by Zoe Chant
“Must be a good view. Though if you’re going to be locked up, a parking lot is probably enough to make you sigh, if it doesn’t have walls.” He yawned. “Excuse me.”
“Let’s get some rest.” She shot him a half-amused, half-concerned glance. “You’ve still got five nights to catch up on.”
“It doesn’t work exactly like that.”
“Oh?” The edge in her voice was back. “How does it work, exactly?”
“I don’t need one night of sleep for every night I missed. That’s all.”
To avoid further conversation on that topic, he grabbed his pajamas out of his bag, went into the bathroom with them, and closed the door. He normally slept in boxers, but he’d bought pajamas at the airport given that he was rooming with Fiona. He’d deliberately selected the worst ones, not that any pajamas were especially sexy. But when faced with a choice between a plain black set that clung to his body and a baggy set the color of a glass of milk forgotten under the sofa for a week, he’d gone for the latter. No point tempting fate. Not only would he ensure that he didn’t look appealing to Fiona, they’d hopefully also make him not feel in a sexy mood.
When he came out in his mildew-colored pajamas, he caught her look of disbelief. Then, shaking her head, she grabbed an armful of fabric and went into the bathroom. While she was changing, he set alarms on the doors to the stairs and the balcony. He took his time doing it. He had extremely vivid memories of her short, floaty nightgown, and he didn’t want to be caught staring.
But when Fiona emerged, he had to suppress a laugh. She’d bought new sleepwear too, and apparently with the exact same idea he’d had when he’d acquired his. She wore an excessively modest nightgown of red-checked flannel, with long sleeves, a high collar, and a hem that nearly reached the floor.
If she’d been auditioning for a movie with a title like Showdown at Sagebrush Ridge, it would have been perfect. But as a lust-discouraging device, it was a miserable failure. She still looked sexy. Also, adorable. She’d taken down her hair but left the braids in. They hung nearly down to her waist, giving her a schoolgirl air. Justin had the near-irresistible urge to grab one and give it a tug. He had to fold his arms across his chest to stop himself.
He let her take her choice of the side of the bed, then slipped into the other one, keeping as much of a distance as possible. It was a full-sized bed, not a king or even a queen, so that wasn’t much. If there had been more than two pillows, he’d have been tempted to pile them into a barrier. But maybe it was just as well that there weren’t. Constructing a wall would be childish and do nothing but make an awkward situation more awkward by drawing attention to its awkwardness.
Like he’d said, they were both adults. They were perfectly capable of sleeping in the same bed and doing nothing but sleeping.
“Good night, Fiona.”
“Good night, Justin.” She turned out the light.
The bed was comfortable, but sleep didn’t come. She lay so close to him that he was warmed by her body heat. Every tiny movement she made was transmitted to him by the covers and mattress. He could hear her soft, even breathing, quiet but as attention-catching as a live concert at full blast. Even the air around them was perfumed, faintly but unmistakably, by the lingering fragrance of her shampoo and, beneath that, her own natural scent.
But more distracting than the simple fact of her presence was the knowledge that all he had to do was reach out his hand, and he’d be touching her. All he had to do was ask, and he could have her in his arms and feel the raw passion of her kisses. The willpower it took to not touch her left him gritting his teeth and lying there rigid as a toppled statue, his muscles quivering with tension.
Touch her, hissed his snow leopard. TOUCH HER.
If he lay there for one more second, he was going to do it. Justin sprang out of bed.
Fiona’s voice rose sharply. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Oh.” She sounded relieved, but not surprised.
He looked down at her. The moonlight coming in from the windows made her hair shine like silver. And she hadn’t moved at all since they’d gotten in bed together, even though that had been—he checked his watch—over an hour ago. She’d obviously been lying awake too.
He took his pillow and dropped on the rug by the foot of the bed, then began rummaging in the closet. He found a lamp with no bulb, several shoeboxes, a set of elephant-shaped bedroom slippers, and—jackpot!—a blanket, which he spread out below the pillow.
