“Something to go with dinner?”
“Yeah. Something that, uh... maybe a nice red? For my lady friend and me.”
The waiter bowed his head. “I’ll bring you something appropriate.”
Skeet settled back to wait. The restaurant was maybe half full. Business travelers. A few couples who looked as if they were celebrating something. An older man dining alone while reading through what appeared to be business files.
Normal people. Living normal lives.
Then Chloe walked in.
Oh . . . my . . .
She wore a simple black dress that somehow managed to be both elegant and understated. Her blonde hair was styled in a way that showed the graceful line of her neck. No jewelry except small earrings that caught the light when she moved.
She looked like she belonged in places like this. She also looked exhausted.
“You were supposed to sleep.”
She frowned at him, then sat down. “You look nice too.”
Right.He should have gotten up, should have helped her with her chair, should have—“Sorry. You look... um... wow.”
This got a smile. “That’s better. And for the record, I can’t sleep during the day.”
“A sleep mask helps.”
She picked up the napkin to put it on her lap. “I called my editor. He expected an article a few days ago. I put him off for a few more.”
“How’d that go?”
“About as well as you’d expect. He thinks I’m losing objectivity.” She glanced around the restaurant. “This is nice. Very... adult.”
“Figured we could use some civilized surroundings while we plan how to infiltrate a bioweapons meeting.”
Small smile. “Surreal, right? Yesterday we were journalists following a story. Tonight we’re trying to prevent mass murder.”
“Yeah, maybe let’s not say that out loud, in public.”
The waiter appeared with a bottle of wine. Went through the ritual of presenting the label and pouring a small taste. Skeet nodded as if he knew what he was doing.
“To preventing . . . um . . . you know,” Chloe said, raising her glass.
“To not getting ourselves killed,” he said softly.
The wine filled his palate with flavors he couldn’t identify but that hung on and felt decadent. As if he’d left the guy in fatigues and a tactical vest back in the jungle.
“So.” She set down her glass. “What’s your brilliant plan for getting us into that resort?”
“You first.” He met her eyes. “What did you mean when you said you were ‘doing it again’?”
Her hands stilled on the stem of her wineglass. For a moment, he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then she sighed. Some of the professional armor she wore cracked just enough to show the person underneath, the one he’d met at the night market.
If he was honest, the girl he’d wanted to kiss.
“I’m getting myself in over my head. And now you too.”
Oh.He didn’t know what to do with that, because, well, yes.