Free Falcon: The Quiet Professionals Book 3 by Ronie Kendig

temporary network. “I lived on my own and hated fast food, so I learned.” He lifted a shoulder casually. “And in one of my phases of rebellion—”
    “
One?
You had more than one?”
    He gave her a glare. “I went to culinary school just to anger my father.”
    “Seriously? You know how to cook? Besides putting shrimp on the barbie?”
    “My oath, I do.” He smiled at her, amused that she found that interesting. “And apparently, I cook better than you.”
    Brie sat back with her hands up in surrender. “I gladly accept defeat.” She waved him to the kitchen. “I want dinner in an hour.”
    He laughed as the system streamed data. “We need ingredients to do that.”
    “Is
that
how that works?” She sounded saucy as she hunched around her laptop.
    “You seem a bit chuffed. Think you won one over on me?”
    “I don’t have to make dinner, do I?” Her eyes twinkled in triumph as she adjusted her computer in front of her. “No slaving housewife for this girl.”
    No…
housewife
. Was she saying she didn’t ever want to get married? A strong, independent woman in the American Army. An officer. What family did she have? Was that what shaped her feelings about not being a housewife? It’d make sense the attractive lieutenant wanted a career more than she wanted a family.
    He slapped his laptop closed, a little harder than he meant to. The thought of her not wanting to get married irked him. Which was stupid. He hadn’t even invited her out yet. Marriage was on the other side of a long road, laden with minefield-quality traps—family, religious views, politics, history, money…
    “You okay?”
    “Sure.” He looked at her. “Cameras are up and working.”
    “You went quiet,” Brie said softly. “Did I upset you or something?”
    “Takes a lot more than the fact you can’t cook to offend me.” He pushed from the table and stalked to the fridge. Opened it and saw shelves and the lone light glaring back. “Probably should hit a store or market before it gets dark.”
    “Let me grab a jacket, and I’ll come with you.”
    Eamon donned his own coat, not because it was cold but because he wanted to conceal his weapon, and waited for her. “You’re paying, right?” By “you” he meant the Americans. Since they were footing the bill for this condo-recon, that meant they paid for food, too.
    Brie sauntered from the bedroom. “Don’t you know the guy is supposed to pay for the date?”
    “We’re married, remember. Your money is mine. And my money is mine.”
    Brie struck his arm. “Hey.”
    He opened the door. Though they kept up a light banter as they headed out of the towers, it’d taken them three mikes fifty to make it to the open plaza that anchored the two high-rises. They hung a right out of Tower Two and climbed back into their car. No sense in walking and exposing themselves to more threats. A few blocks down, they found a small market. Eamon spotted a street-side vendor with cherries. He parked and climbed out.
    Brie made her way around the different stands, eyeing the vegetables.
    Eamon made his way to the vendor and bought a pound of cherries. From another, he bought yellow onions. Across the street, he found a butcher shop and managed to procure a pound of chopped lamb.
    “Do we even have utensils?” Brie asked with a laugh.
    “Probably not,” Eamon said after paying. “We need a store to get some things.”
    They started toward a shop he’d seen a block away. Though Brie seemed very relaxed, he couldn’t let down his guard. They might have a low-key mission, but danger was always present. And her life was in his hands.
    Brie darted to a stand. “Pomegranates!” She lifted one and held it to her nose and inhaled deeply.
    Glancing around, Eamon couldn’t help but notice the way the locals were watching. Without trying to be obvious. It made his nerves buzz. He closed the gap between them.
    “Here. Smell.” Brie held it up.
    Eamon craned his neck away. “Can’t stand