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rankled her. That and the apparent fact that attempts on someone’s life were an everyday occurrence for him.
    He pointed to her neck again. “We either have to cover that up or explain it.” He tilted his head and watched her with obvious caution in his eyes. “I vote for explaining. It’s easier. But first I’m taking you to the emergency room to get checked out. We’ll think of a story on the way.”
    No! She shook her head. She wasn’t spending her one vacation this year in the emergency room. No way! She was fine. Unfortunately, she had no voice to tell him with.
    “Yes, Tref. No arguing.”
    As if she could.
    “Laryngeal fracture, hypoxia, edema to the neck, all potential complications from strangling. We can’t take a chance.”
    Nice to know he’s so well informed on strangling, she thought.
    He grabbed her hand and pulled her off his bed. “Now to get you out of here without anyone noticing. How do you feel about jumping off a balcony?”

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    One balcony drop, two hours, and three X-rays later, they arrived back at the plantation. The emergency room doctor had given Treflee her diagnosis—she’d live—and prescribed rest.
    Rest? No problem. Treflee was so exhausted Ty had to carry her from the car to the house like a groom on his honeymoon. Up the plantation steps, through the door, and to her room, where he gently deposited her on her bed and refused to leave. In true spylike fashion, he’d spirited them about as if they’d disappeared with the wave of a wand or maybe never even existed in the first place. Not a single soul had seen them either leave or enter. The man was good at his job. Too good .
    Seeing the way he operated, Treflee realized he could have sneaked a dozen women in under her nose in her own home and she’d never have known. Not that she was the jealous type, but thoughts like these did cross her mind. James Bond had not given the spying profession a reputation for loving fidelity. And since Bond was a male fantasy, why shouldn’t real spies, like her sexy husband, seize on the stereotype and grab that perk of the job?
    Ty fluffed her pillow for her and plunked down next to her.
    “Tref, no protests,” he said when she signaled for him to get out.
    She should have sensed something was up and staked out her territory before it was too late. He’d set her down squarely on the left side of the bed. Her side . When she had slept with him.
    For the last six months, she’d taken up residence in the middle. And why not? There was no need to be stingy with the space of their queen-sized bed back home. Or this one here. It was her vacation. Her cousin was paying for this. She wanted all the space Carrie had bought her.
    She glared at Ty, sorry she didn’t know sign language. She didn’t suppose mock sign language would do. Unfortunately, the only clear finger gesture she knew she was afraid he’d take as an invitation to avail himself of his marital rights.
    As she opened her mouth to squawk, he shook his head. “Save your voice. You know I can’t leave you alone until I know for sure what’s going on. Maybe not even then. You got a glimpse of the guy. He may not be happy with that.” He pulled off his shirt, revealing his very tanned, very buff abs and arms.
    She told herself she wasn’t attracted to very tanned men. No, not at all. They were skin cancer risks. Widow-makers.
    He pulled off his shoes and slid off his slacks, revealing the pair of skintight boxers she’d bought him for their last anniversary. They’d always enjoyed a good romp on their anniversary, a celebration of the wedding night.
    She did not look at the package those boxers wrapped. She refused to look, refused to check whether any interest had arisen in him.
    He smiled and slid between the sheets.
    She was still dressed in her cami and shorts. She’d been forced to wear them to the emergency room where Ty had made up some ridiculous story about her running into a clothesline. Out for a