Choke Point by Jay MacLarty Page B

then worked his way toward the bedroom, and the only sliver of light in the suite. Hoping her dinner with Atherton had not turned into something more carnal, he tapped lightly on the door. “You—” Distracted by images of erotic interplay, he almost said alone. “—decent?”
    Her voice, husky from sleep, barely penetrated the door. “I may not be great, Leonidovich, but I’m better than decent, you can bet on that.”
    That he believed, though more information than he cared to ponder. “I’ll take your word for it.” He pushed open the door. She was propped up against a mountain of pillows, the bed covers pulled to her chin. She gave him the squinty eye, a feigned look of displeasure. “Don’t you ever sleep, Leonidovich?”
    “Five good hours. What more does a person need?”
    “Six would be nice.”
    Meaning she hadn’t gotten in before 2 A.M . “Six!” Though he had no right to be jealous, he couldn’t help but envy the time she was spending with the suave James Atherton. “Six is for wimps.”
    “Don’t pick on me, Leonidovich. I know things.”
    “Lies and rumors,” he fired back, feeling better now that he knew she was alone. “Exaggerations and innuendo.”
    “That’s what I thought. It was all too good to be true.”
    “Exactly. They don’t call me bad-to-the-bone, for nothing.”
    “Ha! You don’t know the meaning of bad, Leonidovich.” One naked arm snaked out from beneath the coverlet. “Coffee! I need coffee.”
    He handed over one of the containers. “What’s with the new guard dog.”
    “That’s Robbie.” She took a small sip of coffee, carefully checking the temperature as she always did, then sucked down a healthy gulp. “He’s my new body man.”
    Body man, now there was a job a man could get into. “What happened to Paul?”
    She shrugged, exposing her bare shoulders. “No idea. The manager of the security company called yesterday. They lost a couple of men, the only ones on my detail who spoke English. Told me to expect a couple of new faces.”
    “Lost…?”
    “That’s all I know. Robbie showed at seven o’clock.”
    “Robbie?”
    “Robert Joseph Kelts.” She cocked her head toward a profile sheet laying on the nightstand. “Don’t you just love his accent?”
    “Heterosexual men never admit loving anything about another man. I read it in the Rock Hudson Guide to Machismo. ”
    “Men have such silly rules.”
    “Don’t get me started on the female species.” He picked up the profile sheet and began scanning through the particulars. “I thought he looked young. Only twenty-four.”
    She smiled, a wicked little grin. “What you call ‘young,’ I call eye candy.”
    “I thought that was Atherton.” He regretted the words instantly—a foolish, shoot from the hip remark—but they were already gone and he couldn’t retract them.
    She cocked her head to one side, a puzzled expression. “You don’t like James?”
    Afraid he would sound like a jealous schoolboy, he ignored the question, keeping his eyes on the profile of Robert Joseph Kelts, aka R.J., aka Robbie. “He does seem to have plenty of experience.”
    “I wouldn’t know,” she answered, as if they were still talking about Atherton. “We’ve only had dinner.”
    Was she purposely providing information, checking his reaction, or was he reading too much into too little? “He’s been with the same security service since his discharge from the SAS. Moved here from Hong Kong about a month ago.”
    “I saw that. What’s the SAS?”
    “Special Air Service. It’s a division of the British military. Small commando units. Very elite.”
    “Guess you’ll have to start being nice to me, Leonidovich. He sounds tough.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    The playful twinkle faded. “You talk to my mother yet?”
    “An hour ago. The flight went well; no complications. She likes the hospital and all the doctors.”
    “And…?”
    “No change.”
    She emitted a long sigh, the sound of