He sat down opposite her. “Nothing, until I do a little surveillance of the house and surroundings. I want to make sure I'm not walking into a trap.”
“You keep speaking in the singular. Stop it.”
“No, that's the way it's going to be.” His words were cool and precise. “You don't interfere with my business. You don't get in my way. I won't have you messing up my job.”
“Your job? Don't you think I'm affected just a little by—” She stopped. Stop this defensive bullshit. He was a professional and she wasn't. Too many times she'd seen well-meaning amateurs cause irreparable harm on disaster sites. And God knows this entire scenario was a disaster site. “How can I help?”
“Stay here and do that research.”
“Are you sure you didn't make that up to keep me out of sight?”
“It occurred to me. But I think it's a job that needs doing. What do you think?”
Damn him, he'd turned the tables by throwing out that question. She made a face. “If I didn't think there was merit, I wouldn't have consented to do it. I hate research. But I have other talents. I'm a damn fine photographer, and I have a lens that's good a block away and can see the stripes on the back of a bee buzzing around a sunflower. You wouldn't have to get too near the house, and I can have the film developed within thirty minutes of getting back here.”
He was silent a moment. “A block can be pretty close.”
“But I make sense.” She stared him in the eye. “Don't I?”
“Yes, damn you.” He finished his sandwich. “Okay, but I do the preliminary surveillance myself to find you a place to do your shoot.”
Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. But she had won too much to argue with him. “When?”
“Tonight.” He stood up. “As soon as I rummage through that kit Galen gave us and find a wig and a few accessories to disguise my unforgettable mug.”
He was joking, but his face was unforgettable. If she never saw him again she would always remember it. Christ, the thought had come out of nowhere and scared her to death. Ignore it, and for heaven's sake don't let him know. She leaned back in her chair. “What kind of wig?”
“We'll see.” He opened his duffel and pulled out a brownish-red wig with gray at the temples. “Not exactly fashionable, but it's nowhere close to my real hair. That's a plus.” He pulled out a denim jacket and tennis shoes. “You can't say Galen's choices aren't eclectic.” He threw the clothes on the bed. “I hope he does better by you.”
“I think my wig is red too. Curly as Orphan Annie's. Maybe we're supposed to be brother and sister.” She moistened her lips. “You do think this is a trap, don't you?”
He nodded. “They've got to know we'd access the credit card. It's only smart to follow up. It's what I'd do in the same circumstances.”
“Then you be careful.” She pushed back the chair and rose to her feet. “You'll knock on my door when you get back?”
“You'll probably be asleep.”
“Don't be absurd. I won't be asleep. How the hell could I be asleep when you're—” She steadied her voice. “You knock on my door and tell me what happened, or I'll get my gun and shoot you.”
He smiled. “In that case, you can bet I'll knock the damn door down if you don't answer. I'm always out to protect my neck.”
“See that you do.” She left the room and shut the door. Idiot. She'd known Morgan in only the most volatile circumstances and slept with him one night. He was possibly the most wary man she'd ever met and he had no desire for anything but a sexual encounter. It was the height of foolishness to let herself feel this way. For Christ's sake, get a grip.
But foolish or not, she knew she wouldn't sleep until he got back. She'd make a list of developing chemicals for Morgan to pick up tomorrow. Then she figured she might as well get out the computer and surf the Net.
It was after three A.M. when she heard Morgan's door close.
Her fingers froze on the keyboard and she closed her eyes. Thank God.
She was already opening the adjoining door when he knocked on it a moment later. “What happened?”
“Nothing. I scouted around and didn't see anything suspicious. A little brick house on a quiet street. Late-model car in the driveway. Not a rental car—Indiana license plates—and it doesn't look like it's been taken care of any too well. It could belong to Powers's ex-wife. That doesn't mean there isn't a very neat trap ready to be sprung.” He gazed beyond her to the laptop on the table. “I see you've been working. Stumble on anything?”
“I'd have to stumble. I don't have any idea where I'm going. I started with explosives and now I'm doing a search on water pressure.” She rubbed her eyes. “I'm almost blind. Did you find a house where I can shoot my photos?”