Soldier of Fortune

She glared at him. “I’d be without work. One of the unemployed. Everything I’d do for the rest of my life would be horribly boring.”

“I’d miss you, too, I guess,” he agreed, laughing. “Don’t worry about me, Gabby. I can take it as it comes.”

“Do I even get to meet this man you call Dutch?”

He shook his head. “You’ll meet enough odd characters in Central America. And Dutch hates women.”

“You aren’t Mr. Playboy yourself,” she muttered.

“Aren’t you glad?” he asked, turning to look at her. “Would you like a man who had a different woman every night?”

The question shocked her. She struggled for an answer, but he’d already opened the door of the rental car and was helping her in.

The rest of the day went by in a haze. She went back to the hotel with him, her eyes full of ruins and Romans and maddening traffic. She had a bouquet of flowers that J.D. had bought from an old woman near the Fountain of Trevi. She couldn’t wait to get into her room and press one of the flowers, to keep forever. She buried her nose in them lovingly.

Across the room, J.D. was speaking fluent Italian with someone on the phone. He hung up and turned back to her.

“I have to go out for a little while,” he said. “Lock the door and let no one in, not even room service, until I get back. Okay?”

She studied him quietly. “You won’t go getting into trouble while I’m not around to rescue you, will you?” she said, teasing him.

He shook his head. “Not a chance. Watch yourself.”

“You, too. Oh, Jacob!”

He turned with his hand on the doorknob. “What?”

“Thank you for the flowers.”

“They suit you.” He studied her face and smiled. “You look like one of them. Ciao, Gabby.”

And he was gone. She stared at the door for a long time before she went to put her flowers in some water.

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