LITMIR.BIZ

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room. He wished it were a twin.

      No, he didn’t. If they’d been forced together it would have made it much more difficult for him to climb out without waking her. He would wait until she had a chance to get into REM sleep, when it would be most difficult to wake her. That was approximately forty-five minutes.

      As the minutes ticked by, it wasn’t the geek he thought about. Not the tape he was going to view. It was Christie’s hand. The feel of her skin. How her muscles had relaxed underneath his steady pressure. Her hair had been swept up with some kind of wooden pin, and he’d stared at it for a long time, trying to figure out exactly how it worked. It didn’t matter. the important thing was that he could see her neck so clearly. It was a lovely, slim neck. Long, delicate. Her shoulders were small, too. Such a small person.

      Women in general knocked him out, but touching her had made him feel so goddamn protective. He’d never tell her that, though. She needed to feel strong. Powerful.

      The geek wouldn’t get within ten feet of her, but still, she deserved to feel sure that she could take care of herself. That no man, no maniac, could take her against her will.

      It would take a lot more training than he’d be able to give her. But he’d encourage her to continue once he was gone. To give herself that gift.

      He listened again, her soft breath coming easily, steadily. It was still too soon. And she was too close.

      Christ, why had he gotten into that tub with her? He’d thought it would help. That it would make things easier. He was a moron.

      Somehow, he made it through until he felt sure she wouldn’t rouse. He got out of the bed as stealthily as if he were walking into enemy territory, and had a target painted on his back. Milo wasn’t impressed.

      The two of them went into the bathroom, with a quick stop first to pick up his equipment bag. Once there, Boone sat on the toilet again, seat down, light dim. He pulled out a portable VCR that ran on batteries. Then he put the tape in.

      The camera was motion-triggered. But the first motion on the tape wasn’t the geek. It was Christie. And she was in her bra and panties.

      Boone fast-forwarded. The light went off, and the light stayed off, but that was okay, because the camera had infrared. It wouldn’t give Boone a clear picture of the man, but it would give him a lot of intel. How big, what build, what equipment, how he was dressed, how he got in. And out.

      And, like magic, there he was.

       8

      CHRISTIE WOKE when she kicked him. Boone didn’t move an inch. She had no idea what time it was. Not too early, because the sun streaming through her living room blinds was strong. Milo snuffled, then rose, walking toward the kitchen without a backward glance. She stared at Boone.

      He was such a puzzle of a man. Nothing like Nate. At least not where women were concerned. She had no illusions about her late brother. He’d been born a hound dog and he’d died one. If there was a woman within a fifty-mile radius, he knew about it, and he didn’t let man or war get in the way. Not that the women had complained. Christie felt sure every one of them had fond memories of their brief stints with Nate. She also felt sure that wherever he was, he was smiling and remembering each and every one.

      Which was exactly what she’d expected of Boone. They were buddies, pals, and they did their secret work in secret places together, side by side. Surely they’d whored together, too.

      She watched his eyes move behind his lids. What was he dreaming about? Some mission in Panama? Or the Balkans? Or Iraq? Or was it one of his other conquests?

      She liked his face. Oddly, his nose was on the small side, but it worked. His lips, now they were something. And man, did he know how to use them.

      As if he’d heard her thoughts, his lips parted and she glimpsed his teeth, so straight she knew he’d had braces as a boy. Her gaze moved back to his eyes. Still darting about. And his lashes. Geez, they were long. She’d love lashes like that. They fanned out in perfect arcs, and when they were standing outside in the sun, they cast perfect little shadows above his cheeks.

      Altogether a very doable guy. Who had slept next to her all night without even the slightest nudge. Weird.

      Milo whined from the kitchen, and Christie climbed off the mattress as carefully as she could. Despite what lay behind her bedroom door, she wasn’t nearly as scared now, not in the light. So she went to feed her dog, give him fresh water and start the coffee.

      He’d been feeding her. Boone, not Milo. Feeding her vegetables and fruits and blender concoctions and pasta. He was obsessed with health, and all she could think of was chocolate. Not just any chocolate, but Godiva chocolate, in the little gold box. Well, boxes. As many as she could hold. But of course, with all the training and all the shooting, and all the blood all over her bed, there wasn’t time to go to the mall. Yeah, she had the Twinkies, but it wasn’t the same.

      She shivered as she dished out Milo’s breakfast. He went immediately to the task while she turned her attention to the coffee. Nothing could be done before she’d had at least two cups.

      Once the coffee was brewing, she headed to the bathroom. When she got out, there was Boone, standing in the hallway, his gun present and at the ready.

      “Dammit, Christie,” he said, lowering the weapon. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

      “You were dreaming. It seemed a shame to interrupt.”

      “Dreaming? Are you nuts?”

      “I’m pretty sure I am, yes.”

      “Okay, then,” he said, wiping his right eye. “Is the coffee ready?”

      “A couple of minutes.”

      He nodded, then took her place in the bathroom.

      She stood for a moment, watching the door. Then she turned, headed for the kitchen just in time to see Milo slip outside via the doggy door.

      She wanted to change clothes. She didn’t care into what, just something she hadn’t slept in. But that would mean going in her bedroom, and she wasn’t up to that at all.

      Yeah, she was a miserable shot, but if she could get him in her sights, oh, man, she knew she’d hit a bull’s-eye. Several times.

      As she reached for her big mug, the one with the purple glaze, something caught her eye out the kitchen window. A truck, old and dark, pulling up to the curb in front of her house.

      In an instant, she was trembling. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest she could hardly breathe. She tried to convince herself that it wasn’t anything to do with her. Why should it be? This was a public street in the middle of Culver City, but oh, crap, why right there?

      She backed up as the truck door opened. A woman stepped out. She was dressed in jeans and a blue sweater, and had a big canvas bag over her shoulder. Behind her, a man walked around the front of the truck. He was tall, big, like Boone. He carried a duffel bag with him that weighed a lot. He, too, was in jeans, but damn if she couldn’t imagine him in a uniform.

      “Boone?” she called, shouting toward the hallway. “Are you expecting visitors?”

      He didn’t answer, but her heart calmed down as she remembered him mentioning a friend he needed to call. She was glad she’d made a big pot of coffee. And curious about the woman.

      Boone walked into the kitchen and headed for the coffee.

      Christie nodded at the window. “Friends of yours?”

      “Yeah,” he said, making a 180, so he could meet them at the front door.

      She followed. The couple walked in without talking. Both the woman and the man shook his hand, as if they were business associates.

      Boone closed the door, locked it, then turned to Christie. “Seth, Kate, this is Christie.”

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