fixed your door frame and cleaned the blood out of your carpet,” Flynn replied. “I’m sorry about those red flowers. They couldn’t be saved.”
It took her a moment to realize he was talking about the geraniums that had been on the bookshelf. The pot had fallen on the tall man’s head. The petals had mingled with the blood….
Blood on her carpet. Guns in her apartment. Soldiers and secret tents and national security. Her life was spinning out of control.
Oh, God! The sooner this ended, the better.
The sound of crumpling paper made her glance down. She smoothed out the nondisclosure forms once more. She scanned them as fast as she could, then reached for the pen the major had placed on the table. Without any more delay, she scrawled her signature in triplicate.
Rumor had it that Redinger didn’t have a sense of humor, but Flynn wasn’t so sure. Why else had the major assigned Flynn to take Abbie home? Sarah had already established a rapport with her, so she would have been a better choice. Was this the major’s subtle way of reminding Flynn of his failure to keep the woman contained in the first place?
The major was a fair man. He never chewed anyone out when they made a mistake. Instead, he found a way to work with them to ensure the mistake wouldn’t be repeated. But had it really been necessary to use this particular mode of transportation?
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