Gavin lay quiet, observing her skill appreciatively. The girl was efficient. She went rapidly through his closet, his chest, his bags.
She probed the lone chair cushion with a long needle, peered under his bed, then vanished in the shower. After a moment she reappeared, stood over him again, a puzzled expression on her pretty slavic features.
"No luck, eh?" murmured Gavin pleasantly. He opened his eyes and sat up.
Nadia gasped.
Gavin narrowed his eyes and roared in a suddenly harsh voice, "What the hell are you prying through my luggage for?"
The girl jumped. "I—I ..." she began, and then lapsed into confusion.
He waited.
"It sounds so foolish," she confessed, her long black eyes on the deck. Her fingers were twining about each other nervously. "But I can't get that dream out of my mind." She glanced up at him with a frightened expression.
"What dream?"
"The little death. When you turned out to be a T.I.S. agent. I—I begged you to give me a chance, let me try to escape."