Gianni walked over to the bed and set down a plastic case. He inserted his thumb into the security lock and released it. Something tangy whiffed through the air.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Dinner. It’s not as good as my mother’s, but Cinzianella’s makes a decent Bolognese. Here.” He handed her cloth placemats and napkins, glass plates, and gleaming utensils, then tossed two gel-filled cushions on the floor. “Sit. Rest.”
While she heaped mounds of pasta on their plates, he lit a moodstick that released a scent of wild roses.
Gianni took a bite of food. “Not bad.” He chewed slowly, giving them both a few minutes of quiet, gratifying indulgence. Then, “How did it go with Command?”
Anika choked down a half-eaten forkful of the spicy dish. She didn’t say anything, but flicked a glance around the room. No surveillance equipment stood watch in the corners, but it was here. Had to be.
“It’s all right,” he said. “I scrambled it, then told Evan I was testing our security systems. She says she can fix it in less than one-hundred-twenty-eight minutes. We have a bet going.”
Anika smiled as she visualized the agency’s tech savant working like mad at her station, muttering obscenities, fighting to win the bet.
“We can speak freely,” Gianni said.
Her smile faded. “I wasn’t sure you had fixed the discs. I told Command I didn’t fire. Because of the girl.”
A tinge of relief passed through her when Gianni continued to eat without a pause.
“What did she say?” Even his voice gave nothing away.
Anika looked down at the napkin in her hand. “You were right. She didn’t agree with my decision.”
“Anything else?”
“She’s considering disciplinary action.” She looked up. “Do you know what D zone is?”
Gianni’s jaw clenched. “I’ll speak with her.”
“What can you say?”
“That I’ll keep a tighter rein on you.”
“What?” She threw down the napkin. “The hell you will.”
Anger clamped down on her desire to reveal the rest of what had happened in Command’s office.
“Do you want to be exiled?” He pushed away his unfinished plate. “Or worse?”
“Maybe.” She jumped to her feet and started pacing. “If the alternative means living the rest of my life in this nightmare.” She rounded on him. “How can you do it? How can you stay here?” At his silence, her mouth twisted. “Oh, I know. We’ve been through this before. How many more years of penance, Gianni?”
“If it were up to the Italian government, four hundred years. One hundred for every person I killed.”
“
You
didn’t kill them. And you didn’t know there were people inside the parliament!”
“I led the northern faction of the resistance. I’m as responsible as those that planted and detonated the explosives.”
“And the police that killed your parents when you were thirteen? Shot them as they were coming out of church? What price did they pay?”
Gianni didn’t answer, but the muscle in his jaw started to work again. He set his napkin aside, unfolded his legs, stood. His movements were slow, as if he were talking himself through them.
She recognized the technique. It helped neutralize emotions.
He advanced toward her.
Her whole body tensed, but she held her ground.
He caught her off guard with his next move. As only he could. His hands shot out and wrapped around the back of her neck. Her breath hitched. He pulled her in close. Lowered his forehead to hers. His fingers massaged the knots along her neck.
“Relax.”
His warmth seeped into her. She closed her eyes and inhaled, like breathing in the air after a summer rain. “I’m sorry.” She whispered for his ears alone. “About the mission. How it went down. I know it will be a mark in your file.”
“Let me speak with Command.”
She tried to resist, to tell him “no,” but it was like an alcoholic trying to resist an open bottle. She yielded to his request even as her muscles yielded to his touch.
“Come,
cara
. We’re running out of time.”
She wished she could slow down time and make their moments together last as long as possible.
“What are the rules about overnight guests in here?”
Gianni smiled. “I wish I could stay the night, but my mission goes live in seventy minutes.”
“Mission?” She remembered the exchange in the safe zone. “The one Jewel said had been moved up?”
She had heard the rumors. They called it the honeymoon mission. With Gianni and Jewel. To smoke out an elusive middleman that the agency had been tracking for years.
Gianni said nothing, revealed nothing. Not even to her.
“So much for talking freely.” The corners of her lips turned down.
