Matt carefully grasped one corner of a piece of medical tape he’d used to adhere it to her skin. The moment he touched her, goose bumps broke out across her ribs. The thermostat on the wall was set at seventy-two degrees and his hands were warm, so it wasn’t because she was cold. For some reason he liked knowing she wasn’t as unaffected by him as she’d like him to think.
He peeled the tape back to take a look. The wound was red and a little swollen but there was no drainage or red streaks around it. “Looks okay. I’ll cover it up now.”
As he tore pieces of duct tape and laid them across the bandage, he let his fingertips linger against her skin. He liked the feel of it, all warm and silky beneath his fingers. She was lean and toned with the body of a competitive athlete, and lethal despite her deceptively non-threatening appearance. A very deadly weapon, wrapped in a gorgeous package.
When he continued to take his time covering the bandage, fingertips resting gently on her skin, she tensed ever so slightly and at last turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. There was something he’d been wondering about and now seemed like as good a time as any to ask. “Why’d you send me that text in Baton Rouge?”
She looked away again. “I knew you were in the area with Morales and Travers,” she said with a shrug, as though it was no big deal. “Al-Tunisi was a high priority target, and since I’d already met you in person and Rycroft trusts you I figured I’d give you the heads up. How’d you know it was me?”
“I recognized you during analysis of the satellite feed after the op.”
At that she swung her gaze back to him and frowned. “You saw my face?”
“Not well, not even when they zoomed in and tightened the focus, but yeah. Based on the text, proximity to New Orleans and having met you—” And remembering every little detail about the way you look, because what man wouldn’t. “—I knew it was you.”
“Who else knew?” She didn’t sound alarmed, merely curious. Probably because by the time he and the others had analyzed the footage, she’d no doubt been long gone from the area. From what he’d seen so far, she was damn good at her job.
“Nobody in my circle. I’m sure Rycroft and your people were alerted soon after though.”
Briar nodded. “I contacted Lily to confirm Al-Tunisi’s death before I caught my flight out that night.”
He was insanely curious about her, and what made a woman like her tick. He’d met one Russian and several female Israeli assassins in his day, but never an American. He wanted to know about her background, who had trained her, and how. Why she’d chosen that line of work and how she balanced her personal life with her work. Not that he’d probably ever find those things out. “Flight to where?”
“Home.”
“Where’s that?”
“New York State.”
He nodded, somewhat surprised that she’d told him, but he wondered if it was the truth. “I’m from California.”
“San Diego.”
His gaze cut to hers, his fingers paused on her skin below a strip of tape. “How do you know that?” he asked. Touching her like this was no hardship. Her skin was velvety and smooth, so soft. Actually, everything about her looked soft, except for her eyes. Those were a dead giveaway that she’d been in combat and seen people die, some of them by her hand. It always took a toll, no matter how well a sniper compartmentalized everything.
Eventually it caught up with you. He wondered if she ever battled with her inner demons.
“I read your file.”
Well, hell. Matt frowned. He didn’t like being at that kind of disadvantage.
“Don’t worry, I’d never divulge anything in there to anyone. Your record’s impressive. You must be proud.”
He was, but it still rankled him that she’d read up on him and he knew next to nothing about her. Matt put the last piece of tape in place, suddenly wanting to know everything about her. “There. You’re good to go.”
She let the hem of the shirt drop. “Thanks. I’ll be quick.”
She disappeared into the bathroom and a moment later he heard the shower running. Less than ten minutes later she came back out, her dark hair still a bit damp as it fell against her cheeks and jaw. His shirt and sweats swallowed her slender frame, yet somehow she still managed to look sexy.
And he had to stop thinking about her that way. She was his principle. A job.
Matt got up, walked over to his duffel at the foot of the bed and took out a bottle of ibuprofen. His right shoulder that he’d dislocated in training years ago bothered him sometimes, especially in the cold and damp, so he always kept some with him. “Here,” he said, holding the bottle out to her.