Disclaimer: I don't own Human Target and intend no copyright infringement.
~ for niagaraweasel ~
Ilsa strained her ears, but there was no traffic noise. Too early in the morning. The Tenderloin was still asleep.
Gray light filtered through the new windows she had picked out a couple of months ago. Winston hadn't been too happy with her choice, neither had Guerrero. "You're giving a free line of fire to any sniper positioned on one of the opposite buildings."
Back then she had deemed them paranoid. Now she was thinking about acquiring bulletproof glass.
The coffee machine began bubbling and hissing, the only sound in the otherwise completely silent office. Ilsa sat down on one of the kitchen chairs, hesitated for a moment, then pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees.
San Francisco's climate was usually moderate, but last night had been tropic and of course the warehouse's air condition had chosen exactly this moment to go out of order.
So she wasn't sitting huddled like that because of the cold.
The muscles in her back and shoulder felt slightly sore. Ilsa made a mental note to have the bed in the guestroom replaced.
Carmine came padding in. He probably equaled coffee machine sounds with breakfast. And yes, indeed, his first look was directed at the stove.
No bacon?
Head significantly lowered, he walked over to Ilsa, positioned himself ostentatiously in front of her and wagged his stumpy tail. Ilsa softly called him to come closer and when he did, she slowly started stroking his fur.
There was something soothing about the animal's warmth underneath her fingers, the closeness of another living creature…
Maybe she should just walk upstairs… Marshall would want her to be happy.
Undecidedly, Ilsa got up to get a snack for Carmine. The dog recognized the direction in which she was heading, started making high pitched anticipatory noises and beat her to the cupboard.
There were at least three loaded guns stashed in this kitchen alone, not to mention the two hand grenades under the sink and the knife under the table. She was thinking about buying bulletproof glass.
Her mind told her this was crazy. There was no future with a man whose kitchen alone was better equipped than many a rebel outpost in Syria. Her heart, on the other hand, told her that there was a present, and it was now.
Suddenly she realized that every moment she was hesitating now was a moment with him she was losing forever.
Ilsa turned away from the cupboard and proceeded to walk out the kitchen.
What the…? NO! You clearly indicated that you were going to give me a treat!
He was good-natured and patient, but everyone has to draw a line somewhere. In Carmine's book, promising a snack and then not delivering was an absolute no go.
With surprising speed, he dashed past Ilsa, up the stairs, into Chance's bedroom and onto the bed.
"Ugh, Carmine!" Chance, still half-asleep, tried to shove the dog off his chest, but he was dealing with a very determined Rottweiler who knew how to use his weight to his advantage. If there was one thing Carmine was really good at, it was lying on something.
My snack for your snack.
"Any idea what's gotten into him?" Chance gave up pushing at the dog's round body. They really needed to put him on a diet.
"I think we're dealing with a hostage situation", Ilsa replied, her mouth twitching. Suddenly all the weight she had carried on her shoulders down in the kitchen had lifted.
Chance couldn't help but think how much he loved seeing her smile.
"And? Anyone going to pay the ransom or am I doomed?"
Ilsa deliberately let her eyes wander along his bare chest, took her time to thoroughly study the slight dusting of golden hair, the way his muscles moved under the dog's weight. "Not sure yet…"
She grabbed the edge of his light bed sheet and pulled it away.
It had been a tropic night. Chance hadn't bothered putting on briefs.
More thorough studying. Chance raised his eye brow in mock Guerrero fashion. Ilsa's eyes took on a mischievous twinkle.
"Well yes, I think his demands are reasonable after all…"
Oh, the smile she gave him.