INTO DANGER (Secret Assassins (S.A.S.S.) Book 1) (3 page)

The whole apartment had been gone over, bugged to the teeth, with the best micro eyes on the market. Steve wondered briefly whether Marlena was looking for them. The man loaned by the Directorate of Administration had assured them it would be impossible to detect anything, short of tearing the place apart. He almost groaned when Marlena reappeared. Her jacket was undone. Damn, he wished she would take it off. He wanted to see more of her.

“Roomy,” she commented, and headed for the master bedroom.

Steve thought of the big bed he’d seen there earlier. “That’s a big room, too,” he said aloud, as he looked at the bottle of whiskey and the lines of different-sized glasses. Which one did they use for whiskey? That bed was king-sized. He looked in the mirror again, catching the back of her just as she disappeared into the bedroom. He looked down at the whiskey bottle and the glasses again. He pulled out the tallest hanging upside down from the rack. He recalled seeing a sunken marble spa tub in the adjoining bath. He sighed, pouring generously into the glass. There were also strategically placed cameras everywhere. No privacy at all.

Marlena turned on all the lights, admiring the cleverly highlighted expensive sculptures and paintings in each room. The apartment was equipped with all kinds of electronic controls and gadgets. The heavy curtains moved back and forth; the closet doors receded into the wall; soft music came on and off; the TV wardrobe rose from the floor. Pretty cool stuff. The master bath was her favorite place so far—marbled, mirrored, with an inviting tub. Maybe she would try that later. There was even a steam shower big enough for a party.

“Well? Meet with your approval?” Steve asked when she rejoined him. He held out a glass for her.

Marlena took it from him and flopped onto the plush sofa, resting an arm on the back. “It’ll do,” she said, and sniffed the drink. “How many fingers did you measure for this, Stash?”

He shrugged. “Enough to get you drunk, I hope.”

She couldn’t help but smile at the lie. He couldn’t play servile attendant worth a damn, and not for lack of trying. It was just in his demeanor, the way he handled himself. She was getting very curious about this man. She swirled the drink in her hand, still eyeing him. “I’m no fun when I’m drunk,” she told him, tilting her head back as he came nearer. Why would his walking toward her make her heart beat a staccato? “I get mean. I pick fights.”

“I look forward to it.” He stopped in front of her.

She had to tilt further back to look at him. She sipped at her drink and managed not to grimace. He really was a terrible bartender, unless he really was trying to get her drunk. Holding his gaze, she took another sip, then downed the entire glassful.

“Can I sit down? Do I help you unpack? Shall I take off your...shoes?” The tone of his voice was lazy. “Want another drink?”

“Oh, sit down, Stash, your questions are making me dizzy,” Marlena said. The whiskey settled warmly in her tummy. “One thing for sure, no more mixing drinks for you.”

Steve shrugged. His training as a SEAL hadn’t encompassed proper liquor recipes, and he’d added a little more to test her. He wanted to join her on the sofa, but thought better of it. Sitting next to her wasn’t a good idea for conversation. He dropped onto the love seat close by.

Her startlingly blue eyes studied him for a few seconds, her head slanted at an angle. She had this sleepy look that was all too deceptive. He suspected that her mind stayed razor-sharp, even with that alcohol in her.

“Number one, there’s nothing to unpack,” she said, in that lazy come-hither drawl. “Number two, you can take off for the night. Be back here tomorrow morning at nine. Number three, I want another car. The one tonight is obviously a target.”

“Don’t you want me to stay?” Wasn’t that what lackeys did, make themselves constantly available? Steve still had no idea what Marlena Maxwell’s plans were, but he’d hoped—well, he’d hoped for a few things. He looked at the suitcase on the floor. “Surely you brought clothes in there for me to put away for you.”

“None.”

He gave her outfit an overall review. “You’re going to wear that thing all the time?”

Marlena sighed. “Where is my money, Stash?”

“Hmm?” His eyes were still feasting on the small singlet revealed under the unbuttoned leather jacket.

“The twenty grand.”

“In the safe in the bedroom.” Understanding dawned. “Oh, that’s clothes money?”

