odd ends. Beard uglier and just as unkempt. His eye is four distinct colors, black and blue being the two primary ones.
He must be well-trained to defend himself. Why did he let the captain do that to him?
“I suppose you’re undercover,” I murmur.
His head swings my way. “Could say that.”
“Is that why you didn’t defend yourself? You want the captain to believe you’re weak?”
He gives me a hard look. “Best be careful with the accusations.”
Is he threatening me or offering a stern warning? Hard to say, he’s impossible to read. I pretend not to feel the chill in the air between us.
“It was a compliment. I’ve had the misfortune of touching you, remember? So, couldn’t you have handed the captain his ass if you’d chosen to do so?”
A familiar sparkle lights up his eyes. “His arse forward and back, all the way back to Acapulco.” He gives me his full attention. “Like I said, yer quick on the uptake. But are you loyal?”
“To you?” I gasp. “Mr. I’ll-have-the-daily—”
“To our country. The good ol’ US of A?”
So, he is American. I give myself a mental shake of the head for doubting it. I’ve visited Boston. Accents like his are a dime a dozen, though his word choice is often more descriptive—
“I need confirmation I can count on you.” Another hard look and icy vibes. “That you won’t expose me.”
I swallow hard, reacting to the subtle threat. He’s big and strong. Muscles everywhere. My eyes rake over him. In a black T-shirt, his chest and arms are well-defined. His biceps are beautifully formed, and he’s not even flexing. He looks less bulky, more lean mass. And moments ago, I asked him if he could defend himself.
“You finished?”
My eyes snap back to his face. Except there’s no humor reflected there, no quick comment about me eye-fucking him. Pure ice.
I shrug. “I like you better without the poncho.”
He snorts.
I relax. “And despite our lackluster history, your secrets are safe with me.”
“I’ll hold you to it.”
“My word is gold.” I lean in. “And the captain did share something interesting you should know.”
“Did he now?” is his casual reply. But he’s listening, intently.
“Just remember I tipped you off. If you can return the favor—”
“Anything you want.”
I frown, thinking this is too easy. And he did lie to me before. But the CIA should be alerted about the mines in Africa before enriched uranium replaces drugs in illegal trafficking. “I’m going to hold you to it,” I murmur.
“Of course you are. Natural born ballbuster, that’s what I say. Well, go on. What’s the story now?”
I take a deep breath. “The captain didn’t confirm this directly. But the uranium onboard likely came from a mine in Africa. The captain said the mine is a very lucrative business and there are plans of expanding production.”
His eyes narrow. Despite his casual manner, he’s not the sort you piss off. Not without consequences. “Africa is a massive continent. Where specifically are we talking about?”
I shake my head. “He didn’t say.”
“Not much help, are you?”
With a quick smile, I stand and retrieve the notes I’d made. I give them to him while I search for a paper and pen so he can copy the information. His eyes light up as he records the Ogdenhayer name. I finally settled back in my seat, slightly unnerved by how quiet he is.
“Alarming, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Your agency will send a team to locate the mine? Determine how expansive their business is then shut it down?” I stop and bite my lip. He seems so calm about this. Underreacting, like he’s intentionally keeping himself from showing his surprise.
He sits there and doesn’t answer.
I don’t know why I need reassurance. Acting on instinct alone, I reach over and place my hand on top of his. “Your boss will pursue this, right?” He stiffens beneath me.
“He should be pleased you were tipped off. Or do you make a habit of pissing him off, like you’ve done with the captain?” The screeching woman at the tortilla stand . . . the way he did his worst then promptly escorted me to the door . . . I’d say him pissing people off is a common occurrence.
“For a smart individual, you ask too many questions.”
“I’m a journalist, it’s what I do.”
He makes a noise in his throat. “Do me a favor, will you? Don’t go running yer mouth about the mine. Not until I give you the go-ahead. My boss likes to do things on his own . . . terms.”
“I promise