I turn to face him and watch as he completely demolishes the ice cream cone. I mean, I didn't know you could eat a cone that fast.
So, I guess we're not sharing spit.
He has the grace to look shame-faced as he licks the last bit off his fingers.
"I'll buy you another one."
I roll my eyes. "Don't bother. I only bought it for cover."
"What's the assignment?"
I can't stop my annoyance from surfacing even though he's always all-business.
"Your no-show this morning may have cost us the mission."
His face remains impassive, and under the ballcap, his eyes keep roving the landscape like he's taking in every person who passes, everything about our surroundings. He's so damn alert.
"I'll fix it. What's the mission?"
The thing is-I believe him. I'm sure he'll fix it. He's the kind of agent who gets results which is why he gets paid the big bucks.
Still, I'm not over feeling pissy. I flick on my tablet and share the screen with him. "Target is Lucius Frangelico. He lives in Hollywood. Occupation, unknown. Possible mafia, possible drug kingpin. Definitely into something. They want him bugged and tracked."
"Why is this a CIA job rather than FBI?"
"He has ties to Al Qaeda. Travels internationally. May be selling weaponry. This is a preliminary investigation."
"I'll take care of it."
"Yeah, well, he left California this afternoon on a private plane. So, now you have to find him."
He nods, sober. "I will."
I'm sure he's right. I have complete faith in him. And I still feel like he owes me an apology for no-showing to our meeting earlier.
As if he reads minds, too, he meets my gaze. "I'm sorry about this morning. It won't happen again."
"Dune, I don't care what you do on your off-time, but when I call you in, you show up." I can pull a bitch when the occasion calls for it.
He rubs a hand across his stubbled jaw, still subtly glancing in all directions without moving his head. "Yeah. I was… incapacitated."
I arch a brow. "Was she that good?"
His head draws back, and his brows slam down. "What?" His laugh is unexpected-maybe to both of us. I detect relief in it which I file away to examine later. "No, it wasn't a woman-I wish." He gives his head a quick shake. "I mean-" He stops, his jade eyes meeting mine.
For a second neither of us speaks, gazes tangled, locked. Something flutters in my belly. His nostrils flare, and I watch the same trick of the light make his eyes flash blue. My lips part in surprise, and his gaze dips there.
"It wasn't a woman." His voice is deeper than I remember.
"What was it, then?" My voice has lost all authority-it sounds pathetically breathy to my ears.
He shakes his head. "Something else." He suddenly looks tired, almost defeated.
I'm shocked by a need to soothe him, a need to know what demons haunt this brave warrior. What does he hide under that impenetrable mask of deadly capability?
"Listen." He touches my nape, just under where the halter top ties. Energy shoots through me at the light contact, tingles of pleasure racing across my skin. I know this is just for show-we're playing the part of a flirty beach couple, but the thrumming that starts between my legs doesn't understand that. "I want to thank you for the help you gave me last month. You helped save a kidnapped child, so… it made a difference."
My mind wants to run down the path of figuring out whose child he was saving-his, a friend's-but all I can focus on is the light circles he traces on my skin. My breath hitches.
"I'm glad it helped."
"I owe you one. Call it in when you need it."
My nipples tighten. "Oh, I will." The confidence returns to my voice, but for some inexplicable reason, I choose this moment to blush. Maybe because of his penetrating stare as if he's trying to decipher what possible reason I might have for requesting a favor from him.
I hope to God I'll never need to. But the file I extracted for him isn't the only redacted data I've hacked. And considering which department of the government I work for, consequences could be more than a slap on the wrist. You never know.
So, having a friend capable of protecting my life could come in handy.
"You've uploaded the information to me?" he asks, tapping my tablet, back to business.
"Yes." I nod. "Let me know when it's done."
"Of course." He starts to step away, then turns back. "Annabel."
He's never called me by my first name before. It has an effect on me like he has me by the throat-but in a good way. He commands my full attention-my stiff nipples throb, tingles race over my skin.
"Are you in some kind of trouble?"
I hesitate, then shake my head. Not yet.
He nods. "You'll tell me when I need to know."
Then he's gone, blending into the crowd of people, and disappearing as quickly as he appeared.
Right. I'll tell him when he needs to know.
I truly hope that time won't come.
Why, then, does the idea of not sharing my secret with him disappoint me?
Annabel
I SIT in the L. A. office which I mostly share with National Resource Division employees. My direct boss works out of Langley, so I'm the only security professional here, and like Charlie, I'm entirely self-supervised.
Which gives me the means and time for personal investigation projects. I've been working on one since last October when I tried hacking into my own personnel records and came across my father's instead. Which was strange since my father never worked for the CIA.
Or so I thought.
And his records were sealed. All I saw was he was killed in the line of duty in El Salvador. That part matches what my family was told at the time. My father was a Major in the Marines who had been shot in El Salvador while on security detail for a high-level government official.
Supposedly.