“What are you doing?” Fiona sat up and turned on the bedside light.
“I’m going to sleep on the floor,” he said.
“No, you’re the one who hasn’t slept in days. You take the bed. I’ll take the floor.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Justin protested. “You stay in bed. I’m the one who doesn’t want to be there.”
“Only because I’m in it. Well, not anymore. I was getting out anyway. You were distracting me too.” She climbed out of bed. “Get back in bed. I’ll take the floor.”
“No!” He saw her eyeing his blanket and sat down on it before she could lie on it and claim it. “Look, I’m used to sleeping rough. You’re not. So you take the bed.”
“You’re right, you haven’t slept in a nice bed for—what? Years? So you should have it.”
“That’s by choice,” Justin countered. “At least, the last couple months, it’s been by choice. If I wanted a nice bed, I could’ve gotten one.”
“That’s true,” Fiona said thoughtfully. But instead of getting back in bed, she went on, “You have plenty of money. You have a million dollars. Why were you squatting in an abandoned warehouse?”
“I didn’t want anyone to know where I was.”
“You have a fake ID. The one you used to stay at the Ritz.”
“It didn’t occur to me to stay anywhere nice,” he admitted.
“Then enjoy being somewhere nice now.” She pointed firmly to the bed.
“No.”
“Why not?” Fiona demanded.
“I can’t sleep in a bed while you’re on the floor,” Justin said, frustrated. “Forget it. I won’t do it.”
“Well, I won’t either.” She began bundling the pillow and blankets from the bed into her arms.
“What are you doing?”
She marched into the bathroom with them, disappearing from view. Her voice slightly muffled, she called back, “I’m sleeping in the bathtub!”
“What? Why?”
She didn’t respond, but he heard her noisily flapping blankets. He was sure she was doing it on purpose. The blanket-flapping and pillow-thumping went on for much longer than it needed to, and then silence fell.
Unable to believe that she was really going through with it, he got up, went to the bathroom door, and knocked.
“Come in,” she called. “Door’s open.”
“I can see that.” He went in. Sure enough, she had constructed a sort of nest for herself in the bathtub. “You have got to be kidding me.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Nope. I’m done with the bed. If you don’t sleep in it, it’ll just sit there. Empty. So you might as well take it.”
“Same to you!”
They glared at each other. Then Justin looked down at the bathtub nest and began to laugh. “You do know this is ridiculous, right?”
She kept her scowl locked and loaded for a few moment longer, then a snicker escaped. “Yes.”
“So you’ll take the bed now?”
“Not a chance.”
He idly contemplated scooping her up, blankets and all, and dumping her back on the bed. But he quickly discarded that notion. For one thing, she’d get right back in the tub as soon as he let go of her. For another, she’d undoubtedly fight him. And for a third, he had a feeling that any physical struggle between them would lead to the exact thing he’d left the bed to prevent.
“Fine,” he said. “Good night.”
“
Good night,” she said. “Sweet dreams.”
“Don’t hit your head on the faucet when you wake up.”
Fiona rolled her eyes at him, then grudgingly moved the pillow to the other end of the tub.
“Sweet dreams,” Justin said, and returned to his blankets on the floor.
Chapter Five
Fiona
Fiona squirmed around in the bathtub, but tried to do it quietly, so she wouldn’t wake Justin up if he’d managed to fall asleep. It was incredibly uncomfortable. But she was hardly going to return to the bed if he was on the floor. Maybe if she stayed in the tub, he’d eventually decide that since the bed was right there and empty, he might as well sleep in it.
She’d fluffed the pillow for what felt like the thirtieth time when she heard a sound from the other room. Fiona froze, abruptly on high alert. Adrenaline surging through her veins, she quietly rose from the tub and edged to the bathroom door, which she’d left ajar. But when she peered through, she saw no one in the bedroom but Justin, lying on the floor with his head turned away from her. As she watched, she heard the sound again. This time she could identify it as a soft moan.
