Page 57 of Elite Metal: Warriors

“Well, we’re not running from bad guys in the future.” In addition to being an expert on surveillance tech, she apparently had a black belt in sarcasm. He had no idea why his lips quirked.

“So where are we going?”

“An airfield to the south.”

“An airfield? Where are we going from there?”

He shot a look at her. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

“I want to know.”

“I’m sure you do, but it’s classified.”

She snorted and muttered under her breath, “Nothing is classified.”

“This is classified.”

“Who do you work for?”

He liked the way she changed tacks, as though she thought by keeping him off balance she could get him to spill something. Still, his response was vague. “An organization.”

“Are you with the FBI? NSA? CIA?” She tracked his reaction to each one. “Black Ops?” He must have winced because she sat back and murmured, “Ah. Black Ops.”

“I am not Black Ops.”

“Then who do you work for?”

“It’s classified.”

“You have to tell me something.”

“Do I?”

“I’m not getting on a plane with you until I know you’re not one of them.”

“One of them?”

She waved a hand. “One of the bad guys.”

“I can tell you this. I work for a team that has one goal. Finding and killing Babikov.”

She stilled.

“Yeah. The douchebag you’re carrying intel on.” He tried to remain unemotional, but the snarl came out. Apparently, his animosity interested her. She scooted forward and leaned her arms on the seat back, propping her chin on them. She should sit back. She should be wearing her seatbelt. He knew if he suggested as much, she’d ignore him, so he didn’t bother.

“Why do you hate him?” she asked.

“I don’t hate him.” A boldfaced lie. “He’s my mission.”

“You hate him. I hear it in your voice. Why?”

He frowned at her. And then, at the same time, they both said, “It’s classified.”

She chuckled. “Right. I can’t trust a man if I don’t understand his motivations. Pull over and drop me off at the nearest gas station. I can thumb a ride with a trucker.”

Horror at the prospect curled through him. “I’m not dropping you off at a gas station. And you’re not thumbing a ride with a trucker.”

“It makes perfect sense.”