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Once I change, I exit the room and enter the kitchen to dig out a protein bar. I sense her approach but pointedly avoid looking her way.
“Did you see the latest backgrounds on Rafael’s friends?”
“No.” The remaining flavors of protein bars are decidedly too sweet. Birthday cake and lemon chiffon.
“They all spent time in the Colombian military.”
“They’re from Colombia. Not unusual.”
“Maybe. It’s also possible they pose as his buddies but are actually bodyguards.”
I rip open the lemon chiffon bar, take a bite, and consider her theory. It’s not out of the realm of reasonable. Rafael travels everywhere with those four men, Carlos, Enrique, Alros, and Ivan. And they don’t bring their wives. We assumed it was because Gemma didn’t get along with the wives. When Rafael was younger, the CIA didn’t watch him as closely because he was a professional extreme sports athlete. The CIA’s interest has increased in him recently since rumors surfaced he’s being groomed for the family business. And he’s older now. He’s not the competitive athlete he used to be.
“By the way, Gemma told me the other guys won’t be joining us in the hot tub.”
I bite about a third of the remaining bar. It is interesting how they appear and disappear around Rafael. Friends along for a vacation would probably expect to après-ski and hot tub together.
“And by the way, she warned me Rafael prefersau natural.”
“What?”
“No swim trunks.”
“Seriously?” Now she has my attention. I don’t give a damn about going hot tubbing nude, but this could be a swinging invitation.
With a smug, coquettish grin she wiggles her eyebrows and asks, “Ready to go hot tubbing?”
My gaze falls over her teeny, tiny, barely there red bathing suit. Milky white breasts spill out of miniscule red triangles. I blink. Fuck. And she’s planning on taking that off? If Rafael isn’t a swinger, he’s going to want to be one.
“We should beg off this. Say I have a migraine. This isn’t—”
“Don’t you fucking dare. You just yelled at me that I need to grow up. I think your exact words might have been ‘grow the fuck up.’ This is my first operation. And according to Rita, because of an ongoing intra-agency op, this one just got escalated. We’re all in. Don’t you dare bow out because you’re trying to protect me.”
She turns and saunters down the hallway, her two perfectly rounded ass cheeks on display because that damn red thong barely covers her ass crack. Those sparkly, bright blue eyes and crimson mane lend her a wild beauty. But that body combined with a daredevil arrogance… Jesus.
“You’re wearing that through the hotel?”
“No. I’m going to put on a spa robe. That’s what people do.” The look she gives me is a mix of unfiltered annoyance and disbelief at my ignorance. “Come on, growly fish. Time to go skinny dipping.”
CHAPTER13
SOPHIA
There’s a little extra in my hip sway as I pad down the hall to the closet with the hanging robes. Because, yes, I am fairly certain Fisher’s eyes are on my bum.
Grow up. Yes, that’s what he said to me. I’ll show him I have grown up. Fucker. The Fisher Fucker.
That’s a kind of funny phrase. I take the robe off the hanger, halfway expecting Fisher to step up behind me and assist like a gentleman, but he does no such thing. After donning my robe, I remove the second one and turn to give it to him, but he’s not behind me.
“Fisher?”
“Where’s your CIA phone?” he calls from the bedroom.
The poorly sized spa slippers clomp on the hard floor as I head his way.
“Over here.” I go to my trim backpack that I use for all my electronics and unzip the outer pocket. “Why?”
“Give it to me. Also, anything CIA sourced. Did they give you a tracker?”
