Page 61 of Lock ’N’ Load

“Honey, I got this.” Nick stretched a long muscled arm through the open passenger window and rested his hand on her shoulder. “I have the two-page instructions you left me. I’ll take good care of him. It’s only overnight. He’ll be fine. I promise.” Before removing his hand, he gave her a quick wink.

Glancing at Matt sitting beside her, she noticed his scowl had deepened. What was up with that?

“Later,” Matt said as he cranked the gearshift and the truck began rolling along the grass back toward the driveway. “Stay down until we’re on the main road.”

She lay down on the bench seat with her head touching Matt’s thigh. Something hard dug into her scalp, and she realized it was his gun hidden beneath his untucked shirt.

Directly above her, Sheba stretched her head down, the dog’s black nostrils flaring as she sniffed the air above Trista’s face.

Matt checked the rearview mirror more than once, and they weren’t even on the highway yet. The look on his face was all cop. Funny, but she was getting used to it.

The muscles in his thigh bunched as he gunned the truck onto the road. From her position, she also had a mouth-watering view of his arms. As he turned the wheel, his biceps and the muscles in his forearms rippled and flexed, and she imagined running her fingers over all that firm, steely strength. Even the scars didn’t detract from his masculine beauty, although the way he’d gotten them certainly explained why he’d gone off on her about what fire could do to the human body.

Earlier, in the classroom when he’d kissed her, she’d only just begun to touch him. Even with all that coiled power, he’d been unexpectedly gentle. His lips had been soft, his fingers branding her skin, making her body quiver with anticipation of what it would be like to make love with this man.

“You can get up now.”

When she did, he braked to a stop at a traffic light, then picked up his phone and hit redial. The reporter’s voicemail picked up again, and Matt ended the call. When the light turned green, he gunned the truck toward the on-ramp.

“Maybe he’s screening his calls,” she suggested.

“Maybe.” He glanced in his side-view mirror, then merged onto the highway.

“Let me try.” She grabbed the phone and quickly hit redial before the phone locked up.

“Put it on speaker. If he answers, give me the phone.”

After tapping the speaker symbol, the phone rang four times before Thomas George’s recorded voicemail kicked in.

“This is Thomas George. I can’t answer the phone right now. Please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you.”

A beep sounded, and for a moment Trista didn’t say anything. Matt reached for the phone, but she swiveled in the seat so he couldn’t reach it.

“Mr. George, my name is Trista Gold.” Beside her, Matt shot her a dark scowl, his lips pressing into a hard line. To say he wasn’t pleased that she’d identified herself was an understatement. Too late now. “I’m a CIA intelligence analyst at Langley, and there’s something you should know. Someone tried to kill me because of something I discovered, and I think you might also be in danger. Please, when you get this message, call me back right away, and I’ll explain more.”

“Hello,” a man’s voice came from the phone.

Trista gripped the phone tighter. “Mr. George?”

“Yes,” he answered. “What exactly do you want to explain?”

Matt gave her a quick nod.

“Part of my job entails monitoring online communications involving Russian operatives here in the U.S.”

“What does that have to do with me?” George asked in a suspicious tone.

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully. “You were mentioned in a black net chat room as having discovered something that could ruin everything.” She emphasized the last words. “Does that mean anything to you?” Her question was met with silence. She waited several seconds longer, worried he’d hung up. “Mr. George, are you there?”

More silence, but shuffling sounds came through, telling her they were still connected.

“I’m worried for your safety,” she continued. “These people are Russian operatives, and they said you had to be taken care of.” Again, she emphasized the last words, hoping to get through to the man. “Are you working on a story that has something to do with the Russian government?”

“No,” he answered immediately, followed by a lengthy pause. “But I am working on a story. Something big. Something extraordinarily big.”

“What?” She glanced at Matt. His eyes were focused on the road, but she knew he was listening intently. “Mr. George, someone tried to kill me over this. Twice. We think you could be next.”

An audible exhale came through the speaker, followed by more silence. “Not over the phone. I’ll meet you in person, but come alone.”