What if this guy was some sort of international criminal?
Oh. Shit!
Her eyes bulged.
Damen held up his hands, in surrender, as though he knew the direction in which her thoughts had just rampantly run.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m one of the good guys.”
“Anyone can say that,” she countered. And instantly shifted into trauma mode. She was trained to operate in stressful situations, to remain calm and collected—yet this scenario was ratcheting her pulse with every second that passed.
“The flight attendant knows who I am,” he told Nikki. “I had to be cleared, because I have a weapon. As do the two FBI agents onboard. One is sitting in the row behind us. The other is a couple rows ahead.”
“You’re FBI?” she challenged, under her breath.
“No. But I am with the U.S. government. Special ops.”
Nikki gave a slight shake of her head. “Bullshit. You wouldn’t tell that to a complete stranger.”
“You’re not a complete stranger, Nikita Isabelle Balentine-Kane.”
She gaped. For all of two seconds. Then said, “This can’t be happening.”
“It wouldn’t be happening,” he told her with conviction in his hypnotic blue eyes and his deep, intimate tone, “if you hadn’t wandered into my hospital room. If I hadn’t heard your sultry voice as I was coming out of the coma. If you hadn’t asked every soul under that roof if they knew where I’d gone—and gotten your friends involved in the search.”
“Oh, my God.” She knew she’d instantly paled. “Kate and Jude!”
“Are perfectly fine, perfectly safe. There’s currently no danger to them, Ms. Kane. Or to you… As long as you relax. Answer my questions—”
“Your questions?” she belted back. A bit loudly so a few heads snapped in their direction.
Neither she nor Damen spoke for several minutes and the curious gazes drifted away.
Damen told her, “My involvement with the explosions in Mexico City was to determine who was plotting to blow up that block—and why.”
Her gaze narrowed on him. Nikki had never vacillated between the fight or flight instinct—it’d always been to fight. How ironic the latter was going to be her destiny this time, because the plane was
speeding down the runway, the wheels were lifting off the ground… And before she could form a plan in her rapidly whirling brain, they were airborne.
“Asshole,” she muttered.
“No, Ms. Kane. I’m not.” He eased back in his seat while saying, “I’m going to reach into my pocket and show you my ID.”
“Which I’m just supposed to accept as being real?” She scoffed.
“I admire your skepticism,” he told her. “Misguided, though it is.” He did as he’d indicated and pulled out his wallet, very quickly and discreetly flashing his credentials.
Her eyes returned to his and she studied him for a long moment before saying, “I don’t know what QTango Ops means. Pretty sure no one else does, either.”
“Note the Defense Intelligence Agency insignia, Ms. Kane. That’s what’s most important here.”
Her teeth ground over his amused tone. And the fact that she detected a hint of a French accent around the fringes. As well as an Irish one.
What the hell?
Nikki would have summoned the flight attendant to confirm the other woman truly did know about Damen and the supposed agents, but she was strapped into her jump-seat behind the wall separating the galley from the cabin as the plane soared toward the desired altitude.
Damen said, “I have to return to the States for a debrief, and I knew you’d booked this flight. That’s how we’re on the same plane.”