she had last night, but Medina hadn't left until well past her normal bedtime.
Going into her bedroom, she took out a matching navy blue set of underwear, but only put on the panties. She wore a bra while she was jogging and at work, but didn't bother while she was at home. She put on her terry-cloth robe and snugly belted it, pulled her wet hair out from under the shawl collar, and walked barefoot down the hall to the kitchen to see if the coffee Medina had made was still drinkable.
He was sitting at the island bar, drinking coffee, much as he had been before. She checked only briefly, then went to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. "I thought you were leaving."
"Why?"
She turned to face him, leaning against the cabinet and cradling the cup in her hand. His hair was wet, she noticed.
"I used your other bathroom for a shower," he said. "Hope you don't mind. I had to put these clothes back on, though."
"No, I don't mind. But I still thought you were leaving. I have to go to work."
"No, you don't. You're on indefinite leave."
She sipped her coffee, hiding her shock-and, yes, her irritation. "That's news to me."
"Frank took care of it last night. Until this job is finished, you're mine."
She didn't know if she liked the sound of that. A funny little pang tightened her stomach. She took refuge in her coffee again, hiding her expression.
He looked so pantherish and male, dressed all in black, lounging at his ease in her cheerful kitchen.
The T-shirt he wore clung to him, revealing the breadth of his shoulders and the flatness of his stomach. He was tall and lean, but more muscular than he looked when wearing street clothes. He had meant his words one way, but his physical presence was so strong she couldn't stop herself from a brief sexual speculation. Did his stamina extend to lovemaking? If so ... wow.
Immediately she pulled her thoughts away from that direction; nothing but trouble there. "So what am I supposed to do with my time until we're ready to leave? When
do
we leave, anyway?" she asked briskly.
"About a week. It takes time to set up a cover as foolproof as yours will be. In the meantime, we train. How are you with a handgun and self-defense?"
"Rusty."
"Have you had any formal self-defense training?"
"No. Just a rape-prevention course, the usual self-defense stuff." And the rudimentary training Dallas had begun with her, but that was five years ago, and she hadn't kept it up.
"Okay. We won't have time for anything in-depth, but in a week's time I can have you at a level where you can hold your own with most men. You're in good shape already, so that helps."
Great. It looked as if she was going to be in his company nonstop for a week. She sighed and took a skillet out of the cabinet. "I'm not doing anything else until I eat. What do you want for breakfast?"
"Take your pick," Medina said, indicating the small arsenal he had laid out on a bench. They were in a private firing range, used by CIA personnel. The huge, barnlike building was empty except for the two of them.
It wasn't anything fancy, having been built more for use than looks. The far wall of the range was stacked with sand bags and bales of hay, so no rounds of ammunition went through the walls to do damage to anything or anyone outside. The walls themselves were lined with what looked like pegboard, to contain the noise. Big industrial lights hung overhead, but they were individually controlled so that the lighting conditions could be adjusted
He indicated the first weapon. "This is a Colt .45. It's a heavy-duty cannon, with a lot of stopping power. The next one is a Smith & Wesson .357 revolver. Again, it's pretty heavy. But they're both as reliable as the sun, so you might want to practice with them. I wouldn't recommend them for regular use, though, because of the weight. You need something lighter."
He indicated the other weapons. "The next one is a SIG Sauer P226, 9mm. It's my personal favorite. The other automatic is an H&K P9S.
Going into her bedroom, she took out a matching navy blue set of underwear, but only put on the panties. She wore a bra while she was jogging and at work, but didn't bother while she was at home. She put on her terry-cloth robe and snugly belted it, pulled her wet hair out from under the shawl collar, and walked barefoot down the hall to the kitchen to see if the coffee Medina had made was still drinkable.
He was sitting at the island bar, drinking coffee, much as he had been before. She checked only briefly, then went to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. "I thought you were leaving."
"Why?"
She turned to face him, leaning against the cabinet and cradling the cup in her hand. His hair was wet, she noticed.
"I used your other bathroom for a shower," he said. "Hope you don't mind. I had to put these clothes back on, though."
"No, I don't mind. But I still thought you were leaving. I have to go to work."
"No, you don't. You're on indefinite leave."
She sipped her coffee, hiding her shock-and, yes, her irritation. "That's news to me."
"Frank took care of it last night. Until this job is finished, you're mine."
She didn't know if she liked the sound of that. A funny little pang tightened her stomach. She took refuge in her coffee again, hiding her expression.
He looked so pantherish and male, dressed all in black, lounging at his ease in her cheerful kitchen.
The T-shirt he wore clung to him, revealing the breadth of his shoulders and the flatness of his stomach. He was tall and lean, but more muscular than he looked when wearing street clothes. He had meant his words one way, but his physical presence was so strong she couldn't stop herself from a brief sexual speculation. Did his stamina extend to lovemaking? If so ... wow.
Immediately she pulled her thoughts away from that direction; nothing but trouble there. "So what am I supposed to do with my time until we're ready to leave? When
do
we leave, anyway?" she asked briskly.
"About a week. It takes time to set up a cover as foolproof as yours will be. In the meantime, we train. How are you with a handgun and self-defense?"
"Rusty."
"Have you had any formal self-defense training?"
"No. Just a rape-prevention course, the usual self-defense stuff." And the rudimentary training Dallas had begun with her, but that was five years ago, and she hadn't kept it up.
"Okay. We won't have time for anything in-depth, but in a week's time I can have you at a level where you can hold your own with most men. You're in good shape already, so that helps."
Great. It looked as if she was going to be in his company nonstop for a week. She sighed and took a skillet out of the cabinet. "I'm not doing anything else until I eat. What do you want for breakfast?"
"Take your pick," Medina said, indicating the small arsenal he had laid out on a bench. They were in a private firing range, used by CIA personnel. The huge, barnlike building was empty except for the two of them.
It wasn't anything fancy, having been built more for use than looks. The far wall of the range was stacked with sand bags and bales of hay, so no rounds of ammunition went through the walls to do damage to anything or anyone outside. The walls themselves were lined with what looked like pegboard, to contain the noise. Big industrial lights hung overhead, but they were individually controlled so that the lighting conditions could be adjusted
He indicated the first weapon. "This is a Colt .45. It's a heavy-duty cannon, with a lot of stopping power. The next one is a Smith & Wesson .357 revolver. Again, it's pretty heavy. But they're both as reliable as the sun, so you might want to practice with them. I wouldn't recommend them for regular use, though, because of the weight. You need something lighter."
He indicated the other weapons. "The next one is a SIG Sauer P226, 9mm. It's my personal favorite. The other automatic is an H&K P9S.
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