Seal of Surrender by Traci Douglass Page B

the papers inside. His dark brown hair was slicked back and well controlled despite the bandages, his brows manicured and his abused jaw clean-shaven. The designer-chic of his casual clothes reeked of wealth and his boots were made of the finest cowhide money could buy. Drake might work with the underprivileged but he sure as hell didn’t live like them.
    â€œAh. Here we are.” He held two photos out to her. “Have a look at these.”
    She grabbed them. One pictured a handsome, smiling man with a small girl on his shoulders; the woman by his side had her arm looped around his waist. The second image depicted the same couple being forced into a small cell by armed guards, their heads covered with black hoods and their wrists secured with handcuffs. The date stamp at the bottom of the second picture was from a twenty years earlier. Irena’s heart imploded, the air stolen from her lungs to make her voice breathy, weak. “Why are you showing me these?”
    â€œYour parents went through a lot during the war.” Drake leaned back in his seat, his hands clasped atop his stomach. “They were a lot younger then. Not sure how they’d handle such stresses now.”
    â€œLeave my family out of this.”
    â€œI’m afraid it’s too late. The Consortium needs to be assured of your commitment. And what better way to ensure undying devotion than a little familial threat.” He snatched the photos back and crushed them in his hands. His placid expression belied the cold threat in his tone. “Don’t fuck with us or your parents will cease to exist.”
    Drake dropped the crumpled ball on the floor and watched it roll away.
    â€œWhat do you want from me?”
    â€œYour job is to keep me happy.” He crowded her space while his finger traced a lazy trail down her cheek. “Whatever that may entail.”
    â€œYou insufferable bastard!”
    Several nearby passengers stirred at the sound of her rising tone.
    Drake shook his head and feigned remorse. “Please forgive me.”
    â€œGo fuck yourself!” Irena spun on her heel and stomped away.
    His slimy response followed her all the way back to economy class. “I’ll see you soon, babe.”
    â€¢ • •
    Chago looked up as Irena barreled through the curtains at the front of the cabin, her face red and angry.
    He stood to allow her into her seat, struck by the waves of tension radiating off her stiff form. Shit. At least the pilot’s announcement said they were close to landing.
    â€œI thought you pulled an emergency exit on me,” he said, attempting to lighten the mood while he fastened his seatbelt.
    Irena ignored him and yanked the blind up with more force than necessary.
    He glanced toward first class again. What the hell had she been doing up there? He studied her profile while her gaze remained focused outside. Her Slavic ancestry was undeniable in the high arch of her cheekbones and the slight tilt to the outer corner of her eyes. Her platinum spill of hair had been combed since he’d left her sleeping and now fell like a silky curtain to her mid-back. In striking contrast, her brows and lashes were dark as soot, the perfect foil for the glacial blue of her irises. A pert nose perched over the soft cushion of her mouth. Memories of those lips beneath his own and the taste of her on his tongue had him making a quick adjustment to his position.
    At his movement, Irena turned, her gaze heated. “Don’t stare. I hate people who stare.”
    â€œI wasn’t staring. Promise.”
    â€œLiar. Where the hell were you?”
    â€œLavatory.” He tried another stab at humor. “I didn’t know you cared, querida.”
    Irena raised her hand and Chago ducked. Instead of the punch he expected, she hailed a passing flight attendant and ordered a bottle of water. He waited until the woman moved away then turned, ready for some answers. “Now you know my