Page 71 of Ford

He held up his free hand, still gripping RJ’s. “No lies. No games. And when it’s done, I get to help you track down Gustov.” This he addressed to the general.

Who nodded, slowly.

“Perfect,” York said. “We leave on the first train out of town.”

She was the freaking weak link.

Scarlett stood outside the train compartment—inside felt like she might be suffocating—and watched the Ukrainian countryside lurch by. With everything inside her, she wanted to leap screaming from the train. Hide in the tall grasses and lush fields filled with barley, oats, and corn. She’d read that on the Wikipedia page about Ukraine. Apparently, Russia used Ukraine as their breadbasket to feed the giant, snow-covered motherland.

The Cold. Unforgiving. Brutal. Motherland.

And they were heading straight for it, unarmed.

Scarlett leaned her forehead to the window. First rule of travel—don’t let go of your bag. She knew that. Had it burned into her bones by the Navy during one of their travel briefings. There might have even been a PowerPoint presentation on it.

She’d nearly gotten her hands on the thief—one split second away from—okay, from being slammed into the doors of the metro. If Ford hadn’t grabbed her to pull her back…

Whatever happens, I will show up for you, Red.

Ford’s words thrummed in her head, and she wanted to wrench them away. He shouldnothave made that promise. She didn’twanthim to make that promise.

It only held him hostage. Made him derail a perfectly successful rescue operation.

He should have let her stay in Ukraine and taken Ham with him. Guess what—she was a grown woman and she could babysit herself all the way back to America, thank you.

The door slid open behind her, and she didn’t look as Ford stepped out of the compartment. “We’re coming up to border control,” he said as he stood beside her. “Any ideas?”

“Let them arrest me.”

“Red.”

She gritted her teeth. “You should have left me behind.”

“No. And it’s done, so get over it.”

She glanced at him. “I’m sorry.”

“You said that. About a dozen times, and again I’m going to say the same thing. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was.” Oh her stupid heart. Why did it fall for the dangerous type, with the thick arms and piercing pale green eyes? She had a type—the type destined to break her heart.

She didn’t know which was worse, the fact that she’d lost her bag, or the fact that she’d let herself believe—even if she knew the danger, even if she had decided not to walk into his arms—that Ford had wanted her.

Instead, she’d heard him, in his very own words tell Ham that she meant, well not nothing, but…okay,nothing.

She’d been standing outside the door, trying to figure out which way to go to find the bathroom, when Ham’s voice came through the crack.

The last thing we need is some kind of lovers’ quarrel, or…something else—

There is nothing else. She was my FOB radio contact, that’s all.

That’s all.

And now she’d destroyed his entire mission.

Ford met her eyes and folded his arms, his dark blue T-shirt stretching over his thick shoulders. He wore a pair of faded jeans and hiking boots, hadn’t shaved in three days, and looked very much like a warrior on leave, unsuccessfully trying to hide among the rest of the world.

Shoot, the man even smelled good. He’d cleaned up once they got on the train—brushed his teeth, changed into clean clothes.