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“Well, aren’t we quite the pair.”
I extend my arm as I settle on the pillow and slip it under her neck. “No grumbling. I’m going to hold you.” And imagine spending every night like this.
“Why?”
I close my eyes. “Because I’ll know if you get up.” And I want you in my arms, curled against me. So I can hear you breathing as you fall asleep and wonder about the dreams that fill your mind.
“Always the doctor.”
“Yep, now go to sleep, Sprite.”
She jabs a finger in my ribs, but soon softens against me.
When I drift off, I have a bittersweet feeling in my chest. The first woman who’s really captured my attention in forever is lying along my side. If I was a betting man, I’d say the chances of this lasting are close to zero.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I’m rubbing the sleep from my eyes when I see the note on the kitchen counter. I must have been sleeping like the dead.
Be back shortly. Take it easy. I’m picking up some of your things and provisions for the apartment.
No signature. None needed.
Next to the neatly written note lies a Glock nine millimeter pistol. The one Scotch was carrying in San Miguel. A spare clip, fully loaded, lies next to it.
An appreciative warmth fills my chest. He knew I’d feel lost without my weapon.
Dr. Jameson Scott.
Man of many facets.
Protector extraordinaire.
Kindred spirit? The verdict is out.
I fill a glass of water at the sleek stainless sink and look out over the mountain landscape beyond the window. Feeling appreciative. Feeling… is that happiness in my chest?
Outside the window clouds moving over the terrain, casting shadows over the ridges and valleys. The mountains are different here than in Eden, even though I’m less than an hour away.
Today is a good day. My head feels clearer. My body less painful. Some of my energy has returned. And with it, my sense of curiosity and unease about the situation with Pavel.
Slowly, I walk through the apartment. It’s clean, sleek, and obviously not lived in. A second home. Maybe a third. Maybe a ski destination hangout for Scotch’s rich friend.
In each room, I stop at the window to inspect the surrounding terrain, familiarizing myself with possible escape routes. Looking for possible places for someone to hide.
After my rounds of the windows, I return to the kitchen to look for food and drink.
I’ve got my head in the fridge, staring at a small assortment of fizzy drinks and unopened condiments when it hits. A very familiar creeping sensation up the back of my neck.
One doesn’t survive long in the spy business without acknowledging their sixth sense.
Shoving the pistol and spare clip in the back of my tights, the only clothing I have on, I move silently to the long window at the end of the kitchen. Keeping myself out of sight, I inspect the terrain below.
It’s ten feet to the ground. Evergreen shrubs and trees dot the carefully manicured property. Slowly, I scan the tree silhouettes for unusual shapes.
Finally, I take a breath. Okay, you’re just imagining things.
But I can’t shake the feeling. So, I go another round of all the windows.
