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“Better her than me,” Jenna said, amusement in her voice. “I’ll do my lot for kin and country, but I have my limits. And fucking a man like Wetherton is definitely one of them.”
“That’s not just limits, that’s called having taste.”
“That, too.” Jenna smiled as she leaned sideways and snagged her coat off the hook behind the door. “Luckily, the lecher is yours to deal with for the next twelve hours.”
“Joy.”
“Indeed.” Jenna waved goodbye and retreated quickly to the elevator. Sam closed the door and turned around to find Wetherton watching her from the bedroom doorway.
She raised an eyebrow and tried to ignore the heat of embarrassment touching her cheeks. She and Jenna had been speaking softly, so there was very little likelihood of Wetherton overhearing their comments. And yet the annoyance in his eyes suggested otherwise.
“Anything I can do for you, Minister?” Sam asked politely.
“Where’s Jenna going?”
“Shift change, Minister. You have my delightful company once again this evening.”
He looked her up and down. “We’re going out again tonight. You could have worn something more appropriate.”
“I’m your bodyguard, not your date. I’m dressed very appropriately, believe me.”
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He grunted—whether in agreement or not, she had no idea—then turned around and walked back into the bedroom. She waited until he came back out and asked, “Where are we going tonight, Minister?”
She actually knew, because she’d read his schedule, but it never hurt to check.
“The opera. I’m meeting a friend there.”
Just as well she had checked. The opera certainly hadn’t been listed on the schedule. “Minister, until we uncover who might be after you, maybe it would be better to skip some of your social engagements.”
“No. I refuse to let the actions of an idiot unhappy with the current government curtail what I want to do. That’s only giving other idiots incentive to do the same.”
“I think the men behind these attempts are more than just idiots with a bone to pick.”
“You’d be surprised, Agent Ryan. These days the government attracts a high caliber of idiot.” He shoved his arms into his jacket. “Let’s go. I can’t be late.”
She opened the door, checked the corridor, then ushered him through. “Am I permitted to ask who you might be meeting tonight?”
“Just a friend.” He glanced at her as he pressed the elevator button. “A male friend.”
Uh-huh. He’d heard them all right. “A trusted male friend, or merely an acquaintance?”
Wetherton hesitated. “An acquaintance, but I trust him.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to. Name, please?”
“That’s unnecess—”
“It is when your life has been threatened twice,” she cut in. “Name, Minister?”
“The other girl is much pleasanter,” he muttered, then added, “Les Mohern.”
Les Mohern? Why did that name ring alarm bells in the back of her mind? Was it simply because it wasn’t on the list of known associates and friends Stephan had given her, or was it something else? She repeated the name into her wristcom and ordered a search. With any luck, something would come up before the long night was over.
Now all she had to do was hope it was a long, unexciting night.
But even as the thought crossed her mind, instinct suggested it was going to be anything but.
