Blaine met her gaze again, gave her a remote smile that sent another bout of chills down her spine, then turned and walked out the door.
She didn't relax, and didn't move. Not until she heard the soft ding of the elevator button, and then the electronic hum of machinery as the elevator moved down.
"Would you care to explain what the hell was going on between you and General Blaine, Agent Ryan?"
"I'm afraid that would involve revealing details of an ongoing case, Minister, so no, I can't discuss it."
He grunted, his expression suggesting he was far from happy. She was tempted to tell him tough, but since she'd probably have to work with this man for several months, she'd better play nice. At least for a little while.
"Well, come into my office and I'll give you my schedule for the next few weeks."
He spun on his heel and stalked back into the office. She followed him in. It was a huge expanse, filled with the latest chrome and glass furniture and plush leather sofas. The minister was a man with expensive tastes, obviously. His office was situated in one corner of the building, so two of the walls were all glass. The view over the city and the bay was truly amazing— a vista of fading sunlight, sparking lights and blue-gray ocean.
Wetherton stalked over to his desk and picked up a folder.
"My schedule. You'll notice I have several important meetings at various restaurants in the evenings. During these events, you will keep an eye on proceedings from a distance."
Which was standard procedure, but she wasn't about to point that out. What it did mean was that she might need to place a bug on Wetherton himself. He obviously had secrets he didn't want her to overhear. She stopped in front of the desk and accepted the folder. "Why was the General here?"
"As you probably heard, he was here to discuss the military funding. The budget is to be discussed in parliament soon."
"Did he ask anything else? Mention anything else?"
Wetherton sat down on his plush chair and frowned. "What he and I discuss is really of no importance to you. You're my bodyguard, nothing more."
Despite his arrogant tone, she gave him her politest smile.
Even if all she wanted to do was smack his dumb ass. "And as your bodyguard, I have the right to question the motives of certain people. General Blaine was with you last night, and yet he shows no obvious sign of injury. I think that's a little odd, don't you?"
His frown deepened. "Not really. All it means is that he wasn't injured in the attack."
She picked up the newspaper lying on his desk and threw it across to him. "So you're telling me that photo, the one that shows blood pouring from a wound on his head as he's carrying a woman away from the car, is fake?"
He picked up the paper and studied it. "Might not be his blood."
"Minister, I was there last night. I was one of the two people who helped save your ass. I know for a fact that the general was injured. So, I ask you again, what was the general doing here and what did you talk about?"
"I told you—just the military budget."
He threw down the paper. Despite the calm assurance in his voice, the hint of concern in his eyes was stronger. Which meant that maybe he recognized something had happened here this afternoon, even if he didn't know what it was.
And did he not know because his memory had been erased?
Blaine had been able to use his powers, despite the deadeners, so that was more than likely.
"What time did he arrive this afternoon?"
"He had a five o'clock appointment."
She glanced at her watch. "So, you discussed the military budget for just over an hour?"
"Yes."
"And is that usual?"
He shrugged. "It depends."
On what? On how much information the general needed to siphon from him? Why could he not see something was very wrong? Or could he see it, and just wasn't about to admit it to her? And if that was the case, why not admit it when she was the person being paid to protect him?