Page 51 of Ford
“York!”
But he couldn’t breathe. And everything went dark.
Ford needed to send Scarlett home.
He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d been thinking—had probably been acting on adrenaline or panic or just pure desperation when he showed up on her doorstep with the bright and not-thought-through idea of having her be his backup.
Backup that put her face-to-face with an assassin, apparently.
Her little escapade in the café had Ford in a knot, one that, hours later, he still hadn’t unsnarled.
By the looks of it, she was simply delighted with herself.
Perfect.
It was one thing to stand beside his brothers in a firefight, completely another to sit helplessly ten feet away as a woman he cared about played charades with a killer.
Anassassin. Because Ford knew exactly what services “Roy” provided for the government. He’d heard about guys like him—former operators who, for some reason or another, left the teams but still wanted to use their government-honed skills.
Roy definitely had spec ops written all over him, from the way he watched Scarlett as she returned to her table to the way he moved his chair next to hers to watch the room.
He’d seen Ford too. Their gazes connected, and something about his grim expression raised a familiar alert inside him.
I don’t know why Randall keeps sending the rookies. She’s going to get you all killed.
Those words sat like a burr under his skin.
He knew it wasn’t fair, but truth was he’d trained with his SEAL mates, knew their strengths, their weaknesses, knew that they could handle themselves. He watched their backs; they watched his.
Watching Scarlett’s back evoked a terror he hadn’t quite counted on.
Yeah, he needed to send her home before they got in over their heads.
Problem was, other than the few minutes of sheer panic watching her engage with a killer, he liked having her around. Like today, after they’d landed, they’d walked the city, and he’d been briefly wooed by the old-world essence of Prague. He’d spent so much time in the dry, recently bombed Middle East that being in a city lush with green trees, quaint cobbled streets, a flowing river, and charm felt like he’d stepped into the pages of a storybook.
Living in Never-Never land, and walking with him, Tinker Bell. Petite but strong, fierce, brave. And most importantly, clueless of the danger that awaited when they turned the next page.
Now she’s on the run, and she’s not going to make it out of Russia alive.
“Stop.”
Ford looked up from where he sat at a café table near the window overlooking the Vltava River, now black and dazzling with the sprinkle of the overhead stars. Scarlett sat across from him, having finished her own cup of late-night cappuccino, firelight from the votive candles playing in her eyes.
“You’re one giant knot, Ford. Breathe.” She ran her finger between her brows, then pointed to him. “You’re all scrunched up.”
“Ham is hours late,” Ford said. “What if he’s not going to show?”
“He’ll be here.”
“And every hour he’s late is an hour my sister is probably getting tortured—”
“Okay. Let’s go.” She got up and held out her hand.
He’d already paid the bill, and the hurry up and wait and wait andwaitwas gnawing a hole through him, so, okay.
He accepted her hand and followed her out of the café, onto the street. Tourist traffic had thinned this late at night, although the city was still abuzz with activity, lights from lamps dappling the river, pooling magic onto the meandering cobblestone walkways. In any other situation, it might be romantic.
Okay, even in this situation it felt romantic, the way Scarlett’s hand fit, however briefly, so perfectly in his. She let go, though, and shoved her hands into her pockets.