“Most people wouldn’t think anything about calluses.”
Just for a moment Rachel hesitated, her gaze turned inward, before she resumed setting the table and checking the food. “My husband took extra training. He had calluses on his hands, too.”
Something tightened inside him, twisting, and his fingers slowly curled. He darted a quick glance at her slim, tanned, ringless hands. “You’re divorced?”
“No. I’m a widow.”
“I’m sorry.”
She nodded again and began dishing up the eggs and bacon, then checked the biscuits in the oven. They were just right, golden brown on top, and she quickly turned them out into the breadbasket. “It’s been a long time,” she finally said. “Five years.” Then her voice changed and became brisk again. “Wash up before the biscuits get cold.”
She was, he reflected a few minutes later, a damned good cook. The eggs were fluffy, the bacon crisp, the biscuits light, the coffee just strong enough. Homemade pear preserves dripped golden juice over the biscuits, and the yellow cantaloupe was ripe and sweet. There was nothing fancy about it, but it all fit together, and even the colors were harmonious. It was simply another facet of her competent nature. Just as he was savoring his third biscuit she said serenely, “Don’t expect this every day. Some mornings I have cereal and fruit for breakfast. I’m just trying to build up your strength.” Her manner hid the satisfaction she felt in watching this coldly controlled man eat with such obvious enjoyment.
He leaned back in his chair, taking his time as he examined the twinkle in her eyes and the smile that was barely hidden by the coffee cup she held in her elegant hands. She was teasing him, and he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had actually dared to tease him. Probably back in high school, some giddy, giggling teenage girl trying out her newfound powers of seduction and daring to use them on the boy even the teachers considered “dangerous.” He’d never actually done anything to make them think that; it had simply been the way he looked at them, with that cold, level gaze as black as a night in hell. Rachel dared to tease him because she was certain of herself, and because of that certainty she met him as an equal. She wasn’t afraid of him, despite what she knew, or had guessed.
In time. He’d have her, sooner or later.
“You’re going about it the right way,” he said, finally responding to her teasing statement. Rachel wondered if he did it deliberately, waiting so long before answering. He could either be thinking about what he wanted to say, or those long pauses could be designed to tilt the other person a little off-balance. Everything he did was so controlled that she didn’t think it was a habit; it was a deliberate tactic.
There could be a double meaning to his words, but Rachel chose to take them at face value. “If that’s a bribe to keep me cooking like this, it won’t work. It’s too hot to eat a big meal three times a day. More coffee?”
“Please.”
As she poured the coffee she asked, “How long are you planning to stay?”
He waited until she had set the pot back on its warming pad and returned to her seat before he answered. “Until I get over this, and can walk and use my shoulder again. Unless you want me gone, and then it’s up to you when you throw me out.”
Well, that was plain enough, Rachel thought. He’d stay while he was recuperating, but that was it. “Do you have any idea what you’re going to do?”
He leaned his forearms on the table. “Get well. That’s the first item on the list. I have to find out how deeply we’ve been compromised. There’s still one man I can call when I need him, but I’ll wait until I’ve recovered before I do anything. One man alone won’t stand much of a chance. I have three weeks left of my vacation. Three weeks that they’ll have to keep this quiet, unless my body just ‘happens’ to wash up somewhere. Without my body they’re stalled. They can’t make any moves to replace me until I’m officially dead, or missing.”
“What happens if you don’t turn up at work in three weeks?”
“My file will be erased from all records. Codes will be changed, agents reassigned, and I will officially cease to exist.”
“Presumed dead?”
“Dead, captured, or turned.”
Three weeks. At the most she would have three weeks with him. The time seemed so pitifully short, but she wasn’t going to ruin it by moaning and sulking because things weren’t turning out just the way she wanted. She had learned the hard way that “forever” could be heartbreakingly brief. If these three weeks were to be all she had with him, then she would smile and take care of him, even argue with him if she felt like it, help him in any way she could…cherish him… then wave goodbye to this dark warrior and keep her tears for herself, after he had gone. It didn’t give her much comfort to know that women had probably been doing that exact thing for centuries.
He was thinking, his lashes lowered over his eyes while he stared into his coffee cup.
“I want you to make another shopping trip.”
“Sure,” Rachel said easily. “I meant to ask you if the pants were the right size.”
“Everything’s the right size. You have a good eye. No, I want you to get hollowpoint ammunition for that .357, a good supply of it. The same for the rifle. You’ll be reimbursed.”
Being reimbursed was the last of Rachel’s worries, and she felt a flare of resentment that he’d even mentioned it. “Are you sure you don’t want me to buy a couple of deer rifles while I’m at it? Or a .44 Magnum?”
To her surprise he took her sarcasm seriously. “No. I don’t want you on record as having purchased any type of weapon since the date I disappeared.”
That startled her, and she leaned back. “You mean records of this sort that are likely to be checked?”
“For anyone in this area.”
Rachel looked at him for a long, long time, her gray eyes drifting over the hard planes of his face and the closed expression in his eyes, eyes that were older than time. At last she whispered, “Who are you, that anyone would go to such lengths to kill you?”