Steel Vengeance (Blackthorn Security #6)

Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

“ I ’m not staying here,” Sloane snapped when Stitch told her he was heading to Islamabad to find Jeremy.

“You need to lay low,” he said firmly. “This is the safest place for you.”

“The safest place for me is with you,” she shot back, her voice shaking despite her best efforts. “Besides, no one will expect me to go there.”

He glanced at her wounded arm. “You’ve been shot. You need to rest.”

“I’m sick of resting.” She’d gotten so bored lying in bed that she’d spent most of the afternoon in the lounge talking with Mrs. Bhatti about him. Now she knew way more about Stitch than he’d ever want her to.

Like how he’d taken care of Mrs. B when she had food poisoning. How he’d go shopping for her, bring her little gifts from America, and even help her in the kitchen.

“He’s not a bad cook,” Mrs. B had giggled. “Though those big hands of his can get in the way.”

Sloane had laughed.

“He needs a woman to look after him,” Mrs. B had said knowingly. “He’s been alone too long. Always taking care of everyone else. It’s about time someone took care of him.”

Mrs. B didn’t know about the past year, and Sloane had kept it that way. It wasn’t her story to tell, and Stitch wouldn’t want people knowing. She tried not to even entertain the idea that she... that they...

No, that was ridiculous.

Despite the almost-kiss, he was still in love with his late wife. You could hear it in his voice when he talked about her. Sloane couldn’t compete with that.

Mrs. B had also told her about the times Stitch or one of his team had come back injured, concussed, bleeding, and how they’d stayed hidden while they healed, waiting for things to cool down before heading back to the States.

The more Sloane learned, the more in awe she was of him, and the more she felt she could trust him. There was no way he was leaving her behind.

If anyone could keep her safe, it was Stitch.

“What’s Mrs. B supposed to do if armed men show up?” she asked.

He smiled. “Probably more than you think. But you don’t need to worry—no one knows you’re here.”

“They’ve probably searched my apartment by now. They know I’m not there. They’ll think I’m hiding somewhere in Peshawar, not heading to Islamabad.”

“You do realize Jeremy, your handler, is probably the one who put the hit out on you, right?”

She clenched her teeth. That sleazy bastard. “The last thing they’ll expect is me going after him.”

She stared him down, daring him to argue.

“I guess you’ve got a point,” he said reluctantly.

“See? It’s a no-brainer. Decision’s made. I’m going with you.”

He gave her a long, frustrated look, then threw his hands up. “Fine. You win. We leave in an hour.”

The drive to the Pakistani capital took just under three hours.

They hit a police roadblock leaving Peshawar, and Sloane was so scared she nearly peed herself.

“Stay calm,” Stitch muttered. “Don’t look at them.”

Two men in black uniforms with big guns peered into the car, then asked Stitch for his driver’s license.

Sloane stared at her hands, silently praying they’d get through. The full burqa Mrs. B had given her made sure they couldn’t see who she was, or her bandaged arm. The only thing visible through the narrow slits were her eyes, and she kept them down.

Stitch handed over his license. Her heart raced. Would they realize it was fake?

She tried not to think about the semi-automatic hidden under the carpet beneath the driver’s seat. She’d done a double-take when he’d brought it out of the house.

“Just in case,” he’d said, his face grim.

And then there was the Glock under her seat. The car was loaded with weapons. If anyone searched them, they were screwed.

By the time they reached the busy capital, her arm was aching from the bumpy roads, the painkillers had worn off, and she was starving.

“I know a place we can stay,” Stitch said, glancing at her pale face. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she lied. She didn’t want him to regret bringing her along.

“After we eat something, take another painkiller,” he said. “They’re too strong to take on an empty stomach.”

“Yes, Doc,” she said obediently and watched the corners of his mouth lift.

They pulled up outside a cream-colored building with “Khyber Lodge” written on it. “It’s reasonably priced and close to the airport,” he told her.

They were picking up his friend tomorrow morning, one of the guys he’d served with.

“Are you ever going to tell me your real name?” she asked, once they’d checked in. To avoid suspicion, they were posing as husband and wife. She hadn’t said a word—he handled everything.

The hotel receptionist hadn’t even blinked.

“It’s Vance,” he said after a pause.

“Vance.” She let the name roll off her tongue. “You know, you actually look like a Vance.”

“Really?” He chuckled. “And what does a Vance look like?”

“Dark, broody, grumpy. Exactly like you.”

That made him laugh—a deep, belly laugh that made his eyes crinkle. If she wasn’t so mesmerized by the transformation, she’d have laughed with him.

God help me.

When he wasn’t growling at her, he was totally gorgeous.

He shook his head and tossed his rucksack into the corner.

“Do you have a last name?” she asked.

“Now you’re pushing it.” He winked at her, completely unaware of her fluttering stomach, and pulled out his toothbrush. “I’m gonna take a shower, get rid of this road dust, and then we’ll grab something to eat and pick up a few supplies.”

She nodded, falling back on the double bed. It wasn’t even a king, and it had a dip in the middle. They hadn’t talked about sleeping arrangements.

“I won’t be long,” he said. “You should rest. You’ve been overdoing it. Most people in your condition would still be recovering in a hospital.”