His heart somersaulted at the slow smile she gave him. “Shopping, one of my various vices,” she confessed.

That wasn’t the kind of info that was going to help. He tried another tactic. “Where are we going at nine in the morning?” Perhaps that would give him and those listening to this conversation some clues to work on tonight.

“Why, shopping of course.”

If there was one thing that could make him lose a hard-on, that was the magic word. Steve looked incredulously at the woman sitting across from him. Please, not shopping.

“For clothes,” he reiterated carefully.

“And shoes.” She just sat there, watching him, a small smile on her lips. “Whatever I fancy. Twenty grand is good shopping money.”

“You’re going shopping,” he repeated. Was his unit going to have some fun with that piece of information! He mentally prepared himself for jibes later. Shopping.

Marlena stood up. “I like a little distraction when I work. Come on, I’ll see you tomorrow then. Give me the combination to the safe before you go. And oh, wait.” She walked to the suitcase and slid a hand into the side pocket. “This is your pager.”

Steve stood up and took it from her, studying it for a moment.

“In case I need you when you’re not around,” she told him.

Not for just shopping, he hoped. “Okay,” he said. His mind was completely blank. The woman had managed to stymie him with this shopping thing. The unit had discussed the money, had speculated that it was probably for her to bribe someone or buy weapons. The darn woman had been thinking of malls and parcels. He almost shuddered.

“I’ll get a new vehicle tomorrow,” he finally continued as he pocketed the pager. Sarcastically he added, “Any particular instructions on that?”

He regretted it immediately because the glint in her eyes promised mischief. “Hmm, a butter-yellow Boxter sounds pretty. I don’t like the current color you picked. I trust you can take care of that better than mixing drinks?”

Steve muttered something under his breath, but nodded. After answering a few more questions, he let himself out and looked thoughtfully at the closed door. Unexpected amusement filled him. He’d never met anyone quite like Marlena. Everything she did challenged him. Okay, so she thought she’d won this round. He turned toward the elevators. At least she would be watched and listened to all night long, in case she used the phone. He’d wanted to be with her, had expected to at least be using that guest room, but obviously she didn’t trust him yet. Better work on that.

He didn’t have far to go. Fifteen minutes later he entered the office where they’d set up to watch Marlena’s actions. Wolf whistles and howls greeted his entrance.

“Yo, Stash! Love the new nickname!”

“You’re losing your touch, man! Shopping!” Male hoots and laughter.

Steve shrugged, smiling. “She...wasn’t what I thought she’d be,” he admitted, and recalled that she’d said the same about him.

“Did you clean her teeth, man? Huh, Mr. Kisser of the Millennium?”

“You two sure were down in the parking garage for a loooong time!”

Steve shrugged again. He wasn’t going to share all the details about Marlena Maxwell that weren’t relevant.

“But God, what a looker, huh? Look at them mamas!”

All male eyes turned to the multiple screens on the work-tables, and Steve saw Marlena in the master bedroom, shrugging out of that jacket. He didn’t like it. He’d wanted her to do that, all night, but now, for some reason, he felt a tingle of resentment that the others were watching.

She was wearing a black clingy thing, low cut in the front and back. She started to unbutton her pants.

“This is going to be fun,” Cameron said, cradling the back of his head with his hands.

Steve wanted to turn the screens off. “We don’t have to watch her do this, do we?” he asked.

Foolish request, of course. The other four pairs of eyes turned to him, two of them speculatively, the last pair sharply. Harden was in charge of the operation, and Steve knew he would take note of any display of emotion.

“McMillan, our job is to keep an eye on her. You know her file. She’s very slippery. No one has ever caught her in the act of any crime.”

“Hell, man, the act she’s throwing now is a crime, if you ask me!”

Steve reluctantly returned his attention to the scene. They showed her entering the bathroom, the one with the marble tub. The other men jostled in their chairs for a better view. He clenched his teeth but kept his expression calm. Harden was watching him. Steve knew he couldn’t do a damn thing, and couldn’t understand why the hell it was bothering him. Procedure was procedure—this was done all the time. Yet he didn’t want to share Marlena Maxwell.

