They were a little ruffled but otherwise fine. She felt better having them with her, even though the bomb squad cleared her house and Spike had assured her it didn’t look like the terrorist had been there. “When can I go home?” Spike lifted a large bag onto the table, similar to Alex’s. He was well built, not as tall as Alex, but still had a formidable look to him. Short sandy hair, a strong jaw, steel-blue eyes—he was probably handsome under normal circumstances. Hard to tell, with the large bump on the middle of his forehead and the redness spreading from it. “When we can be sure there’ll be no more attacks coming. In the meanwhile, you’ll be leaving for Washington sometime tomorrow. We have better facilities down there.” Translation: “Can’t give you specifics for your own good, and by the way, this safe house is not all that safe so we have to take you to another one.” She looked at Alex. He didn’t seem to be jumping for joy, either. Couldn’t blame him really.
