Page 56 of Elite Metal: Warriors

He came around and hunkered down and reached out a hand. It was large, she noticed. Large and strong, “Come on. It’s safe now.”

And God. Dear God.

What wonderful words. What a beautiful voice. What a magnificent man.

She had no idea why it annoyed her so much.

* * *

Benedict led Michelle to his truck, a beat up Chevy he’d rented from a discount dealer for his visit to DC. It was a far cry from the kind of vehicle he preferred to drive, but it was nondescript and dependable.

She glanced around the deserted garage; her brow wrinkled. “Where’d he go?”

He frowned at her and opened the door. “Get in the back.”

“Where’d he go?” Her gaze fixated on the red puddle on the cement.

Good God, she was stubborn. “I could hardly leave him lying there. Now come on. Get in the back.”

She made a face. “I hate sitting in the back.”

“Good. You won’t be sitting.”

He loved the look she sent him, all outraged and shit. “What do you mean?”

“Get in and lay down in the well. I’ll cover you with my bags.”

“I’m not luggage.”

“You are if you want to get out of here unspotted.”

That shut her up. Kind of. She still grumbled to herself as she levered up into the truck and settled on the floor. “It smells back here.” Her voice was muffled. He ignored her and tossed his duffel from the seat onto her. She oofed. “What’s in there?”

“Skivvies. Now, be quiet. Once we get out of town and I’m sure no one’s following us, you can sit up front.”

“Well, thank God for small favors.”

Damn, she was prickly. Benedict couldn’t help smiling as he hopped into the truck and gunned the engine. It wasn’t lost on him that he was smiling. It happened far too rarely. It made the muscles of his face ache.

He tugged on a baseball cap and a checkered shirt before he backed out. If someone was watching the exit to the garage looking for a special ops type, a good old boy might escape their notice. Still, he was alert and diligent as he pulled out onto the street, making note of each and every car in the flow of traffic.

He didn’t relax until they were heading south on 295 toward Bolling Field. It was dark and quiet and at this hour, few cars were on the road. It made it easier for him to check for a tail. He pulled off the freeway several times, just to make sure no one followed.

“Where are we going?” He winced as her voice rose from the back.

“Quiet.”

“I want to know where we’re going.”

“They could be listening.”

“We’re miles away from my apartment. Long-range mics need line of sight.”

“Not all mics. They can listen in on conversations from satellites, if conditions are right.”

She huffed an impatient breath. “I am aware of that, but we’re in a car. They can’t follow a target moving this quickly.”

He shot a glance over his shoulder. How did she know that? And damn, she was right. Still, he muttered, “Yet.” They were probably close to that capability, based on his research.