Special Ops Exclusive

chapter 8



Despite an initial bout of shock, it didn’t take long for Nick to realize that Salazar’s confession was not shocking at all when you really thought about it. Members of the presidential guard carried a lot of clout in Mala—they had even more authority than the police. Salazar would have a mile-long list of connections, not to mention security clearance, and insider information about the president’s movements and political agendas.

Nick released a rueful breath. “Why am I not surprised to hear that?”

The black-haired man chuckled. “There is something very devilish about me, no?”

Jeez. How was this man so damn charismatic? Every person Nick had spoken to in regard to El Nuevo Diablo had cowered at the mere mention of the infamous criminal. Drugs, guns, women—the man was involved in more than one shady enterprise. If you crossed him, you paid the price. If you did business with him, you were locked in for life.

And yet here he was, Mr. New Devil, sitting across the table with that dimpled smile and palpable magnetism.

“So you’re not a middleman at all,” Nick remarked.

“Clearly not.” Salazar’s lips twitched. “Now, tell me what you want with Mr. Waverly.”

Nick’s head jerked up. “So he did come to see you.”

“Of course. There is no one else in Cortega worth seeing.”

“Did you acquire documents for him?” A note of urgency echoed in Nick’s voice. “Can you tell me what name he’s traveling under? Or where he went from here?”

Salazar held up his hand to silence him. “First, let me tell you about the way I operate, Mr. Prescott. You probably already have an idea, considering you interrogated half the city about me these last few days.”

He didn’t bother asking how Salazar knew he’d been asking around. The man undoubtedly possessed more connections than the president he was sworn to protect.

“The people I do business with, they keep their mouths shut,” Salazar began, his tone downright pleasant. “In return, I keep mine shut. Secrecy is the name of the game, as well as a sign of respect. Private transactions stay private—my clients trust me to deliver on that promise, and in return, I trust them to do the same.”

“And if they don’t?” Nick couldn’t help but ask.

“They suffer the consequences.” Salazar shrugged. “Not many men attempt to double-cross me these days, Mr. Prescott.”

“No, I don’t imagine they do.” He slanted his head. “Is this your way of telling me that you won’t sell out Waverly? He’s protected under your, uh, confidentiality agreement?”

“Not quite.”

Salazar shoved a hand in his pocket and extracted two items. A Polaroid picture and a folded-up piece of white paper. He set them facedown on the table, but did not invite Nick to take a peek.

“I photograph every individual I do business with,” Salazar told him.

“Another precaution, I presume?” Nick said drily.

“Of course. It allows me to keep my customers in line, should they think about selling me out or revealing my identity somewhere down the line. Oh, they all protest at first—‘You can’t take my picture!’—but I usually succeed in making them see reason. Now, as I said before, I don’t typically betray my clients’ identities. It’s bad for business, and I am, first and foremost, a businessman.”

Nick tried not to roll his eyes. “Of course.”

“But the man you’re looking for? Mr. Waverly?” Scorn flickered in Salazar’s dark eyes. “I don’t feel the need to extend the same courtesy to him that I do to other clients.”

“He tried to double-cross you,” Nick guessed.

“He tried to negotiate.”

Salazar sounded so disgusted you’d think Waverly had done much worse than haggle for a better price. But apparently haggling was a big no-no in the eyes of El Nuevo Diablo.

“My fees are set in stone,” the man harrumphed. “But that little prick thought he could mess with me. Rude, entitled bastard. I was happy to be rid of him.”

“You arranged his new papers, then.”

“I did.” Salazar slid the Polaroid across the table. “This is the man you’re seeking, is it not?”

Nick flipped over the photo and found himself looking at the pale face of Paul Waverly, former aide working out of the Pentagon, and the man who’d handed Sebastian a water bottle infected with the Meridian virus. Waverly’s appearance had a very ghoulish vibe to it—with his light blond hair and vampire-white skin, he looked washed-out and sickly. But Sebastian had warned Nick not to be fooled by the man’s outward fragility. Supposedly Waverly was built like a football quarterback—tall, muscular and strong.

“This is him,” he said brusquely.

“My forger always makes sure to send me a photocopy of any documents he procures for me.” Salazar gestured to the folded paper. “That’s the passport he did for Waverly.”

