Chapter 321
Dallas stopped. He looked at her. She was wearing a silk nightgown, her hair disheveled, her feet bare. She looked fragile. Breakable. And he was about to go into a place where people like her were currency.
“It is a combat zone, Eliza,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm. “There are people there who want my head on a spike. If I take you, I have to watch two people. I will fail.”
“I don’t care!” Eliza grabbed the lapels of his tactical vest. “I know her! I know how she thinks! She might contact me! You need me!”
Dallas looked at her hands on his chest. He covered them with his own. His skin was rough, calloused.
“You’re right,” he said softly.
Eliza blinked, surprised by his sudden capitulation. “I — I am?”
“You’re right,” Dallas repeated. “I can’t do this without you.” He gently pried her hands from his vest. “Go get changed. Something warm. Durable. We leave in five.”
“Okay,” Eliza breathed. “Okay.”
She turned to run to the bedroom.
“Wait,” Dallas said. He reached for a glass of water on the side table, already poured. “Drink this first. You’re hyperventilating. You’ll pass out before we get to the airport.”
Eliza took the glass. Her hands were shaking so hard she almost dropped it. She trusted him. She trusted him with her life.
She tipped her head back and drained the glass in three long gulps.
“Thank you,” she gasped, wiping her mouth. “I’ll be fast.”
She took two steps toward the bedroom.
Then the room tilted.
The floor seemed to rush up to meet her. Her legs turned to water.
“Dallas?” she slurred. Her tongue felt thick, heavy. “I feel —”
She stumbled. Dallas was there instantly. He caught her, pulling her against his chest. He didn’t smell like the husband she knew. He smelled like gun oil and cold resolve.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair.
“You —” Eliza’s eyes fluttered. Realization dawned, slow and horrific. “You drugged me —”
“I had to,” Dallas said. His voice cracked. “I can’t protect you there. And I can’t let you follow me.”
Eliza tried to push him away, but her arms were like lead. Darkness swarmed the edges of her vision.
“Hate me,” Dallas whispered. “Please, Eliza. Just hate me.”
Her head lolled back against his shoulder. The last thing she saw was his face — twisted in a mask of agony she couldn’t understand.
Then everything went black.
Dallas lifted her effortlessly. She was so light. He carried her into the master bedroom and laid her on the bed, pulling the duvet up to her chin. He stood there for a moment, memorizing her face.
This was the last time.
He turned and walked out.
“Weston,” he said into his comms. “She’s sedated. I need a security detail at the penthouse — female agent in charge, Code Red lockdown. No one in or out without my direct authorization. Is Lena available?”
“She’s five minutes out, Boss,” Weston replied. “Are you sure about this?”