Granny Pat had taught him that you never hit a woman and when you spank your children, you never do it out of anger. He was taught to pay his taxes, honor his God and be the best man he could. But within the last few years, he’d seen a change come over Marney. When he’d left the other day, she’d jumped up his ass when he bitched about some homo at work. He’d left angry, not allowed to express himself in his own home anymore.
“You’re a relic, antiquated and you need to open your eyes to the real world around you,” Marney said.
“How can morals be antiquated? All I want is for my boys to grow up to be hardworkin’ men. To be honest and trustworthy. How is that antiquated?”
“You know that isn’t what I’m talkin’ about. This isn’t the 1950s anymore. Our children will inherit this world. They don’t need to be taught hate.”
Was she trying to tell him something? Was something wrong with his boys? Was he teaching them hate? He didn’t think so. He was teaching them to have a moral compass and to stand accountable. He loved his boys and wanted to prepare them for life. He shook his head and stamped down on the brake. He saw a uniform heading his way and he groaned. He put down the window and leaned out.
“Road’s blocked, y’all will have to turn around.” The policeman told each of the cars as he passed. He didn’t give any explanation and Reggie snarled with rage. The black bastard could at least tell him why and which way to go, but no, he just walked on by like he didn’t give a rat’s ass. This was some straight up Billy Bob bullshit and he’d had enough. He’d get home come hell or high water.
Ž
Just over a week later Xander stood at the stove frying bacon. He was thinking about Zahara’s arrival and her darting and snorted as he moved the bacon around the frying pan. He’d woken up a few hours later, in the late afternoon from Flea’s dart. He had been stiff, since Zahara hadn’t bothered moving him when he’d been knocked out. He snorted again at the memory. He’d not expected that and he guessed she damned well could have taken him back to D.C. if she’d been so inclined. Damn. His mouth twisted at the thought. She’d been at his cabin over a week now and didn’t seem incline to leave. She was asleep in his bed, since it was the only bed in the cabin. He grunted again. He had to admit, she was nice to have around. Xander was a loner, as was Zahara. Their profession didn’t engender friendships with civilians nor anyone else for that matter. Combine that with being secretive and paranoid, it didn’t foment relationships with those at the agency either. It was a solitary existence; assassins were notoriously distrustful of anyone but themselves. People always had agendas and agendas were dangerous. He’d learned that the hard way on two occasions, one had been in Djibouti, Africa, where he and Agent Vector had nearly been killed. He still bore the scar of the near deadly bullet wound. It had taken him months to recover from that.
He looked over to see Zahara stagger out of the bedroom. She was wearing one of his shirts. He tried not to notice her shapely legs. It was strictly platonic and he wasn’t up for a slit throat, so he stayed on his side of the bed at night. He’d found her curled up against his back that morning and had to get up and go for a cold shower. He pulled his eyes away from her legs and looked up into her mocking green eyes and a sleepy grin on her face. He’d been caught.
“You up for a road trip back to D.C.?” he asked, cracking an egg into the sizzling grease.
“No, not really. This has been great. You’ve got a great setup here, Xander, I mean that. Don’t you ever worry about someone breaking in?” she asked, sitting up at the breakfast bar. He slid a steaming cup of coffee her way and she smiled in thanks; the characteristic mocking gleam gone from her eyes. He liked it when the mocking side of her was quiet. She actually had a sweetness to her that he’d never known about. She kept it well hidden beneath the jabs and barbs of her sharp tongue. She was damaged goods, as was he. You had to be some kind of screwed up to do the jobs that they did and walk away sane. Well, sane was maybe a stretch. There had to be varying degrees of sanity, but he’d take whatever he could get.
She had let her guard down and he felt he was getting to know the real Zahara Demir. She was smart and sassy and he had thoroughly enjoyed her company. She wasn’t how he’d imagined her. They could sit for hours and not speak, just enjoying the quiet of the cabin. He’d taken her fishing and she had loved it. He’d been surprised. He didn’t know a lot of women, so didn’t know whether they did things like fishing or not, but Zahara had been thrilled. They had also gone hunting, though they didn’t shoot anything. Deer season wasn’t until months away. They had taken walks in his woods and essentially enjoyed the solitude.
He’d always thought that Zahara was hyper by the way she acted and spoke. But she would curl up with a book for hours and not move. He hadn’t expected to enjoy her company and had worried that his vacation had been ruined by her arrival. It had not
