CHAPTER 7 – WAITING GAME
Rick sauntered out of the bedroom wearing jeans and a wife beater. When he saw Sierra's amusement at his choice of outfit, he flexed his arms, and she produced more of that delicious laughter. He went to sit beside her on the couch.
"So... what do you do? When you're in a safe house, I mean?"
Sierra thought about her past experiences.
"Well. Usually I end up babysitting total arseholes, and they take guarding. Or scared idiots who try to escape. I guard, and try to make sure everything goes smoothly. But normally I have a partner, so someone to talk to, or to have sleep shifts with."
Rick nodded. "You don't think I'm an asshole do you? I mean, the tabloids are full of shit, you know that, right?"
Sierra grinned. He was cute when he was worried.
"I don't think you're an arsehole. And you're better conversation than most, I'll give you that."
Rick flashed her a grin. "You aren't bad yourself. I mean, the girlfriend murdering's a bit... but the ninja assassin quality kind of counters that. And Sophia was a bitch."
"You're very cold."
"I'm practical. And I kill people for a living too."
"Psychopath."
"At least I'm the well paid kind. How much do you get paid?"
"Lots. Not that I use it – it goes to my father, and on somewhere to stay when they make me take a vacation. But you usually find that the people in this job are the kind of people who don't spend too much time living an ordinary life, or a life where accumulating a lot of money is necessary."
"Do you see your father often?"
"Not for years. Anyway, none of your business."
"Ugh. I don't know anything about you. I didn't even know what your real hair was like until half an hour ago."
Sierra laughed. "It's better that way. Anyway, I'm not very interesting."
"I beg to differ."
"How about a game?"
Sierra groaned. "No."
"Come on. I'll make it interesting."
"I can see you're itching to tell me about it. Go ahead – it doesn't mean I'll play."
Rick's eyes twinkled. "I think you will."
Sierra shrugged.
"It's like truth or dare, but instead of dares, there are two more choices. Take off an item of clothing, or have a shot of whiskey."
"Whiskey's too nice."
"Don't have too many shots then."
Sierra laughed. "So we ask a question?"
"Yeah. And then you either answer, truthfully, or do one of the other two."
Sierra sighed. She could hold her drink. And she was wearing a lot of layers.
"Fine. But I get to drop out at any time."
"Fine. I knew you'd say yes."
"Don't gloat. I'm bored, that's the only reason I'm saying yes."
Rick laughed. "If you say so. You can go first."
"Thanks. I already know so much about you though... okay. Ah... why do you write crime novels?"
To her surprise, Rick poured a shot of whiskey and threw it back. She'd thought he'd want to talk about himself.
"My turn. What's your real name?"
Sierra took a shot too. He wasn't surprised. She looked at him as she swallowed, as if to say, you know you'll never know.
"Right. Why aren't you married?"
"Married?"
"Yeah. I mean, you're good looking. You're nice enough. You're very rich. Why not settle down?"
Rick tilted his head to one side. "I'd make a terrible husband. I'm unreliable; I drift around, I'm very erratic. And I'd be an even worse father."
"I don't think you'd be that bad."
"Thanks. But it's my decision. My turn." He grinned. "What makes you say I'm good looking?"
Sierra laughed. "Your body. Your face. Duh."
He winked. "Just wanted you to say it again."
"You're useless at your own game. Okay... what do you think my name is?"
Rick grinned. "Now that is a good question. If I get it right will you tell me?"
"No."
"Ah, but I think I'll see it in your eyes. Let's see... something cool. Unusual. Know what, I just want to say it. Nikita. Nikki for short."
Sierra laughed. "As in the original femme fatale? Love it."
"Okay, my turn, Nikki."
"My name's not Nikki."
"Fine, Sierra, Miss I'm-so-bad-I-just-have-a-code-name. Why did you become a spy?"
Sierra took another shot. She was cold, she wanted to keep the hoodie on.
"Where did you learn how to shoot?"
Rick grinned. "You taught me."
"Liar. New rule – lying means you have to do both the other things."
"Ooh, really getting into this." He took off the wife beater and drank the whiskey she poured him.
"Ah, me again. What shall we find out..? I know. How many people have you killed?"
Sierra winked. "What d'you do if you don't know?"
"I get another question. But first, how can you not know?"
"Does that count as the other question?"
"Uh, I guess it can. As long as you give an interesting answer."
Sierra smiled ruefully. "Well, I know how many people I've killed that I've been ordered to. But things like, I killed those guys in the car yesterday, but I don't know how many people were in there, or if all of them died."
