AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But she couldn’t leave him alone. They were probably perfectly safe on this boat as it plowed across the stormy Atlantic, but there had already been too many mistakes. She wasn’t letting him out of her sight until she could hand him over to the Committee for debriefing. It wouldn’t come soon enough, probably by tomorrow night, but in the meantime she was just going to have to put up with him.
“All right,” she said. “One drink.”
Only one of the ferry bars was open, and there were a mere handful of people inside. Smoking.
She took the seat Killian handed her into, and waited until he brought back the drinks.
Seven months was the longest she’d ever gone without a cigarette. She’d done it cold turkey this time—no patches or gums or nasal sprays. And she’d never dare try hypnosis—she knew too many secrets that could have leaked out.
No, she gritted her teeth, snapped at anyone who came near her and went without cigarettes. She’d only gained five pounds that last time, and she’d done her best to make sure those pounds were solid muscle, turning in her nicotine addiction for an addiction to pumping iron. She thought she’d gotten to the point where she no longer even wanted one.
She’d been wrong, that time as well as now. She could smell the fresh smoke. That was one problem with Europe: it was too damn easy to smoke. In America they made it so inconvenient it was almost better not to bother. Though of course her rebellious streak always kicked in, making her crave them even more.
But this time she’d sworn it was for good, more than half a year ago. They were making life unpleasant. She was free of them. Her breathing had started being affected, the taste lingered in her clothes and hair.
So why was the scent of tobacco dancing over to her like something out of an old cartoon, undulating and beckoning? And why the hell had she stolen the mashed pack of cigarettes from the dead pilot’s pocket?
A moment later Killian was back, carrying two drinks. He put one down in front of her, and she eyed it doubtfully. It was a gin and tonic, with one cube of ice and a slice of lime, not lemon. She’d been drinking them for ten years now—long after their time together. How had he guessed?
His own glass held unwatered whiskey. Scotch, probably. He hadn’t changed in all these years, even if she had.
“They called maid service from the bar. Our room should be ready by the time we finish our drinks.”
Our room. She didn’t like the sound of that. She picked up her glass, taking a sip. Tanqueray gin, her favorite. Enough was enough.
“How do you know so much about me?”
His smile was lazy. “Tricks of the trade, princess. I’m surprised you aren’t equally well informed. For what it’s worth, I like single malt Scotch at night, dark beer in the afternoon. I don’t like gin, hate vodka and despise martinis. If I drink too much I get short-tempered and lustful. In your honor I’m moderating my alcoho
l intake.”
“Thank heavens for small favors. You didn’t answer my question.”
“You know perfectly well that you can find out anything you want about someone if you know where to look. My life has depended on being able to access the right information at the right time.”
“And how does knowing what I drink affect your life?”
“Let’s just say I was curious.”
“When did you find out I was alive? You thought I was dead, didn’t you?”
“When did you find out I was alive?” he countered.
“I asked you first.”
“Tough.”
She took another sip of her drink. It was strong, and she hadn’t had much sleep or much to eat. It wouldn’t affect her judgment, but she needed to pay attention. “Five days ago,” she said. “When Peter told me you wanted to be brought in. I went through some intel and saw a picture of you—of Serafin, actually. But I knew it was you. It must have been quite a shock to see me after all these years.”
He said nothing, toying with his glass, and her eyes were drawn to his fingers. Long, elegant, clever fingers. Which had touched her. Brought her exquisite pleasure. Killed countless innocent people.
“When did you find out I was alive?” she asked again, annoyed.
His eyes met hers for a long moment. “I always knew.”
She spilled her drink. Clumsiness had never been a particular failing, but his simple words shocked her so much that she jerked, and the glass tipped over, spreading gin and tonic and ice over the white tablecloth. “You’re lying.”
“And it was no shock when you appeared in Morocco. I knew there was no one else available but you. Bastien Toussaint’s retired. Peter Madsen’s still recovering from that shoot-out in California, Taka O’Brien is tied up in Japan, and the other agents are under such deep cover that even I couldn’t find out where they were.”
