Free Flashpoint by Suzanne Brockmann Page B

head.”
    “Yes, I read that. In the packet.”
    “Some people don’t read the packet.”
    “I did.”
    “There are parts of the country where women have to wear a burka and veil,” Nash told her.
    “Some parts of the capital city, too. And some women in Kazabek actually choose to wear burkas all the time. Or at least so I understand, after having read the packet,” Tess said.
    “Think of this as a test,” he told her.
    “You mean, a pop quiz on the reading material, or more of a ‘How long will it take before Nash drives me nuts’ kind of test?”
    “This is your first time out there.” As if he had to remind her. “I’m going to be on top of you every minute. You don’t like it when information is repeated? Too bad. I’m going to make damn sure that you know everything you need to know to keep from getting hurt or, yeah, even killed. People can die in the field, Tess.”
    She did know that.
    “And if you want to have a contest to see who drives who crazy first,” Nash continued, “well, congratulations, you’re already winning.” He stood up. “Do you have other clothes with you? Because you can’t wear that to K-stan.”
    “Yes, I know. These are interview clothes. I have a suitcase in the rental car.”
    “You can’t take a suitcase to Kazbekistan.”
    “Yes, I know that, too. I just wasn’t sure how many changes of clothing to bring, so—”
    “Get ready to smell bad,” he told her. “Figure that your entire wardrobe’s got to fit in that shoulder bag you’re carrying. And don’t overload it, because you’ll be carrying my bag, too.”
    Tess laughed. Of all the . . . “Look, Nash—”
    “You should get used to calling me James.”
    “James,” she repeated. “I know that you’re trying to frighten me off, but it’s not working. You may not know my brand of toothpaste or my favorite movie, but haven’t you caught on, maybe even just a
little
bit, that I don’t scare easily?”
    “Colgate regular and it’s probably a toss-up between
Moulin Rouge
,
The Philadelphia Story
, and
Casablanca
,” he reported, smiling briefly at the expression of surprise that she couldn’t keep from her face. “I was in your apartment, remember?”
    Yeah, like she’d ever forget. “Snooping among my DVDs?”
    “No, just keeping my eyes open.”
    “While you snooped among my DVDs.” After she’d finally fallen asleep, he must’ve stopped to look while he was on his way out the door, because she’d been with him every other moment and they’d been nowhere near her entertainment center. Funny, she would have thought he would have been in an enormous hurry to escape before she awoke. Instead he’d stopped to look at her things.
    “I meant what I said about packing light,” Nash told her now. “You really are going to be carrying my bag.”
    “Isn’t that overdoing it a little in terms of following Kazbekistani customs?”
    He lifted the bottle she’d tossed to him, toasting her before he finished off the last of it. “I’ll be carrying our water.”
    Ah. Bottles of water would definitely be much heavier than clothing.
    “Go and get your suitcase, Mrs. Nash,” he said. “I’ll help you figure out what to bring.”
    Mrs. Nash.
    Hearing that from his lips was just too weird.

C HAPTER
F IVE
    Decker watched Nash watch Tess Bailey browsing in the airport bookstore.
    Nash looked up, feeling Deck’s gaze.
    Decker shook his head in disgust, and Nash played dumb. “What?”
    It was only because he asked that Decker answered. “You’re an asshole. Two months—and you didn’t call her once. And now you get to pretend to be her adoring husband?”
    Nash was going to share a room with Tess, which by nature would generate intimacy. Add in the adrenaline inherent in a dangerous mission, plus the romance of being in an ancient, foreign city . . .
    “It’s a tough job,” Nash said, trying to turn it into a joke, “but someone’s got to do it.”
    “Yeah, well, do more than