“Six o’clock.” Jed tried to keep the impatience out of his voice. He’d wanted to talk to Ryder since Zoë had left the afternoon before. Since his friend had been occupied with Sierra, he’d bided his time. But the sense that his time was running out had been growing more urgent since Zoë had left. And he knew from experience to trust his instincts. He handed Ryder one of the mugs of coffee he was holding.
“Thanks. You read my mind.” Ryder took a tentative sip, then a long swallow before he narrowed his eyes and studied his friend. “You’re up early.”
“Didn’t sleep much.”
Ryder made a grunt that Jed interpreted as sympathy, then took another long swallow of the coffee. “Give me a minute here. Need the caffeine.”
Jed could appreciate that. He was on his second cup. He didn’t suppose his old friend had gotten much sleep all weekend. Jed himself hadn’t slept much because his thoughts had been filled with Zoë.
It hadn’t been merely the lovemaking that had filled his mind whenever he’d closed his eyes and tried to drift off. Although he’d thought about that. A lot. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake loose the memory of what she’d tasted like, what she’d felt like—that silky, smooth skin, that slender, athletic body.
Also on his mind had been what had happened afterward when he’d held her…and hadn’t wanted to let her go. Even now his body was recalling the pleasure he’d felt simply lying there holding her close. He’d drifted off then, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d slept. But when Zoë had awakened him, she’d been all business, all tightly wound nerves.
He hadn’t been able to resist the urge to loosen her up again. He’d wanted to experience once more what it felt like to make her come. Unfortunately, his attempt had tumbled them both out of the hammock.
She’d laughed. They both had, like idiots. And strangely enough it had been the image of Zoë McNamara, sitting next to him on the ground and laughing that had most persistently haunted his thoughts during the night.
He’d never heard her laugh before and he wanted to hear that rich, delightful sound again almost as much as he wanted to make love to her again.
But he couldn’t follow up on either desire. Jed took a long swallow of coffee, and this time he tasted the bitterness. It suited his current mood. Pursuing any kind of further relationship with Zoë McNamara was impossible as long as he was a “dead” man.
If the gut feeling he’d been experiencing that Bailey Montgomery had spotted him at that big D.C. party hadn’t been enough to spur him to action, the time he’d spent with Zoë certainly had.
“Shit,” Ryder said. “This coffee sucks. It’s been—what?—ten years since we shared an apartment in college, and your coffee hasn’t improved?”
Turning, Jed raised an eyebrow as he studied his friend. “Well, your taste buds are functioning. Are the brain cells up and running yet?”
Ryder ran the fingers of one hand through his hair, glaring down at the mug in his hand. “Making a decent cup of coffee isn’t rocket science. I don’t know anyone who’s a better shot with a rifle than you are.” He waved his free hand. “Except for me, there’s no one who can match you at finessing the information highway to find out anything you want to know, whether it’s classified or not. You know Shakespeare’s plays like the back of your hand. My God, you’re even a brilliant tactical fisherman. If you ever want to give up government work, you can probably get your own show on the fishing channel. I can’t see how you can screw up fixing a simple cup of coffee day after day.”
“Consistency is one of my finer qualities,” Jed said with a grin. “And if you’re through with your rant, I’d like to get down to business. I’ve been imposing on your hospitality for two weeks now, and I know that you’ve put in a good many hours but so far we haven’t even gotten the scent of who framed me for Frank Medici’s murder.”
“Not true,” Ryder said. “We know that Agent Bailey Montgomery executed the hit. She may be in on the frame.”
“Hell, I told you that much. But she didn’t execute the hit alone. It was a sharpshooter who got me in the shoulder. Her bullet was the second one.” Jed reminded him. “In any case, she’s the one person who might know something that would help me.”
Ryder turned and studied him again. His eyes and the set of his face told Jed that either the words or the coffee had done the trick.
“I’m thinking that it’s time I took a more proactive role in this,” Jed said.