“Will Jax come?” I hate myself for asking, but I am desperate to know.
She winks at me. “For you, yes, I think he will come.”
The edges of her screen blink red. “Uh-oh,” she says. “What is this?” She taps the screen.
A clipped male voice says, “Encrypted transmission. Are you secure?”
“I have a civilian in my car,” she says. “A Mia—” she stops. “What is your last name?” she asks.
Before I can answer, a gray-haired man’s face fills the screen. “You have Mia Morrow, who is a person of interest to the network,” he says, then his eyes move over to me.
I realize he can see us, and I self-consciously smooth my hair, realizing too late that there are bits of hay in it.
“Ms. Morrow,” he says. “I deeply regret that your safety was compromised in one of our silos.” He must feel he is imposing on the small screen, as he shifts back, revealing his shoulders and the breast of a smart navy suit. I’d put him close to sixty, but fit and handsome.
He continues. “Jax De Luca is a dangerous fugitive who unfortunately has intimate knowledge of our security systems.”
“I’m all right,” I say.
He turns to Colette. “Where did you find her?”
“Walking along a drive about twenty miles from this location,” Colette says.
A husky male voice comes from the dash. “Mood sensor activated.”
The man onscreen pauses a moment, his arms crossed over his chest. Colette smiles cheerily as she continues to drive as if nothing is happening. I don’t dare ask her what it means.
After a moment, the man says, “Good, I’m glad you are telling the truth and not covertly assisting your former director.”
“Of course!” Colette says brightly. “Poor girl was wandering about. I saw the alert on Jax. What did he do this time?”
“It isn’t a critical issue at the moment,” the man says, his eyes flicking to me. “Where are you taking Ms. Morrow?”
“She says she lives in Tennessee. We’re headed there.”
“Very good,” he says. “Make sure her home is secure and set up monitoring.”
“I don’t want to be watched!” I say. If Jax comes, they’ll find him!
“I assure you, your privacy is our utmost concern,” the man says. “It is only for your protection.”
“Who are you?” I ask, and not especially nicely.
“I apologize. I am Jacob Sutherland, Director of the United States Security Division of Special Forces.” He smiles.
It’s not lost on me that he doesn’t mention the Vigilantes. Everyone wants to think I’m ignorant.
“Who ARE you people?” I ask, deciding to continue the ruse.
Colette glances at me, then her attention returns to the road.
Sutherland holds out his hands in a friendly gesture. “We are a government agency that manages national security,” he says smoothly.
“How did I get mixed up in this?” I ask. If he’s going to be generic, then I can be nosy.
“You were captured by one of our rogue operatives,” he says. “Did you see the Bourne movies?”
Ugh. Now he’s insulting me. “No,” I say with disdain. Our life has been nothing like a movie.
