Naturally, logic told her not to trust the emotion in either of their cases, pointing out that it was all a matter of the circumstance, the drama, the tension, the sex—God, the sex. Except her heart had a different theory. She’d felt the spark between them the instant she’d laid eyes on him, and his decision to come forward and do the right thing about his corrupt, dangerous boss . . . well, that was even better than the amazing orgasms.

It made her respect the hell out of him.

As she retrieved one of her black pin-striped suits, she briefly entertained a fantasy where they ended up together on some safe, remote island with nothing but what to have for lunch and dinner to weigh on their minds. The Gilligan’s Island daydream with all its tropical never-going-to-happens was a nice diversion, but she wasn’t fooling herself. Isaac was going to disappear. The government was going to take him and hide him until whatever congressional hearings or judicial procedures rolled out. And if he didn’t end up in jail for war atrocities here in the States, he might well get extradited to some foreign hell.

Which was why he’d said what he had. It was his good-bye.

“Wow.”

Grier spun on her heels, the suit in her hand flaring out in a circle around her body before settling back down—as if it had momentarily forgotten its reserve, only to regain its composure.

And didn’t she know how the damn thing felt.

Isaac cursed himself. “Sorry, I really need to learn how to knock.”

Grier eased up a little. “I’m also jumpy as hell.”

Cocking his brow, he measured the pile in the middle of the creamy carpet. “Lot of clothes.”

“Probably too many. I need to give some to Goodwill.”

He came forward and picked up one of her gowns. It was long and black, like all of them, because she wasn’t a sparkles or color kind of girl. “Where does this go?”

“Ah . . .” There was only one section with the bar set high enough for full-lengths. So she’d dumped them for nothing but a rehang. “There. In the corner, please.”

He carried the evening dress over and set it where it had been. Then he went back for the next one, straightening the padded shoulders on their padded satin seat. Before he put it in place, he surprised her by bending down to put his nose to the neckline.

“This smells like your perfume,” he murmured before placing it on the brass rod.

Didn’t that just send a shiver through her—in a good way. Unfortunately, the tingle was overridden by everything that was hanging over them. “Have you heard from . . . them?”

“No.”

“What are you going to do if they don’t get back to you.”

“They will.”