task force that doesn’t even know what to do with you.”

“No, you were good,” she whispered, thinking she could hear voices behind them. “I was your doll. Yours and Bill’s.” She stopped at the edge of the parking lot, frowning at him in the new light. “I’m smelling what you’re stepping in, so shut up.”

He made a huff of exasperation. “You don’t remember it, but I wanted you to run. Almost a year ago,” he added bitterly. “Away from Opti with me. I wanted to go, but you wanted to prove there was corruption.”

Her eyes squinted; she didn’t remember it. They probably hadn’t run because the same things that made her good at her job made her easy to find. But that wasn’t so anymore. Shelve it, Peri. Deal with it later.

But he was right. They had been good—had to have been with the amount of confidence that was sifting through her along with her anger. She might not remember it, but it was there, undeniable and heady. He knew her. She knew him—trusted his limitations or lack thereof, maybe. And as she looked back at the distant WEFT gate, she realized the danger of this wasn’t getting caught by WEFT, but rather not getting caught. Jack was bringing everything back that she was trying to forget, and it was . . . uplifting.

That’s why Bill sent him. Mother-sucking Bill.

“Pick a car. Let’s go,” Jack finally said, and she sent her eyes to the outskirts.

“Brown Gremlin,” she said, and he started, looking at the Firebird at the back of the lot.

But then his eyed darted to hers, his coming complaint vanishing. “I hear voices!” he hissed.

“I know the feeling,” she muttered, scrunching deeper behind the tree. “Gremlin, or I’m not going.” Damn it all to hell. Why am I trusting Jack? He’s just another perfect mistake.

“Son of a bitch . . .” Jack whispered, hunched down, his useless rifle in his hand as the chopper rose up, spotlight playing over the building beside them, the winter-dead grass sharp in the harsh light. “We’re not getting out of here.”

“Yes we are,” she insisted, and then she gasped, stifling her shout of affront when he picked her up and boldly strode into the lot. She froze as a memory surfaced, of them together in the depth of the night. “Put me down,” she said, not liking how right his hands felt around her.

“You’ve got the Glock. Keep them off us,” he said, walking fast. “You can’t run.”

“Neither can you while you’re carrying me,” she insisted. “Put me down!”

“No. Deal with it.”

“Gremlin,” she insisted as he angled to the Firebird, and sighing, he shifted direction. His breathing had taken on a harsh rhythm that was both familiar and somehow intimate. His arms around her were the only spot of warmth in the January night, and she hated that she relished it. The scent of two-day-old sweat tickled her memory, and it was gone.

The jarring became harsher as he picked up the pace. Behind them, shouts rose up. Peri turned, firing six shots at nothing over his shoulder. More voices rose in alarm. “We’re not going to make it,” Jack huffed.

“Put me down,” she demanded. “Run ahead and start it. I’ll catch up.”

He didn’t argue, and Peri gasped in pain when her feet hit the stony pavement and he raced ahead. He never looked back, but nowhere in Peri was there the thought that he wouldn’t wait for her. Where is this trust coming from? she wondered as she limped after him, Glock in one hand and leaving bloody prints on the cars with the other. But she knew it wasn’t him she trusted, but his abilities. No one was better. Angry, she quashed the feeling.