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“Yeah.” I dig it out of my suitcase. “What’s up?”
“Just being safe. We’re going to be otherwise occupied and out of our room with Gemma and Rafael. If his friends are working for the Toros, that would be an opportune time for them to check out our room. No need for them to find CIA issued equipment.”
“You think they’d know what to look for?”
“Absolutely.”
“Where are you putting it? The safe?”
“Too obvious.”
He opens his toiletry bag, takes out a Swiss Army knife, unfolds a screwdriver, goes to a wall vent, and, using the screwdriver, opens it up and places all of our equipment inside. He pauses and narrows his eyes thoughtfully. “Did you pack any guns? Any weapons?”
I shake my head. I didn’t bother carrying on the plane. Also, this isn’t considered a high-risk operation. Contrary to common beliefs, it’s much more common for CIA officers to be unarmed as opposed to armed. “You?”
“No.” He takes to screwing the screws tight. Then pauses. “Do you have a small ribbon? String?”
I go back to my shopping bags and find a clear plastic piece that held a price tag and bring it back to him. He has me place it so it’s captured against the grid and the wall. If someone breaks in and thinks to check this spot, the plastic should fall unnoticed. But we’ll know someone has been here and our stash was discovered.
“You don’t have any weapons?” In my memories of him, he always had a gun concealed on his person. I used to make a game of figuring out where he had his piece tucked away.
“Knives. But if they find them, they won’t think anything of it.” He stands then cocks his head, examining his handiwork. Also possibly memorizing the wall and the grid for any identifiable markings. “The Americans we’re playing wouldn’t carry guns internationally.”
He returns his screwdriver to the brown leather bag. Since it’s a part of a Swiss Army knife, if someone finds it, they wouldn’t think twice about it.
“What other knives do you have?”
“This one. And one other like this in my ski bag. The kitchen knives are more lethal.”
“You really think they’ll come in here?”
“It’s conceivable. You and Gemma are getting closer. Would make sense to check you out and clear you.” He lets out a sigh and glances down my body.
The robe hangs open. My skin prickles under his scrutiny. He scratches his hair and mutters as he steps by me. “Let’s do this. Just remember… I’m human. Play carefully. And,” he pauses, wincing as he pulls on his robe, “what’s our plan if they’re swingers?”
“We play along.”
“I was afraid you’d say that.” He rubs his fingers through his hair, head bowed down. He takes a step, then stops. His jaw flexes, and he directs those steel-blue eyes at me. “Sophia, this isn’t an operation that’s worth having sex with these people.”
“Really? You’d sacrifice an op over sex?”
The flex in his cheeks and the hard glare warn me I’m picking at his last nerve.Tough.
“It’s totally believable as a married couple we’d turn them down. And, if you play it right, it could endear her to you. Make you closer friends.”
“We’ll see how it goes. If something more happens, it’s just sex, Fisher. We’re role-playing, and it’s a job. Don’t make it into more than it is.”
My shoulder smacks into his as I stomp down the hall. Yes, any playful sashay is long gone. But, when my hand falls on the doorknob, I breathe deeply and consider what he’s saying. He’s been in the field longer. He’s right. There are unspoken expectations, but if it came out we were both sleeping with our targets for a mission like this, where we’re simply supposed to flesh out contacts, maybe lure an informant, it wouldn’t reflect well. Not to mention, it would be an unnecessarily dangerous play.
If we swapped partners, they could choose to end contact and never see us again. The only information I have on Gemma is she wants a child. She’s still in the honeymoon phase of their relationship. If he’s into swapping partners, she might not be at all. It might be a side of him she abhors, and playing into it wouldn’t be a good long-term strategy. Of course, she did say my husband is hot.
I rest my forehead against the cool, painted wood. I’m not sure how to play it. When I turn, Fisher stands, robe tied, patiently waiting.
“We’ll have to play it by ear. But I agree, the goal is to avoid swapping partners.”
He leans down close enough his breath warms my ear and his musky cologne surrounds me. “And when we return to our suite, until we sweep it, we stay in character.”
Side by side, we travel down the hotel hallway. Fisher’s fingers link with mine, a smart touch. Anyone watching would assume we’re happily married. My nerves kick up a notch, and my stomach flips.