Nick unfolded the sheet and studied the photocopy, which showed the front page of Waverly’s new travel document. It was a bogus British passport under the name William Neville, and impeccably done judging by the watermark and security features that showed up on the copy.

“Can I keep these?” Nick asked.

“The copy, yes. The photograph, no.” Salazar swiftly reached for the Polaroid and pocketed it.

“Thanks,” Nick told the unlikely criminal across the table. “You’ve been more than helpful.”

Salazar flashed a rogue grin. “Who says I’m done?”

Nick lifted a brow.

“I assume your next move will be tracking down our friend William Neville?” When Nick nodded, Salazar’s grin widened. “Lucky for you, the little prick required more than documents from me. I was also gracious enough to arrange for his charter out of Mala.”

He sucked in a breath. “You know where he went from here?”

“Indeed.” The man cocked his head. “Out of curiosity, what do you plan on doing to Mr. Waverly when you find him?”

Nick’s jaw hardened. “Whatever it takes to make him talk.”

Approval glittered in those dark eyes. “Interesting. You are often underestimated, aren’t you, Mr. Prescott?”

Surprise jolted through him. “Pardon me?”

“You appear civilized on the outside, but there is a savage beneath that quiet, polished exterior. You are a man who will go to great lengths to right a wrong.”

Now he felt uneasy. “How about you quit psychoanalyzing me and tell me where Waverly went?”

Salazar chuckled. “Ah, you’re uncomfortable being scrutinized. Most Americans are. I won’t press the matter, then.” He paused, although Nick suspected it was done solely for effect. “Pista Olvidada. It’s a coastal town in Costa Rica.”

Because Nick’s father had insisted his children be fluent in several languages, Nick relied on his knowledge of Spanish for the translation of the town’s name. “Forgotten land,” he murmured.

“Quite poetic, isn’t it?” Salazar said with another grin. “But Waverly has not been forgotten, has he, Mr. Prescott?”

“No, he hasn’t.” Nick tucked the photocopy into his pocket and scraped back his chair, then extended a hand at Salazar. “Thanks again.”

The other man rose as well, but he didn’t shake Nick’s hand. Not yet, anyway. First, he crossed the room and picked up the nylon backpack on the dirty linoleum, then unzipped the bag and pulled out a Polaroid camera.

Apprehension climbed up Nick’s throat as he eyed the camera. “You weren’t kidding about the photos, huh?”

“It must be done, my friend.” Salazar gave a little shrug. “But know that the photographs are kept in my safe, and will never see the light of day.”

“Not unless I try to stiff you, right?” Nick said drily. “In which case, you’ll be flashing my pic around just like you did Waverly’s.”

Salazar’s eyes twinkled. “Just be happy you didn’t try to negotiate, and smile for the camera, my friend.”

* * *

Rebecca spent the evening lying on the ratty couch and trying to get some sleep, but to no avail. Alone and in the silence of the isolated farmhouse, it was difficult not to fall victim to grief.

Jesse. Dave. Harry.

They were all dead because of her. And yet the messed-up thing about it? She knew that if any one of them could see her right now, they’d slap her upside the head for letting the guilt consume her. All three men had been dedicated to the quest for truth, Harry especially. And this particular truth—that someone in the government had allowed a biological weapon to be tested on innocent people? Her colleagues and mentor would have gladly laid down their lives if it meant exposing such a deplorable plot.

Her thoughts turned to Nick, who was so determined to keep her out of this investigation. He’d been gone for two hours, and she knew that when he returned, he would yet again put his foot down and declare that he didn’t need her help.

She rose from the couch and paced the dusty floor, sighing as she glanced around the barely habitable room. This farmhouse had stood empty for years and the interior showed it, as did the lack of indoor plumbing and electricity. Nick had carted two huge jugs of water from the SUV, along with some Meals-Ready-to-Eat, which Rebecca had reluctantly scarfed down out of sheer hunger. She longed for a change of clothes, but she was stuck wearing her dirty T-shirt and faded jeans, which she now noticed boasted a jagged hole in the knee. When had that even happened?

Maybe when you were wrestling a gun out of a hit man’s hands...

The reminder made her jaw clench. God, how could Nick possibly expect her to back off now? Someone had tried to kill her during that riot, and then attempted to abduct her from the hospital. The hospital where one of her closest friends had died from severe burns.

