At least it was something they could file away, a tool they had if they really needed it. It could make him look good or bad just when they needed it. Any edge was worth it.

He was as cleaned up as he was going to be, so she tossed the washcloth toward the bathroom and sank down against him with a whimper. He might have bright, raw marks, but her bruises hurt, too. "Then I'll just stay right here, be your Mata Hari in the night." She laughed. "Wish I got the wardrobe for that."