Undercover Wife. Debra Webb
it’s real, she kept telling herself. And she was free. That’s all that mattered, right?
Erin glanced around at the dozen or so armed men moving about. Well, maybe free wasn’t precisely the right word.
“After I’ve evaluated your strengths and weaknesses, we’ll move on to the finer details you’ll need for this mission.”
Here she was, way down in Mexico, right next to Guatemala if memory served her correctly, and she hadn’t a clue why she was here. “Can you tell me more about the mission?” A girl could ask, she mused.
“This way, Bailey,” he offered in reply, smoothly changing the course of the conversation, as well as her little sight-seeing tour.
The next building they entered was one of the largest and very dimly lit. An oily smell she couldn’t readily identify hit her nostrils with the first breath she took. She squinted to better make out the boxes stacked around the room. Crates, she realized, wooden crates. Logan paused at the first one of three she counted. She peered inside. Instinctively she drew back at what she saw.
Guns. Lots of guns.
“M9 Personal Defense Weapon,” Logan announced as he displayed one of the mean-looking guns from the crate. “Weapon of choice in personal defense.”
“M4 Carbine,” he went on, putting the first one aside and reaching for another, seemingly oblivious to her appalled expression. “Lightweight, magazine fed, selective rate, shoulder fired weapon. Even in tight quarters, a target can be engaged at extended range with accurate, lethal fire. Every terrorist’s wet dream.”
“Wait!” Erin backed away another step, her heart beginning to hammer. “I don’t understand. Why are you telling me about these weapons?”
Tears welled unbidden. This was insane and what was worse she was going to cry. She hated crying. It made her feel weak. “I don’t know anything about guns or terrorists or even personal defense.” She lengthened the distance between them by another step, blinking furiously to hold back the infuriating tears. “Just tell me the truth, Logan. What am I doing here?” She flung her arm toward the weapons he appeared to gloat over. “What is all this?”
His glare was as lethal as the weapon he held in those strong, too capable hands. “This,” he ground out, “is just a taste of what you need to know.” He put down the weapon and started in her direction. She wanted to run, but froze instead. Those dark, dark eyes held her in a kind of trance. “You have six days, Bailey. Six days to learn what I have to teach you. And this is only scratching the surface. Then we go in, ready or not.”
She trembled. “What if…what if I can’t do it?” She couldn’t. She was suddenly as sure of it as she’d ever been of anything in her whole life. This was impossible. She couldn’t do this. Not for freedom, not for vengeance, not for anything.
Logan stopped mere inches from her, staring down at her with a face wiped clean of emotion. Her pulse thundered with the fear exploding inside her.
“Then you have six days to live,” he said quietly, so damned quietly she wanted to scream. “Because on the seventh, we’ll both be dead.”
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