Fiona resented the domestic role she was required to take on as part of her cover ID. Donovan didn't care if her specialty in the kitchen was homemade explosives- He still expected any woman of his to make his dinner every night. She glared at Donovan, who sat in a worn recliner in the middle of the old warehouse apartment. He was reviewing the schematics for the upcoming attack, while lazily chugging a beer. She stood before a cauldron-like pot of boiling water, and bit her lower lip in concentration. She didn't like following recipes unless the main ingredients included sulfuric acid or sodium hydroxide. However, she would soon have hungry IRA terrorists to feed, so she angrily dumped some coarsely chopped carrots into the pot. A knock came at the door, and Donovan rose to answer it.

"Michael, welcome."

Fiona looked up to see a tall man with brown hair and a stern expression walk through the door. He said nothing, but nodded to Donovan, and then non-discreetly scanned the apartment.

Michael took a mental note of the open floor plan, while his eyes adjusted to the dimly lit apartment. Dark gray, brick walls and a cement floor gave it a bleak atmosphere. The air smelled of mildew mixed with the onions and carrots stewing in the kitchen. When his gaze arrived on Fiona, it seemed to settle for a moment, and she felt his stare penetrate her. It bothered her that this made her so uneasy.

"Michael, this is Fiona, my gorgeous girlfriend. Fiona, would you get our guest a beer?"

"Absolutely, you self-righteous bastard," she said under her breath.

"Michael, make yourself comfortable. The rest of my crew has yet to arrive. They're finishing up some recon work for me, but should be here soon. If you'll excuse me for a few minutes, I've got a call to make."

Donovan retreated to the bedroom on the far right of the apartment, no doubt to call his fellow unit leaders and inform them that the infamous Michael McBride had actually shown up. Fiona grabbed a bottle of beer from the refrigerator and popped off the cap. Michael walked over to the kitchen area to retrieve it. She handed it to him with a clearly skeptical look on her face. Michael could tell that she was not going to be so trusting. The tension between these two strangers was thick, and neither bothered to force a smile.

"Thank you, Fiona," he said smugly as he put the bottle to his lips.

Michael sat down on a stool, behind the counter where Fiona was chopping vegetables. He examined her shamelessly. She wore jeans and a white tank top. She was petite, very fragile looking, but nothing in the way she carried herself suggested she was delicate. She stood with a fierce posture, and wielded a butcher knife with disturbing vigor. He thought she was stunning. He realized he hadn't heard her speak yet, and strangely yearned to hear her voice.

"What are you making?" he asked in his dark Irish lilt.

Fi was annoyed at his blatant staring, and chose not to answer.

"Must be difficult cooking for such a large crowd of men."

She lifted her eyes and glared at him. He took another swig of his beer.

"Not much of a talker?"

She decided to end her oath of silence, and read the next line in the cookbook out loud. "Brown the meat on both sides, four minutes per side." She stared thoughtfully at the pan of sizzling red meat, and then walked over to the cabinet over the sink. Michael watched as she stood on her toes and reached over her head to open it. Her shirt rose a little bit to give him a glimpse of flesh at her lower back. He felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

She retrieved a bottle of high-proof alcohol from the cabinet. "I think I can speed that process up a bit," she said with a severe expression on her face. She removed the cap and proceeded to douse the meat in a healthy serving of ethyl alcohol. Flames erupted from the pan, a swirl of blue and orange that rose to the ceiling and licked at the wooden beams overhead. Michael quickly and instinctively leaned back to avoid singeing off his eyebrows. Fiona just stood there with a mischievous smile on her face and a gleam in her eye. Michael got the sense that this woman could be dangerous.

*******

Fiona observed the latest addition to the team, as he hungrily ate her mystery concoction. He sat on the old green sofa with a stone-faced expression, and concentrated solely on his brimming bowl of stew. He was quiet and withdrawn from the rest of the men, almost brooding. He didn't seem to mind the lumps in the gravy or the leathery meat, and she found herself oddly turned on by the sumptuous manner in which he ate. He slowly and deliberately lifted each bite to his mouth, and Fiona watched the angles of his jaw as it intently worked each mouthful. There was nothing refined about it, but rather crude. It was as though each bite he took profoundly satisfied his bodies need for sustenance. She studied him as he savored each bite not for the flavor, but for the fulfillment it provided to his appetite. He was handsome, despite several scars on his face. They enhanced his masculinity. He was slender, but the contours of a well-defined physique could be made out from beneath his shirt. Fiona found herself strangely drawn to this brooding man with the healthy appetite and muscular build.

'Don't be foolish' she thought to herself. 'This man is a monster.' She forced herself to look away.