CHAPTER EIGHT
“OH, HELL, HE’S NAKED!”
Bobby Taylor thrust his big hands in front of the video monitor. But because there was more than one camera, there was more than one screen to cover. Wes Skelly grabbed Zoe’s chair and spun her so she was facing the other direction.
She just laughed at them. “Oh, come on, you guys. Like I haven’t seen a naked man before? I grew up in a very small house with four brothers. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but the male anatomy has just never been a mystery to me.”
“Yeah, but he’s an admiral,” the bigger SEAL told her. Bobby Taylor could have made a fortune playing professional football. At six feet seven inches, he weighed at least two-sixty, maybe even more. When he sat down, he took up two chairs, but very little of his bulk was fat. He was simply enormous. Yet despite that, he was one of the most graceful men Zoe had ever met. He was part Native American—part Navajo, he’d told her. He had the darkest, most serene brown eyes she’d ever seen. “He’s earned the right to towel off after his shower without an audience.”
“Besides,” Wes added, “you don’t want to be looking at him naked. He’s an old man.”
“He is not—”
“Okay,” Bobby said. “He’s got his shorts on. Although it still seems a little disrespectful for us to be staring at an admiral when he’s in his underwear.”
Zoe spun her chair to face the row of video monitors. Jake stood, displayed from three different angles, combing his hair out of his face. One of the cameras must’ve been positioned directly behind the mirror, because he gazed straight into it, his eyes a vivid blue. His arms were over his head, his biceps and triceps flexing.
“I’m sorry, Skelly,” Zoe said, tapping that screen. “But that is not an old man. I don’t know where you get off calling him that. He’s in better shape than you are.”
His stomach was rock solid and his chest was muscular, despite being badly scarred.
“Wow,” Bobby said, subdued by the sight of all those scars. “He’s seen some action, huh?”
“Two years ago he was the target of an assassination attempt,” Zoe said. God, if those scars were any indication, he’d been nearly mortally wounded. It was a miracle he was still alive. He’d miraculously escaped death many times while in Vietnam, too. Some people said he’d led a charmed life. Without a doubt, luck had always been his constant companion.
Zoe hoped that same good fortune was riding copilot with Jake right now. If Christopher Vincent even suspected Jake was there as a spy …
On the screen, Jake threw his comb on top of the dresser. He took his jeans from the closet. Too bad. He had very nice legs. As Zoe watched from three different angles, he pulled on his jeans and covered them up.
His bedroom was a former executive office for the old factory, the walls still covered with cheap, tacky paneling, ancient orange-shag carpeting on the floor, blessedly faded. The furniture was cream-colored, with gold ornamentation—directly from a low-rent motel liquidation sale. She’d have thought a group declaring themselves to be the chosen race would have a little more taste.
“Besides behind the mirror,” Zoe mused, “the other cameras are, where? Over by this window …” She pointed to the screen. “And … here near the door?”
Wes spread the floor plan of the CRO compound—the former Belle Frosty Cakes factory—out on the counter behind her and she swiveled her chair to face him.
“In Admiral Robinson’s quarters, the cameras are here, here and here.” He highlighted the locations in pink.
“Any in Jake’s bathroom?” she asked, leaning over for a closer look.
“At least one,” he told her. “Here.”
“Show me that one,” she said, turning to the video screens.
Bobby keyed a command into the computer, and the image on the far left screen changed.
The camera in the white-tiled bathroom had a clear shot of the door, the sink and the toilet. But not the tub. The tub, with the shower, was off to the side, out of camera range. Interesting.
On the other two video screens, Jake buttoned up his shirt, pocketed his wallet and keys and left the room.
“Can you follow him?” Zoe asked.
“Yeah, as long as he doesn’t go too fast.” Bobby had fingers the size of hot dogs, yet they flew over the computer keyboard. “But even if we do lose him, it won’t take long to find him again. As soon as he speaks, we can use the computer and trace him by his voice.”
On screen, Jake walked purposefully along the corridor. He had a cocky walk, with a spring in his step more befitting a twenty-five-year-old. It was self-confidence, Zoe realized. Jake Robinson walked the way he did because he trusted himself completely. He liked himself, too.
It was powerfully attractive.
It had been two whole days since she’d seen him last, and Zoe felt a sharp tug of longing. She missed him.
They’d been together every evening at the bar for two and a half weeks before that. During that time Zoe had smuggled to Jake the equipment he’d needed to enable the SEALs to tap into the CRO security cameras. And during that time, they’d established a very hot, very high-visibility romance.
Zoe had made it clear to all the patrons of Mel’s Bar that she was holding out for marriage. Despite the sparks she and Jake made on the dance floor, she publicly refused to bring him home with her. And Jake, he’d made it clear that he wasn’t ready for any kind of commitment.
It was kind of funny, actually. In truth, the man was Mr. Commitment. He would still be married to his first wife right now if she hadn’t died. And Zoe didn’t doubt for one nanosecond that he’d still be happily married.
Conversely she, Zoe, had never even imagined herself married. She’d never seen the need, considering that she’d never truly been in love. She’d always purposely sought out and let herself fall halfway in love with men she knew would never be right for her. Halfway in love was all she’d wanted, though. It was safe. She knew exactly what she’d get, knew she’d never be in too deep, never out of control.
She was doing the exact same thing with Jake, too. Even if she could convince him to make their relationship more physical, more intimate, she knew damn well it would never go beyond that. He still loved his wife, and he wasn’t looking to replace her.
Zoe could love Jake—just a little—and still be safe.
So she did. And she used her feelings to bring a certain authenticity to her role. No, she would not sleep with him, not until they were married. Well, okay, pretending that was a stretch. A long stretch.
And at times, when Jake held her in his arms on the dance floor, or when she kissed him goodbye each night, she thought the sheer irony would drive her completely insane. Here Jake always pretended that he wanted to spend the night with her, and Zoe always pushed him away.
She could think of only one thing she wanted
