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about her down in the Templar's lair?
Just what was a
US government agent doing working in Athens?
    A plethora of silent
questions kept her busy until he swerved them them into a short
drive that led to the back of a white-washed building. Two story,
with dark windows and open shutters, the house looked like an
upscale residence in a long row of them.
    Using a remote attached to
the visor, he opened the garage door. After it rolled up, he pulled
the car inside. With a low drone and clink of chain, it closed once
more.
    He came around to open her
door before she even had the seat belt off. It was a struggle with
her abused, sore fingertips to undo the buckle. She needed a phone
to try and get in touch with her sisters. Or a computer to check
their private email account. Maybe there was a message
waiting.
    “ Thanks.” Repulsed by the
fetid stench of her own clothes, she winced and got out of the car.
She'd probably ruined his seats. Evelyn felt like a homeless
person, shoeless and grimy, hair a tangled mess. The concrete was
cold under her bare feet.
    “ Don't worry about it.” He
led her across the spacious garage to a door that he unlocked with
a key he took from over the frame and went in first.
    “ Stay here until I secure
both floors.”
    “ I thought you said this
was a 'safe house'?” she whispered.
    After a quelling, silent
look over his shoulder, he paced away into the shadows. Gun drawn,
he kept the muzzle pointed toward the ceiling. He disappeared
around a corner, gone from sight.
    Evelyn waited there, too
wary to defy him and go marching through the residence to find a
restroom. From the small niche near the open door, she could see
the edge of the kitchen and half of a dining room. Distant
nightlights penetrated the gloom, casting vague circles of light
over the tiled floor. Evelyn couldn't hear the agent moving around
no matter how hard she listened. It was eerie. He loomed out of the
shadows a few seconds later, startling her.
    “ It's clear. Why don't you
go clean up. I know there are extra clothes in the closets upstairs
so help yourself.” He reached past her to close the door and
snapped the bolt home.
    Evelyn had her first uneasy
moment. Government agent or not, they were alone in a strange
place, on a strange night, with her fresh from kidnapping and
torture. That he'd rescued her from it made little difference.
Earlier in the car they'd been on the move with several options at
their disposal. Now there was a silent, empty house
and...him.
    He arched a brow at the
delay, silently asking her if there was a problem. This close, she
could see the small scar at the edge of his left eyebrow and the
beginning shadow of whiskers on his jaw.
    “ I don't even know your
name. Can I see your credentials?” She felt a little ridiculous.
What woman wouldn't at least ask to see them after what she'd been
through, she argued with herself.
    “ Rhett.” From the back
pocket of his black jeans, he pulled a wallet and flipped it open.
On one side was a gold badge with CIA
Special Agent stamped on the front. A card
decorated the other. Rhett Nichols,
Central Intelligence Agency.
    “ Rh-ett?” She broke the syllable in half with an astonished
laugh and examined the proof of his employment.
    “ Is there something wrong
with it?” A stern frown creased his forehead. Closing the wallet
with a snap, he pushed it back into his pocket.
    “ I—no. You just don't look
like a Rhett.”
    “ What do Rhetts look
like?” He shifted his stance, putting more weight onto one leg than
the other, gun pointed down against the outside of his
thigh.
    “ It just doesn't fit you.
Not really.”
    “ Yes, because you've
figured out everything about me after the whole twenty minutes
we've known each other,” he said with a caustic snort.
    “ You remind me of a Jeremy
or a John or something.” She couldn't explain why Rhett didn't seem
to fit him. It just didn't.
    “ Well it's Rhett. Or
Mister Nichols, if you prefer to stand on