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While Nem gave them directions, I went into the kitchen to catch up on emails. I’d received a message from Tank, who said he, Blackjack, and Atticus would be landing at Heathrow this afternoon and would come straight here. Unless Wren and Wilder also came to Shere sometime today, Nem would be the only woman here. Somehow, I doubted she’d notice, given she was light-years more mature than I was.
“Hi,” she said, walking up to where I was sitting at the counter.
“Hey. Is everyone off and running?”
“They are. Zeppelin is making progress on determining the general route the containers traveled via overheads, while the other two are working to obtain the manifests.”
“Zeppelin is good. So is Magnet, for that matter.”
Nem sat on the stool beside me. “Really good. I’m surprised Z didn’t recommend one or the other for the CO position.”
I shook my head. “As I said, they’re both good, but on a reconnaissance level. You’re the human trafficking expert, and you were the right choice for the job.”
When she rolled her eyes, I leaned closer. “What you meant to say is thank you.” The moment I realized I was thinking about how much I loved the way her cheeks flushed at my correction, I pushed the stool away from the counter and stood. “I’ll check in with Cayman and see what he’s been able to dig up on Mitskovski.”
“Ares?”
I glanced over my shoulder on my way out. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
13
NEMESIS
God, I was such a bloody idiot. Just last night, I’d pitched a fit about Ares flirting with me, and now I’d done the same. The man was so bloody perfect. Much more so than the other wanker.
He was brilliant, and not at just one thing. The other guy’s specialty was profiling, an investigation tactic no one had ever used for human trafficking in the same way it had never been applied to murder in general. Profiling was specific in nature, whereas the mandate we had from the UN was so far-reaching and all-encompassing I hardly knew where to begin with more traditional methodologies, let alone nontraditional ones.
The dossier I’d read on Ares mentioned he too had profiling experience. In fact, he’d trained with Vanessa Russo, one of the first investigators in the field. Some said she should be considered the inventor of the technique.
Ares’ focus wasn’t so one-dimensional, though. Prior to joining the CIA, he’d been a Marine—a highly decorated one, at that. I still had no idea why he’d been summarily dismissed from the agency. Nothing in what I’d read alluded to misconduct. Even if there had been, I would’ve had a hard time believing it.
I stretched my arms over my head and rolled my shoulders. Rather than do a workout this morning, I’d opted to get on the road early to avoid traffic. Now, my body was feeling tight and sluggish.
Given it was sunny and unseasonably warm, I grabbed my yoga mat from the bedroom and went outside. Even getting as little as fifteen minutes in would clear my head and loosen my muscles. Perhaps, too, it would help me redirect my thoughts about Ares.
Rather than thinking about the hard, sculpted ridges of his muscles, his icy-blue eyes, knicker-melting smile, or his blatant admission of his attraction to me, I’d think of him in the same way I did Puck or Cayman—as a man I worked with, and nothing more. It didn’t mean I couldn’t admire him. And I did, very much so. He’d been brave in confessing how he felt. Far braver than I.
I began my workout with Sukhasana, or Easy Pose. I lengthened my torso after sitting on the mat and crossing my legs, then brought my hands to heart center. If I had more time, I’d spend over thirty minutes meditating in this position.
After doing four more poses, I ended with a spinal twist—one minute for each side of my body. I sat up when I heard a car arrive, then stood and rolled my mat.
“Look at you, taking advantage of this beautiful weather,” said Wren, exiting the vehicle.
I walked closer. “I wasn’t sure when you’d be arriving.”
“I suppose I should’ve let you know.”
“Hello,” I said when a man exited the rear passenger door and approached.
“Nemesis, meet Coleman Emeric, code name Kodiak,” said Wilder after he walked over and cheek-kissed.
“It’s a pleasure, ma’am,” he said in a voice that sounded like mountain man meets Southern gentleman.
“You as well,” I said, shaking his outstretched hand.
“Where are we bunkin’?”
