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It’s a legitimate question. We need to eat. I expect she’ll wave a waiter down and order food right here, since we’re seated beside our target.
“Let’s order in.” She gives me the sexiest fucking look and drags the tip of her nails across the edge of my jaw. With that simple touch, I’m hard as stone.
Guess we’re not playing a married couple with problems.
I raise my hand and get a staff member’s attention. I gesture to write in the air, and he gives a quick nod and heads off to get our receipt. Sophia’s fingers return to my earlobe and venture down my neck. Her touch sends sparks down that side of my body that culminate in my groin. I lean back in the armchair, scanning the room for the arrival of the check.
I sign and stand, adjusting my jeans. Her gaze falls to my crotch, and there’s that tiny little entertained, flirty smile. Does she know what she’s doing to me? How my body responds to her?
She picks up her enormous bag and scoots by Gemma and Rafael. Her handbag bumps their armrest, and she says, in a tone that somewhat matches Gemma’s, “Oh. Excuse me.”
Gemma’s eyes widen. “Is that from Gucci’s spring collection?”
“No, actually. Fall. It’s downstairs too. Same shop as the boots.”
“Do they have Louis Vuitton here?”
“A few things.” Sophia does this strange thing with her hands and eyes I’ve never seen her do before. “Small selection. But good stuff.”
“Good to know.”
I pointedly keep my gaze fixed to the lobby. Rafael’s friends study us, their conversation halted by Sophia’s traipse through their circle of chairs.
Sophia takes one step away from the circle, then pauses to add, “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow.” Gemma squints in confusion. “Heard you say you have a spa day planned. I’m getting a facial and a massage.”
“Oh,” Gemma responds with girlish glee. “Yeah. I’m hoping they’re good here.”
“They are,” Sophia says authoritatively. “We come every year.” She wiggles those talons, and her ass sways as her long legs move with fluid grace. I give one quick nod to Rafael and Gemma, and dutifully follow my wife.
I catch up to her at the elevator. “You’re good,” I tell her in a hushed voice. A young family joins us in front of the elevators, and we remain silent until our suite door closes behind us.
“You know why I did that, right?” Sophia gushes the second I flip the lock on our suite.
“Yep.”
Better to walk away and not seem too interested. Any connection can’t be forced and must feel natural. I stride down the hall, checking each room as I go. Room service has been in and turned down the covers and pulled the drapes closed. After checking the rooms, I push against the drapes and scan the floor below them.
When I return to the den, Sophia is unzipping her second boot. The first lies haphazardly on the ground beside her.
“Not so comfortable?” I ask.
She gives me a look that says something along the lines of ‘what do you think, smart ass?’ “Can you pull up the room service menu? I’m starving.”
“Certainly.”
“Plus, that wine is going to my head.”
After ordering for us, I reach into the refrigerator and grab a sparkling water for Sophia. My friend’s daughter. A young woman. My colleague. “So not a bad day, huh? You made a connection.”
“Not a bad day.” She smiles in agreement. There’s a lightness to her expression. A solid layer of make-up masks her pale skin, but there’s a brightness to her eyes. She’s happy. Probably relieved. “I think we’ll nail this.”
She pulls her feet up under her on the sofa, and I sit on the opposite end, far away from her plunging neckline and exposed midriff.
“You’re a natural,” I tell her. She smiles and dips her head in subtle acknowledgement. “But you know, I always thought you’d go after the Morales cartel.” Her career trajectory puzzles me, because I assumed she went into law enforcement to dismantle the cartels. The cartel wasn’t directly involved in her abduction, but the man responsible hired men from the group to carry it out.
Her gaze travels up the wall and her lower lip protrudes, like she’s weighing my expectation. “In the bureau, they have a viral theory regarding criminal organizations. Be it Chinese, Mexican, Colombian…they all seem to learn from each other. You shut down one group, ten more spring up. And they’ve gained the learnings from the exposed group. They’re all interconnected. An octopus with a gazillion tendrils.” She swallows her water and wipes her lips with two fingers. “Do I believe in a mystical viral theory? No. I think the key players know each other. They’re sharing information. One operation, one battle, won’t win the war, because invisible, powerful players are calling the shots. The mafia, cartel, even some of the powerful crime syndicates, they’re more like pawns on a chessboard.” She drops her gaze, and those blue eyes look straight into mine. “I like the CIA strategy. Gather intelligence. Learn. Assess. Covert, deniable strikes. It’s a war. We’re all on the same side, and all playing important roles.”
CHAPTER8
