Blowback (The Black Cipher Files Book 1) by Lisa Hughey Read Free Book Online Page A

attacking, but he looked pissed.
    And I had no idea why.
    The puzzle of his anger tugged at me when I shouldn’t even care. I needed to focus on who was coming after me--and what was in that syringe.
    “You’d be better off if you just let me go.” We both knew I wasn't talking about my wrist.
    “I can't.” His fingers loosened on my wrist, his thumb rubbing against the pulse gently. “You need help.”
    Nope. I needed a phone, a computer and a place to regroup and reassess. And I would find one--alone.
    As soon as I got the syringe back.
    I tugged my wrist away from his grasp and the sweep of his thumb against my pulse. I grabbed the door handle to the back seat, yanked it open, and reached into the back seat for the duffel bag.
    I monitored his movements while I scrabbled through the duffel. Lucas took two steps to a refrigerator in the corner. He keyed a passcode into a panel on the front and the refrigerator popped open with a hiss.
    He’d out maneuvered me. I hit my head on the door frame as I tried to squeeze back out of the car. I caught a glimpse of some wine bottles, as he tossed the syringe inside then shut the refrigerator door with a snick.
    Fuck. I'd let him distract me.
    “Open it.” I swung the duffel forward and back, bursting and sparking with electric fury.
    I’d fucked up my mission. Since escaping, I’d almost been captured, twice. I’d lost evidence. I had to pull it together. Irrationally, the syringe represented the chance to reverse the course of this mess. If I could just get it back, things would return to normal. Or as normal as my life was.
    He lifted his hand as if to touch me.
    I knocked away the tender gesture.
    "They had access to your tracking beacon,” he stated gently. “Either you have a government agency after you or someone sold you out."
    Yeah. Tell me something I don’t know.
    I needed that freaking syringe. And I needed to know what was so important they’d have multiple surveillance teams in place. And who the fuck they were. “Open the refrigerator.”
    He put his hands on his hips. “It’s an eight digit alpha numeric code. It will take you longer to crack it than it will for me to take a shower.”
    “Shit.”
    “Let’s go.” He pivoted toward the door.
    Not a chance. I swung the duffel out and around, watching as it arced toward Lucas’s traitorous head.
    He ducked.
    Fortunately, I’d seen his muscles tense and checked my swing. Otherwise the momentum would have spun me around.
    He faced me and fell into a ready stance, his hands in blades. Martial arts training. Figured.
    “I should have dumped you in the boonies when I had the chance.” I feinted to the side, dropped the duffel and kicked it back toward the car.
    “Why didn’t you?” One hand went behind his back to ease his Glock from his pants. He placed it carefully on the counter behind him, his gaze steady on mine.
    I shrugged. I still didn’t have a lock on why I’d kept him with me. And as this mission spiraled into a complete cluster fuck, I lamented my uncustomary breakdown in judgement.
    What the hell had I been thinking?
    “Open the door,” I demanded.
    I didn’t want to advance until he was locked into a smaller space. To make it difficult to evade, I shifted nearer to the fridge and boxed him into the corner. I hadn’t glanced at it but Lucas knew where my focus lay.
    “It’s state of the art.”
    I shot out my heel in a forward kendo kick.
    He twisted, his thigh taking the brunt of the kick, his calloused fingers grasping, almost holding my foot.
    I danced back, trying to keep his attention fractured. Then, with the other foot, I lashed out.
    Again, he blocked my move.
    In quick succession, I kicked three more times. Each time Lucas blocked my move, safely, gently, making no attempt to counter-attack.
    He whispered, sharp and focused, as if he could will me to back off, “I am not your enemy.”
    He sure as hell wasn’t my friend.
    Each time he grabbed my bare foot, his