“Except you,” she muttered, her eyes half-closed. She couldn’t picture him letting something like a gunshot wound slow him down.

His chuckle followed him into the bathroom.

Islamabad was completely different from Peshawar. It was sprawling and green, and unlike other capitals she’d visited, it had a strangely peaceful vibe. Maybe it was because it was so spread out. Every district seemed to have its own shops, restaurants, and a distinct look.

They caught a taxi to Centaurus Mall, one of the more modern shopping complexes in Islamabad.

“It’s the best place to get something decent to eat and stock up on supplies,” Stitch told her.

And he was right. The mall had tons of stores, selling everything from clothes and shoes to perfume and toiletries. There was also a big food court with a lot of international restaurants.

After Sloane picked up a change of clothes, a hairbrush, toothbrush, and a few other essentials, Stitch suggested they eat at an Italian restaurant on the third floor. It had a stunning view of the city.

“It’s incredible,” she said, gazing out over the white-topped buildings and domed mosques. In the distance were the faded hills they’d driven through to get here, hazy with low-lying clouds. For once, the weather wasn’t sweltering.

Stitch—she was still getting used to calling him that—had cleaned up nicely.

Too nicely.

The casual black shirt he wore was open at the collar, showing off his tanned skin and just a hint of dark chest hair. And those jeans… She couldn’t stop staring at his butt when he walked ahead of her.

Neither could the other women. His dark good looks and muscular build meant he got plenty of attention. Trust him to be the hottest thing this side of the Khyber, while in her loose-fitting clothes, hijab, and face veil, she was practically invisible.

In a futile attempt to highlight her one visible feature, she’d bought eyeliner and rimmed her eyes with kohl. Not that he’d even noticed.

Eating with a face covering was an experience. How did local women manage it? She just kept dropping crumbs all over herself.

“This is gonna take some practice,” she muttered, brushing herself off.

“You could take it off while you eat,” Stitch suggested, glancing around the restaurant. “You’re safe here.”

“I’d rather not risk it.” Jeremy was out there somewhere. “The CIA has eyes everywhere. What if I’m caught on a security camera or something?”

“I think you’re being a little paranoid now,” he said with a smile. “Like you said, no one expects you to be in Islamabad.”

He was right. She was overreacting.

She took off the face veil but left her headscarf on.

The food was delicious, and after weeks of eating nothing but vegetables and fruit, she devoured a big bowl of creamy pasta.

Stitch did the same, twirling the spaghetti around his fork with surprising ease for such a big-handed guy.

“Mrs. B said you like to cook,” she said with a smile, feeling her spirits lift.

“Mrs. B talks too much.”

She laughed. “She’s really fond of you. She told me so.”

“Oh, did she now?”

“She said you used to bring her gifts from America.”

He shrugged. “When we flew straight from the airport, yeah. Most of the time, though, we were dodging gunfire and limping across the border bruised and battered. I’m convinced if it weren’t for Mrs. B, we’d have died in Peshawar more than once.”

Sloane shook her head, but she had a feeling he wasn’t exaggerating.

“Do you have family back in the U.S.?”

He shook his head. “Not really. My mother died when I was a teenager, and I never knew my father. I had an uncle, but we’ve lost touch.”

She nodded. “Same as me. My mom passed away when I was young, and my dad when I was seventeen.” That day was burned into her memory.

“Sorry to hear that.”

She shrugged. “It is what it is. I moved in with my grandparents after my dad… passed away.” She hated the word “suicide.”

“Losing your parents forces you to grow up fast,” he said.

“That’s for sure.”

Grief, guilt, remorse, trauma therapy, and long emotional talks with her grandmother. It had taken her a long time to deal with what her father had done.

“When do you think I’ll be able to go home?” she asked, changing the subject. She didn’t want to dwell on her painful past. The future was all that mattered now, even if it was looking a little uncertain.

He finished eating and set down his fork. “Not until Pat talks to his CIA contact and they’ve arrested Matthew, Jeremy, and whoever else is involved.”

“How long do you think that’ll take?” she asked quietly.

“I honestly don’t know,” he said. “Could be a while. These things take time.”

“Yeah.”

She couldn’t expect him to know. He was just as in the dark as she was.

“It feels so weird being stuck here, you know? In limbo. I never thought I’d be in this position. I’ve always had a stable job, a nice home.”

She’d made sure of that. After her dad’s death, her home had become her safe haven. And when she’d moved out of her grandmother’s house and got her own apartment, it had become her sanctuary.

“Right now, I feel like a fugitive.”

“You get used to it,” he said. “Living off the radar isn’t as hard as you’d think, especially if you’ve got some cash and a good disguise.” He nodded toward the veil on the table.

“I don’t have much money,” she admitted. “I brought a bit with me in case I couldn’t use my credit card, but it’s running out.”

“I’ve got it covered,” he said with a smile. “You’re fine while you’re with me. Don’t use your card or they’ll track you. You can bet they’ve already tried.”

His words warmed her.

She’d be okay as long as she was with him.

But what about when she wasn’t with him? And it wasn’t just about protection. She’d gotten used to having him around—his strong, reassuring presence at her side. She didn’t know what she’d do when he wasn’t there anymore.