“I’ll be gone for a while.”
“How long?”
“Weeks.” He drew out the word as if even that was too much information.
Still she tried for one more opening. “Alone?”
But he didn’t — wouldn’t — say more.
She wanted to tell him about Command’s offer. She wanted to tell him that she had stalled for time, had risked Command’s wrath. Why did he have to make it so hard for her?
“Shall we eat later?”
The clear invitation behind his words penetrated her anger.
This could be our last time.
Given what had happened with Command, what might happen tomorrow, the urgency of this moment pressed in on her. It had been so long since his eyes had hungered for her, since his hands had reached for her.
She threaded her fingers through his hair. The revelation about the loyalty test could wait.
Slowly, as if enjoying an ultra-rich meal best consumed in small bites, Gianni undressed her one layer at a time.
She let him set the pace, let the deep hunger for him build inside.
When he had removed the last of her clothes, he loosened her braid and combed his hands through her hair. “You’re not in the field now.”
He walked her over to the bed and laid her face down. Stroked her neck and shoulders. Moved lower. Down her back, her buttocks, her calves. By the time he turned her over, a light sweat covered her skin. She reached for him, but he trapped her hands, brought them to his lips, feathered her fingers with kisses, then set them back down.
The physical longing for him turned into a bittersweet ache. Sadness shadowed her heart because this kiss, this whisper, this touch would be over too soon and then he would be gone.
He reversed direction, his strokes starting low, moving up her legs and stomach. When he reached her breasts, he paused and cupped the sensitive skin. He lowered his mouth and took possession.
She arched up. Her lips parted in a silent cry for more. He didn’t refuse her. Craving bare skin against bare skin, she yanked his shirt over his head.
He scissored off his pants and pressed his full weight against her.
Desire flared like embers kicked into flames. She nipped his shoulder and dug her nails into his back. He responded by pushing deeper into her. She wanted to possess him, claim him as her own before he disappeared on his sweetheart mission.
She rocked herself up and drove him back. His hair, like waves of burnished gold, spilled over the sheets and his eyes smoldered with banked heat. She trained all five senses on him like a target, studying every detail — wide forehead and deep-set eyes, a slight crook in an otherwise straight nose. She recorded each quick inhale, moan, whisper. Inhaled his clean scent and licked the salt from his skin. Stroked his chest, torso, and thighs, cataloging every ripple, every angle.
He slid his hands around her waist and tried to settle her on him, but she wasn’t ready to stop exploring. She rose up and away.
“Come here.” He pulled her back and pinned her.
“I’m not done yet.”
“Who said anything about being done?” He thrust up.
Her breath hitched. “You’re going to pay for that.” She lowered her upper body and rested her forearms on either side of him. Her hair swooped over her shoulders, curtaining them. “I want to hear you.” She started rocking.
His breath quickened.
“Let me hear you.” She picked up speed. Her heart thudded in her chest, but she ignored it, intent on hearing the sound of him letting go, of losing control. For her.
His hands tightened around her waist, lifting and lowering, faster and faster. He nudged her over the edge. She bit down on her lip to keep from crying out.
Let me hear you.
He released one hand from her waist and cupped it around the back of her neck. Pulled her closer until her ear hovered just above his lips. His long low groan rumbled through her body and imprinted on her heart.
• • •
She lay next to him, drowsy and content, as if whiskey-laced syrup filled her limbs. Gianni’s heartbeat murmured in her ear as she watched the slow rise and fall of his chest. Just a few more minutes, she promised herself, curling into him. Then she’d tell him about Command’s offer.
Something pressed against her cheek. His silver medal, passed down from father to son through generations, gleamed against the darkness of his skin. She picked it up and ran her thumb over the raised outline of the bearded old man, dressed in loose robes and holding a stick — a staff, Gianni had called it — in one hand and a medallion of Jesus in the other. St. Jude, Roman Catholic patron saint of lost causes.
