Free Sake Bomb by Sable Jordan Page A

make your mind up yet. I can still—”
    “Do this. I heard. We have a little time to
think it over, okay?” he whispered, stroking his palm up and down
her back. “Don’t have to do it tonight.”
    “You are going soft,” Naima mumbled
into his shirt.
    Maybe he was. It was in Xander’s nature to
keep his people safe; had already lost someone who meant something
to him. He wasn’t up for a repeat performance again in this
lifetime, especially not with a woman carrying a child. “I
know.”
    She sniffed, inhaled a shaky breath to get
the trembles under control. “And you’re horrible at this, aren’t
you?”
    “Almost as dreadful as you are.”
    Naima coughed a laugh and he smiled. He
didn’t let go until she nodded, just a slight motion, and pulled
back a bit, staring straight ahead. “I know…” Her eyes darted away.
He tipped her chin up with his knuckle and she started again. “Go
on and go. Just…hormones… I’ll be fine.”
    In spite of her delicate looks, Naima was
always rock solid. Now she looked to be on the verge of falling
apart. Her gaze came back soft and watery, unfocused, and when she
couldn’t look at him any longer, her eyes closed, tears squeezing
out from the corners.
    Xander touched a soft kiss to the corner of
her mouth. Then he took her hand and lead her to the bedroom.

 
    I f Kizzie’s eyelids
weighed a grain of sand combined, she’d still have a hard time
lifting them. Dozing on the plane didn’t happen, too keyed up with
the hunt for Harvey. That was the only reason her belly went all
topsy-turvy while the 757 ate up airspace between Brazil and
France. Anyone who thought otherwise could kiss her ass.
    Relief had flooded her when she and Phil
finally made it to the quaint, nondescript motel. He’d seen her to
her room, pointed out his, and then left her to her own
devices.
    The usual checks went into play: Check for
exits, check for bugs—both the technical and the legged
varieties—stash a few weapons and the like. Then she called to
pester Fletcher about the kid on Sanzio Galletti’s phone. No
progress yet.
    Those few tasks weren’t enough to dissipate
the energy roiling through her, so she’d taken a walk. It helped a
good deal toward wearing her out, and now the hot shower was slowly
lulling her to sleep; erasing the image of Xander and his wife in
the final scene of a cheddar-stuffed romantic comedy.
    A twist of the dial and the water came out
close to boiling. Showering was usually a short affair—the less
time she spent sudsing, the less likely anyone had the chance to
get the drop on her. But sleep had her firmly in its crosshairs.
Kizzie was simply too relaxed to move.
    Until the shower curtain shifted.
    A subtle sway, like the pressure in the room
changed. Enough of a swing to wake her up faster than if the water
had gone ice cold. Senses on high alert, she honed in on the
distance between the towels on the shelf and her location under the
spray.
    Her heart beat faster, rushing blood to her
brain and ordering her thoughts. Someone was in the room. Who,
what, why—didn’t matter. One objective: decommission the
intruder.
    Quickly.
    Kizzie peeked out the gap between the
curtain edge and the shower wall.
    Nothing.
    She eased back the drape enough to slip
through, careful not to let the metal rings scrape the bar, and
went for the towel.
    Gone.
    All of the towels were gone.
    Water pooled on the laminate floor and she
recalled the layout of the room. Bed to her left; chair and table
beneath the anti-suicide windows at 12 o’clock; dresser and TV at 3
on the same wall with the door. The closet bothered her. Once in
the room, the closet would be at her 6. The mirrored door slid on a
track. She’d left it open after her second sweep when she came back
from the walk. Most logical choice for an attacker’s location.
    Another glance at the empty towel rack.
    She’d have to improvise.
    Grabbing her weapons, Kizzie tiptoed through
the half-gaping bathroom door and