Free Express Male by Elizabeth Bevarly

said, “and we realized you are indeed who you say you are. Marnie Lundy of 207 Mockingbird Lane in Cleveland, Ohio, and that you’ve been an employee of Lauderdale’s for two years, just as you said.”
    “Well, why the hell didn’t you run a check like that the minute I got here?” she demanded.
    “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “We were convinced you were Lila Moreau trying to pull a fast one. We didn’t have any reason to believe you were who you said you were. So we didn’t see the point.”
    “And what made you change your mind?” she asked, still skeptical. For such a supersecret sophisticated organization, they sure did seem like a bunch of boneheads.
    “The woman who spoke to you a little while ago was a psychiatrist we brought in to examine you when we thought you were Lila. After speaking with you at length, she realized—and assured us—that you’re neither crazy, nor pretending and that you are precisely who you claim to be.”
    Marnie nodded slowly. “Okay,” she said. Even though she was still suspicious of the sudden turnaround. “So does this mean I can go home?” she asked hopefully.
    He nodded. “I’ll drive you myself.”
    His offer, too, surprised her. “That won’t be necessary,” she assured him.
    “Do you remember how you got here?”
    “Um, no,” she admitted.
    “And you haven’t had any sleep tonight,” he pointed out.
    Well, except for that one little nap with the weird dream about ol’ blue eyes there kissing her, which, now that she thought about it, was really a nightmare, except for the fact that it had actually been kind of nice….
    She sighed. She really did need to get out and date more if she was thinking a dream kiss from a virtual stranger who’d abducted and terrified her was kind of nice. Even Lila probably didn’t have anyone like that in her little black book.
    “You haven’t had any sleep, either,” she said.
    “I can go without it. Something tells me you can’t.”
    Yeah, like the fact that he’d walked in on her fast asleep. She hoped she hadn’t been drooling. Or making those soft murmuring sounds of satisfaction out loud that she’d been making in her dream when he kissed her.
    “So when can we go?” she asked.
    “Any time you’re ready,” he told her, surprising her again.
    “But don’t you have to…”
    “What?”
    “Debrief me or something?”
    She remembered after asking the question that she was indeed wearing briefs, a realization that made her hope “debrief” really was the word spy types used in such situations, and not just in movies and on TV. Otherwise, things could get a little embarrassing.
    When he smiled at her the way he did, she had a feeling he was thinking about the same kind of debriefing she was. Which was bad, because she wasn’t thinking about the movie and TV kind of debriefing just then. He really was very handsome. Even if he was a big jerk.
    “I don’t need to debrief you, Ms. Lundy,” he said.
    Ah, well. Story of her life.
    She realized then that although he knew her by not one but two names—even if one of them was wrong—she didn’t know even one of his. And, gosh, a girl always wanted to know the name of the man who abducted her and made her life hell for a night. So she asked, “What’s your name?”
    His smile fell some at that. “Why? Are you planning to write a letter of complaint about me?”
    “And send it where?” she asked. “I don’t know anything about you guys except for your being under Homeland Security.” Which led her to another thought. “The woman who spoke to me said your organization is top secret and no one’s supposed to know about you. Aren’t you afraid that by letting me go home, I’ll spend the day on the phone alerting the media to my experience and your existence?”
    “They won’t believe you,” he said with complete conviction. “Except for the media outlets who publish stories about alien Elvises and women who marry Bigfoot, and we’ve