Page 7 of Countdown to Murder
If I ever blushed, I would have. Why was this man making me react in such odd ways? “I wasn’t allowed to use expletives unless it was part of language training. In some cases, it’s expected, so I could use them in those circumstances, but I was never to use them for real. No expressions of frustration or anger were allowed outside of acting a part. Ever. Now, it feels good to use them sometimes. This was one of those times.”
“We don’t cuss around clients, but most of us are pretty fluent with them when we’re off the clock.”
He quickly shot four more with practiced ease, and we moved to an AR, then a variety of handguns. The drone killer was the last thing we worked with, but I only needed to know how to turn it on and off, and how to charge the battery. Otherwise, it worked like a regular semi-automatic handgun, with the exception of holding the trigger for up to four seconds while you swept the sky all around the drone. It had four shots at three seconds, but only three shots at four seconds. He recommended the extra second with one less shot.
“Any drone will likely just be taking pictures, right?”
“Some have audio as well. Mostly, we don’t want them to have details of where furniture is, where we’re stationed, where she spends her time inside the house.”
Right. I’d been thinking paparazzi, but Panda was thinking OPSEC.
He looked at the table full of weapons we’d used and then looked to me. “I’d rather clean these at home than set up in a conference room here. You have an issue going home with me?”
“You trust me to know where you live?”
“Is there a reason I shouldn’t?”
“No.”
“Okay then. I want to drink beer while I clean them, and Aaron frowns on that while on company property.”
“I don’t like beer, but I’ve discovered I enjoy wine.”
“You’re on your own with that. I have beer, water, milk, and coffee.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I’m not a fan of coffee, either.”
“Fuck. Seriously?”
“Is that a problem?”
“We sometimes go thirty hours without sleep. Can you manage that without coffee?”
“Yes.” I’ve been up and operational for up to fifty hours, but I wasn’t prepared to talk to him about some of my most intense training. It’d been hell, and I preferred to leave it in the past.
He lifted his brows and started packing the weapons away. I sorted through them, moved the handguns near him, and packed the rifles and shotgun in the long hardshell case. His backpack had individual compartmentsfor a dozen handguns, each with its own ammo stored with it.
“I have a similar pack, but it only has compartments for six handguns, and a larger storage area for accessories.”
“I can do steaks and baked potatoes for dinner. I usually stir fry onions and mushrooms to put on the steaks. That work for you?”
“I don’t expect you to feed me.”
“I’m a lion. I eat a lot. I’ll feed you when I eat. If I think you need food when I’m not eating, I’ll probably still feed you.”
I just stared at him. I’d managed to get whatever was going on with my genitals to fade into the background, but that heat-and-throbbing thing was starting again. Was it because he wanted to feed me, or because of his voice when he got bossy? I wasn’t sure. I needed more data.
“It’s food, Mira. Grab the long gun case and follow me. Did you drive?”
“Yes.”
“You can follow me home, then. If you want me to stop and pick up some wine, I can.”
“No. Water will be fine.”
Chapter Three
Panda
