Now it was Jake’s eyebrows that arched, then almost comically pulled together in the middle of his forehead as his mouth formed a silent “Oh” of comprehension. Eve thought his discomfiture amusing, even rather sweet, until she heard what he’d muttered under his breath as he turned.
“I beg your pardon?” she demanded, halting with one hand clutching her hospital gown together behind her.
“Nothing I haven’t already seen, and packaged a whole lot prettier,” he repeated, his voice only slightly more audible and with a strange little burr in it that caused an answering vibration deep in her own chest.
So he’d actually noticed? And was that…amusement? Mr. Deadpan? No way…
“Mention that fact again and you’re dead meat, buddy.” And as she pulled the wide, heavy bathroom door closed behind her, she heard a sound that sent a jolt of.wonder through her. I heard that! That was a chuckle-definitely.
Jake had it under firm control, though, by the time Eve emerged from the bathroom. He’d gone to stand by the window and was waiting for her, arms folded on his chest, one ankle crossing the other. He waited until she’d settled herself in bed with the covers chastely arranged across her middle, then said without stirring, “Lady, you pull that in the wrong place, the wrong time, you wind up dead.”
She lifted a hand to touch the bandage around her head, closed her eyes and let a breath out loudly. Impatience tightened his chest and thickened in his throat, but he kept his voice low and even. “I mean it. In undercover ops, you get in the role and you stay there. Every second, every minute, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week-you live it, breathe it, think it, feel it Believe it. Or sooner or later you’re gonna make a mistake. Capish?”
“Yeah.” She sighed and leaned her head back against the pillow. “I’m sorry.” But then her smile flicked on again, like one of those trick birthday candles you can’t blow out. “Undercover ops-how exciting. Like something in a TV script.”
It was only when her eyes slid past him, reflecting the graying darkness beyond the window glass, that he saw the smile and the remark for the valiant subterfuge they were. Saw that the smoke screen of banter and easy flirtation had cleared out and left her face-to-face with the reality of her situation. And the odd thing was, he was sorry; without her smile in it, the room already seemed colder.
Difficult as it was, he clamped down hard on the sympathy he felt for her, clenching his teeth together so that his voice came as a growl. “You’re gonna have to think it, feel it, believe it if you’re gonna make Cisneros believe it.”
Still staring at the window, she mumbled, “When he touches me, I feel like I’m going to throw up.”
Unexpectedly, it was anger, not sympathy, that flared inside him. He made a disbelieving sound and shook his head.
“What?” Her eyes were on him, defiant and wary.
The spark of resentment within him glowed hotter, brighter. It’s none of your business, Redfield, he reminded himself. It’s got nothing to do with you. Keep your distance. But he knew he wasn’t going to. For some reason he couldn’t figure the woman out, and he had to know. Just this one thing. He had to.
With deceptive quietness he said, “Just like that? Yesterday you were going to marry the guy. Before this happened, you were ready to jump his bones, wedding dress and all. Today he makes your stomach turn?”
She stared hard at him for a few moments, then shrugged and looked away. “I guess that’s just the way I am,” she said distantly, leaving him more frustrated than before.
Jeez-women. He thought, Are you all like that? Is it just something you women can do-change your feelings with the snap of your fingers? One day you can pledge to love and cherish a guy forever, and the next day it’s gone-over, finished, kaput?
But of course he wouldn’t ask her that; it wasn’t his place, or his business. And at the same time, something in him wasn’t ready to let it go. After a pause he said casually, “I’m curious. How did you ever hook up with a guy like Sonny, anyway?”
He could see that she wanted to hang on to her pique a while longer. And she tried; leaning back against her pillows and heaving a put-upon sigh, she looked at the ceiling and began with pointed reluctance, “How did I hook up with Sonny…?” But it took about that long for her natural gregariousness to take over, and she broke it off, laughing softly. “It’s funny, really, the way it happened. See, I’d been in Brazil, on a shoot. We were doing a documentary about this tribe, in the rain forest, that had just been discovered in the last fifty years, and now they’re being threatened with extinction because their habitat is being destroyed for lumber and farmland. Can you believe that?” Her eyes sparked with passion and her voice grew husky. “I mean, we spend billions of dollars trying to protect the habitat of some obscure species of bird or rat or tree frog, and here’s a race of human beings who, if they were animals would be on every endangered species list there is.” She stopped, and he could see her working at reining herself in.
“So, anyway, I was back in L.A. doing postproduction on the project-this was last spring-and I got a call from my boss, that’s the head of the production company I work for, saying she wants me to put the Amazon project on the back burner, because they want me to go to Las Vegas, of all places. They’ve got this big new project in the works, a four-parter for one of the cable networks on The New Las Vegas. Huge amounts of money involved. I pretty much hit the ceiling. I mean, the Brazil project meant a lot to me. Plus, I’d just spent six months sweltering in the Amazon jungle, getting slowly eaten to death, and just when we’re getting started with the actual work-the fun stuff, I mean. See-” And she broke off to hitch herself forward, talking with her whole body now, all traces of reluctance and resentment forgotten, enthusiasm shining in her face in spite of her battered features. “Making a documentary’s not like doing a movie or TV show, where you have a script and a shooting schedule to follow. The camera work is just your raw material. I mean, those cinematographers are amazing, especially when it comes to shooting wildlife, but the actual film is made in postproduction-the editing, music, voice-overs. That’s where the real creativity comes in. That’s where…” Once again she throttled back, letting out a breath of exasperation.
“Anyway, I threw a class-A hissy-fit, but to no avail. Basically, I was not given a choice-the Vegas people had specifically asked for me. They’d seen my work. I was who they wanted, or no deal. All very flattering, I suppose. And like I said, lots of money involved. Which is the bottom line, right? I thought about walking, I was so mad-I really did. But then I’d have had to leave my Brazil project behind, and I wasn’t about to do that. So off I went to Vegas, but I was still fuming, and let me tell you, I made sure everybody knew it!
“Anyway, we get to the hotel, right?-this huge casino, ‘Shangri-La’-Sonny’s casino-and we’re all booked into these luxury suites, like royalty. I walk into my room, and I nearly fainted. I mean, it’s filled with orchids and all sorts of tropical plants and birds in cages, and baskets of fruit, and there’s even a recording of rain forest sounds playing on the stereo. And in the middle of it all, I find a note that says, ‘Let me make it up to you.’ And it’s signed, ‘Sonny Cisneros.”’ She stopped with a small shrug and an off-center smile that said, What was I gonna do?