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Maybe Mike Becker had been sent not to save her from Spencer, but to save her from herself.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING she shuffled into the living room in the same jeans and sweater from yesterday and wedged her hands on her hips as she watched Mike make coffee in the kitchen. “No fair.”
He looked up, a lock of dark hair falling in his eyes. “What’s not fair? I said you could have the bigger bed. Do you regret your generosity now?”
“I’m not talking about that.” She perched on one of the stools at the kitchen island that doubled as a table. “You’re wearing different clothes.”
“From the bag I took from the hotel.” He pinched the gray material of the waffle-knit, long-sleeved shirt away from his chest. “Luckily I had some casual clothes in there.”
She folded up the sleeves of her blue cashmere. “This used to be one of my favorite sweaters, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to be sick of it by the end of the week.”
“We can get you some clothes—not those designer duds you favor, but there are a few stores in town.”
“Do you think I need to wear a disguise?” She fluffed her hair. “I can color my hair, but I refuse to cut it.”
He cocked his head to the side. “You’d look good as a redhead, but those eyes...”
She blinked. “What about them?”
“They’re violet.”
“Only sometimes, and so what?”
“I can’t imagine anyone looking into those eyes once and being able to forget them.”
“You’re waxing very poetic this morning.” She jumped from the stool and pulled open the freezer door, inhaling the iciness from its depths in the hopes it could cool down her heated blood. “Anything for breakfast in here?”
He clinked some cups behind her. “I’m not exactly sure what ‘waxing poetic’ means, but I’m sure I’ve never done that before in my life. Coffee?”
“Do you like playing the poor, rough boy from the streets?” She yanked a box of breakfast sandwiches from the inside door. “Does that usually work for you with the ladies?”
She clutched the cold box to her chest, afraid to turn around. But Mike laughed, and she spun around to face him.
His lopsided grin had her warming up again despite the frozen breakfast pressed against her body.
“The poor, rough boy from the streets does work with the ladies, but I never once thought you’d be susceptible to the act. Are you?”
She smacked the box on the counter. “Nope.”
“Hey, watch that. You’re breaking my...breakfast.”
“No news from any quarter yet?” She needed to get this conversation and relationship back on the business track. They didn’t have to play engaged couple anymore.
“I don’t know about your discussion board, but I haven’t heard anything from Prospero.” The coffee dripped to a stop and he poured two cups. “The news media are still flashing Hamid’s picture, but you haven’t even been mentioned as a person of interest yet.”
She raised her eyes to meet his. “That’s not good, is it? I mean, if a legitimate agency like the FBI is after me, at least I know they’re not going to shoot me on sight.”
“But we don’t want your picture and name splashed all over the media, either.”
“At least the Chadwicks have no idea what’s going on. Should I call them again to find out if they’ve heard anything?”
“Don’t invite trouble. If you act suspiciously, you’re putting them on the spot if the FBI goes out there to talk to them.”
Her hand trembled slightly as she picked up her coffee cup. “I don’t want that. They’ve been through enough.”
“Ethan’s safe with them and Lori.” He wrapped his hands around his own cup. “Lori’s reliable?”
“She’s wonderful. Ethan adores her.” She narrowed her eyes. “Why do you ask?”
“At breakfast yesterday morning I caught the tail end of something between her and Correll.”
“Ugh, yes. He’s propositioned her a time or two, but she came right to me.” She blew on the surface of her coffee, wishing for some half-and-half. “Lori can handle herself. She’s tougher than she looks. She’s actually a former army nurse.”