And now Harry was gone, too.

Her throat clogged as she pictured Harry’s craggy features and snow-white hair. She’d loved that man like a father. And thanks to one foolish phone call on her part, he was dead.

The sound of a car engine interrupted her moment of self-reproach. She dashed to the window, but it was difficult to see through the thick layer of dirt coating the glass. And it was pitch-black outside, so all she could make out was the silver glint of the SUV’s rims and then a blur of movement as Nick got out of the vehicle.

When he strode into the house a minute later, Rebecca swarmed him like paparazzi surrounding a celebrity. “Well?” she demanded.

His lips twitched in humor. “Hello to you, too, darling.”

Despite herself, her heart skipped a beat as the husky nickname left his mouth. Normally she hated lovey-dovey terms of endearment—she’d always found them so very demeaning—but coming from Nick, the word didn’t sound condescending. There was something sweet about the way he said it.

Snap out of it, Becks.

Yeah, she really needed to quit getting distracted by this man.

“What happened with Salazar?” she asked him.

Nick shrugged out of his bomber jacket and tossed it on the arm of the couch. A cloud of dust billowed in the air as the garment landed on the frayed upholstery.

“I got Waverly’s location,” he answered. “The bastard’s hiding out in a small beach town in Costa Rica.”

She wrinkled her forehead. “How does Salazar know where Waverly is? I thought he was supposed to hook you up with Mr. New Devil.”

Nick’s amber-colored eyes grew somber. “Is this off the record?”

“I’m insulted that you’d even ask me that,” she huffed.

“Is it off the record, Rebecca?”

“Yes!”

“Salazar is El Nuevo Diablo.”

Shock spiraled through her. “Are you serious?”

Nick nodded, then brushed past her and headed for the kitchen. At the counter, he untwisted the cap off one of the water jugs, lifted the heavy container and took a long swig.

“El Nuevo Diablo is a member of the presidential guard,” she mused. “Now, that’s an interesting development.”

“I thought so, too.”

“Okay, so Salazar is the one who arranged Waverly’s new ID. And he’s certain Waverly went to Costa Rica?”

“He chartered the guy’s plane himself.”

Rebecca nodded briskly. “Fine. Then we go to Costa Rica. I assume you’ve got contacts with a private airfield?”

A low laugh exited his mouth. Setting down the jug, he stalked back to her, stopping when they were nose to nose. Well, kind of. At over six feet, Nick towered over her five-foot-one frame, so it was more like they were nose to collarbone.

That was precisely why she habitually avoided dating tall men—they always made her feel utterly dwarfish—but Nick’s size was a bit of a turn-on. She could easily imagine herself being sheltered in those strong arms, or clinging to his broad shoulders as he carried her to bed....

Snap. Out. Of. It.

Jeez, what was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she quit fantasizing about this man and focus on the perilous situation they’d found themselves in?

“You’re not coming with me,” Nick said in a resolute tone. “I don’t know how many different ways I can say it to make you understand that it’s not happening.”

She bristled. “If you don’t take me with you, then I’ll go without you. I’ll track Waverly down myself.”

Frustration burned in his eyes. “The only place you’re going is Ecuador. My men and I have a base camp there, and you can stay with them until we determine that it’s safe for you to go back to D.C.”

“No.”

“Rebecca—”

“No,” she repeated. She was so annoyed she had to fight the urge to kick him. “I get that you’re trying to protect me, but I don’t need your protection, Nick. What I need is to find the person who killed my colleagues. And no matter what you think, I can be an asset to you. I have sources in dozens of countries—” her tone turned smug “—including Costa Rica. And don’t forget about D.C. I know every last player in that city, darling.”

“Are you always so difficult?”

“I’m not trying to be difficult. All I’m saying is, I’m already involved, okay? I was involved the moment we went out for drinks at the Liberty, and I refuse to be hidden away in Ecuador. Whether you like it or not, this is my fight, too, now.”

She could see his resolve crumbling as a resigned look settled over his face. “I don’t like this. You’re too recognizable.”

An incredulous laugh popped out. “And you’re not? You’re Secretary Barrett’s son, for Pete’s sake.”

He sighed. “Touché.”

“Look, you can keep putting up a fight, or you can just make it easy for yourself and accept that we’re in this together from this point on.”

