Free Darkness at Dawn by Elizabeth Jennings Page A

Gah.
    Lucy was pulling out a pair of shoes, one of several. Shiny, expensive. She peered at the pristine soles in disapproval. “I’ll scuff these up for you. What did you say?”
    “What did we drink that first evening?” Mike watched her, partly fascinated by her face and partly wondering what her reaction would be.
    Perfect. Her face, her reaction.
    “I had a Prosecco,” she responded instantly, with a reminiscent smile, as if remembering as opposed to making all this up on the spur of the moment. “And you had a beer.”
    Amazing. No hesitation, no looking slightly up and to the left, nothing. Her answer was exactly as it should be, immediate and relaxed, as if they’d actually had drinks the evening they’d met on a polo field. She’d pegged him, too. He’d have definitely ordered a beer after a polo game.
    “And the next evening? Where’d we go to eat?”
    “To a Greek restaurant,” she answered immediately. “It was delicious. We both enjoy Greek food.”
    Wow. Mike didn’t know about her, but he loved Greek food. She’d somehow tuned into that.
    They’d finished cutting his hair, and now someone slapped a hot wet cloth over his face. He breathed in heavily, drawing in steam. It felt real good.
    Then lather and a close shave with a very sharp razor, wielded by a man who’d obviously had instructions from Montgomery not to kill the captain.
    He kept an eye on the clothes Lucy was pulling out of the packages, relieved to see that there were no jeans and nothing made of cotton. Jeans were death itself in cold weather. Cotton wicked up moisture and held it, creating a wet material that clung to skin. The last thing you needed in subzero temperatures was material that sucked up moisture and retained it. A surefire recipe for frostbite.
    What they’d packed looked expensive and elegant, just what an investment banker would wear, but there was a lot of top-of-the-line winter gear there, too. And all the outer gear was Gore-Tex.
    He watched as Lucy pulled out a metal canister of an expensive men’s cologne, then an expensive shaving lotion and an expensive sunscreen. Each canister had a false bottom with enough C-4 to blow through a wall. The det cord was wound around the explosive, the latest type, as thin as baling wire.
    Five meters of rope were wound around the exterior of the suitcase, tucked under the metallic elements.
    There were two satellite cell phones, encrypted, both of which could become stun guns at the flip of a switch.
    Two of his credit cards would be extra stiff and razorsharp at one end, capable of slitting a man’s throat open with ease.
    No doubt if he found he needed firepower, they could airdrop some weapons and encrypt an SMS message with the GPS coordinates.
    The one thing the CIA did really well was toys.
    Lucy pulled out a long-sleeved undershirt and a pair of underpants made of a thin material and looked at them.
    Now we were talking. “Capilene. Thermal underwear. To be worn close to the skin in extreme cold temperatures. It’s a synthetic fiber that is hydrophobic, it repels water. Ow! ” He glared at the girl working on his feet, aggrieved. “That hurt ! What are you doing?”
    Clearly regarding him as not to be reasoned with, the girl turned to Lucy. She held up a strip like one of those sticky things you hang in a room to catch flies. It had black hairs on it. His hairs.
    “Just waxing his toes,” she said to Lucy, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
    Waxing toes ? Well, fuck. He had opened his mouth to protest, when Lucy laughed at him.
    “Women do that to their, um, private lady parts without complaining. Don’t be such a wuss. Honey.” She picked up a glove, idly put it on. Her small hand swam in it. She frowned when her index finger poked through a slit.
    “Trigger finger,” Mike said and her brow cleared.
    “Neat.” She picked up something else and Mike swallowed. Cylindrical, made of a special felt . . .
    She picked it up, turned it over,