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He grinned, and she wondered if it was because he so easily irritated her or because she had said ’pissed.’ What did the man think she was, a nun? He was going to make her uncomfortable if he kept laughing every time she said something the least bit blue.
She poked him in the chest with one finger. It was like poking a steel plate, with no give beneath the skin. “Since you’ll be using another name when we get to France, shouldn’t I be getting used to calling you that? What if I slip up then?”
“I’ll be careful not to piss you off.”
“You aren’t going to tell me?” she asked incredulously.
“Not yet.”
She pushed past him. “I’m going to take a shower. Lock the door behind you when you leave.”
She fumed as she showered. There was no reason for him not to give her his cover name. He just loved being contrary and secretive, though it was such a habit for him now he probably didn’t realize—no, of course he realized. He did everything deliberately; she had noticed that about him in Iran.
It followed, then, that he had intentionally revealed his own name, rather than being so surprised to see her that he blurted it out. John Medina didn’t blurt out anything. He couldn’t have lived this long if he did. The question was—why? He could have posed as Tucker, and she would never have known any differently. Mentally shrugging, she put the question aside. Who knew why Medina did anything?
She took her time in the bathroom, indulging in her morning ritual of moisturizing her skin, then smoothing on a body oil with a subtle scent that lingered all day. She didn’t have to be at work until nine, so she didn’t have to hurry. That was one reason she got up so early; she didn’t like rushing around and arriving at work already frazzled. Of course, she usually got more sleep than she had last night, but Medina hadn’t left until well past her normal bedtime.
Going into her bedroom, she took out a matching navy blue set of underwear, but only put on the panties. She wore a bra while she was jogging and at work, but didn’t bother while she was at home. She put on her terry-cloth robe and snugly belted it, pulled her wet hair out from under the shawl collar, and walked barefoot down the hall to the kitchen to see if the coffee Medina had made was still drinkable.
He was sitting at the island bar, drinking coffee, much as he had been before. She checked only briefly, then went to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. “I thought you were leaving.”
“Why?”
She turned to face him, leaning against the cabinet and cradling the cup in her hand. His hair was wet, she noticed.
“I used your other bathroom for a shower,” he said. “Hope you don’t mind. I had to put these clothes back on, though.”
“No, I don’t mind. But I still thought you were leaving. I have to go to work.”
“No, you don’t. You’re on indefinite leave.”
She sipped her coffee, hiding her shock—and, yes, her irritation. “That’s news to me.”
“Frank took care of it last night. Until this job is finished, you’re mine.”
She didn’t know if she liked the sound of that. A funny little pang tightened her stomach. She took refuge in her coffee again, hiding h
er expression.
He looked so pantherish and male, dressed all in black, lounging at his ease in her cheerful kitchen. The T-shirt he wore clung to him, revealing the breadth of his shoulders and the flatness of his stomach. He was tall and lean, but more muscular than he looked when wearing street clothes. He had meant his words one way, but his physical presence was so strong she couldn’t stop herself from a brief sexual speculation. Did his stamina extend to lovemaking? If so . . . wow.
Immediately she pulled her thoughts away from that direction; nothing but trouble there. “So what am I supposed to do with my time until we’re ready to leave? When do we leave, anyway?” she asked briskly.
“About a week. It takes time to set up a cover as foolproof as yours will be. In the meantime, we train. How are you with a handgun and self-defense?”
“Rusty.”
“Have you had any formal self-defense training?”
“No. Just a rape-prevention course, the usual self-defense stuff.” And the rudimentary training Dallas had begun with her, but that was five years ago, and she hadn’t kept it up.
“Okay. We won’t have time for anything in-depth, but in a week’s time I can have you at a level where you can hold your own with most men. You’re in good shape already, so that helps.”
Great. It looked as if she was going to be in his company nonstop for a week. She sighed and took a skillet out of the cabinet. “I’m not doing anything else until I eat. What do you want for breakfast?”
* * *
“Take your pick,” Medina said, indicating the small arsenal he had laid out on a bench. They were in a private firing range, used by CIA personnel. The huge, barnlike building was empty except for the two of them.