There was no mistaking the reluctance creasing his handsome features, but after several seconds of silence, he finally capitulated. “Fine,” he muttered. “You can come with me—”

She beamed at him. “Thank you. I knew you’d see it my—”

“—on two conditions,” he finished.

Wary, she waited for him to go on.

“First condition, you follow my orders. If I say jump, you jump. If I ask you to stay behind the way I did tonight, accept that it’s for a good reason and don’t fight me every step of the way.”

Although she hated answering to anyone, she shot him a grudging look and said, “I will follow your orders.” She paused. “Within reason.”

“There you go, being difficult again.”

She grinned. “Hey, I’m just sayin’. You can’t expect me to follow you blindly. If I disagree with an order, we’re darn well going to talk it out.”

“You’re a big fan of talking, huh?” He looked torn between laughing and strangling her.

“Yep. Now, what’s the second condition?”

“Anything we might discover, every lead we stumble on, every gory detail—it’s all off the record.” His expression turned steely. “When this is over, we’ll sit down and discuss the best way to get the story out. Before that, you don’t write anything down, you don’t put it on camera, you don’t consult with your network. Deal?”

She had to admit that sounded fair. It wasn’t like he was suggesting she sweep everything under the rug and pretend there wasn’t a story, just that she ought to wait before making anything public.

Which kind of irked, because what did he take her for, an amateur? She would never go ahead with a story until every last t and i was crossed and dotted.

Nevertheless, she stuck out her hand so they could shake on it. “Deal,” she agreed.

The second their palms touched, a jolt of electricity coursed from his hand to hers.

Actual sparks heated her skin, and he must have felt them, too, because he abruptly withdrew his hand and muttered, “Huh.”

Rebecca gave him a knowing look, enjoying the tiny glimmer of heat that lit his eyes. “So when do we leave?” she asked brightly.

* * *

She wasn’t expecting them to get a flight out of Mala so ridiculously fast, and yet three hours after Nick returned from his meeting with Salazar, the two of them were climbing into the back of a twin-engine Cessna in the most derelict hangar Rebecca had ever seen.

The scent of jet fuel, exhaust and rubber permeated the small cabin, and the blue vinyl seat she lowered herself onto was torn in several places. Their pilot, a stone-faced man with a head of long, oily black hair, didn’t say a single word as he went through his preflight check.

Rebecca scooted closer to Nick and brought her lips right up to his ear. “How do you know this guy again?” she whispered. “Are you sure he won’t murder us before we even get off the ground?”

Nick responded with a soft chuckle. “Relax, Red. Manuel is the most harmless man on the planet. He used to be a priest.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Did you just call me Red?”

“Yeah.” To her amusement, he actually flushed. “You didn’t seem too thrilled with darling.”

“Says who?”

“Says the way you called me that earlier, all mocking like and whatnot.” He offered an adorable shrug, then buckled his seat belt. “So Red, it is.”

“I don’t mind darling.”

The admission slipped out before she could stop it. Shockingly, she felt herself blushing, too. Oh, for God’s sake, what was she, a preteen with a first crush? She really needed to get a handle on her strange reaction to this man.

“Good to know,” he murmured, and then their eyes locked, and Rebecca’s heart did an excited little flip that made her want to make fun of herself.

“So...our pilot was a priest?” she said, quickly steering the conversation back to safe territory. “What happened? Did he lose his faith?”

“Something like that,” Nick answered. “But there’s no need to worry—he’s a good pilot, and trustworthy. We’ve used him a couple of times over this past year.”

At that moment, their priest-turned-pilot slid into the cockpit and started flicking knobs and buttons. The dashboard came alive with a multitude of lights, and then Manuel glanced over his shoulder and addressed Nick.

“Forecast calls for heavy cloud coverage,” he said in Spanish. “Might be some turbulence, so it could get bumpy.”

Rebecca’s stomach churned at the thought. “Gosh, I hate turbulence.”

“You speak Spanish?” Nick said wryly.

“Yep. And French. Russian. Hebrew. Passable Italian and Farsi. Not-so-passable Chinese.”

Nick let out a soft whistle. “We’ve got ourselves a real linguist here.”

“I travel a lot. I’ve picked up a few languages over the years.”

