Free 13th Apostle by Richard F. Heller, Rachael F. Heller

comes to worst, you’ll lose your deposit. No big deal.”
    â€œSo you think he’s not capable of the job. Is that why you walked out on him at the restaurant?”
    â€œThat and because I thought we were being followed,” she replied. Her gaze never left his eyes. “Are you saying Ludlow and I should have stayed?” she challenged.
    â€œWell, it’s not the best way to start off a working relationship.”
    â€œSo you’re going to keep him?” she asked incredulously.
    DeVris hesitated. She was hiding something. Why was she pushing so hard?
    â€œAnd who would you recommend in his place?” DeVris asked. “There’s nobody else and you know it.”
    Sabbie stood abruptly and headed toward the door.
    â€œYou know what? Do what you want. I’d just like to know why in the hell you even bother to ask my opinion.”
    Because methinks the lady doth protest too much. And because I’m trying to figure out if you’re more interested in screwing me figuratively or Mr. Pearson literally.
    She was arrogant and opinionated. Had he not felt that he had to have her around, under whatever pretense was necessary, he would never have hired her. She was the best translator in the field. She had a working knowledge of Aramaic, Greek, Ancient Hebrew, and Classical Latin. She was tech savvy and a workaholic. A perfect assistant were it not for one undeniable fact.
    Beneath her brilliance and her easy antagonistic joking was a hardness that DeVris never wanted to put to the test; a coldness that came from seeing the world without illusion and, perhaps, without hope. He had not known her before the assault and often wondered if, indeed, it was that violence that helped sculpt her unpretentious directness. The very quality he found so damn seductive.

Chapter 13
    Day Six, morning
Office of the Translator, Shrine of the Book
Israel Museum
    â€œYou’re late,” Sabbie said. She looked up casually, then returned to sorting papers on the great desk. From the look of the place, she’d been there for hours.
    Gil stared at her in surprise. The last time he had seen her, she was headed for the Ladies’ Room at the restaurant, never to return again.
    Sabbie smiled at his confusion.
    â€œJust kidding about you being late. You’re right on time. Good morning,” she added with unexpected warmth.
    Gil smiled back with relief. Apparently, his concern that she had changed her mind about working with him had been way off target. Good thing. No matter how bitchy she had been in the restaurant, he hadn’t been able to stop imagining what it would be like to savor every inch of her.
    Best of all, since he was already at the Museum, and since they were not about to send him home for just looking, Gil allowed himself a good long and unashamed look at the object of several of the most erotic dreams of his life.
    She wore loose men’s khaki slacks with macramé suspenders and a man’s big white shirt that made her look small and surprisingly feminine. The pattern of lace from her bra was visible through the cotton fabric of the shirt, and beneath the lace, the hint of café-aulait–colored nipples beckoned him to come and explore. Gil caught his breath and struggled to keep control.
    As if reading his mind, Sabbie suddenly became all business again.
    â€œCome to my office,” she said.
    Gil followed, surrendering his thoughts to the movement of her perfectly rounded bottom.
    She closed the door. Still standing, she faced him and began.
    â€œFirst, a few ground rules. All work is to be done in this office only. All translation and decoding will take place here. No discussion, not even a casual comment, will be exchanged in any other room.”
    â€œThe lighting sucks,” Gil said sharply. If she had her demands, he had his.
    â€œI’ll see if we can have another lamp brought in but it may have to do.”
    â€œWhy can’t we work on