“Always thinking about yourself.” Harmony felt her side where she’d fallen. “I didn’t shoot Michael. If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable.”

“You did.” Shit, she loosened a tooth. Disgusted, he spit out a wad of blood. “In the first draft. Next time aim for his head or he’ll just jump to fix it. The only other way to kill a drafter is to do it in a rewrite. I was trying to save your life. Both our lives.”

Harmony paced, arms over her chest. “My first husband was good at lying,” she said, motion slowing. “My anger at him was what got me through the crap the CIA makes their women recruits swim through.”

Jack stiffened as she dropped to crouch before him, grabbing him by the shirtfront. But he’d lived his life with volatile women, and he knew if she wanted to hurt him, she’d still be kicking him.

“I can smell a lie before it comes out of your mouth, white-bread boy,” she said, squinting evilly at him.

“Yeah?” he panted, uncomfortable in the angle at which she was holding him. If she had cracked a rib, they’d take him to the infirmary, wouldn’t they?

Harmony dropped him with a huff, drawing back to stand over him. “But I can’t tell with you.” Her head tilted, and she eyed him again. “You need some help with those cuffs?” she asked, her voice softening.

Jack looked at them, then back at her. “Sure?” he said hesitantly, and held them out.

Sighing heavily, Harmony slid down the wall to sit beside him. Drawing her knees to her chest, she hid her face.

Jack let his hands fall. Wincing, he felt his ribs. Maybe he deserved it.

“I don’t like feeling stupid,” Harmony said, voice muffled.

“I didn’t lie to you. I came here to kill Bill. It’s the only way Peri will believe I love her.”

Harmony snorted and pulled her head up. “You don’t love her.”

He took in her fatigue and weary uncertainty, seeing in her that she’d given up almost everything. “You want to hear what happened?” he asked, and she dropped her head back to her knees. “When they came in the door the first time, they were surprised to find me. If I had shot Bill, Michael would have drafted, and it would have been for nothing, so I said the only thing that would keep them guessing.”

“Yeah, and here you are. In a cell.”

“I lied to them,” he said, trying to make her believe it. “I still had my gun, and you took it from me. Shot Michael in the chest.” He took a slow breath. “I told you to shoot him in the head.”

“I wanted him alive,” she complained.

Jack wiped the blood from his nose, then smeared it off onto the hem of his pants. “If you had shot him in the head, we wouldn’t be here. You can’t take a resisting drafter alive without drugs.” He sighed heavily, satisfied she was listening now. “But you shot him in the chest and ran out the door thinking I had betrayed you. And then you died in the parking lot with Sean’s five bullets in your chest.”

Her eyes were high in disbelief. “Five? You can call me superwoman.”

“But all you remember is me giving you up.”

“Yep.” Harmony arranged the laces of her boots to make them lie perfectly.

Bringing his feet forward, Jack awkwardly worked the plastic pin out of the hem of his slacks. “I was hoping that if you shot Michael in the first draft that you’d do it again in the second. I hadn’t counted on him downing you so fast.” He gently bit his lip as he got the pin in the cuff lock. “And you’re mad at me?”

“You’re blaming me for this?” she said incredulously, then chuckled when she realized he was trying to be funny. “You are a lying bastard, Jack, and I don’t trust you.”

But she had laughed, and he shrugged, struggling with the cuff pin. “You can’t bring down a drafter without a lot of planning, and they caught us off guard.” His chest hurt, and he gave up on the cuffs, easing the strain on his ribs as he took a break. His thoughts drifted to Peri, and he sighed.

For a moment, Harmony was silent, her eyes flicking to his cuffs. “How long do you think they’ll keep us here?”

He lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “Until Peri shows. Then they’ll hurt or kill us to make her draft so they can scrub her.”

Harmony eyed him. “You seriously think she’ll show? She hates you. If it were me, I’d be halfway out of the country by now with my sexy psychologist.”

“You think Silas is sexy?” he asked as if affronted. “The man is all brawn and—” He hesitated. “Yeah, okay.”

She laughed, turning to take the cuff pin. In three seconds, it clicked open. Relieved, he took the cuffs off, biting his tongue when Harmony tucked them in her pocket along with the key. “She’ll show,” he said as he rubbed his wrists. “If only to kill me, she’ll show.”

And that, of course, was why Bill had stuck him here instead of killing him outright. His only hope now was to convince Harmony he’d done it for Peri. For love.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-THREE

The soft alert ding from her car was as subtle as the predawn morning light, but it rang through Peri like a shot, jolting the mild highway hypnosis from her in a spark of adrenaline. Silas was asleep against the door, never having heard it. The last of the stars were fading in front of her, and she was beginning to smell salt. A steady hum from the engine had her in a light, meditative state, and she hadn’t even noticed when the GPS system had flicked on the car’s front display. But there it was, a bright pink line superimposed on the map to Newport.

“Prepare to exit right in one mile,” her car said, the male voice soothing in its proper British accent.

I didn’t set the GPS. Peri frowned, then hit a few buttons to pull the display back and see that her car wanted her to exit onto Gilbert Stuart Road instead of continuing on 138. ETA was eight minutes, but it looked like it ended at the middle of a wetland and nowhere near Newport. Concerned, she reached out and nudged Silas.

His soft groan was achingly familiar, and he stretched, his long legs jerking back when they hit the underside of the dash. “How close are we?” he asked, peering at the predawn sky, and then his watch. “I told you I’d drive the last leg.”