“We are!” She was just right there—so close he could smell a hint of mint on her breath. Her lips were plump and the color of cherries, and for one brief moment he wasn’t sure if he should kiss her for real or smother her with a pillow.
But before he could do either she fell back onto the bed so hard she actually bounced. “Well . . . we are literally moving right now. And we’re sheltered. And—” She pushed up. “Maybe I am a spy!”
“You’re not a spy.”
“I’m good at this.”
“You’re not that good at—”
“Ooh! Tiny cheeses!”
He wanted to lecture her about countersurveillance and evasive maneuvers, but she had already plucked a plate off the bedside table and was taking a bite of a soft white cheese. She gave the kind of moan that should never be associated with dairy, and Sawyer felt his pulse tick up.
“Oooh yesssss.”
“Don’t—”
“Here. Take a little bite.” She offered him the plate. “Just a nibble.”
“No nibbling. There’s no nibbling in covert operations!”
She picked up an olive and took the world’s daintiest bite then looked at him from beneath her lashes. “Your loss,” she whispered, and Sawyer’s mouth went dry.
“Come on.” He coughed and choked. “We’ve got to . . .” But she was already pulling the bedspread around her and turning over and over before giving another long, low sigh.
“Oh, this feels good.”
“Stop. You’re messing it up.”
“Of course the bed’s getting messed up.” She flashed a cheeky grin. “We’re on our honeymoon.”
“No. We’re—”
“It’s so warm”—she kept rolling—“and tight and—”
He made a sound that was part groan and part moan and, suddenly, she wasn’t the only one feeling tightness in the lower half of their body. “We have to get off this ship!”
“Why?” She tried to sit up, but she’d wound herself into the middle of a blanket burrito and now she was stuck. Which served her right. At this rate, Sawyer was going to need a cold shower. “Why can’t we stay right here?”
“We just . . . it’s not safe.”
“Fine.” She pulled her arms free and propped herself up on her elbows. She’d stopped making those erotic cheese and blanket noises and was, instead, staring daggers. He almost longed for the time when she was deeply in love with a piece of brie. It was better than being on the receiving end of a look that reminded him of Alex. “Do you know where my sister is?”
Because Alex. It would always come back to Alex and his mission and his job and his life. Beautiful women with pink cheeks and doe eyes had no place in Sawyer’s world, and he couldn’t let himself forget it.
“Well, do you?” She crossed her arms.
It was hard to make himself admit, “No. I don’t.”
“Do you know where we can find that flash drive?”
He was a little too quiet for a little too long before he swallowed. “No.”
“Do you have access to a nearby safe house that absolutely, positively will not blow up when we get there?”
That time, Sawyer had to think about the answer. There was a place they could go—a place that was secret. And safe. And a day’s drive away. But he hadn’t been there in decades, and he was really hoping to keep the streak going a little longer—preferably for the rest of his life.
“Well . . . is there?” she prompted, and slowly, he shook his head.
“No.”
“Do you have any idea how to stop this Kokopov—”
“Kozlov.”
“—person and end this thing?”
She sat there for a long time, willing to wait him out and make him say it. “No. I don’t.”
“Then where are we going to go? Huh? What are we going to do when we get there? We don’t know anything! Except my feet hurt. And my head hurts. And right now—at this moment—one hundred percent of my memories are about running, and I can’t . . .” Her lips quivered and her voice cracked and, with it, his defenses, his resolve—maybe even part of his soul. “I just can’t . . .”
“Hey.” He dropped down on the bed, but she was still too far away and wrapped up in way too many layers.
“I don’t know who I am!”
“I know.” He inched closer but she didn’t fall into his arms, which . . . well . . . he didn’t want her to anyway.