Oath of Honor

had emerged, they would have a president who would speak for the

righteous. She would help make that possible.

The digital clocks at the far end of the room simultaneously

projected the time and date in New York City, Washington DC, Los

Angeles, Hong Kong, Sydney, New Delhi, Berlin, London. Seven p.m.

in Atlanta. Twelve more hours and the first stage of her mission would

be complete. Soon the reclaiming of America would begin.

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chapter twenty

Evyn handed Wes the last slice of pizza. “You finish it.”

“I’m stuffed.” Wes sat on the bed with her back propped

against the wall. Some of the shadows around her eyes had faded, but

her cheeks were still hollow, and her fingers trembled slightly as she

reached for a napkin.

“You need the carbs—eat.” She hated seeing Wes hurt. Wes didn’t

complain—she wouldn’t, and her attempt to feign normalcy only

made Evyn want to punch something. She had to do something, even

something mindless, or she’d do something they’d both regret. She

stacked the remains of their meal—crumpled paper napkins, a couple

of paper plates, the pizza box. “I’ll take the empty box to the trash. The

pizza was great, but I’d rather not smell the aftermath all night.”

The room was generous by motel standards—two slightly larger

than single beds separated by a two-drawer nightstand with a peeling

brown lacquer finish. A goosenecked reading light, dusty shade askew,

sat on the water-stained top. The bathroom had been carved out of the

closet area—a small toilet jammed in next to the sink, a two-and-a-half

square foot shower stall, and a solitary overhead light. The closet held a

few bent wire hangers and nothing else. Neither she nor Wes had taken

anything from their go bags other than toiletries.

“Need a hand?” Wes asked.

“I got it,” Evyn said, not looking at Wes. She’d sat on the far end

of the bed during their takeout dinner, a meal she’d shared a hundred

times in a hundred nondescript rooms just like this one. She’d never

been as grateful for the pizza box sitting open between them as she had

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been tonight, though—every time she looked at Wes and remembered

the way she had looked slowly spinning deeper underwater, she wanted

to touch her. Just to assure herself Wes was warm and safe.

She gathered the trash and stood. “Need anything?”

“Nope. I’m going to grab another shower.”

“Still cold?”

Wes grinned wryly. “I’m not really sure. Feels that way, but it

might just be my imagination.”

Evyn checked the thermostat on the wall above the dresser, a

vintage fifties maple affair with wooden knobs on the drawers and a

rickety mirror. Seventy degrees. The room was toasty. Wes still wasn’t

fully recovered. “Take your time—use all the hot water if you need to.

I’m good.”

“Okay.” Wes rose, glanced at the door. A frisson of anxiety shot

along her nerve endings. She’d never minded being alone, but she

didn’t want Evyn to walk out that door. She’d paced the room during

the ten minutes Evyn had been gone getting the pizza and hadn’t been

able to relax until Evyn appeared again, a spark of triumph in her eyes

as she’d held the pizza box aloft like a trophy. She’d looked vibrant

and vital and sexy. Wes clamped down on the surge of heat that tingled

down her thighs. “So I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

“Right.” Evyn reached behind her and fumbled for the doorknob,

her gaze locked on Wes. “I’ll be here.”

Wes broke eye contact first and disappeared into the bathroom.

A second later the water came on in the shower. Evyn imagined Wes

sliding out of her clothes and stepping naked into the heat. She’d seen

enough of Wes’s body through that thin, damp white towel back in

the locker room to have a pretty good idea of exactly what Wes would

look like naked. Ordinarily she didn’t have any problem populating

her fantasies with women she knew, but she chased the enticing image

of Wes’s body from her mind. She didn’t want to fantasize about her.

What she wanted to do was kiss her. She almost had—would have, just

then, if they’d been any closer. She had quite a lot of practice reading

women’s eyes, and she’d read desire in Wes’s. All the same, she hadn’t

had such a bad idea in longer than she could remember. Sleeping with

Louise when she hadn’t been one hundred percent present didn’t hold a

candle to the insanity of kissing Wes.

Wes had had a serious shock just a few hours ago—had almost

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drowned. She was vulnerable. Physically depleted. Battered and bruised.

By her own admission, not really on top of her game. She didn’t need

Evyn coming on to her—she needed a solid night’s sleep and probably

a talk with someone about what had happened. Evyn wasn’t one of

those agents who found psych support to be intrusive or threatening.

Her older sister was a psychologist and one of the best listeners she’d

ever met. She’d learned when she was struggling with the kinds of