perfect risotto.”
“Mushrooms?”
“Harmony. The cook has to be at peace with himself to do it right.” Johnny smiled, remembering how Sage had laughed at that, though Lucy didn’t.
“So you talked about cooking?”
He leaned to the far left when a city trash truck blocked his view of the apartment building. “Mostly we talked about her roommate. She’s pretty torn up about it.”
“Johnny, have you ever known anyone who committed suicide?”
He almost snorted. “In my family, usually someone was paid to do it for you.”
“Well, I have. And, believe me, for the people left behind, murder would be easier to handle. At least you know the enemy you’re after.” Her voice grew sharper. “I just want to be sure you completely maintained your cover.”
“No worries. She was totally convinced I’m part of the world’s oldest profession.”
“Good. I’m sure you’ve had tougher assignments.”
There was an understatement. Of course, she was referring to his jobs with the Bullet Catchers, but he was thinking about the years before. He set the china cup in its saucer with just a little too much force. “Okay, so the job is done. Now what?”
“What do you think she’ll do next?”
“Try and get herself kidnapped again. She writes these exposé feature stories for magazines. Did you know that?”
“Yes.” Stupid question to ask a former CIA operative; she knew everything.
He waited for more, but when it didn’t come, he couldn’t stop himself. “So who’s the client on this one, Luce?” Bullet Catchers didn’t work for free and the principals they protected had big names or big money… or a big benefactor footing the bill. Sage didn’t seem to have fame or fortune, but she sure had someone’s backing. “Is there a sugar daddy somewhere? A father, maybe? A lover?”
Lucy said nothing.
A lover, then. Or someone who wanted to be. Of course there would be. A woman who looked like Sage, with all that sizzle in the sack? No doubt somebody wanted to keep her out of the arms and bed of some fantasy rescuer and was willing to pay Bullet Catcher prices to do so. But Lucy wasn’t saying, and Johnny knew the rules.
“Anyway,” he said, his tone showing that he got the message, but didn’t have to like it. “She’s on a tear to find out why her roommate killed herself and I get the impression this is one chick who isn’t deterred by roadblocks or rescuers.”
He could have sworn he heard Lucy snort softly, but then she asked, “And how did you leave her?”
With a big, bad boner. “We talked until about three hours ago, then I went back to my hotel.”
“Where are you now?” she asked.
“I’m on a restaurant balcony of some bed-and-
breakfast with a bird’s-eye view of her place, drinking excellent coffee, and awaiting my next assignment.” He took a noisy sip as proof. “Now, gimme something good, Luce. A diplomat in Greece or an heiress in Rio.”
“Max Roper had an heiress last summer and look what happened to him.”
Married, expecting a baby, and running the Bullet Catcher’s West Coast ops. “Good point.”
“Thank you for doing this without a million questions,” she said. “I know this is an unusual assignment.”
Is ? “No problem. You know you’re my goddess.”
She laughed softly. “All women are goddesses to you.”
“But you’re the greatest of them all.” He kept his tone light, but they both knew it was no joke. He’d already gone to the ends of the earth for the woman who gave him his life back, and he would again. All she had to do was ask.
He finished the coffee, his focus still on the front door of that brownstone on the corner. He might never talk to Sage Valentine again, but he sure would like one last look.
“So, Johnny,” Lucy finally said. “Did you like her?”
Every delectable inch. “Nothing not to like.” Careful, man. Anything could be a trick question, regardless of her tone. “I try not to pass judgment on my
“Mushrooms?”
“Harmony. The cook has to be at peace with himself to do it right.” Johnny smiled, remembering how Sage had laughed at that, though Lucy didn’t.
“So you talked about cooking?”
He leaned to the far left when a city trash truck blocked his view of the apartment building. “Mostly we talked about her roommate. She’s pretty torn up about it.”
“Johnny, have you ever known anyone who committed suicide?”
He almost snorted. “In my family, usually someone was paid to do it for you.”
“Well, I have. And, believe me, for the people left behind, murder would be easier to handle. At least you know the enemy you’re after.” Her voice grew sharper. “I just want to be sure you completely maintained your cover.”
“No worries. She was totally convinced I’m part of the world’s oldest profession.”
“Good. I’m sure you’ve had tougher assignments.”
There was an understatement. Of course, she was referring to his jobs with the Bullet Catchers, but he was thinking about the years before. He set the china cup in its saucer with just a little too much force. “Okay, so the job is done. Now what?”
“What do you think she’ll do next?”
“Try and get herself kidnapped again. She writes these exposé feature stories for magazines. Did you know that?”
“Yes.” Stupid question to ask a former CIA operative; she knew everything.
He waited for more, but when it didn’t come, he couldn’t stop himself. “So who’s the client on this one, Luce?” Bullet Catchers didn’t work for free and the principals they protected had big names or big money… or a big benefactor footing the bill. Sage didn’t seem to have fame or fortune, but she sure had someone’s backing. “Is there a sugar daddy somewhere? A father, maybe? A lover?”
Lucy said nothing.
A lover, then. Or someone who wanted to be. Of course there would be. A woman who looked like Sage, with all that sizzle in the sack? No doubt somebody wanted to keep her out of the arms and bed of some fantasy rescuer and was willing to pay Bullet Catcher prices to do so. But Lucy wasn’t saying, and Johnny knew the rules.
“Anyway,” he said, his tone showing that he got the message, but didn’t have to like it. “She’s on a tear to find out why her roommate killed herself and I get the impression this is one chick who isn’t deterred by roadblocks or rescuers.”
He could have sworn he heard Lucy snort softly, but then she asked, “And how did you leave her?”
With a big, bad boner. “We talked until about three hours ago, then I went back to my hotel.”
“Where are you now?” she asked.
“I’m on a restaurant balcony of some bed-and-
breakfast with a bird’s-eye view of her place, drinking excellent coffee, and awaiting my next assignment.” He took a noisy sip as proof. “Now, gimme something good, Luce. A diplomat in Greece or an heiress in Rio.”
“Max Roper had an heiress last summer and look what happened to him.”
Married, expecting a baby, and running the Bullet Catcher’s West Coast ops. “Good point.”
“Thank you for doing this without a million questions,” she said. “I know this is an unusual assignment.”
Is ? “No problem. You know you’re my goddess.”
She laughed softly. “All women are goddesses to you.”
“But you’re the greatest of them all.” He kept his tone light, but they both knew it was no joke. He’d already gone to the ends of the earth for the woman who gave him his life back, and he would again. All she had to do was ask.
He finished the coffee, his focus still on the front door of that brownstone on the corner. He might never talk to Sage Valentine again, but he sure would like one last look.
“So, Johnny,” Lucy finally said. “Did you like her?”
Every delectable inch. “Nothing not to like.” Careful, man. Anything could be a trick question, regardless of her tone. “I try not to pass judgment on my
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