Operation Sheba by Misty Evans

Opportunity.”
    The older woman watched the younger version of herself slip out the door and let out a deep sigh. Julia Torrison? Who cared how she was doing. Susan Richmond was in full-court press in the final game of her season.
    Oh no. She would not. Blow. It.

    Julia sat in the rocking chair, staring at Conrad’s back.
    His muscular naked back. Stripped down to his black boxer briefs and white socks, he was flopped on her sofa, deep in sleep. She watched him breathe, stomach down, head turned toward the back of the sofa, feet dangling over the end. His right arm hung down, fingers resting on the butt of his gun that was lying on the floor. The other arm, complete with his classic sailor boy anchor tattoo, was snugged up under his head.
    She let her focus wander over his olive-colored skin, allowed them to stop briefly on the two scars she could see. He had received both injuries during his SEAL days. One, on his right shoulder, he had received from a bullet and the subsequent surgeon’s knife needed to extract it. The other one, about two inches long and located just above the band of his underwear, was the result of a knife wound. Reminders , he would say. Never rely on others to get your back .
    Julia wanted to reach out and run her fingers across the tattoo, press her lips to the scars. She wanted to feel the heat Conrad’s body gave off. Feel the sweat of his body mixed with hers.
    She closed her eyes. God, this wasn’t fair. This was so not fair.
    She’d been able to think only about Conrad last night when she fell asleep, but with the morning light came thoughts of Michael. Normally, she would have been on the veranda at his house about now, sipping coffee and reading the paper. Instead she was here, suddenly leading a double life again. Not only was she secretly cavorting with her supposedly dead ex-lover and an AWOL CIA chief, she’d kissed her ex-lover without any thought of her current one. She’d gone to sleep fantasizing about way more than a kiss too. I can’t decide , she mused, whether I’m crazy or just slutty .
    But now it was morning. Fantasy time was over. Hello real life.
    Opening her eyes, Julia curled her legs into the chair and watched Con’s back again.
    Rise. Fall.
    Rise. Fall.
    Instead of retreating to the apartment down the hall, he’d spent the last few hours of the night on her sofa. Even after she had rejected him and told him to get lost.
    Passive aggressive , he would say, wins the war, Julia . Wear the opponent down by waiting him…or her…out.
    He knew what he was talking about. Conrad excelled in HUMINT—the clandestine term for human intelligence collection. He had no qualms about using violence when necessary, but enjoyed equal success in stillness. In relentless study of his target until he located the weak spot that would bring the target down. In patient, unwavering pursuit of whomever and whatever he wanted. Once assured of his success, Conrad Flynn hit with stealth and accuracy.
    His kisses were lethal.
    Julia hugged herself. She had been his target before, but she had wanted him just as badly as he’d wanted her. This game was different. This time Michael was the ultimate target. With or without her help, Conrad was going to take him and the rogue organization down. Her stomach rolled at the thought it could be Michael orchestrating the espionage and betrayal of his own spies. But it was worse to contemplate that he could have manipulated and seduced her after failing to terminate her life in Europe. That she could have been used and betrayed again by someone she loved and trusted with the core of her soul.
    It’s not Michael.
    Conrad stirred, even in his exhausted state struggling to find a comfortable arrangement for his arms. Giving up, his right armed flopped back to the floor. A minute later, soft snores escaped from his lips.
    Julia watched, feeling Michael’s presence hovering in the background. Years of experience in Conrad’s spy world had honed her gut