Rick nodded. "I get it. Does it bother you?"
"It's my turn to ask. Have you ever killed anyone?"
"Only in my books."
Sierra nodded. She wondered how he would react. Taking another life... you were never the same again. She hoped he would never have to find out how it changed you.
"Right, my turn. And since you couldn't tell me your other number, what's your number number?"
"You what?"
"How many guys – or girls for that matter – have you slept with?"
Sierra grinned, and took off her hoodie. Rick sighed. She winked.
"One of them was a girl though..." she said.
Rick gasped.
"How is it that you find that hot?"
"Is that your question?"
"Know what? Sure. I've always wanted to know."
"Right. Well. You understand that I find naked women hot?"
"Yeah..."
"Two naked women's just double the fun."
"You're an idiot. And if that's true, guys are weird."
"My question. What is your biggest turn on?"
"Why do guys always ask sex stuff?"
"You just asked a sex thing too. Are you going to answer?"
Sierra poured herself a shot by way of response.
"Oh, mean. Why do you care if I know?"
Because it's you... She gave herself a little shake. That wasn't even true.
"Maybe I just like whiskey. My turn. Have you ever been in love?"
Rick smiled at her. "Nope. And I'll just throw that one right back – have you?"
"Nope."
"Pair of unlucky sods, aren't we?"
Sierra laughed again. "Maybe we'll get there one day. And your next question is... If you were a comic book character, who would you be?"
"Ooh, comic books, I like it. Batman."
"That's predictable."
"Then you shouldn't have asked. What happened to your mother?"
Sierra snatched up the whiskey before he'd even finished speaking. She was starting to feel it go to her head.
"We should eat something – not had food to absorb the alcohol."
"Later. Your turn."
"Right. Do you mind not knowing who your father is?"
Rick took off his jeans. "You've seen me in just my boxers before. This time I have socks too."
Sierra had to laugh, which she thought had been his intention. She'd been shaken after the mention of her mother, and he seemed to feel a little bad.
"Ooh, I have a good one. What do you really think of my books?"
Sierra grinned. That was a good one. She took off her shirt, and Rick admired her lacy bra.
"That was pointless. If you really hated them you'd have just told me. So I know you like them now."
Sierra laughed. "But you'll never hear me say it."
"Oh, my poor ego."
"My question. What will you do when you get back?"
Rick sighed. "You're gonna have to ask something else. I don't know."
Sierra narrowed her eyes. She knew her words were flowing more easily; whiskey had a way of loosening tongues.
"Why d'you want to know about me?"
"Writer's curiosity. Plus, you're hot. And interesting. And a mystery. Why do you hide yourself so much?"
Sierra slid out of her leggings, scooting up her belt and tightening it so it would stay on. It was elastic, standard issue – such a good idea. She got up, feeling Rick's eyes caress her body, and realising she liked it.
"On that note," she said, blushing a little, "I'm going to get something to eat. Watch the door. Can you still shoot when you're drunk?"
"I'm not drunk," he argued, but as he got up he stumbled a little. He put the cap on the whiskey. "What happens if we both fall asleep?"
"There are a lot of independent alarm systems. They'd wake us."
"So why can't we both sleep?"
"It's safer if you have a person up too."
"Are you afraid?"
Sierra looked at him. "I don't like not knowing my enemy. But I think we'll be okay. My bosses should come through; they'll do some digging, and send some people."
"You don't sound confident."
"I prefer being more prepared. Are you afraid?"
"Like I told you before, I don't have much to lose. But I don't want to die. So yes, a bit. But we're safe here."
"We should be."
"How would they find us?"
"Don't know. They shouldn't. We should be safe forever; they should never find us here. But it very rarely works that way."
"Why? Seems like a good system."
"Moles, pay-offs, mistakes, badly encrypted messages, telling too many people too much..."
"Being a spy must suck."
"Sometimes," she said, pouring milk on some cereal. "Sometimes it's fun."
"I don't think you like being yourself."
"Astute. But you don't either. You don't have to be the bad boy bachelor for the tabloids, but you keep up the image."
"Sells books."
"Maybe at first. But you're famous enough now that it wouldn't be necessary."
"Maybe we're just as weird as each other."
"Maybe."
Rick picked up a spoon and helped himself to some of her cereal. He expected her to swat him away but she didn't mind. Standing with him, drunk, in their underwear, in a safe house in the middle of nowhere, sharing a bowl of cereal... it was one of those moments she didn't want to break. Despite all her secrets, she almost felt as though he knew her. She almost trusted him.