She searched for the medal’s “scar,” a rough chip along the left edge, acquired sometime between when Gianni had last seen his father alive and when he had identified the bloody body in the morgue.
Gianni only removed the medal when a mission demanded it. The oval and chain connected him to his family, his bloodline. When he had told her this in a rare unguarded moment, envy nipped at her heart. At least he had something to remind him of where he came from, whom he came from. Unlike her.
She laid the medal back on his chest. Who would he have to give it to when the time came? Though he never talked about it, she was certain the question weighed on him.
She barely registered the buzz from his handheld before Gianni’s arm shot out to grab it.
He rolled away from her to read the message. “Evan won the bet. We’ve got two minutes before surveillance reactivates.” He stood and reached for his pants. “We need to get dressed.”
She heard the distance in his voice. A part of him had already left.
He snagged her clothes from the floor and tossed them to her.
“Wait.” She struggled into her tights and shirt. “I need to tell you something.”
“What is it?” Gianni was already packing up the remains of their dinner, his movements a study in efficiency.
“I can’t tell you in here.” She glanced up at the ceiling.
Is the surveillance in there?
“Then wait until I get back.”
“No.” She lunged off the bed. “It can’t wait.”
“I have to go. I’ll speak with Command.” He stood facing her, case in hand.
“You don’t know what she said to me.” She grabbed his arm. “It won’t help.”
“What would help,” Gianni said, “is if you lie low for a while.”
“What does that mean?” She released him, stung by his sudden change. The man full of heat and passion had morphed into the operative focused on a mission.
“Follow orders. Do as you’re told.”
She wondered if the edge in his voice was directed at her or at the surveillance equipment. Maybe, just maybe, there
was
something he could say that would change Command’s mind.
“Well?” he prompted.
“
If
you can get Command to suspend any discipline — ”
“Say it. Give me your word.”
She wanted to lean forward and press her lips against his, but she couldn’t get past the barrier he had erected. “Okay, I’ll lie low.” She fixed her eyes on the St. Jude medal tucked inside his shirt. “Good luck with the mission.”
“Well?” Command sat behind her floating desk, wearing a high-necked tunic in somber black. Second, in a tailored suit the color of freshly spilled blood, stood at her right.
Anika sat in the same leather chair as the day before. Her survival instincts told her that Gianni hadn’t been persuasive about a reprieve. She lifted her chin and fixed her eyes on a spot above the commander’s head. She wasn’t going down without a fight.
“I’d like my record to show that the intel for the New Museum mission proved inaccurate. As a result, the mission risked the lives of twelve first schoolers. Team B failed to evacuate all the children from the building in time. I had no choice but to withhold fire to prevent the death of an innocent.”
She counted out six beats of her elevated heart rate.
“Noted,” Command said. “Your record will also show that, in disobeying a direct order, you jeopardized the lives of many more innocents.”
Anika seized on the word “jeopardized.” Command hadn’t said, “You
cost
the lives … ”
Second must have worked out a fallback scenario. Or maybe Gianni had. But then why hadn’t he told her last night? Why keep that a secret?
Anika met Command’s stare. “So the attack was prevented after all.”
“Yes. Despite your disobedience. Now, I’m going to ask you once more about our offer.” Command glanced at Second, who nodded and took over.
“We know that your reluctance is based largely on your feelings for Gianni. We’re about to show you that those feelings are misplaced.”
Anika’s eyebrows drew together. What were they up to?
“Lights, forty percent. Monitor on,” Second said.
The room darkened and the leather chair rotated so that Anika faced the left wall. The shifting montage of colorful geometric shapes receded to reveal a giant monitor.
“Play video,” Second said.
The screen came to life. A heavy mist blanketed the surface and the sound of running water rushed through the speakers.
Anika leaned forward, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
Lazy swirls drifted across the screen. Not mist. Steam. The center swirl parted and hands reached through it, their nails painted a pale lilac. The hands moved up in a sweeping arc as if to embrace the viewer. The screen bloomed with two naked arms, shoulders, then finally, Jewel’s face, her lips parted.