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I grinned. “In bed?”
“Of course,” she answered mischievously.
“Good – then the delay will be worth it. I love you.”
“The feeling is reciprocated.”
She only talked like that in one particular circumstance.
“What, are you there with co-workers?” I asked.
“Yes, so I’ll see you later.”
“Say it – saaaaay it – ” I teased her.
“Goodbye.”
“I looooove youuuuu – ”
She snorted and ended the call.
I grinned and pocketed the phone.
A few minutes later, I’d just finished my sandwich when I heard a vaguely familiar voice behind me.
“Excuse me… Lars, isn’t it?”
I looked up and saw a familiar man – tall, wiry, brown hair, aristocratic – carrying a cup of to-go coffee.
It was Rachel’s colleague from the Portuguese restaurant a year ago. His suit looked just as expensive as last time.
“Yes – ah – ”
“Alistair.”
“Right. Rachel’s co-worker.”
“Exactly. So, is she around?” Alistair asked, looking from side to side.
“No, she got called into work last minute.”
“That tends to happen,” he said sympathetically.
“You weren’t called in, too?”
“Different divisions,” he explained, then gestured to the empty chair across from me. “Mind if I sit?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
Rachel had been eager to get away from Alistair last time, but I had no problem with talking to the guy. If anything, I might be able to find out a few details about her work life. Rachel was notoriously close-lipped about her work at MI6.
Alistair sat down across from me and sipped his coffee. “So… I never asked, what do you do for a living?”
“SOG,” I said automatically, then realized he had no idea what I was talking about. “It’s – ”
“Särskilda operationsgruppen,” Alistair said, even pronouncing it correctly.
I stared at him in surprise. “You know Swedish?”
