Person of Interest by Debra Webb Page B

talk to her. He had a bad feeling he’d already said too much.
    That was part of the reason he had no intention of taking any more drugs than necessary. He vaguely recalled making a few ridiculous remarks in the ambulance on the way here.
    Joe exhaled a heavy breath. He was thirty-eight years old. He’d been an undercover operative for the CIA for the past ten. He’d been tortured, subjected to all sorts of training to prepare him for said torture, and not once had he ever spilled his guts like he almost had yesterday.
    “Real stupid, Hennessey.”
    He dragged on his shirt and decided he couldn’t hide out in this room any longer. It was 9:00 a.m. and his need for caffeine wouldn’t be ignored any longer.
    Facing the enemy had never been a problem for him. Hiding out from the doc when she was supposed to be on his side bordered on cowardice.
    Joe hesitated at the door. He could admit that. It was the truth after all. Why would he lie to himself? The next three weeks were a part of the mission. He’d simply have to get past his personal feelings. Too many lives hung in the balance for him to indulge his personal interests.
    His fingers wrapped around the doorknob and he twisted, drew back the door and exited the room that provided some amount of separation. All he had to do was maintain his boundaries. No slipping into intimate territory in conversation. No touching. If he followed those two simple rules he wouldn’t have a problem.
    The upstairs hall stretched fifteen yards from the room he’d just exited to the staircase. Three other bedrooms and two bathrooms had been carved out of the space. Downstairs was more or less one large open space that served as living room, kitchen and dining room. A laundry room with rear exit, pantry and half bath were off the kitchen.
    The house was located in the fringes of a small Maryland town. There was only one other house on the street and it was currently vacant and for sale. Twenty-four hour surveillance as well as a state-of-the-art security system ensured their safety. A panic room had been installed in the basement. Even if someone got past surveillance and the security system they wouldn’t breach the panic room. Though only twelve-by-twelve, the room was impenetrable and stocked for every imaginable scenario.
    The smooth hardwood of the stair treads felt cold beneath Joe’s bare feet. His left hand slid along the banister as he descended to the first floor, the act takinghim back a few decades to his childhood. His parents’ home had been a two-story and he and his brother had traveled down the stairs every imaginable way from sliding down the banister to jumping over it. It was a miracle either one of them had survived boyhood.
    Joe stopped on the bottom step and hesitated once more before making his presence known.
    Doctor Elizabeth Cameron was busy at the sink, filling the carafe to make another pot of coffee Joe presumed. A glutton for punishment he stood there and watched, unable to help himself.
    She’d traded her usual businesslike attire for jeans and a casual blouse. He hadn’t seen her like this. She wore generic sweats when she worked out, her scrubs or a business suit including a conservative skirt or slacks the rest of the time. He’d begun to wonder as he watched her over the past couple of weeks if she slept in her work clothes. Her cool, reserved exterior just didn’t lend itself to the idea of silky lingerie no matter how much she owned.
    And yet, when his gaze followed the sweet curves of her body clearly delineated by the form-fitting blue jeans and pale pink top he found himself ready to amend that conclusion.
    At about five-four, she would fit neatly into the category of petite without question, but she wasstrong. He’d watched her work out. She could run like hell. More than once he’d wished she would wear shorts for her workouts rather than sweatpants, but he never got that lucky. He liked it a lot when she took off those unflattering