you couldn't say
something nice, not to say anything at all?" she snapped back, too tired
to care about the tone of her voice.
He actually had the gall to smile. Something that made little
butterflies spring to life in her stomach, fluttering around the knots already
there.
But he didn't respond directly. Instead he looked at a clipboard
in his hand. "This afternoon the hair stylist will be here. And the
manicurist."
Without thinking Jane's hands reached for the ends of her hair.
"Don't tell me Elena has one of those short, chic haircuts."
"You're Elena and no." His eyes swept over her in a way
that made her want to blush and stammer before his cold, matter-of-fact voice
added. "There won't be much change."
"How are you explaining the need to…" she waved her
hands before her. "The need to fix me?"
"These are not Elena's regular people," he replied.
"We couldn't risk them noting the differences."
The man thought of everything.
"Come on," he motioned before she'd even finished her last
bite, one she didn't even taste over the exhaustion she felt. "Let's get
going again."
"Sadist," she mumbled to herself.
At least she thought no one had heard, until he speared her with
one of those penetrating gray-eyed glares. "Sadism would be to let you
walk into a situation without any preparation. I'd prefer to think of this as
protecting you."
She mulled over his words the rest of the afternoon, keeping her
own opinions to herself. It was too much effort to voice them, anyway. Maybe it
was still shock, or jet lag, or her mind's inclination to retreat from
something so out of her control, but by the time Major McConneghy called an end
to the day she was ready to sink to her knees right then and there. The only
thing that kept her upright and functional was the realization that he was
waiting for her to do just that.
It was in the way he watched her, the way he said little but
implied much with his body language. But she wasn't going to give him the
satisfaction. She'd fall apart later, in the privacy of her room. Or so she
promised herself as she picked at a dinner served in the ballroom they were
using as a training area.
"If you don't eat, you won't keep up your strength," he
said to her when she waved off the second course.
"And if I eat I'll lose it all over your spit-and-polished
shoes," she replied, wondering what had happened to the Jane who got along
with everyone, who never uttered a rude word or spoke back.
All of a sudden a question that had been bothering her resurfaced.
She leaned forward and asked, "Exactly where is the other Elena? The real
one, I mean."
For a moment she thought he might not answer. Not that she learned
all that much when he finally did. "That's need-to-know information."
She sat back as if he'd slapped her. "And I obviously don't
need to know."
"Exactly."
Well, she might not be experienced in the ways of the world, but
she could translate do-not-enter signs as well as the next person. Choking down
another slice of her rare roast beef, she set the rest aside, sure it would
lodge in her throat. Why should it hurt that he wanted her to risk her life for
this missing Elena, but didn't trust her to share all but the barest
information?
"All I can tell you is that she's recovering, away from
Vendari. It'll be safer for you if you don't know any more details."
His words caught her off guard and she found herself glancing up,
surprised by the understanding she saw in his gaze, not trusting that it was
really meant for her.
Then the implication of his words set in. If she was killed
outright it wouldn't make a speck of difference if she knew the whereabouts of
the real Elena. But if she was kidnapped—again—then she could be tortured in an
attempt to get her to reveal information she didn't know.
Swallowing hard she pushed away the rest of her meal. Her stomach
felt as if she'd taken a dive off a very high tower, knowing the ground was
coming up, hard and fast.
"You can't keep skipping your
something nice, not to say anything at all?" she snapped back, too tired
to care about the tone of her voice.
He actually had the gall to smile. Something that made little
butterflies spring to life in her stomach, fluttering around the knots already
there.
But he didn't respond directly. Instead he looked at a clipboard
in his hand. "This afternoon the hair stylist will be here. And the
manicurist."
Without thinking Jane's hands reached for the ends of her hair.
"Don't tell me Elena has one of those short, chic haircuts."
"You're Elena and no." His eyes swept over her in a way
that made her want to blush and stammer before his cold, matter-of-fact voice
added. "There won't be much change."
"How are you explaining the need to…" she waved her
hands before her. "The need to fix me?"
"These are not Elena's regular people," he replied.
"We couldn't risk them noting the differences."
The man thought of everything.
"Come on," he motioned before she'd even finished her last
bite, one she didn't even taste over the exhaustion she felt. "Let's get
going again."
"Sadist," she mumbled to herself.
At least she thought no one had heard, until he speared her with
one of those penetrating gray-eyed glares. "Sadism would be to let you
walk into a situation without any preparation. I'd prefer to think of this as
protecting you."
She mulled over his words the rest of the afternoon, keeping her
own opinions to herself. It was too much effort to voice them, anyway. Maybe it
was still shock, or jet lag, or her mind's inclination to retreat from
something so out of her control, but by the time Major McConneghy called an end
to the day she was ready to sink to her knees right then and there. The only
thing that kept her upright and functional was the realization that he was
waiting for her to do just that.
It was in the way he watched her, the way he said little but
implied much with his body language. But she wasn't going to give him the
satisfaction. She'd fall apart later, in the privacy of her room. Or so she
promised herself as she picked at a dinner served in the ballroom they were
using as a training area.
"If you don't eat, you won't keep up your strength," he
said to her when she waved off the second course.
"And if I eat I'll lose it all over your spit-and-polished
shoes," she replied, wondering what had happened to the Jane who got along
with everyone, who never uttered a rude word or spoke back.
All of a sudden a question that had been bothering her resurfaced.
She leaned forward and asked, "Exactly where is the other Elena? The real
one, I mean."
For a moment she thought he might not answer. Not that she learned
all that much when he finally did. "That's need-to-know information."
She sat back as if he'd slapped her. "And I obviously don't
need to know."
"Exactly."
Well, she might not be experienced in the ways of the world, but
she could translate do-not-enter signs as well as the next person. Choking down
another slice of her rare roast beef, she set the rest aside, sure it would
lodge in her throat. Why should it hurt that he wanted her to risk her life for
this missing Elena, but didn't trust her to share all but the barest
information?
"All I can tell you is that she's recovering, away from
Vendari. It'll be safer for you if you don't know any more details."
His words caught her off guard and she found herself glancing up,
surprised by the understanding she saw in his gaze, not trusting that it was
really meant for her.
Then the implication of his words set in. If she was killed
outright it wouldn't make a speck of difference if she knew the whereabouts of
the real Elena. But if she was kidnapped—again—then she could be tortured in an
attempt to get her to reveal information she didn't know.
Swallowing hard she pushed away the rest of her meal. Her stomach
felt as if she'd taken a dive off a very high tower, knowing the ground was
coming up, hard and fast.
"You can't keep skipping your
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