Chapter 3
Three
The self-loathing mostly wore off by the time I got out of the shower, but sitting on the bed watching him in just a towel makes me admonish myself again. The light dusting of hair across the top of his defined chest keeps drawing my eyes, so I force myself to focus on his hands.
He goes through his case, precisely organizing things on the desk as he pulls them out and mentally inventories. I know the look; I do that too. From the way he dresses and presents himself to the things he says and how he handles his weapons . . . he’s meticulous.
I pull a pillow across my lap as I sit against the headboard in a nightshirt and wonder what’s next. Essentially, I am at his disposal. My task is to meet the needs of this mission and to follow his lead, picking up whatever crumbs I can in the process, but he’s told me nothing so far.
I start massaging the spot between my eyes.
This guy intimidates me, and while I may appear to be intimidated on a job frequently, I rarely am.
So, this makes me a bit paranoid. Usually an operative comes, we meet, we complete a mission, and they leave.
When missions are high-stakes or incredibly sensitive, I generally don’t garner too much attention from an agent and fall to the periphery, which is where I prefer to be, honestly.
But I had a green light to kill this man, and he is paying me far more attention than I’m accustomed to.
I’ve still learned nothing about the mission or what he needs from me, and the unease of that is sinking in.
With everything now laid out on the desk, he picks up the unfinished whiskey from earlier and downs it.
He catches me looking at him and raises an eyebrow in question. The corner of my mouth twitches up in reply, but it’s fake. Beneath the pillow in my lap, I pause wringing my fingers. I wish he would just tell me what he needs me to do, so I can turn my focus back on the mission.
Moving to the bed, he pulls a garment bag from his suitcase and hangs it up. Shit, is something happening tonight? Do I need to get ready again?
It doesn’t seem like he’s in a rush though . . .
This isn’t the first time he’s worked with a partner, and based on what he said over dinner, he’s worked with one of us from Raven before.
Maybe when it comes to female counterparts, he always gets involved.
Maybe it’s just his way. And maybe I’m just overthinking this too much because from the expression on his face, he hasn’t given me a second thought.
When he moves back to the bar to pour another drink, I note it. That’s four or five drinks in less than two hours. If we get up to something tonight, he’s going to be compromised.
“I think it’s time we had a real conversation,” he says with his back to me.