God, you are pathetic.
She wanted to hide under the blankets, but she needed a shower and had promised Mitch those coordinates. Kicking off her motorcycle boots, she headed for the bathroom. She peeled off her long-sleeved riding shirt and padded bike pants. Not very sexy.
Her father had threatened to pull the spark plug from her bike if she didn’t wear all the gear. Mr Safety. She missed him like crazy. He had changed his lifestyle for her, sleeping in the daytime so he could be with her at night. He taught her how to hunt and how to ride.
He saved her from being taken by the government or by one of those other agencies of questionable repute. Someone with my skills can be beneficial to all types of organizations. Drug smugglers, weapons dealers, the military . . .
Sophia shivered and jerked her thoughts to the present. She hesitated before removing her underwear. The idea of being naked with a strange man in the house unnerved her. She snorted. Unnerved. Wonderful. Considering how long ago it was that her last boyfriend declared he was too “freaked out” by her whole nocturnal existence and left, she should be seducing the handsome agent by now. She was pathetic and spouting clichés. Handsome agent. Pah.
After a quick shower, she changed into jeans and another long-sleeved shirt. Sophia combed her hair. With her pale skin, dark hair and silver eyes, no wonder he thought she was a vampire.
Her hair used to lighten in the sun. She had an almost normal childhood. That was the hardest part of her condition. Her eyesight had deteriorated as she aged. When she turned twelve, she was blind in bright light but, with a concentrated effort, she could bend the dim or indirect light rays around her body so she could see. But this had an unfortunate side effect; her father had jumped out of his skin the first time she had turned invisible. The appropriate name for someone with her talents was Light Bender.
Sophia rummaged through her desk for Standing Indiana Mountain’s topographical map and pulled the coordinates of the farmhouse.
She crept up the stairs. A thin line of white shone under his door. The deep murmur of Mitch’s voice sounded. She slid the paper underneath and retreated to the kitchen. One a.m. already. Her stomach grumbled. Slicing apples, she wondered if Mitch was hungry. Should she make him a sandwich? No. Miss Manners had told him to help himself.
Light illuminated the hallway as his door opened. He replaced the bright lamp with a flashlight’s beam.
Not wanting to surprise him, she said, “I’m in the kitchen.”
He stopped at the threshold, aiming the flashlight down. Water dripped from his wet hair onto his bare muscular chest. A whole new slew of clichés jumped up and down in Sophia’s head. Her heart threatened to join in.
“Um. Could you help? I think it needs to be stitched.” He held bandages and her father’s fire department T-shirt. The gash below his ribs oozed. “Can you do that?” At least this time he tried to mask his suspicion.
She bit back a sarcastic reply. “As long as you’re not allergic to lidocaine.”
“And if I am?”
“Then I’ll give you a shot of whiskey and a rolled-up washcloth to bite down on.”
He laughed. “I’ll pass on the washcloth, but the whiskey sounds good.”
After she collected the supplies, she told him to sit sideways on the couch. He settled into position then doused the flashlight.
She crouched next to him, filling the syringe. “This is going to pinch, but it will numb the area.” He smelled of soap and Old Spice - an intoxicating mix. To distract her senses, she asked him if he finished making phone calls.
“Yeah. My team will pick me up, but it’ll take them a while to get here.”
“How long?”
He squinted with suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”
“So I can tip Rick off.” Sarcasm dripped, but his reaction surprised her.
He grabbed her arm. “How did you know Rick’s name?”
“I overheard them talking.”
“And you waited until now to tell me,” he said with an outraged disbelief.
“Since we’ve just been sitting around doing nothing all night, I didn’t want to ruin the mood.” She knocked his hand away. Finishing the sutures, Sophia tied off the thread and bandaged his wound a little more harshly than necessary.
Mitch touched her shoulder. “Sorry.” He pulled her beside him on the couch.
A strange tingling rushed through her as she realized his warm fingers still rested on her.
“It’s disconcerting to hear your voice, but not be able to see you. I need a ... physical connection. OK?”