A metallic whine reverberated in the cabin, followed by the roar of the propellers coming alive, and a moment later, the little plane chugged forward. They taxied out of the hangar and into the pitch-black night, taking flight less than two minutes later.

As the Cessna rose higher and higher into the dark sky, Rebecca glanced at the back of Manuel’s head, then shot Nick a sidelong look. “How exactly did you convince our pilot to leave his bed at one in the morning and fly us to Costa Rica?”

“Money. Lots of money.”

“Pays to be rich, huh?” she said glibly. “I bet you single-handedly bankrolled everything this past year.”

“Yep.”

“And your soldier buddies never asked where the money came from? You said they don’t know about your family, so how did you explain all the cash?”

“I didn’t, not really, anyway. I told them my family has some money, and they were satisfied with that. They didn’t ask any other questions, which isn’t much of a surprise, actually. We’re private men, all three of us. We don’t do too much talking about the past.” He sighed. “Eva and Julia have been bugging me about it lately, though.”

Rebecca narrowed her eyes. “Eva and Julia?” she echoed, and damned if she didn’t experience a little pang of displeasure.

Who the heck were Eva and Julia?

Had Nick somehow managed to date not one, but two women during his year of hiding?

She didn’t know whether to be impressed or ticked off at that.

“Eva is Tate’s fiancée, and Julia is Sebastian’s girlfriend.”

The green-eyed monster swiftly retreated to the dungeon of jealousy in Rebecca’s belly. Jeez. Why had she reacted so viscerally to the idea of Nick having some kind of harem?

Because you want him for yourself.

Yep, she did. She totally did. Then again, how could she not? The man was drop-dead gorgeous and his body was utterly droolworthy. Lord, she wanted nothing more than to run her fingers over every hard ridge of muscle and sinew. To nuzzle the crook of that strong neck and breathe in the woodsy, masculine scent of him. To feel those sensual lips pressed against her own, his tongue sliding into her mouth while his hands tangled in her hair.

The naughty images sent a shiver dancing through her.

“You cold?”

In the blink of an eye, Nick removed his bomber jacket and was draping it over her torso like a blanket.

Rebecca stared at him in wonder. “You really are the consummate gentleman, aren’t you, Nick?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Your girlfriend back home must miss you a ton.”

He burst out laughing. “Is that your incredibly unsubtle way of asking me if I’m single?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He laughed again, a deep, sexy sound that had her shivering again beneath the warmth of his coat. “Well, I am,” he said. “Single, that is.”

Rebecca shot him a pointed look, then waited.

Nick furrowed his eyebrows. “What is it?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m single?”

“Of course you’re single.”

The speed and conviction of his response made her frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’re ambitious. I bet your career has come first your entire life, and relationships have always been somewhere on the back burner.” When she didn’t answer, he cocked his head in challenge. “Am I wrong?”

“No, you’re not wrong,” she admitted. “My career is important to me. I was never that little girl who fantasized about meeting her Prince Charming and then baking cookies all day long while he brought home the bacon. I was daydreaming about Pulitzers and fame and shedding light on the injustices of the world.” She paused. “Not necessarily in that order, of course.”

He chuckled. “And you achieved two out of the three, with the Pulitzer sure to follow. I imagine your parents are very proud of you.”

“They are. My mom still doesn’t quite understand the career thing, though. She’s the ultimate Southern belle, spoiled rotten but with the biggest heart on the planet.”

“And your dad?”

“More progressive than Mom. He’s a criminal lawyer in Atlanta, and he desperately wanted me to go to law school and join his firm so we could practice together.” She grinned. “I’ve assured him that he can represent me should I ever get in trouble—you know, if I wind up in jail for protecting a source or something.”

“You mean that hasn’t happened to you yet?” Nick teased. “Shocking. You seem like a total troublemaker.”

“Maybe to some extent,” she said impishly. “So, what about you? Why did you join the army?”

“I wanted to serve and protect my country.” He wrinkled his forehead when he noticed her expression. “Why do you look so surprised?”

“Because your father is Kirk Barrett. Barrett. As in, big oil.”

“Yeah, so?”

“And your mother was a Prescott. As in, the hotel empire Prescotts.”

“Yeah, so?” he repeated.

“So you’re loaded,” she said in exasperation. “You could be spending your life drinking piña coladas on some yacht, traveling the world and suntanning and doing nothing but counting your big stack of cash. But instead, you chose to serve in the military. Special Forces, to boot, where the risk of dying is, like, astronomical.”

