Page 14 of A Moment Never Forgotten
Her standard business uniform was far from sexy. The suit jacket was cut to cover the weapon she carried in the small of her back. It wasn’t even nipped at the waist to show off her feminine curves. Her slacks were lined so they hung neatly all day long. They also had a tummy panel in the front, a concession she’d made after celebrating the big forty-five. She stayed in shape working out in the gym at the office, but gravity sucked and she had a little belly as proof.
All of her career, she’d chosen her clothing to look the least feminine possible. In the field, ninety-nine percent of the agents were men. She needed them to take her seriously. When she was undercover, she had an allotment and purchased the appropriate clothing to fit the part. Since she’d been stateside for over ten years and stationed at headquarters, all she ever wore were dark suits.
She never went undercover stateside.
She had a few cocktail dresses that were at least a decade old. She’d be overdressed for the little hole-in-the-wall restaurant where she was meeting Micah. Besides, she would’ve had to change in her office and leave the building in a sexy dress. No way in hell was she doing that.
Oh, well.She mentally shrugged. This was the real her. She was a forty-eight-year-old single woman who worked too many long hours, lived alone, and carried a gun because she knew that evil lurked everywhere in the world.
Her mission was to infiltrate Micah’s small group of friends. Get them to trust her. Then, she’d do whatever was asked of her.
She took one last glance around the front of the old brick building before opening the door. She was immediately hit with the scent of cooking meat and the distinct spices that always took her back to her time in Eastern Africa. Fenugreek, cardamom, cayenne pepper, and the restaurant’s unique concoction of spices called berbere assaulted her and soothed her at the same time.
Berit’s mouth watered.
She glanced around the restaurant that was off to the right. No sign of Micah. A few minutes early, she grabbed a handwoven basket from the stack, deciding to pick up a few things in the grocery store portion to the left. Standing in front of the freezer unit a few minutes later, she saw him approach in the reflection of the glass doors.
Micah walked with a casual confidence that very few men could accomplish. It wasn’t a,my balls are bigger than yoursswagger, but more likedon’t be stupid and try to fuck with me. The special operators in Matthew Saint Clare’s special activities division moved the same way. Mak had always had that kind of presence, too.
She took a few seconds to observe Micah without his knowledge. The silver at his temples, the deep lines at the corners of his eyes gave away his age. His body certainly didn’t. The dark slacks and sweater over a button-down dress shirt didn’t hide the toned body underneath. The unzipped leather jacket he wore over broad shoulders subtly whispered money.
According to his file, that she’d read cover to cover earlier that day, Micah Reid had a respectable nest egg. As a captain, the military paid him well. He’d bought and sold real estate wisely throughout his career, mostly condominiums close to base. Other than on the basics in life such as a place to live and a vehicle to drive, he hadn’t spent much money. He preferred relaxing in his recliner reading a book with a good glass of scotch to overcrowded bars and thumping music.
On occasion, though, he had a few places that he visited with two other captains who were divorced. Micah preferred women at least ten years younger. Sometimes, he even took a woman in her twenties to bed. Never at his home, though. The older he got, the more often he used the closest mid-brand hotel.
Berit had already resigned herself that there was nothing she could do about her age. Since he’d never kept any woman around for more than a few months, she had Dr. Sydney Petersen, the CIA’s lead psychiatrist, give her an analysis of him. Of course, he had mother issues, but not in the way Berit had expected. Micah didn’t trust women to stay. Every woman he’d ever known had left him. Every. Single. One.
Dr. Petersen also suggested that Micah had learned during his teen years to use women sexually and discard them before they broke off any relationship they might build, then leave him. His father had never remarried after the death of Micah’s mother, nor had he kept women around long enough for Micah to observe a stable relationship. The psychologist felt that it went back to the old saying, you learn what you live then you live what you’ve learned.
In his twenties, several women had moved in with Micah then left, reinforcing that women always leave. According to the psychologist’s reports, he never tried to build a relationship with any of the women. He used them for sex, and only sex. He never even tried to get to know them.
Berit had asked Dr. Petersen if what he was truly looking for was a mother. That wasn’t a role she personally wanted to take. She’d raised her son and had no desire to raise a grown man, not that she expected to stay undercover very long. She would be like every other woman in his life and leave him.
Micah Reid was nothing more than a mission to her.
A very handsome mission.
While he was still several feet away, she turned and faced him. “Did you have any difficulty finding this place?”
“None at all.” He glanced at her basket. “Do we have to make our own supper or are you shopping for later in the week?”
“I got here a little early and thought I’d utilize the time by picking up a few things.” She fingered the spices. “Mine are getting old and they lose so much of their flavor quickly once the jar is opened.” Why the hell had she said that? He didn’t care how old her spices were. Spices certainly weren’t spicy conversation. She was supposed to be in seduction mode…flirty.
Micah picked up the crusty bread. “Maybe I’ll grab a loaf of this for Elizabeth.” His gaze swept the aisle, then he glanced around the store. “I wonder…we used to get this really great bread when we were in Ethiopia. It makes the most wonderful French toast. It’s sweet and grainy.”
“Oh, I’ll bet you’re talking about habesha dabo. It’s made from barley. They bake it in Enset leaves in a lidded bowl. It’s over here.” Berit showed him where to get the bread and was pleased that he’d been someplace she’d lived. That was ridiculous, but she wouldn’t deny the emotion. She hadn’t truly connected with a man in years.
“We can take these to the table and pay for everything on the way out,” she suggested.
“Sounds like a plan.” He gestured for her to lead the way.
Berit stepped into the cordoned off restaurant portion and glanced around for an empty table. Although the place was clean, it certainly showed its age. The plastic tablecloths had been wiped down so many times the colors had faded. Stacks of thick white napkins sat next to metal votives that she’d never seen lit in the ten years that she’d been eating at the restaurant. It really wasn’t much to look at compared to most American restaurants in the DC area.
She’d warned him.
“Let’s take the one in the back corner.” Micah was so close his warm breath brushed her ear.
A shiver of awareness passed through her like a sonic boom. No man had invaded her personal space in years. And wasn’t that a damn shame, Berit admitted to herself. She was long overdue for a man-induced orgasm. Glancing over at Micah, she wondered what kind of a lover he’d be. Demanding, for sure. He oozed alpha dominance. Before he caught her staring, she walked across the restaurant to the table he suggested.
