Even if he wasn’t on duty, he shouldn’t have noticed her. Sure, she was attractive enough, in a compact, earth-mother type of way. Soft-brown hair, eyes the color of caramel, a hint of freckles on the tip of her small nose and a quick, coiled-spring energy to her movements. But she was the kind of woman who would want to meet a man’s parents. She had probably picked out a china pattern and two names for her firstborn. She was the kind of woman who usually made Sergeant First Class Flynn O’Toole of Eagle Squadron, Delta Force, break out in hives. A spot just under his left shoulder blade developed a sudden itch. Flynn rubbed his back against the wooden bench. “I don’t think she’s our target.” He barely moved his lips as he spoke. His words wouldn’t have been audible to a person sitting beside him, but the microphone under his collar had no problem picking up everything he said. “She would be a good decoy.”
