He set down his weapon, then shrugged off his vest, dropping it on a low, black leather chair. A streak of sweat down the column of his back darkened his T-shirt.
I removed my vest—glad to be rid of the weight even though I was very used to it.
He walked to a sleek chrome refrigerator and pulled out a couple of cans of cola. “Here.” He threw one my way.
I caught it. “Thanks.” I popped it open and drank long and deep, the cool, sweet liquid dampening the fire in my gullet. “That’s good, thanks.”
“No problem.”
“You have a shower here, right?” I asked.
“Sure, through there.”
“Do you mind?”
“Have at it, there’s towels on the shelf.”
I bent and removed my boots—even my socks were soaked—then walked over the wooden floor to the door he’d indicated.
The bathroom was large with a huge window covered with a black blind, a roll-top bath, walk-in shower and separate room housing the toilet. A long black granite worktop held two sinks and a meagre amount of toiletries. It seemed Balko wasn’t one for preening, but I could have also guessed that if I’d taken the time to think about it.
I stripped off, kicking my clothes into the corner. I’d have to put them on again soon, but perhaps I could at least get my T-shirt rinsed out and dried before I had to do that.
I flicked on the faucet and dragged my hair from its low ponytail.
I set the water to cool and when I stepped in, holding my face to the stream, I let out a sigh of relief. As I stood there, letting my skin chill, I slowed the thoughts rushing through my mind—Julie’s tear-stained face, the detonator in her hand then in mine, the horrific sight of deadly dynamite strapped to someone’s body.
I blew out a breath, water droplets spraying from my mouth, and turned. A bottle of shampoo sat on a small wire shelf so I helped myself to some and lathered my hair. Balko’s hair was so short I wondered why he even had it. A bottle must last him a year.
As the bubbles rinsed away I felt normality returning. Not just in my body, but in my mind. I was good at parking up the job. I had to be, otherwise I’d go mad. And it wasn’t as though I didn’t have enough experience.
And the chief knew that, he knew a couple of hours, some food and a chance to cool down and I’d be back on the job with a rock-steady hand.
Eventually, I forced myself out of the shower, knowing Balko would want one too.
I helped myself to two large grey towels, wrapped one around my hair turban-style and the other around my body.
Knock. Knock.
“You finished?” Balko’s deep voice.
“Yeah, I’m done.”
The door pushed open and he walked in, naked.
“You desperate, huh?” I raised my eyebrows at him.
“I feel like a snake on a spit.”
I chuckled. “We don’t want that, officer.” My gaze drifted over his long, lean body as he stepped into the shower. His pale skin hugged his muscles which rippled beneath the surface. He had indents on the sides of his buttocks and his chest was practically hairless.
His cock was large and flaccid.
“So what’s with the eagle tat?” I asked, then helped myself to toothpaste and finger-brushed my teeth.
“Slovak military.”
I watched his reflection in the mirror, enjoying how uninhibited he was at being naked in front of me. He held his face to the stream of water, his arms raised, hands running over his hair and his torso stretching. The water darkened the already near black image of an eagle on his right pec. It was different to any kind of American golden eagle tattoo. To me it screamed Eastern Bloc and Russia, places I’d never been. It was a symbol rather than trying to be lifelike. The eagle’s head was turned to the right, its wings were spread, with four thick feathers hanging down from each one. Between its legs was a shield with a cross and two swords fanning out from it. It screamed military.