Page 101 of Rescuing You

“Because I saved your life. More than once.”

There was that, and she should let it go. But… “If we were not dating, that would be a good answer. We are, right? Together.”

“I’ve made my feelings clear, Leila.”

“Yes. As have I. So do I not have the right to ask what you really do for a living? And don’t tell me you’re a salesman.”

“Tip your head back and close your eyes.”

“Are you a spy?”

“Do what I ask, please.”

“Fine.” She did. With her eyes closed, she said, “Well?”

The soft edge of a sponge, cold with some product, dabbed her cheeks, her nose.

“Technically, I work for the CIA.”

Her eyes popped open.

He was leaning close, just inches separating their faces. “Eyes closed, sweetheart.”

The CIA. The American intelligence-gathering organization had been whispered about in Baghdad. People attached to the embassy were said to be CIA spies.

Not enemies of the new government but of people like Qasim and Hasan and Waleed, who hated all Americans, claiming they were enemies of Islam.

And the CIA, according to them, was the enemy’s most powerful weapon.

She’d guessed that about Michael, but she hadn’t really believed it. She certainly hadn’t expected him to confirm it. “So…yes? A spy?”

“An agent.”

She opened her eyes again. “What’s the difference?”

He backed up, a makeup sponge in one hand, a bottle of what looked like foundation in the other. It was such a strange sight, this tough, dangerous man holding makeup. He held her eye contact, though she had the feeling he was forcing himself to do it. After a moment, he shrugged.

“It’s a matter of semantics. Eyes.”

Again, she closed them.

Semantics? She searched her memory but didn’t know the meaning of that word. Before she could ask, he explained.

“It just means, you know, tomato, to-mah-to. You say spy. I say agent.”

She didn’t know what tomatoes had to do with it. Usually, talking to Michael wasn’t so confusing. “But they are the same?”

“You could say so.”

So, yes. A spy.

Her boyfriend was a spy.

“What do you mean by saying you technically work for them?”

“I’m attached to a covert group that operates outside normal CIA operations. We’re assigned to special projects. I don’t answer to the higher-ups in the CIA but to…someone else.”

She heard the bottle being set on the wood. Then he was tapping her jaw with a fat brush.