Lying in Bed

“Got it.”

“I don’t drink much, because of the running. But I don’t mind sour apple martinis or white Russians. I can’t see Mrs. Ebsen throwing back a Miller.”

Ryan smiled. “I don’t think I’d marry anyone who didn’t like beer.”

“I didn’t think you’d marry anyone for any reason.”

“That’s true,” he admitted, returning his eyes to the paper. “Back to Mr. and Mrs. Ebsen. I know you like sports in general so let’s get that squared away.”

She nodded. “I cross train in mixed martial arts, a beach volleyball league and ballet, but I watch basketball. I’m not into football at all, or hockey, sorry. Baseball bores me to tears, so let’s just stick with basketball. You do like basketball, right?”

“Not as much as hockey, but yeah, I’m a Lakers man.” He’d bet his official Gretzky jersey that she already knew that. He’d won the office pool several times. Just like she’d known he was into hockey. He remembered a disagreement they’d had about Larry Bird that had taken place before the Halloween incident.

“Good,” she said. “We met at a sports event, then. A championship game.”

He pulled out his own phone and started punching keys. “The 2010 Finals, there was a fund-raiser in one of the owner’s suites. How does that sound?”

She nodded and scribbled on the margin of her report. “Perfect.”

“Why don’t we make that our safety topic, then. I don’t think anyone would question it. We’re pretty athletic looking. Meanwhile, what are you going to do about your name?”

“Tell them I go by my middle name, Angie.”

“That’ll work.” He looked up from his phone.

Angie rose and stretched over to reach the coffee carafe. After topping off his cup, she tended to her own. It was interesting seeing her dressed as Angie Ebsen. Her blouse was red with big sleeves but snug around the waist. Nice, but not nearly as great as the slim, black pants. Completely unlike anything she wore to the office.

He’d never thought much about how she neutralized her looks by the clothes she wore. As far as he could recall, she completely avoided anything that hugged her figure, which was a damn shame.

“My favorite extravagant restaurant in L.A. is Mellise, which is somewhere the Ebsens would go,” she said, sitting again, and allowing him to relax. “Do you know it?”

“Yep, it wasn’t far from where I grew up. What about Matsuhisa?”

“Never been, but I have been to Nobu. If anyone asks, we’ll use Matsuhisa or Mellise, okay?” She sipped her own coffee, then took a bite of bran muffin. If her surprised smile was anything to go by, she liked it a lot.

“What else do people want to know when they first meet?” he asked, anxious about the time they had left before they had to report to the workshop. “No kids, so there’s that.”

Angie swallowed, then dabbed her lips with her napkin, drawing his gaze. “The cover story takes care of a lot. Where we live, no pets. My parents being filthy rich, me attending school abroad, which Angie Ebsen doesn’t like to talk about. Simple.”

He went back to his notes, afraid she’d caught him staring. “I can’t think of anything else.”

“No questions?”

He shook his head.

“Okay, now you fill me in.”

Ryan looked up, the urge to get out of this strong, but he couldn’t think of one reason she’d believe. He’d have to tell her what he could, and let her ask her questions. It wasn’t as if his life was anything horrible, or even that much of a secret. He simply preferred to keep work and personal life separate. It was easier and cleaner to let his coworkers believe what they wanted. Some of which was actually true.

ANGIE COULD BE WRONG, but she got the feeling Ryan’s hesitation was more about figuring out what not to say than how to fill her in on his life. He had to know she’d heard the stories. It wasn’t as if anyone said anything terrible about him. On the contrary. Men seemed to be jealous, but not enough to make him a target, and the women she knew … well, they were mostly like Paula or Sally if they weren’t happily married, like Jeannie.

Finally, after finishing off his Danish and the last of his coffee, he said, “I grew up in Santa Monica with my father. Don’t know much about my mother. She left when I was a kid. No siblings. I don’t have any other hobbies except sports, and yes, even though it’s less convenient, I work out at Gold’s.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not that big a deal. In a pinch I’ll go to the FBI gym.”

“I meant … about your—”

“That was no big deal, either. Anyway, I graduated from UCLA. We already talked restaurants, I run, but it’s not my thing, and I play tennis occasionally. I prefer a pickup game, but what the hell.”

“So if someone in the group asks us to double at tennis? Remember I’m only so-so.”

“Then let’s give that a pass. We’ll need to be on every time we’re in public. At least if we go to the casino, there’s lots of distractions. The important bit is to get me into a situation where I can confess my sins. That’d probably be with Delilah or Ira. They’re licensed and have to honor client confidentiality, but if the opportunity arises with the other two staff members, I’ll jump on it. No telling who’s involved in their scheme.”

Angie nodded, trying to digest all the data Ryan had rushed through. No mother? Wow, that had to have been rough. But it might explain why he played the field as if his life depended on it.

“What about movies?” he asked.

“I’m in favor of them.”

He rolled his eyes, which was a good thing, in her opinion. Things had grown a little tense. “Fine. Spoilsport. I liked Date Night. Sin City. To Kill a Mockingbird. African Queen. Harold and Maude.”

Ryan inhaled. “I saw one of those movies.”

“Let me guess. Sin City.”

His eyes narrowed. “That was a trick, wasn’t it? You didn’t like Sin City at all.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed, but it was friendly. Nice. Getting closer to the comfortable ballpark.

“So what are your favorites?”

“I know you’re expecting all the Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris movies that have ever been made, but that wouldn’t be true.”

“You don’t like Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris?”

“Not every one of their movies, no.”

“Seriously, guy flicks exclusively?” she asked.

“I’ve gotten misty over a film or two. I’m not that much of a stereotype.”

“Misty, huh? Like when Shaun had to kill his mom in Shaun of the Dead or when Rose let DiCaprio go in Titanic?”

Ryan’s eyes widened. “You liked Shaun of the Dead?”