"Did a little checking on you, Agent Garrett. You've got guts showing up in the lion's den, I'll give you that."
She felt her spine stiffen. So. He'd done some digging. Found out she'd been with the Secret Service. The lion's den reference also suggested that he must have discovered her history with Clayborne, which most likely meant that he knew she'd been assigned protection detail for Tiffany and that Clayborne had ultimately called for her dismissal from the Secret Service because of the abduction attempt. The information couldn't have been that hard to find. Eve could still see the headline: Fatalities In Abduction Attempt Foiled By Secret Service Agent.
She'd never forget that day. The would-be abductors had almost gotten to Tiffany. Would have if Eve hadn't killed them. Her first kills. Her only kills. Yeah. She'd gotten the bad guys. Too late, however, to save Clayborne's chauffeur and Jack Small, a good, solid agent. Both had died that bloody day.
"Hello?"
She blinked herself back—away from the hail of gunfire, Tiffany's screams, the bodies and the blood—and realized McClain was watching her with both concern and compassion.
"What?" she snapped, not wanting either from him.
"It must have been tough," he said softly.
Yeah. It had been tough. She wasn't about to admit it to him.
"You OK?" he asked softly.
She drew in a bracing breath. "Right as rain."
"Yeah. I can see that."
When she didn't rise to the bait, he shook his head. "I'm surprised Edwards agreed to see you."
She mustered up a tight smile. "Life's just one big surprise."
She could see the moment when he decided things had gotten too heavy. The look in his eyes shifted from somber to smart-ass in one long blink. "Don't I know it. Came as a huge surprise when Edwards summoned me out of bed at," he checked his watch, a dollar-sized silver disk strapped on his well-defined left wrist with black leather, "eight thirty in the morning."
Eight thirty? He'd only been up for half an hour? No wonder he looked like he just crawled out from under a rock. Or a woman. He was wearing worn flip-flops, baggy, wrinkled tan cargo shorts, and an oversize tropical print shirt that looked like he'd dug it out of a clothes dryer—or a pile of dirty laundry. Her money was on the dirty laundry. As for his hair, it may be in style, but the look he was wearing was pure, real "bedhead," as opposed to the results of a session in front of a mirror with a bottle of hair gel.
And he was still one of the most devastatingly attractive men she'd ever seen. Damn him.
She averted her gaze to Edwards's office door. "If he needs you to run interference, he must consider me quite the threat."
"Or quite the nuisance," McClain suggested.
Yeah. There was that. She rapped on the door. And waited, feeling McClain's dark eyes watching her. Entertained. Amused.
He was still grinning when the door swung open. A tall, svelte brunette wearing a navy blue suit and a professionally distant air greeted them.
The woman's hair was styled in a sleek no-nonsense cut, and if there was any warm blood running through her veins, Eve got the impression there couldn't have been more than an ounce. A chill radiated from the brunette that made Eve shiver.
There was professional distance and then there was barely veiled contempt. Eve's money was on contempt.
The woman offered McClain a tight smile. "Good morning, Mr. McClain." Clear, cool gray eyes met Eve's with an icy stare. "And you must be Ms. Garrett."
"Eve." Eve extended her hand.
"Of course. I'm Jazelle Taylor, Mr. Edwards's executive assistant."
Jazelle's handshake, Eve noticed, was as reserved as her manner. And she'd been right about the blood. A dead fish was warmer.
To her credit, however, whatever opinion Jazelle, the EA, formed in a brief but assessing once-over, she didn't so much as let a hint of emotion flicker in her eyes. Of
She felt her spine stiffen. So. He'd done some digging. Found out she'd been with the Secret Service. The lion's den reference also suggested that he must have discovered her history with Clayborne, which most likely meant that he knew she'd been assigned protection detail for Tiffany and that Clayborne had ultimately called for her dismissal from the Secret Service because of the abduction attempt. The information couldn't have been that hard to find. Eve could still see the headline: Fatalities In Abduction Attempt Foiled By Secret Service Agent.
She'd never forget that day. The would-be abductors had almost gotten to Tiffany. Would have if Eve hadn't killed them. Her first kills. Her only kills. Yeah. She'd gotten the bad guys. Too late, however, to save Clayborne's chauffeur and Jack Small, a good, solid agent. Both had died that bloody day.
"Hello?"
She blinked herself back—away from the hail of gunfire, Tiffany's screams, the bodies and the blood—and realized McClain was watching her with both concern and compassion.
"What?" she snapped, not wanting either from him.
"It must have been tough," he said softly.
Yeah. It had been tough. She wasn't about to admit it to him.
"You OK?" he asked softly.
She drew in a bracing breath. "Right as rain."
"Yeah. I can see that."
When she didn't rise to the bait, he shook his head. "I'm surprised Edwards agreed to see you."
She mustered up a tight smile. "Life's just one big surprise."
She could see the moment when he decided things had gotten too heavy. The look in his eyes shifted from somber to smart-ass in one long blink. "Don't I know it. Came as a huge surprise when Edwards summoned me out of bed at," he checked his watch, a dollar-sized silver disk strapped on his well-defined left wrist with black leather, "eight thirty in the morning."
Eight thirty? He'd only been up for half an hour? No wonder he looked like he just crawled out from under a rock. Or a woman. He was wearing worn flip-flops, baggy, wrinkled tan cargo shorts, and an oversize tropical print shirt that looked like he'd dug it out of a clothes dryer—or a pile of dirty laundry. Her money was on the dirty laundry. As for his hair, it may be in style, but the look he was wearing was pure, real "bedhead," as opposed to the results of a session in front of a mirror with a bottle of hair gel.
And he was still one of the most devastatingly attractive men she'd ever seen. Damn him.
She averted her gaze to Edwards's office door. "If he needs you to run interference, he must consider me quite the threat."
"Or quite the nuisance," McClain suggested.
Yeah. There was that. She rapped on the door. And waited, feeling McClain's dark eyes watching her. Entertained. Amused.
He was still grinning when the door swung open. A tall, svelte brunette wearing a navy blue suit and a professionally distant air greeted them.
The woman's hair was styled in a sleek no-nonsense cut, and if there was any warm blood running through her veins, Eve got the impression there couldn't have been more than an ounce. A chill radiated from the brunette that made Eve shiver.
There was professional distance and then there was barely veiled contempt. Eve's money was on contempt.
The woman offered McClain a tight smile. "Good morning, Mr. McClain." Clear, cool gray eyes met Eve's with an icy stare. "And you must be Ms. Garrett."
"Eve." Eve extended her hand.
"Of course. I'm Jazelle Taylor, Mr. Edwards's executive assistant."
Jazelle's handshake, Eve noticed, was as reserved as her manner. And she'd been right about the blood. A dead fish was warmer.
To her credit, however, whatever opinion Jazelle, the EA, formed in a brief but assessing once-over, she didn't so much as let a hint of emotion flicker in her eyes. Of
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