her in the office the night before. Sure his plan sounded logical, but she could have come up with an alternative if he hadn’t been hogging all the air. How could a girl think when she could barely breathe? But she’d surrendered rather than risk spending more time alone with him in the intimacy of the darkened office. She’d waited to start her list of alternatives in the solitude of her apartment.
Three hours and two bowls of rocky road ice cream later, she’d decided his plan had merit, even if not for the reasons he thought. Regardless of her rampage in the office, she doubted her ability to work if she couldn’t think whenever he walked into the room. What better way to kill her infatuation than to spend more time with him and uncover his faults?
Ethan stopped for a light. A soda can rolled from under the seat.
Perfect. Her plan was already well under way. A much-needed smile pulled at her.
“What?”
Kelly peered out the windshield at the pristine yards of snow, all viewed over a sludge-covered hood. “Why in the world would someone own a car this expensive and never wash it?”
He adjusted the rearview mirror, an air freshener shaped like a pine tree swaying. “Lesson number one in field craft. Sometimes the simplest tricks are the most effective.”
“Having a car with Wash Me scrawled across the back is field craft?”
“Actually it is.” He turned another corner, downshifting. His legs flexed as he worked the clutch, brake and gas pedal. “Think about it. What happens if someone rubs away those words?”
“It leaves a big smudge,” she answered absently, admiring the impressive play of muscles beneath faded denim.
“And if someone tampers with other parts of the car…”
His words sank in, pulling her attention back to chilling reality. “Their handprints will be noticeable—or smudged.”
“Exactly. Sure, ARIES provides plenty of the high-tech gadgets. But sometimes simple works well, too.”
He existed in a world of constant threats and car bombs, and all for a higher good. How could she not admire him? Even his freshly shorn hair reminded her that every facet of his life bowed to the demands of his job.
Her plan was not going well at all. Time to dig deeper into his real life for those flaws.
“How long have you lived with your aunt?” she asked, envisioning some teenage rebellion that led him to being shuffled to another relative.
“Since elementary school.”
“That young?”
His hands clenched around the steering wheel. “My parents died in a car accident.”
How did she not know this about him? “I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too.”
Much more of emotion-tugging Ethan and she’d leave this assignment with a marshmallow heart. “I’m sorry for laughing earlier, about you living with your aunt, I mean. It’s really sweet that you stayed on to take care of her.”
“Take care of her?” Ethan snorted. “Better not let Aunt Eugenie hear you insinuating she needs help for anything. She’s sixty-five going on twenty.”
“Oh, okay.” Was his aunt some kind of socialite poster-girl for plastic surgery? Panic tickled her lungs. She might like herself just fine the way she was. That didn’t mean she wanted to spend the next two weeks with Ethan’s aunt questioning what he saw in such a quiet wallflower. “She knows this is just a working relationship, right?”
“Yes.”
Her panic faded. “Good.”
“But the servants don’t.”
“Servants?” Kelly pulled her gaze away from Ethan and looked out the window. Sprawling houses loomed on either side of the road—brick, columns, even the occasional turret. Plots of land acres large spread between gates and towering homes. With every block, the houses grew bigger and Kelly grew more uncomfortable.
“We need to protect the cover,” Ethan continued. “The servant network is tight in my aunt’s world. We don’t want them wondering and passing along their doubts. If we expect to pull this off, they need to
Carol Wallace, Bill Wallance