He was half ashamed because he couldn’t tear his eyes off the screen, either. She had just stepped out of her black pants, revealing long, luscious legs. Amid the male growls around him, he gripped the back of the chair hard to stop from smashing the screen with it. Turn around, his mind ordered. Yet his eyes remained riveted on her.

She moved across the room to the tub and bent over. There was a collective groan as her T-backed derriere came into view. She turned the water on, then straightened. Opening the small closet, she pulled out a towel. Hidden from view behind the closet doors for a few seconds, she tossed her black singlet at the screen, like a strip show. There was another collective groan.

When she stepped back into view, she was wearing just a black lacy bra and panties. Steve’s mouth dried up. Sexy didn’t begin to describe her. His head was pounding. Or was that his heart? She affected him as no other woman ever had.

A strap fell loosely off her shoulder. Every man in the room held his breath, waiting for her next move. She turned her head and stared up, and seemed to look straight at Steve. Her lips were parted slightly, and she flicked her head back.

Then she held up a big piece of cardboard. It said, “Good night, boys.” And in silence, the group of men watched as Marlena Maxwell turned a gun with a silencer at them.

One by one the screens went black.

––––––––

M
arlena prowled around the master bedroom, hands on her hips. She was aware of her flaws, her weaknesses. She had a penchant to act rashly. Most of all, she had a temper that could go a bit overboard. And when the temper and rash impulse went hand-in-hand, Marlena knew she sometimes ignored logic and caution. She shrugged.

It took years of training to learn how to turn her weaknesses into strengths, to change her impulses into opportunities. She could turn her temper down now, like the volume of a speaker, and use the power from those emotions to propel her into action.

In this world she was alone and undefended. She thought for herself and acted on cold calculation. Last night was definitely an aberration. She’d gone and let them know she was smarter than they were. A very stupid thing to do in this game, when one was trying to be always a step ahead.

She growled at her stupidity, but she’d enjoyed it too much to fully regret her actions. It was such a delicious moment, when she wrote that little note with her lipstick while out of sight behind the linen closet doors. “Good night, boys.” Laughter bubbled up, in spite of the fact she knew she’d messed up big time. She stopped stalking back and forth, shook her head. The damage was done; time to consider her next course of action.

Marlena frowned. First thing she had to do was break protocol and make contact with certain people. There was something very unusual with this setup. These things—she looked scornfully at the small pile of electronic gadgetry on her bed—were standard CIA issues, and the schematics of their layout smelled like a CIA oh-so-predictable plan. She sniffed, feeling her temper rising again.

CIA. These days there were too many in that agency willing to line their pockets. Someone had obviously paid off some CIA boys to help them pull this stunt.

Which brought her thoughts back to the delectable Stash. Her gaze narrowed. Was Stash CIA? Somebody sent to distract her? No, to watch her. Or, even more chilling, to eliminate her when she finished her job. All along, she’d known he didn’t fit. The other companions in various jobs had been soft men, malleable and ultimately boring. Their uses ranged from being witnesses to what she wished people to think they were doing, to being human carrying carts during her shopping sprees. They were eager to please. After all, she tipped well.

Soft. Malleable. Boring. Her smile was lopsidedly mocking. Three words she wouldn’t use to describe Stash with-no-last-name. After last night, would he show up in the morning? She stood in front of the full-length mirror.

Was he really attracted to her? She leaned closer and fluffed her hair, then grimaced. She must be getting soft, thinking about such things. If Stash were CIA, this was just a game for him; he was out to bag her. If he were some guy hired to entertain her, then last night was probably nothing to him.

She cocked her head and gazed into her own blue eyes. Even if she admitted that she was interested in him, she couldn’t let anyone close enough to know her, anyway. Her job would always be in the way.

“So,” she asked aloud, “what are you going to do with Stash, hmm?”

***

S
teve worked the crick out of his neck. It’d been a long night. He took a big gulp of coffee as he reread his report. It wasn’t his job to do this; it was the operations chief, Harden’s, but after Steve’s insistence on continuing the assignment last night, it was up to him to give his reasons in black and white to those who mattered. Of course, he was certain Harden had already called up and reported what happened. After all this time, he still hadn’t yet earned Harden’s complete trust and respect.