“Justin?”
He sat bolt upright with a gasp. His left hand clutched at his hip, found no weapon, and fell away.
“Fiona.” His voice shook slightly, then steadied. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Are you all right?”
He pushed his hair out of his face. “I’m fine. Go back to sleep. Take the bed if you like. I’m sure it’s comfier than the tub.”
“I’m sure it’s comfier than the floor,” she retorted. “You take it.”
He lay back down on the rug and closed his eyes. She returned to the tub.
When she woke up the next morning, stiff and cramped and with a crick in her neck, she found him doing stretches on the floor. She sat down and joined him. He didn’t look any more rested than she felt, but she didn’t mention it. What was the point? He’d just say he was fine and be annoyed at her for asking.
She took a shower, and felt better after an infusion of hot water. When Justin went to take his, she contemplated her phone. She had to call Mr. Elson, but she could wait till Justin got out to make the call, so he could listen in on it. That would save her having to recap it to him afterward. But the thought of him watching and listening while she put on the persona of that heartless spy made her cringe. He’d know it was just an act, of course. But all the same, she didn’t want him to see her do it.
More than that, she didn’t want him to see just how good she was at being fake.
She closed her eyes, took a moment to get into character, then called Mr. Elson. She had his direct line, and he picked up on the first ring.
“Speak softly,” she whispered. “He’s in the shower in the other room.”
“So you’re in,” Mr. Elson replied in low voice, sounding pleased. “Very in, if he’s showering around you.”
“Well, he’s not showering with me. But I’ll get there. Just give me time.” As she spoke, she patted herself on the back for making the call out of Justin’s earshot. The thought of saying those lines while he was listening was so horrifying that she wasn’t even sure she could bring herself to do it.
Mr. Elson gave his oily chuckle. “Good work. Where are you?”
She made a lightning-fast calculation of how likely he was to have her phone call traced, and decided not to risk a lie. He certainly had the technical capability, and in the world of organized crime, it paid to be paranoid. “Venice. Italy.”
“How romantic,” he said drily. “He must be smitten. Has he told you why he’s really there?”
“He gave me the impression it was because he was smitten.”
“I think it’s actually a business trip,” Elson replied. “A business rival of mine lives there. The same man who was the subject of your boyfriend’s hostile takeover. The one that brought him to my attention.”
As usual, he was careful to say nothing too incriminating over the phone in case someone was recording or listening in.
“If he is here on business, what would you like me to do about it?”
“I don’t care if my rival’s company goes under,” said Elson. Fiona easily translated that as “Let Justin kill Bianchi if he wants.” “Just keep on with your assignment. It sounds like it’s coming along nicely. Learned anything about him yet?”
“Not much. He’s closed-mouthed. I’m still—Gotta go,” she whispered, then hung up.
The shower was still running, but she’d gotten what she wanted. Suddenly ending the call would reinforce the idea that she was going behind Justin’s back. And she didn’t want to spend any more time talking to that sleazy arms dealer, or being that sleazy fake person, than she absolutely had to.
The shower turned off. A few minutes later Justin stepped out, fully dressed and toweling his wet hair. His face was flushed from the heat and his eyes were bright.
I wish I’d been in the shower with him, she thought. Wonder if he gets that pink all over...?
“Hey, I just got off the phone with Elson.” She recapped the conversation to Justin, who listened with interest.
“Should’ve let me listen in. I’d have loved to see you do your thing.”
When Hell freezes over, she thought.
“Some other time,” she said.
“Shall we get our masks and costumes now?” he asked. “I bet you already found a place to get them.”
“I did, actually.”
“You’re good with computers.”
“I just googled that. Anyone could’ve done it.”
“I’m not so sure about that. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that you found the best place in Venice to make the sort of costumes we need that can do a rush job if you pay enough—and you figured that out even without knowing much Italian. Am I right?”
