Betrayals (Black Cipher Files series Book 2) Read Online Free PDF

some chatter about the extraction?
    But what if they didn't know Staci wasn't dead? She'd been keeping their relationship a secret from the agency. He couldn't do anything that would jeopardize her cover. So how did he let them know without a whole lot of questions that could get her in a whole lot of trouble?
    He sobered as a final thought struck.
    If she wasn’t dead...where was she?

FIVE
    Jordan sat at his desk and remembered the exact moment three and a half weeks ago, when his life changed. When Staci had ripped his world apart. They'd been at her house and she'd been packing for her trip.
    “Afghanistan?” he said the word calmly, as if he didn’t want to run over and pull the clothes out of her duffel bag.
    As if she hadn’t just gutted him with a serrated edge, Ka-Bar combat knife and left him to bleed out on the floor in front of her.
    Fuck .
    He waited, needing a moment, as she carefully rolled a satellite phone into a heavy, hooded sweatshirt and tried not to let the steam building burst through the top of his head.
    Frustration beat through his body.
    She tossed bundles of pencils for the kids into her pack as more than food, candy, or even basic necessities, the kids would want writing supplies.
    “I wish I could bring some books,” she muttered, apparently oblivious to the absolute fury swirling within him.
    “Why would you want to go to Afghanistan--right now?”
    “Because it’s my job.” She calmly folded a pair of tan pants with multiple zippers and little hidey pockets for storing everything you might need to carry on your person. He tried to ignore the multi-tool Swiss Army knife she tucked into the interior pocket. It was as if she knew she’d be searched and hoped they’d miss the weapon and general emergency aid.
    “I can think of ten different reports with warnings on my desk right now.” Did he freakin’ shout that or had he been calm? “Reports that strongly suggest all civilians stay the hell away from the entire country.”
    “I know.”
    “Is this job really worth your life?” Apparently, he’d shouted, based on her frown, but he couldn’t bring himself to tone it down.
    If ever there was a time for shouting, now was it.
    Staci waved away his concerns with a careless flick of her fingers. “The region I’m going to is fairly safe. The local warlords are allies and our military has a strong presence.”
    “Honey, I have news for you. That kind of crap might make for good public relations in the media and photo ops for the Secretary of State, but anyone who has been there knows things are completely different.”
    “I have good sources. It’s fine.”
    “Sources?” He heard the derision in his voice. She was a freaking college professor. How accurate could her "sources" be? Jordan bunched his hands into fists, and his muscles tensed into classic defensive readiness.
    She stopped folding her clothes and propped her hands on her hips. “How long have we been together?”
    With visible effort, he relaxed. Sometimes he really, really did not understand the female brain. Even though he'd been raised solely by his mother and aunt, a woman’s intricate thought process escaped him. “What does that have to do with going to a violence-riddled country?”
    “Do I ever do anything without having a plan, without a clear direction and plenty of forethought?” She held a palm up. “Really think about it before you answer.”
    He had to admit that she was meticulous and thorough and one damn fine researcher. But.... “All the research and academics in the world--”
    “I'm damn good at physically defending myself. We spar every night.” She talked over his objections with less heat than when they’d had a raging argument about the ramifications of foreign aid to countries who walked a fine line between ally and enemy.
    “Yes. You can hold your own against an instructor or mugger, but sparring can’t protect you from the business end of a Russian-made AK 47 or an