Three Alpha Romeo

Hell, maybe I wasn’t that tired after all.

“Wash my back?”

Andrea made a face and turned away. She went back to rinsing out her hair. Squeezing it her fists, or whatever that move is that girls always do.

“Look, I’ll try not look if it makes you feel better,” I lied. “But don’t think for a moment that street goes both ways. If you want to a closer view, be my guest. No need to be shy or—”

“How long have you been after him?” she asked abruptly.

The question took my by surprise. “Who? Kyrkos?”

She nodded and held out her hand. I flipped the soap back to her, hoping like hell she’d miss it and have to bend over. Miraculously though, she didn’t.

“Year and a half,” I said finally. “Almost two.”

I saw her pause mid-scrub, one arm high overhead. She looked shocked.

“He doesn’t make all that many appear

ances,” I explained. “As you already know.”

Alexander Kyrkos had been the hardest target we’d had, both within the Navy and afterward. Which really was saying something, considering our training, our resources…

… and our desire to wipe that piece of filth off the face of the fucking planet.

“He’ll show his face again,” I promised, with lot more confidence than I actually felt. The soap started moving through her armpit again. “And when he does, we’ll move on him.”

She went quiet once more, and for a few moments we basked silently beneath the steam. I had a general idea of what she was thinking. We’d read her dossier. We knew why she was in this.

“Sorry about your place,” I said. “That… that kinda sucks.”

Again she said nothing. She finished rinsing, turned off the spigot, and squeezed some more water out of her hair.

“Anything else to worry about over there?” I asked. “Dogs? Cats?”

She shook her head.

“A pet turtle that needs feeding?”

I heard her sigh, softly. “I wasn’t living there long enough to get attached to anything.”

Damn. Now I did feel bad for her. She’d had it tough, harder than most. And here I was, crashing her shower…

“You were in Croatia, seven weeks,” I nodded sympathetically. “And Milan before that. You’re always moving. Always—”

Andrea’s mouth dropped open. The little washcloth fell from her hand, landing at her feet with a wet ‘plop’.

“How do you know all this?”

It took every ounce of willpower to keep my eyes glued to hers. To not let them wander down her perfect shoulders to those amazing breasts. To explore the curve of those slender hips. Those sculpted, ivory thighs…

“We know,” was all I said. God, even her eyes were beautiful! “We’ve been… following your…”

The steam dissipated, my answer stopped. Suddenly all that stuff seemed so inconsequential. I dropped my gaze, looking down at my feet.

“I— I mean, what I meant to say…”

I raised my chin, getting my confidence back.