“You’re right.”
“And the information you found on Bianchi took a bit more than googling, didn’t it?”
Fiona nodded. “I had to do a little hacking for that.”
“And you pick locks, right? I assume that’s how you got into that warehouse I was hiding out in.”
“Yes.”
“What else do you do?”
“What is this, a job interview?” Fiona demanded.
“Uh-huh. I’m looking to hire a bodyguard who can turn into a snow leopard, but she’s got to be multi-talented. Otherwise I could just hire myself. Obviously.”
She laughed, then said, “I’m good with mechanical and electronic stuff in general. We have a tech room at Protection, Inc., and I like to go there and tinker around. Make alarms and trackers and little robots and so forth.”
“You’ve got to be careful with robots,” he said. “They’re always trying to take over the world.”
“It’s okay, I’m careful not to make them too smart.”
“So, you build not-too-bright robots, pick locks, hack computers, and turn into a snow leopard. In addition to being an undercover agent, a marksman, and a hand-to-hand fighter.”
Justin sounded both amused and genuinely admiring as he listed off her skills. Lots of men were intimidated by a competent woman, and some expressed it by getting hostile. But he seemed sincerely delighted by everything she could do, like he’d waited his entire life to partner up with a woman who could build wobbly robot dogs.
“Is there anything you can’t do?” he asked.
I can’t be honest, not even with the people I care about most, she thought. I can’t love or be loved.
Putting on a wry smile that did nothing but make her feel even more fake, she said, “I can’t cook.”
“Good, I was starting to feel inferior. I can’t build robots. But I’m an excellent chef. If we buy groceries, I’ll prove it tonight.” Then, after a perfectly timed beat, he frowned and said, “Wait. Let me re-phrase that. I’m a reasonably good amateur chef who’s mastered the art of cooking with ingredients you can afford on an Air Force salary.”
; “I don’t have lobster and caviar every day,” she replied. “And anything homemade would be a treat. I only get that when a teammate invites me over for dinner.”
“What? Shane learned to cook?”
“Shane absolutely did not. And Catalina is even worse, if that’s possible. When I go to their house, we order in. I peeked in their cupboards once and there was nothing in them but MREs and cat food.” Seeing Justin’s expression, she added, “For their cats.”
“That’s a relief. You had me worried for a second.”
She laughed, then said, “Hal and Destiny cook. And Nick barbecues.”
“Of course he does. Barbecuing is a manly art beloved of young men with lots of tattoos.”
“Also of middle-aged dads. Which I think Nick aspires to be some day. He was awfully excited over Ellie getting pregnant.”
“Which one is Ellie?” Justin asked.
“She’s our boss Hal’s mate. She’s a paramedic. Hal met her when he bodyguarded her after she witnessed a murder and agreed to testify.”
“I think I met her,” he said. “Or saw her, anyway. Built like Catalina, but with curly blonde hair?”
“Don’t tell me you rescued her too!”
“No, no. I saw her with some of your other teammates after you blew up the Apex base, but before you showed up at the meeting point.” He swallowed, the brightness fading from his eyes. “She and Catalina were treating Shane for a gunshot wound to the chest. He looked bad. Shock, respiratory distress—I think he was bleeding internally.”
He brushed his fingers over his scar, then rubbed it like it still hurt. “He asked me to stay with him. But I had a couple Apex guys on my trail and I was afraid of leading them to him. All the same. He needed me, and I walked out on him.”
“He would’ve done the same if he thought it was the only way to protect you. I must’ve gotten there right after you left. I held his hand...” Fiona could recall the scene like it had happened yesterday. Shane lying there on the ground, eyes closed, face ashen. She hesitated, then confessed, “I was sure he was dying. I felt so helpless. And—and scared.”
Justin laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Someone should have told you he wasn’t going to die. The paramedics would have known.”