“I wasn’t raised to sit idle,” he replied with a shrug. “Even if I chose not to go into the army, I wouldn’t have been lounging on a yacht. My father instilled a solid work ethic in me and Viv.”

“Viv...right, your sister, Vivian.” Rebecca scanned her brain, but she couldn’t summon too many details about Nick’s older sister. “What does she do for a living again?”

“She used to be a teacher, but now she’s a stay-at-home mom. Her husband, Jeff, designs airplanes.” A sad look crossed Nick’s eyes. “I haven’t seen my nieces and nephew in a year. They’re probably unrecognizable by now. Kids grow up so damn fast, you know?”

She impulsively reached out and touched his hand. “It must be hard for you, being away from your family.”

“It is.”

He spoke absently, and she noticed his gaze was focused on their joined hands.

Her own gaze followed suit, and unable to stop herself, Rebecca stroked his rough-skinned knuckles. Lord, he had such big hands, such long, graceful fingers. Strange to think that he’d chosen to hold a weapon in those hands rather than some monogrammed pen he could sign multimillion-dollar contracts with.

When she’d worked the White House beat, she hadn’t given much thought to the Barrett family, but she’d always assumed that Nick Barrett would be a spoiled, superficial pretty boy who coasted through life on his father’s wealth and accomplishments.

But there was nothing superficial about this man. He was so very...real. Strong. Genuine.

Gentlemanly.

There it was again, the G-word. But she couldn’t help ascribing it to this man. Nick Barrett really was a bona fide gentleman.

Truth was, she hadn’t been in the company of many gentlemen. Half the men in Washington were snakes, including the ones who worked at ABN. And for some foolish reason, she’d always been drawn to the bad boys, the men every woman wanted to tame, the ones who ended up being total jerks.

Chivalry wasn’t sexy—or at least she hadn’t thought so until now.

Nick slowly moved her hand away and placed it back in her lap. The cabin went silent save for the mechanical whir of the plane’s engine and the soft hiss of the wind beyond the windows.

Their eyes locked again, and then Nick’s lips curved in a faint smile. “This isn’t going to happen, darling.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Meaning?”

“You and me.” As his gaze darted to the pilot five feet from them, he lowered his voice and clarified. “Sleeping together.”

A laugh slipped out of her mouth. Well, this was a first. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had gone out of his way to tell her he wouldn’t take her to bed. Usually, men were hitting on her left and right, eager to say they’d slept with ABN’s Rebecca Parker.

She found Nick’s lack of interest oddly refreshing.

And total bull.

“Oh, really?” She injected a teasing note into her voice. “So you’re saying that you’re not attracted to me?”

Nick let out a breath. “No, because I’d have to be a monk not to be attracted to you. What I’m saying is, I won’t sleep with you.”

“I see.”

“It’s nothing personal,” he added, looking and sounding awkward. “Like I said, the attraction is there, and I think sex with you would be off the charts, but I’m in the middle of a crazy situation right now and I can’t focus on anything other than fixing this mess. I’m also not the kind of man who does the whole casual-fling thing, so...” He trailed off, as if that said it all.

“I totally get where you’re coming from.” She pursed her lips. “There’s just one problem.”

“Yeah, and what’s that?”

“I’m the kind of woman who wants what she can’t have.” She heaved out a mock sigh. “It’s my biggest flaw.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” His smile was brief, quickly replaced by a suspicious look. “Where exactly are you going with this, Rebecca?”

She shrugged. “I don’t really know. I’m just opting for full disclosure here. There is a chance I might seduce you.”

His husky laughter brought another shiver to her body. “Fair enough. I’ll just have to resist, then.”

“That easy, huh?”

A smug note entered his tone. “That easy.”

“If you say so, darling.”

With a little grin, she snuggled under his coat and turned her head, resting her cheek on the cool upholstery of her seat. “I’m going to sleep for a bit. I’m exhausted.”

“Good plan. I should probably catch some shut-eye myself.”

“Wake me when we land?” she asked.

“Will do.”

“Oh, and Nick?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll begin formulating my seduction plan tomorrow.”

“I look forward to resisting it,” he said solemnly.

Laughing softly, she closed her eyes and went to sleep.