Talons of the Falcon Read Online Free Page B

apologies. He’s too busy to see you tonight. But he has asked me to bring you up dinner, since you missed the officers’ mess this evening.”
    Eden silently took the tray. She was smart enough to recognize she’d just been very effectively snubbed by Maj. Ross Downing.
    “Thank the major for his consideration,” she told Ramirez.
    He remained in the doorway.
    “Yes?”
    “I’m directed to tell you that breakfast is between 0700 and 0800 hours. It’s an informal buffet.”
    Eden acknowledged the information and closed the door. Crossing to the desk, she set the tray down and lifted the white cloth napkin. The plate contained a slice of baked ham, speckled butter bean, and corn bread. Very Southern, she thought, taking a bite of the warm bread. Everything was good. But with her stomach still tied in knots, she could barely force down a few mouthfuls.
    Why couldn’t Downing have spared a few minutes to see her tonight? She had been primed for the confrontation. But he must have known that.
    She wished he’d sent up Mark’s classified case history along with dinner. Deception had never been her strong suit. Sooner or later she was going to slip up and mention something that she wasn’t supposed to know.
    Sighing, she pushed back her chair and looked over at the pile of luggage Ramirez had stacked in the corner. Somehow she just didn’t have the energy to cope with unpacking now. Probably her best strategy was to go to bed early. That way she’d be rested and ready for whatever Downing decided to hit her with in the morning.
    Rummaging in her overnight case, she found her toiletries and carried them into the private bathroom—the one luxury her room afforded. Though the plumbing was antiquated, she’d never appreciated a shower more, she mused, as she shampooed her hair and then let the lukewarm water wash away some of her mental and physical fatigue. But running water couldn’t completely ease her tension.
    After she dried her hair she slipped into one of the sleeveless satin nightgowns from Constance’s instant wardrobe. Her own tastes ran to more practical cotton, and the new acquisition felt sensuous against her skin.
    Reaching out, she turned off the lamp on the bedside table. Dim light filtered through the translucent shade, casting lacy patterns from the grillwork over the window. The darkness didn’t help to soothe her inner restlessness. In the space of a day and a half, her entire universe had been turned upside down. But her training had taught her that the human mind needed time to adjust to a massive shock. It was only now that she was beginning to realize the full implications of what Amherst Gordon’s revelations meant to her personally.
    Her thoughts spun back to the personnel folder he’d shown her in the comfortable solarium at the Aviary. It had contained more than a simple account of Mark’s double career. When she’d come across her own name in the log from five years ago, she’d blanched. She hadn’t realized that outside observers were taking notes on her personal relationship with Mark. But as she read further, she drew an even sharper breath.
    The note Mark had left her after their last incredible night of lovemaking hadn’t explained where he was going, nor had it held out any hope that she’d ever see him again. At first she’d been hurt, then angry.
    Now she knew that he had left her bed to be smuggled into a turbulent Middle Eastern country where he’d spent months negotiating the return of three American military officers being held by an antigovernment terrorist group. At the time, she’d assumed that her lover had simply walked out on their personal relationship because he hadn’t wanted to make a commitment. After reading his dossier she had a completely different perspective. Mark Bradley had chosen duty over personal happiness.
    But why hadn’t he come back to her when it was all over? What had she really meant to him? There was no way of knowing without asking.