THIRTEEN
Savannah
We constantly have to look over our shoulders. There's no sign of the bratva, but there is an elevated police presence at the bus station and the train station in New York.
We make it to Montana, where Anton purchases a burner phone with cash and calls the number on our arrival, asking for a ride.
Not much else is said over the phone. Was he even expecting us? And if Nikita knows him, how do we know that we can trust him?
"It's okay," Anton says, resting a hand on my arm and sensing my hesitation as we stand outside the train station. "He'll be here in a couple of hours. In the meantime, there's a Walmart not too far down the road. We should pick up a few essentials."
"We can't use our credit cards."
"Yes, I know. We also should get some hair dye and scissors. We need to change our appearances."
It's summer, but today's weather is mild, and I am grateful not to be sweating to death. At least it's not Death Valley.
The scenery is quite beautiful, with mountains surrounding us on every side. I'm used to city life and occasionally visiting suburbia, but I've never been this far west, even for work. "Gosh, it's so quiet out here."
"That's the point," Anton says.
"The FBI isn't going to stop looking for me."
"I take it you weren't expecting this to happen when you signed up to be an FBI Agent."
I smirk at him. "No, this was never even a remote option. Undercover work, yes. But betraying my country, no."
"You're not betraying your country," Anton says. His brow is tight, and he takes my hand as we walk together down the paved road to the store.
"Feels like it," I whisper. "But I promise, you can trust me. I'm not going to contact the FBI and let them know our whereabouts."
"Good," he says and stops walking. His hands begin to pat me down. "Cellphone?" he asks.
"With my purse, back in New York."
He finishes patting me down a little too intimately before releasing his hold. "That's why you didn't offer to pay for your ticket for the train or bus fare. And here I thought you were just expecting me to be chivalrous."
"You, chivalrous?" I laugh. "Don't go pretending to be a hero because of what you did today. Nikita is more of a hero than you."
"Ouch." He lifts his right hand to his chest like I just offended him. There's a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Why didn't you run?"
"I wouldn't have gotten far. Besides, I'm trained to disarm a threat. I wasn't about to leave your sorry ass behind." I nudge him as we walk. I can't stop thinking about what he said when we were seconds from death.
I love you.
His words play in my head like a broken record, over and over again.
Had he said that to survive? Trying to gain common ground with his coworker and friend, Nikita? Or had he meant it?
"That's the only reason?" Anton smirks. "And here, I thought it was because you wanted to be my hero."
The Walmart is within eyesight, and we stroll across the parking lot. I can't help but scan nearby vehicles, glancing around for any sign of trouble. We're far from New York, but there are plenty of FBI field offices across the country.
How had we managed to slip by unseen at the train station? There was surveillance footage, and while Anton had snagged a baseball cap to cover his face, I was still a target.
"How's your leg?" I ask. On the train and bus, we'd been seated. This is the most we've had to walk recently, and Anton is trying to hide his discomfort.
"It's fine. Don't worry about me," Anton says. The man is tough, but he doesn't have to pretend that he's fine when he's with me.
"Hard not to when you're slowing my ass down," I chide and nudge him again.
"Is that your way of flirting, kitten, because it needs a lot of work?"
I roll my eyes and glance down as we step inside the Walmart. There are cameras in the store and, of course, the parking lot. It's not going to be easy to stay out of sight, but if no one is searching for us in Montana, then we're fine.
"Hair dye is this way," I say, pointing toward the right.
Anton grabs a small basket and follows me down the aisle. My hair is naturally blonde, and I have fair skin. I grab the red-haired box because I don't think I could pull off being a brunette.
"Red? Are you trying to get us caught?" He grabs a dark brown color, glances at the box, and then back at me. He probably realizes that my complexion is too fair to have dark hair. He grunts and then grabs the red box, dropping it into the cart.
He's halfway down the aisle when I'm trying to catch up with him as he makes a sharp right and wanders through the razor aisle. "I need to trim my beard."
"Trim or shave off?" I don't want to admit I like his facial hair. Hell, I love everything about the man, and I'm aware that I shouldn't. I'd be safer if I stole a couple of dollars from him and bailed. The FBI can protect me. Right?
Then again, two bratva members managed to waltz onto the fourth floor and capture Anton without incident until I showed up.
"Shave the damn thing off, and I should trim my hair a bit too." He grabs an electric razor from the shelf.
At my insistence, we spend twenty minutes browsing the aisles, picking up a new change of clothes and supplies to clean his wound. After we finish shopping and paying, we go into the family bathroom stall together, and I help him where the bullet grazed his thigh. He could have cleaned it up himself. It doesn't look bad. There's some dried blood, and his pants have a hole from the injury, but the blood isn't noticeable on his clothes because of his black slacks.
We finish in the bathroom and head out, down the road where we've agreed to meet Declan. I don't know anything about the man picking us up, only that Nikita insisted that we could trust him. And he had saved our lives.
Is that enough?
I'm nervous. Not having my service weapon or a backup isn't ideal. But I've come to trust Anton. He's made his intentions clear. Me? I'm still figuring out what it is that I want. I haven't bailed on his ass, though, so maybe I know a little about what I want.
He carries the bags down the road, walking alongside me. Anton walks on the outside of the road, keeping me safe by the grass. Whether it's intentional or not, I can't say.
"Was it true?" I ask, unable to resist the question lingering in my head for far too long.
"Is what true?"
I'm almost afraid to voice the words aloud, fearing that he might laugh or tell me it was just an act to keep us both alive. "That you love me."
Anton keeps one hand on the bags, and his other hand wraps around my waist, pulling me to walk alongside him. "Of course, it's true. I'd never say it if I didn't mean it."
"Even with a gun to your head?" That is precisely what happened. It'd been a spur-of-the-moment, adrenaline-induced scenario.
"I'd repeat it without a gun to my head."
I stop walking and inhale a deep breath. "We barely know anything about one another." What he does know about me was mostly an act. Being an exotic dancer was far from my comfort level. I've had a few wild experiences in my college years but working for Anton, hell, dancing for him on his desk, was the boldest move I've made.
Anton squeezes my hip as we walk alongside the road together. "No time like the present."
* * *