Thanksgiving Day—1:15 a.m.
Mount Desert Island
Hardy and Natasha worked until midnight, preparing for their mission to Moscow. She was handling the details for when they landed in Russia, while Hardy made the travel arrangements, which included having the equipment they might need, loaded aboard the plane. He fell asleep in his room a short time after their meeting broke up, but his eyes opened again at one in the morning. He spent the next fifteen minutes trying to fall asleep. His mind was going over the mission details, checking off each item. The argument with Special Agent Cruz kept creeping into his thoughts. Each time, he forced the thoughts out; they slipped back in a few moments later, keeping him from getting more sleep. Finally, he gave up and went downstairs for a glass of water.
Lowering the half-full glass of water from his lips, he heard laughter coming from the fireplace room. It sounded almost like young girls having a slumber party. He walked to the fireplace room and stopped when two women came into view.
“Hey, Hardy,” said Natasha, a big smile on her face. Sitting in the same chair as earlier, she glanced at the second straight-back chair, and the woman in it. “We were just talking about you. Come join us.”
Hardy took a couple steps and stopped again, stunned to see Cruz, especially since they had just been arguing about the woman with whom she was now conversing. She was wearing the same black teddy under a black short-length robe. Her feet were pressed into the chair and resting against her butt, a wineglass in her hand. She faced the fireplace. Standing between the women, he cocked his head and raised his eyebrows at Cruz.
Her lips formed a crooked grin. “After you left, I couldn’t sleep and came downstairs. By chance,” she gestured with the wineglass, “I bumped into Natasha around midnight and we’ve been talking ever since.” She took his hand and gently pulled him closer. Lightly rubbing her thumb over the back of his hand, she looked up. “I’m sorry about earlier. I understand the relationship the two of you have now and…I’m okay with it. I feel terrible for what I said to you. I know you were—”
Hardy cupped the back of her head and smiled.
Cruz returned the gesture, his smile telling her he understood and that everything was okay.
He could see the fire’s dancing flames reflected in her eyes. He mouthed the words ‘I love you’ and she did the same. After a few seconds, he eyed the glasses in the women’s hands. “So, what are we drinking?”
Cruz sipped. “I’m finishing off the last of the bottle you two started.”
Natasha held up a glass, the light from the fire showing a white liquid inside. “Since I need to stay sharp…milk. Or, as I called it when I was a little girl trying to act like a grown-up, a white martini.”
Cruz laughed, and Hardy chuckled and turned his head to look at the glass of wine. For the same reasons Natasha had stated, he decided to stay with water. “I heard laughter when I was in the kitchen.”
Taking a drink, Natasha quickly swallowed and set the glass on the table near her, eager to get out her next words. “You could say,” she beamed from ear to ear, “you were the butt of our conversation.”
“Natasha!” said Cruz, her voice rising. She felt her cheeks getting warm.
“I’m sorry, Raychel, but I have to tell him.”
Hardy tipped his head back and steeled himself.
Trying to get a better view of his backside, Natasha tilted her head to the right. “I hear you have the cutest set of butt cheeks.” She twirled her forefinger in the air. “Would you mind,” her voice was cracking from laughter, “turning around for me? I need a better look.”
Hardy pivoted toward Cruz. She had told the story of when he was naked and running away from the scene of a shootout in Washington, D.C. He started to say something, but Natasha cut him off.
“That’s better. Yeah, I can see what you mean, Raychel,” —more laughter— “Now, I’m jealous.”
Hardy rolled his eyes and stared at Cruz, who avoided eye contact, while running the tip of her finger around the wineglass’s rim. The dim lighting hid the redness in his cheeks, but the fireplace’s glow underscored her failed attempt to hide her amusement. He stifled his embarrassment. The women were becoming friends, bonding at his expense. I’m a big boy. I can take it. Knowing that in less than twelve hours, he would be going after a dangerous man—who would not be apprehended easily—made the teasing pale in comparison.
Leaning over, he kissed Cruz on the top of her head before turning toward Natasha and holding up four fingers. “Wheels up at four,” —he was referring to when their plane was scheduled to leave for Moscow— “so we need to be out of here by three-thirty. A car will be waiting out front.”
Her laughter subsided and she nodded. “I’ll be ready.”
Hardy left the women to go pack.