Fourth of July by Cami Checketts

position. You can stop pretending to be a brazen American woman.”
    It was the closest thing to a compliment she had ever heard from her contact, yet his words made her pause. She enjoyed her lifestyle. She liked being a “brazen American woman.” Yet, she knew as well as anyone that all Americans deserved to suffer. She would do whatever she needed to...for her father.
    “Allah be praised,” she murmured.
    “I’ll contact you soon. Hopefully in a few days you will have something more substantial.”
    With that he was gone.
    “ Maa alsalameh ,” Danielle said. “ Au revoir and good riddance.”
    Despite her caustic attitude, a chill crept over her. What if she never got any information out of Chris? How long would Ahmed be content with the same message? The Americans are stupid, they don’t know anything. She hated that she had no clue what they really knew.
    Danielle shivered, draping the scarf around her bare shoulders. Where else could she obtain the information she needed? Because of recent job changes at the mayor’s office and the tightened security after the bombings, Chris was her only source. She’d better find a way to turn on the charm and make him forget all about the petite redhead.

IT WAS ALMOST TEN P.M. on Saturday when Alexis placed her Bible on the hickory nightstand. She wished she could concentrate enough to comprehend even one passage. All she could think about was being surrounded by Chris’ brawny arms.
    She relaxed into her sage down comforter, closing her eyes to erase the memories; she realized quickly that would not work. The images conscripted into her brain couldn’t be removed by simple willpower.
    She stood, reaching her arms over her head. No matter what she did, she envisioned Chris leaning toward her. She could still smell him. He had smelled so good. That made her angry. He’d put cologne on for Danielle, not her.
    Locking her arms behind her back, she stretched her pectoral muscles. But he hadn’t been holding Danielle. She caught herself smiling in the dresser mirror.
    “Stop it,” Alexis commanded her image.
    Oh. What was she going to do? She couldn’t work with a man with whom she was obviously infatuated. Did he share her interest? Was he only caught up in the moment? It all happened so quickly, but the feelings she experienced would not leave.
    She sighed, falling back onto her mattress. All these questions were useless. Chris had a girlfriend, he freely admitted he wasn’t a Christian, and they had a co-worker’s relationship. He must have consumed too much wine.
    He said he didn’t drink , a little voice reminded her. And he certainly didn’t taste like alcohol.
    She shook her head, stopping the voice. The night air must have intoxicated him, because he couldn’t possibly be interested in her.
    The buzzing of her cellphone interrupted Alexis’ thoughts. Rolling to her side, she glanced at the name display. Oh, help. It was Chris.
    What do I do?
    Pick up the phone, you silly girl.
    She took a few deep breaths. Finally after the fourth ring, she managed to steady her shaking hands enough to lift the phone and slide her finger across.
    “Hello,” she fought to sound composed, hating the breathless quality of her voice.
    “Hey, Half-pint, it’s Chris.”
    She loved the deep, throaty sound emanating through her telephone. She loved the nickname he’d given her.
    “Chris,” she paused, heart thudding violently in her chest cavity. Would she experience heart failure right here and now?
    “Chris?” she repeated again.
    What was she doing? Where had this stupid act surfaced from? Why was she pretending she didn’t know who he was? As if someone else called her Half-pint.
    “Harmer,” he supplied, sounding confused by her response, “from work.”
    “Chris Harmer.” Good heavens, she was a pathetic actress. “Oh yes, Chris.” She laughed nervously. “How are you?”
    “Fine, I’m fine.” His voice had lost the confident edge it usually possessed.