Dean didn’t say anything. This time it was his silence that gave the LC time to think.
“What is this girl to you, Tex?”
“Nothing.”
It was harsh, but true. It couldn’t be any other way.
Besides, the LC was right. Anyone connected to them could be at risk. Kate could take care of herself; she was CIA. But Annie... she was smart and sassy, but she was an idealistic environmental scientist. She wasn’t cut out for this kind of ugly. And Dean had no doubt that before this was all over, it was going to get very ugly.
•••
When Dan found her in the breakfast room and told her he was going to see about finding a windsurf board to “train” with, Annie thought he was taking their cover story a little too far but didn’t try to stop him.
Maybe he needed some time away to clear his thoughts. God knew, she did.
He reminded her about not speaking English and left her some money for lunch in case he wasn’t back.
Too bad she didn’t have her phone. She could use one of those translate apps for Portuguese. At least she would be able to converse with people.
Wait... Was that it? Had he told people she was foreign so she wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone and unwittingly give something away? It sounded like him. Untrusting. Suspicious. Anticipating. Prepared.
Mr. Boy Scout, all right. The perfect soldier.Sailor,she corrected herself, remembering the conversation she’d had at the bar with Julien.
Suddenly she remembered the rest of the conversation, and it clicked.Special Forces.If she were a betting woman, she would wager her entire savings (which weren’t insignificant) that Dan had been Special Forces.
It fit. Though he’d done everything he could to hide it, the signs were all there. Big. Badass. Tough as nails. Secretive. Extreme fighting skills. Invincible, can-do-anything, “I got this” attitude. That unshakable code of duty, honor, “and the American way.”
The only thing he was missing was the swagger, which she was sure was there but temporarily out of commission.
She’d seen enough of them to know. She’d been surrounded by the type through most of her childhood with her dad and his friends. At times their living room had felt more like a locker room or frat house than a family home. But her mom had said they acted that way—always teasing, making jokes, screwing around—to release the pressure.
The tattoo.
Of course! Rangers had tattoos, and other Special Forces units probably did as well. Was that what it was? Some kind of Special Forces insignia?
Her heart started to pound. She had to find out.
But perhaps she could kill two birds with one stone....
After finishing her breakfast, she thanked the innkeeper in broken English, and then opened and closed her hands—pantomiming a book—to ask about a “biblioteca.” She hoped the word for library in Spanish was close to the one in Portuguese. Although the chances of the innkeeper knowing thedifference were pretty slim, as it took her quite a while to figure out what Annie wanted.
“A library!” the woman finally guessed. “We have a wee one near the ferry terminal. Is that what you’re looking for? Ah, you poor wee thing. You must be bored out of your mind. I’m not sure they’ll have many books there for you to read, but they’ll have a computer.”
Bingo.
Annie nodded gratefully, and the woman was off to find her a map. She came back with a tourist booklet and marked the route, although it wasn’t far.
Annie didn’t waste any time. It was a sunny start to what promised to be a warm day as she walked along the seashore to the port.
The library was right where it was supposed to be. The long white portable with a flat green roof was on the far side of a complex that housed the primary school and a preschool or day care.
The innkeeper had written her a note to hand to the librarian, saving Annie from having to act out some more. The woman welcomed Annie and told her to look around all she wanted. If she wanted to borrow anything, she could just leave it with Mrs. Collins—the innkeeper—when she left.
Annie was no longer surprised by the informality and trusting nature of the locals. It was like that on Tiree—unlocked doors, kids playing out on the street, borrowing a library book even without a card.
An older man was using the computer terminal, so Annie wrote her name down on the clipboard and headed for the reference section.
She hit the jackpot. There wasn’t just one—there were two Portuguese dictionaries. One was hardback and definitely more comprehensive, but the other was a beaten-up paperback “for travelers,” containing English to Portuguese in the front half, and Portuguese to English in the back.
