I at least have a cup of coffee first?”
“Yeah,” he said, easing up, at least somewhat. His posture was still stiff and he could only hold her gaze for a few seconds at a time.
She proceeded to put the cream in her coffee, to take a few moments as she sipped to catch the view and try to relax. Ryan looked different in his Ebsen clothes. She’d never imagined him in khakis and a too-tailored-to-be-off-the-rack polo shirt. The suede bucks were the perfect touch to put him on the Street Style map on GQ. He’d always dressed sharply, but this change made him look rugged and elegant at the same time, and she’d better stop thinking about him in or out of clothes and get down to work.
After another big sip of almost hot enough coffee, she gave him a nod.
“Okay,” he said. “Starting with registration, we’re going to be the Ebsens to everyone at the hotel, so from this moment forward, we’re in character. We won’t be able to pull it off 24/7, but the more we practice, the easier it will get. Your part shouldn’t be too tough. I’m playing a ruthless bastard, so you won’t have to act much, at least not to start.”
She flinched at his words until she saw the way his mouth quirked up. Joking, just joking. Everyone in the unit, including Ryan, kidded around, often with really black humor, and as of yesterday afternoon, it had never made her blink. Now, though … Pulling out a smile, she said, “I don’t think you’re a bastard. I think you’re going to be very good at this.”
After a questioning look he cleared his throat as he reached down beside his chair and brought up a thick file folder.
“All right, then,” she said. “You want to go first?”
“Go first?”
“I need you to tell me as much as you can about the parts of your real life you used to fill in your cover background. We let you and Jeannie handle that aspect because she knows things about you that the rest of us on the team don’t.”
“Right.” He paused, obviously thinking over what he wanted to make public and frowning as if he wanted to be anywhere but sitting across from her. “I, uh. Huh. Maybe we should … How about you tell me what you know about me and I’ll confirm, deny, fill in.”
Bad idea. Really, really bad. It would be just like her to say some idiotic thing she’d made up in her head about him. Or ask a question that had nothing to do with the sting. “That seems more complicated than it has to be. And frankly, confusing.”
He looked out at the distant mountains. “I’m not trying to be evasive, but what Jeannie knows, she’s learned over the last three years.”
“I understand. She’s your partner. Kind of like a wife in a way.”
“A wife?” He laughed. “We’re not that close.”
“You know what I mean,” she said, saw the fleeting panic in his face and considered that maybe he didn’t. “Have you ever lived with a woman?”
“No.” He seemed affronted. “No,” he repeated, this time drawing out the word and meeting her eyes. “You?”
She started to shake her head but stopped herself. “Nope, never have lived with a woman. I was trying to get you to think in terms of what you’d expect a wife should know about you.”
He rubbed his eyes, and murmured, “Maybe you should go first.”
Dammit. Angie was going to have to take the lead on this and she’d been counting on following his example. “Okay,” she said finally, reminding herself to be cool and act her age. “We have one shot at these people, so when I’m finished, you can ask me any questions you like. And then we’ll discuss exactly how far we’re willing to go to see this through to the end.”
3
“I KNOW YOU BUILT Jeannie’s tennis playing into the cover story, but I’m just okay at tennis so we’ll have to be careful there. Running is my thing,” Angie said, and Ryan nodded because he already knew that. “In fact, I run every morning and I plan to stick to my schedule while we’re here.” She paused. “Do you want to write some of this down?”
He shrugged. “I will when I need to. But I already knew you were a runner.”
“Really?” she asked with a slight tilt of her head.
“Yeah, you know, that 10k you did in August?”
The head tilt was now accompanied by narrowed eyes. “I don’t recall talking about that at work.”
Ryan stared at her. Damn. There was a risk of getting too close to the line if he spoke to her about her runner’s body. Hell, it was obvious that she was dedicated to the sport. He flashed back to the picture he’d envisioned of her in the shower and he grabbed a pen, then ducked inside the room for a moment to grab a blank piece of paper and cool himself down. By the time he returned to the table, he was fine. “I must’ve heard someone mention it, but yeah, I’ll write it down.”
She seemed to buy that answer and turned to gaze thoughtfully through the sliding-glass door. “I’m not exactly sure what kind of subjects are going to come up during the intimacy exercises, so I’m gonna cover a broad spectrum. Um, I don’t like roses. Of any color. If a man were to—” Her gaze shot back to him. “You’d send me a simple fresh-cut mixed bouquet if you were to do that sort of thing. Nothing fancy and prearranged.”
He took notes. Flowers. Shit, he wouldn’t have thought of that, though he’d seen Jeannie buy carnations on the corner after work. He liked that Angie didn’t care for fancy arrangements, although he couldn’t imagine why it made any difference.
“Good Lord, how much can you write about flowers?”
He looked up. “Which one is your favorite?”
“Tulips, lilies, no, lilies remind me of funerals. Anything but roses and lilies.”
“Got it.”
“I don’t drink much, because of the running. But I don’t mind sour apple martinis or white Russians. I can’t see Mrs. Ebsen throwing back a Miller.”
Ryan smiled. “I don’t think I’d marry anyone who didn’t like beer.”
“I didn’t think you’d marry anyone for any reason.”
“That’s true,” he admitted, returning his eyes to the paper. “Back to Mr. and Mrs. Ebsen. I know you like sports in general so let’s get that squared away.”
She nodded. “I cross train in mixed martial arts, a beach volleyball league and ballet, but I watch basketball. I’m not into football at all, or hockey, sorry. Baseball bores me to tears, so let’s just stick with basketball. You do like basketball, right?”
“Not as much as hockey, but yeah, I’m a Lakers man.” He’d bet his official Gretzky jersey that she already knew that. He’d won the office pool several times. Just like she’d known he was into hockey. He remembered a disagreement they’d had about Larry Bird that had taken place before the Halloween incident.
“Good,” she said. “We
