Right into hell. She squeezed his arm, belted back the rest of her drink, and threw some money on the table for the drinks. As she waited for him to finish up and follow her to the door, she ran through the condition of her place in her mind. A few too many open wine bottles in the kitchen and some laundry on the floor were the worst of it. And maybe a few too many notes on her current work, but then he knew most of it.

The whole drive, she ran over what bringing him home meant. It was one thing to sleep with a married man in a war zone. It was one thing to sleep with what amounted to an asset to keep him on target. It was something else entirely to hook up with a married man back home. Of course, that was presuming a lot.

She waited for him in her open door, hands jammed in her pockets.