Spycraft 101: Fuentes & Fiore

Author's Note - This is part of the 750 Word Project 2023.

*

Senses are murky, sluggish as I wake. Shift a nude and battered frame upon a semi-firm mattress. An orange glow flickers across the pillow. Detect crackles of a nearby fire. Blink, strain to clear the blur.

Not alone. Stefano Fiore, one of Europe's most feared assassins, sits naked on the floor atop a thin rug, digging a bullet out of his left bicep. Thin blood trails down his arm.

Sit up while he's distracted to get my bearings. Slow. Careful.

Log walls indicate a cabin. One room, about twelve feet square. Laid-out clothes cover a small table and chairs to the right. A curtain covers the lone window on the left side near the door, the only exit. Both tactical vests and numerous weapons are piled in the far corner.

"We need to talk."

Dammit. He noticed, and I'm within his unusually-long reach.

Sneak a cautious peek at the muscled physique since he's left nothing to the imagination. Is it cheating to attack the most sensitive and convenient target on display?

"You're not known for your conversation skills."

He shows no reaction to the verbal jab.

"I need you to take me in."

My brow furrows. "Why?"

"Found my escort dead at the rendezvous site."

A startling realization hits. "You're defecting?"

He nods.

"Any idea who killed the agent?"

"My father... or brother."

"Because you're betraying them?"

Again he nods, but stays focused on the bleeding arm. Despite his stoic expression, I sense profound sadness in him.

Leave the bed to inspect the clothes. Fuck. They're soaked. Might take hours to dry.

Discover a pot of rabbit and herb soup hanging to cool on a bracket secured to the fireplace. Smells really good, a bit like Mama's kitchen on Sunday evenings.

Heat from the hearth feels heavenly on chilled skin. A memory surfaces. Gunshots, shouting, and a ball of fire. A collision with a heavy form. Then buried in wet snow beneath muscle and Kevlar.

"It was you at Barevkoff's stronghold," I accuse. "The explosion. You ruined my op! Nine months of work. Five fucking minutes away from—"

Whoa! Don't mention the prototype.

Mouth snaps shut.

Unimpressed with my anger, Fiore draws up the rug's edge, revealing the gizmo that governments the world over are scrambling to acquire. He scoops it up. Pushes to his feet. Damn, he's tall. Handsome too, in a could-kill-your-entire-family sorta way.

We're so close in tight quarters.

God, stop staring at the goods! He's got you cornered. Focus. How hard did you hit your head?

He deposits the coveted doodad in my hand then steps back expressionless, almost robotic. Still bleeding though.

Wave him into a chair, stow the device with my gear and retrieve the med kit. Pluck out the bullet, clean the wound, then start suturing. He seems to handle pain well.

"I'm Angela Fuentes."

Fiore nods like he knew that already.

"At Barevkoff's were you looking for me or the prototype?"

"Needed both to catch my new ride," he admits.

"Ah. So, when's the hookup?"

"You mean extraction?"

"Yeah." Show Latina sass. "You think 'cause we're naked, I'm talking about sex?"

He thinks before answering, "Sunrise, and I don't get intimate with rescuees."

Scoff. "Didn't need rescuing until you tried to blow me up."

His dark eyes appreciate my shapely, natural assets. "Then you do want to have sex."

Glare in return. Stomach twists. System floods with incompatible thoughts and emotions. Feel exposed, outsmarted. Hate that feeling. Finish stitching in silence, then turn away.

Clear the opposite chair before taking the seat. Easier to regain my composure with the table between us.

Warn him, "My guys might shoot you on sight, escort or not."

"Hope not." He studies my expression. "You're mad, but you did mention sex first."

"Well, I don't fuck every guy who manages to get my clothes off."

"Does that happen a lot?"

Shrug. "Shit happens in the field."

"Right," he concedes. "I noticed you have some ugly scars."

Not sure how offended I am. Snap back, "Cuter than some of yours!"

We break into unexpected laughter. The animosity dissolves.

Choose to slurp soup and talk all night. Besides being a resourceful cook, he's damn smart. Genuine, yet guarded. Haunted. Hopeful. Kinda charming too. Mama would approve.

Keep Stefano close for the long trip to CIA headquarters. Take him to my boss for introductions then shake his hand when it's time to separate. I like him and think he deserves a shot at redemption — and me — if he's interested.