Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
The flight to Langley, Virginia, is a little over four hours. We’re going straight to the CIA headquarters to be debriefed and turn over the intelligence I almost lost my life to obtain. I’m hoping shortly thereafter, I’ll have my status changed from disavowed to active, and they can point me to my next mission.
Which I know won’t be right away. After what I went through, there will be mandatory time off, psychological evaluation, and possibly some desk duty, but I’m anxious to get back to work in whatever capacity. It’s not only the foul memories of being captured that I want to leave behind by focusing on something new. I’d like to put to rest the shock of Ladd McDermott strolling back into my life. The sooner I get back into the clutch of things, the sooner he’ll become a distant memory again.
Because we’re even now.
I rescued him twelve years ago, and now he’s rescued me.
We sit in uncomfortable silence, whereas twelve years ago, our slates were clean and there was so much promise and possibility.
We were practically giddy from our daring escape from Colombian drug lords without any harm. Well, there was a little harm. Ladd had a bullet graze his ass cheek, but it didn’t prevent him from running like hell with me until we could meet up with my partner, waiting in a rented, armored Toyota Highlander we picked up in Bogota. I’d like to say the CIA had come through with an excellent vehicle, but truth is, we rented it ourselves after I got pulled off another mission to handle Ladd’s ex-fil with an agent stationed in the capital. It’s amazing that in countries rife with violence, you can actually rent armored vehicles. Some even come equipped with mounted AK-47s.
At any rate, as the other agent drove us safely out of there, I got to see Ladd’s ass for the first time as I dressed his wound. I teased him that he should get a medal for his injury, and he teased me back that it should be for having a great ass.
We traveled for nearly two hours back into Bogota where Ladd and I were dropped off at the hotel where he’d been staying prior to his foray. I got a room down the hall from his, and the goal was to rest before our flight out the next day. I’d head back to Ecuador where I’d been gathering intel on a corrupt US ambassador, and Ladd would go to Langley for debriefing on whatever mission he’d been on, to which I was not privy, nor did I ask.
We went to our separate rooms and showered. On a whim, I knocked on his door to see if he wanted to grab dinner and trade war stories.
He looked strangely different—in a good way—without the aura of danger surrounding him. He had on a pair of khakis and a white button-down shirt, looking every bit the handsome tourist. As a well-trained CIA operative, my go bag was stocked with essentials to blend in as well. I wore an outfit that could pass in any Central or South American country—a loose, flowing skirt with a slit up one side to mid-thigh and a white blouse unbuttoned low and tied in a knot just above my navel. Because the skirt sat low on my hips, a good chunk of my abdomen was bare, and I capped the casually sexy look off with sparkly sandals.
Before I could get my dinner invitation out, Ladd swept those mesmerizing blue eyes down the length of me, and he did not hold back his interest in me as a woman. Because I am no wallflower, I offered my own appreciative stare.
He accepted my dinner invitation, and we found ourselves at an outdoor table in a local restaurant. Lanterns were strung above us, and the table glowed with candles. It sat on the edge of a cobbled street, full of foot traffic and young people sampling the Bogota nightlife.
Across the street, a band played live music and people danced cumbia in the streets. It’s similar to salsa in that it has a quick-quick-slow step beat, and when two people do it right, it’s sexy and intimate.
Dinner lasted two hours. We dined on bandeja paisa, arepas, and mondongo soup while sipping ice-cold Dos Carreras on tap. The conversation lasted another hour after that, and we barely talked about our shared CIA experiences. By the time Ladd asked me to dance among all the other couples, my head was spinning not only from the alcohol but from the realization that I had met a man who quite simply rocked my world. In my twenty-five years of living, it had never happened before. I’d had boyfriends—young love—and I’d had lovers, but I’d never had a man who interested me the way Ladd McDermott did.