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“So, Mr. Akecheta, do you have a first name?”
“It’s Lieutenant.”
“Lieutenant is your first name?”
“I meant…” He looked at her. There was a glint of laughter in her eyes. He couldn’t blame her. He probably sounded like a fool. This woman was having a bad effect on him. “I meant,” he said coldly, “I’m a lieutenant.”
“And your first name is…?”
“Tanner.”
“Akecheta. It’s an unusual name. Is it Spanish?”
“No.”
“Italian?”
“No.”
“I only meant, you know, all those vowels…”
“Indian,” he said brusquely as he opened one of the little pill containers and shook two capsules into the palm of his hand. “American Indian. Or Native American. Take your choice.”
“What tribe?”
“What’s the difference?”
Alessandra rolled her eyes. “Che stronzo! I’m just making conversation.”
“Conversation’s a waste of energy.” He held out the canteen and the capsules. “Take them.”
“What are they?”
“Antibiotics.”
“I’m not sick.”
“They’re a preventive. Take them.”
“You can’t prevent illness by taking antibiotics, Mr. Akecheta.”
“Lieutenant. And no, you probably can’t, but maybe you can lessen the effect of whatever bug you’ve picked up.”
“If you’ve picked up a bug.”
His eyes, an amazing shade of hazel, seemed to darken.
“Ms. Wilde. I’m going to be blunt. It has been one fucking hell of one fucking long day and I am most definitely not in the fucking mood for debate. Just take the capsules.”
Her eyes turned icy.
“I think you just broke the record for saying that word.”
He smiled tightly. “What word?” he said, even though he damn well knew the word she meant.
“Fooking,” she said, and blushed.
That little accent. It was barely distinguishable, but it came through loud and clear on a world like fucking.
