Free CROSSFIRE by Jenna Mills

in the undergrowth, Elizabeth pushed to her feet. "You're leaving?"
    In just about any other circumstance, he would have loved the horror in her question. But this wasn't any other circumstance, and he didn't love the horror. Her father had trusted him to get her home safely, not to play hide-and-seek with her in the wilds of northern
Montana
. She insisted she was fine, but he knew her well enough to see the fear she tried to hide.
    "Here." He handed her the semiautomatic he'd retrieved from his gym bag. "You remember how to use this, right?"
    She took the Derringer and turned it over. "Yes."
    Memory drenched her voice, her eyes, all the hours spent at me shooting range, her standing in front of him, his body bracketing hers, practicing taking aim and firing, over and over and over. Even after she'd perfected her aim, she'd continued to suggest they practice.
    And he'd obliged.
    But this wasn't practice, and he might not be around to back her up. The helicopter had put down five minutes before. Soon, they'd be swarming the area. To catch them off guard, Hawk needed to make his move before they discovered that he and Elizabeth had survived.
    "Don't make any noise, and no one will know you're here. But if anyone comes near you, fire."
    There was a slight tug at the corner of her mouth, where lipstick smeared and blood stained. "Even you?"
    He put a thumb to her face and rubbed away the discoloration. "That's entirely up to you, sweetness."
    The increasingly cool breeze blew tangled hair against the sides of her face. "What are you going to do?"
    Whatever he had to. But he didn't tell her that. "Make sure those bastards never come within a hundred feet of you." Never see her, touch her. Never hurt her.
    Awareness darkened her gaze. She was a smart woman. She knew the score. The danger. But any fleeting fantasy he'd harbored of her throwing herself into his arms and begging him not to go, not to leave her, died as quickly as they'd formed. She just lifted her chin and watched, somehow managing to look provocative even with her hair tangled and blood on her face, her sweatshirt torn. A gun in her hand. There was a resilience to her, a strength he'd always admired but she'd never trusted.
    "Be careful," was all she said.
    He refused to feel even the slightest flicker of disappointment, just as he refused to think he'd heard concern in her voice.
    "I know what I'm doing," he said vaguely. Caution didn't get a man anywhere. Reward came from risk.
    She frowned. "That's what worries me."
    Once, her words would have electrified. Once, they had. He would have counted every second until he was back to her, to continue the game she'd started and show her how exciting life could be when you didn't pay attention to constraints.
    Now he stepped back, wouldn't let himself touch, imagine. Remember. "You're going to have to trust me on this, Ellie."
    "You've got a plan?"
    He cocked a brow, tried not to grin. "That would make you feel better, wouldn't it?"
    Frustration flashed. "This isn't a game, Wesley."
    "No, it's not. It's your life and my life, and every second I debate strategy with you brings Zhukov's men another second closer to finding us." Anticipation tightened through him. He had plans for Zhukov's men, all right, but not any he wanted to share with Elizabeth . "If I don't come back—"
    She grabbed his arm. "You're coming back."
    "That's the pl—" He bit back the offensive word before it slipped free. Elizabeth was the one who clung to plans like gospel. Not him. He trusted his gut, and his instinct. They'd kept him alive this long. There was no reason to change now.
    "That's my intent. But until you hear me whistle, I need to know you're not going to so much as bat an eye. Zhukov's men won't be anywhere near as patient as I am." Or as gentle.
    Resolve streamed into her gaze, overshadowing a fear that ate into his gut. "The dove whistle?"
    He nodded, felt relief flood him. She remembered. "Twice in quick succession, like we