Force’s head jerked. “Well, now. Aren’t we the careful criminal?”
“I try,” Wolfe said dryly. “You quit drinking yet?”
Roscoe’s ears twitched.
“No,” Force said, scratching the pooch under the chin. “You offering?”
“Yeah.” He dripped water on the carpet as he walked into the kitchen and poured whiskey into two tumblers. He returned and handed one to Force, looking the man in the eye. “Slainté.”
“Slainté.” Force tipped back a healthy swallow.
Wolfe dropped into the adjacent chair, which had come with the house. “Have you gotten your hands on Candy Folks’s autopsy report yet?”
“Still working on it.” The kitten dodged from behind the sofa and jumped onto Force’s lap, digging his nails into his jeans. “Kat. Take it easy.” He scratched the kitten between the ears. “I don’t have connections in D.C. any longer, but Raider does, so he should have the report sometime tomorrow.”
Wolfe let the whiskey warm his belly. “What about the safe house?”
“Not yet, but again, working on it.” Strain showed in the lines around Force’s eyes. “We may have to put her with Jethro.”
The hair on the back of Wolfe’s neck stood up. “Absolutely not.” The charming Brit would make a move, and he wouldn’t know how to protect her from a monster like Rock.
Force swirled his drink in the glass. “If you’re not interested, you shouldn’t care.”
“He’s a professor, for Pete’s sake.” Wolfe shook his head. What in the world was Force thinking? This British dude had him confused.
Force tipped back the rest of the booze. “He’s a professornow. Used to be MI6.”
Wolfe drew up short. “No shit?”
Force nodded, stood, and headed into the kitchen to reach into the top cupboard for the bottle. “Yep. I’m sure he doesn’t want that getting out with his fresh start on life and all of that, so keep it between us.”
No problem.
Wolfe caught movement from the corner of his eye, and he partially turned to see Roscoe drop low and shimmy silently across the living room, stopping in the middle. That was odd.
“I’m not your girlfriend, but do you want to talk about Dana?” Force emerged from the kitchen.
A split second before it happened, Wolfe realized the dog’s intent. “Force—” His buddy tripped over the sprawled canine, his arms windmilling as he started to fall. The glass and bottle went flying.
Wolfe jumped up and snagged the bottle before the dog could. He held it up high.
Roscoe yipped and sat on his haunches, his gaze on the bottle. The glass hit the carpet and bounced. Roscoe leaped for it, shoving his nose in and licking wildly before turning his attention to the carpet to suck up any remaining whiskey.
“Damn it, Roscoe.” Force planted a hand on the coffee table and shoved himself to his feet.
Wolfe calmly poured himself another glass. “You really need to get that dog some help.” He handed his glass over. “Oh, and Dana and I need the weekend off. Apparently, we’re going to a wedding in Tennessee.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dawn arrived hot and humid with the hint of another summer storm in the air. Wolfe sprawled on the sofa with the dog snoring on the floor, once in a while emitting whiskey farts. Wolfe had alternated all night between wanting to join Dana in the bedroom anddesperatelywanting to join Dana in the bedroom, but he’d peeked in on her, and she’d been sleeping peacefully. Finally.
He let his hand flop off the sofa to rest on the dog’s head, his eyes closing for a short nap. He had to get a little sleep so he could function during the day, and he’d avoided it during the darker hours of night. Light peeked in through the blinds, so it was safe to let his guard down for a few minutes.
He could taste the dust before he saw the dirt road around their medium tactical vehicle. Behind them was an older truck that held four of his teammates. Rock had gone up ahead in a motorcycle to scout for mines, his specialty. Wolfe looked sideways at Billy, a good ol’ Southern boy from Alabama who still had fresh bruises across his dark forehead and was one of the best intelligence gatherers in the entire service. “I’m not used to riding in the MTV,” Wolfe said, itching to get on a motorcycle, speaking in Dari to keep fluent.
Billy snorted, and his hands relaxed on the wheel before he replied in the same language. “Rock got to the cycle first.”
Whatever. Wolfe stared out the thick window as they passed by a village of brown mud compounds outside Khost city, wondering how many Taliban-affiliated families lived there. The barren hills around them promised more dust and heat as the day wore on.
