The Unknown’s contact.
And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Rhyzan Brannigan had finally managed to sniff her out. The new assistant director of the Bureau of Breed Affairs had said he would do so. Rule had just been certain he could keep it from happening.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Narrowing her gaze on him, she stared back at him with all the ire of a woman scorned.
She wasn’t just his merciless little spy, but scorned as well, at least as far as she was concerned.
“Rhyzan Brannigan is Jonas Wyatt’s preferred choice of assistant director of the Bureau of Breed Affairs,” he told her, giving a tidbit of information that no one else had known. “Jonas is preparing to inform the Breed Ruling Cabinet of his choice once he’s finished here in Window Rock. He’s also one of the Bureau’s best investigators. The only reason he would have been at that bar would have been to identify a spy for an underground group of Navajo Warriors called the Unknown. They call her Whisper.”
Her expression never changed.
“And that has exactly what to do with me?” Voiced low, offended, furious, her tone nearly had a smile quirking at his lips.
She was good.
Son of a fucking bitch, she was too damned good, and she was too damned guilty.
“Nothing,” he assured her. “But that’s likely why he was there. He’ll be Jonas’s second in command if he’s accepted into the position by the Ruling Cabinet. Identifying Whisper was his last assignment before taking that position once approval is formalized.”
“Whatever,” she breathed out, anger still searing her tone just as deceit seared her scent. “You’ve still managed to sidestep the original issue with all the grace of a crippled bull in a china shop. Why not just tell me how I managed to sicken you to the point that you had to shower, and get it the hell over with.”
As she turned to face forward, the scent of the deceit began to disappear beneath . . .
Pain.
God, he’d hurt her, and he would cut off his own arm before doing so deliberately.
No—she blamed herself for it? She actually believed she had somehow sickened him? Hell, Lawe should have just kicked his ass when he had the chance for allowing that to happen.
“You were not at fault for what happened in that bed, Gypsy,” he stated, self-disgust filling him at the lash of humiliation that suddenly surrounded her.
What had he done?
His clumsy ignorance had sliced at her soul in ways he’d never have allowed if he hadn’t refused to accept what the beast inside him had evidently known for years.
“Really? So it wasn’t my body that you jumped from and rushed to the shower as though dirty? Right?” The low, mocking drawl accompanied by the shame, hurt and distrust that whipped in the air around her nearly caused him to flinch.
Self-control was all that held back that reaction as his hands tightened on the steering wheel. Clenching his teeth against the self-disgust he could feel rising inside him, Rule fought to remind himself that it could be fixed. Their kiss had been infused with the mating hormone; even now it filled the glands at the sides of his tongue, waiting to spill to her once again as their lips met.
She would have to forgive him. They were mates. Mates didn’t separate, at least not for long, and that had happened only once. Besides, the separation had been between a Coyote and his mate, not a Lion and his mate.
“The reasons why are complicated,” he forced himself to say despite his discomfort.
He deserved the discomfort, he told himself. What his mate felt was far worse.
“I hate that word.” The studied disinterest in her tone had him flicking a look at her expression as his lips tightened.
This wasn’t the place to discuss what had happened. It wasn’t the place to remember what had happened. Those memories were steeped in such agony, in so many nightmares that sometimes he wondered if he would ever be free of them.
“I hate that word as well,” he assured her, grimacing at the tight, hoarse sound of his voice. “Nonetheless, it’s the truth. Hopefully, once we reach—”
A red alert shot on the windshield before he could say anything more. A heartbeat later, two more joined it as he thumbed the link to Control.
“Control, identify bogies four point six miles behind my mark,” he requested.
“Unable to establish link to Control,” the computer announced.
“Computer, activate satellite link,” Rule commanded as he shifted the Dragoon into higher gear and thumbed the accelerator.
“Satellite link jammed,” the computerized voice reported. “You have three vehicles approaching at a high rate of speed. All identifying transponders are deactivated or unable to respond. Activating covert protocols.”
The lights went out. Dashboard lights, headlights and running lights went black while the windows darkened further to hide the glow of the faint illumination of the holographs on the windshield.
“Computer, activate Alpha. Navajo. California. Seven. Six. Niner.”
The computer repeated the code.
“Affirmed.” Rule acknowledged the request that he’d given the correct command. “Activate and begin a repeat pulse emergency signal.”
“Activating.”
He shifted the vehicle again, its speed increasing as Gypsy watched the display on the windshield, her expression intent.
“Do they have a lock on the Dragoon?” she asked as she watched the red pinpoints indicating the unidentified vehicles gaining on them.
“Computer, process any means of detection locked on our position,” he commanded clearly.
“No electronic, satellite, cellular or radar locks detected,” the computer reported as Gypsy glanced out the window to verify their position.
“Computer, display GPS and landmarks,” Rule ordered rather than questioning Gypsy. “Answer all queries from McQuade, Gypsy Rum. Code Alpha. Foxtrot. India.”
“All queries verified,” the computer answered.
“McQuade, Gypsy Rum. Alpha. Foxtrot. India,” Gypsy spoke clearly as she continued to watch the hologram. “Display all routes not currently provided.”
...
She needed to see the back roads. If there was no radar or GPS lock on them, then whoever was behind them, if they were looking for her and Rule, was counting on them to remain on the main road.
“All routes, mapped and unmapped, now displayed.”
Her eyes narrowed on the maze of lines that suddenly streaked over the hologram.
“Computer, display only routes leading to the Navajo Suites Hotel. Each individual direction to be highlighted in differing colors.”
“All routes leading to the Navajo Suites Hotel displayed and highlighted as requested.”
Gypsy nodded at the new display.
Checking the red pinpoints still far enough behind them to ensure that they couldn’t physically see the vehicle, Gypsy glanced back at the map.
“Just tell the computer what you need,” Rule told her quietly as she used her finger to follow a particular route.
Giving the computer the various detour routes, many that were unmapped anywhere but on Breed mapping systems, she sat back and waited.
Within seconds, the computer was giving Rule the first turn from the interstate, just in time to keep the vehicles behind them from getting them in sight.
Whipping the wheel, Rule took the turn quickly.
“Half mile there’s dirt,” she advised him. “Dawn’s coming, they’ll see the dust trail unless you slow down.”
She heard the frustrated growl in response, but he slowed considerably and commanded the computer. “Engage dust dispersion.”
“Dust dispersion engaged,” the computer answered.
Gypsy kept her eyes on the display as the first faint streaks of dawn began to emerge. The Dragoon was moving quickly, ensuring that the vehicles behind them couldn’t catch sight of them before they hit the next county road.