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A Riverbank Somewhere in South America

It all started with Vincent. Of course, most of their trouble did start with Vincent—or rather, with Vincent’s libido. “A girl in every port” was a restricted diet for the American T.H.R.U.S.T. agent.

Not that Nikoloz hadn’t seen this coming. That first T.H.R.U.S.T. mission, when the man had stopped to sweet-talk every woman they’d passed, forcing the two of them to dash across the tarmac to catch their plane—no, it had been obvious then that this would eventually rear its head. And now they’d caught a lucky break on this last mission and ended up at the rendezvous point nearly a full week ahead of schedule.

The Jupati River was a Brazilian tributary of the Amazon, a smallish river that wound through dense, unexplored rainforest. Eventually, Ramos would show up at this little beach with his canoe to transport them back to civilization. With any other partner, a few days’ wait beside a tropical river would be an unexpected vacation. Excluding, of course, the heat, and the daily rains, and the bugs, and the reptiles, and the damned incessant whoops and screeches of the wildlife. Give Nikoloz a London or San Francisco street any day. However, they did have almost a week to relax, a sandy beach and a river for swimming.

If you didn’t mind a few crocodiles or piranha.

At any rate, they were here, no tasks awaited them, no schedule compelled their attention. They’d retrieved the stolen documents. The F.I.S.T. branch was neutralized. Their native guide wouldn’t be along to pick them up until Tuesday. Any other agent would have welcomed the chance for an break. Not Vincent Lowe.

“You don’t suppose there are any friendly villagers along this river, do you, Kolya?”

Only his partner was allowed to use the diminutive of his name. Nikoloz pretended disinterest in the topic. “I believe Ramos said that the closest tribe was a two day trip by canoe.”

Vincent stretched out on the sand, hands behind his head. His blond hair was tousled, his eyes hooded. He stared at the leafy canopy overhead without speaking for a few minutes. “I wonder how long it takes to make a canoe.”

Nikoloz turned the page of the physics journal he’d brought along. “Our kit does contain a machete if you wish to attempt the process.”

Vincent heaved a sigh and rolled over onto his stomach. This position lasted barely longer than the previous one. He shifted onto his side, propped his head onto his hand, and stared at his partner. Those big, blue eyes nearly always got the man what he wanted. Or so he’d been led to believe. Nikoloz ignored him for a good two minutes. Vincent heaved another sigh.

“I did suggest that you bring along a book,” Nikoloz said, turning another page.

“Not all of us are emotionless Russian robots.”

“The term is Soviet.” Nikoloz swept his dark bangs from his eyes and returned to his journal.

“For crying out loud,” Vincent said, flopping onto his back once more. “What’s a red-blooded American boy supposed to do out here with the nearest women two days away?”

“And those probably need to be treated for lice or fleas.”

A disgusted expression crossed Vincent’s face, then he scowled at his partner. “Do you have anything other than ice water in your veins?”

“I would be much more comfortable if my blood vessels were chilled.” Nikoloz swiped at his face with his handkerchief and frowned at the damp cloth. He slid farther beneath the tarpaulin they’d rigged between two trees. Not that the shade helped—instead of cooling one off, it merely created interesting patterns on one’s sweaty skin.

Vincent scowled. “Amazing how you understand the English language perfectly well whenever it’s to your advantage.”

Nikoloz hid a smile behind the journal. It wasamusing to bait Vikentiy. He studied a diagram in the journal with interest. Though he’d been called a nerd by his new colleagues at T.H.R.U.S.T., he enjoyed learning. It was too bad his partner didn’t share his love of science. Then they could talk about something other than Vincent’s libido.

Vincent shoved to his feet. “Well, I suppose I’ll be reduced to Mother Hand and her five daughters. This is all your fault.”

“I fail to see how my efficiency has any connection to your sexual perversions.”

“If we’d stuck to the schedule, I could have charmed that sweet se?oritainto my bed, you Russian bastard.”

“You do realize that she was a F.I.S.T. agent.”

“Of course. But she didn’t know I knew, so it would have been perfect.”

“Until she slipped a knife between your ribs, durak.”

Vincent put his hands on his hips and glared down at Nikoloz. “Aren’t you just the little ray of sunshine? If you had any blood at all in that computer you call a body, you’d be in the same boat as I am.”

“We are on a beach, Vika, not in a boat.”

“One of these days, you’re going to get the beating you deserve.” Vincent stalked away, presumably for that appointment with his hand.

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