INTO DANGER (Secret Assassins (S.A.S.S.) Book 1) (5 page)

She folded the notes, and finally looked at him. “That’s what you’re for—you big, macho protector, you.” She looked around. “Oh, there it is. Can you get my jacket for me?”

Steve walked over to the bed. The jacket was near the pile of what used to be thousands of dollars of very expensive electronic equipment. Somehow he didn’t think she’d sent him over just to get her jacket.

There were too many holes in TIARA’s file on Marlena Maxwell. For example, it didn’t mention she had skills that rivaled the best in the CIA. Steve knew there weren’t many who could go around an apartment dismantling this stuff in a mere few hours. He bent and picked up the jacket, and turned around to find her right behind him. Despite his training, he hadn’t heard a thing. It annoyed him immensely.

It apparently amused her a great deal to see him annoyed. Those blue eyes were dancing with laughter, although she kept her voice serious. “It wasn’t nice, what happened last night.”

Steve was surprised. Sneak attack. Damn, she’d turned the tables on him again. It was a vague enough statement to mean anything. Damn good. “I enjoyed it,” he replied. He meant the kiss, but of course she didn’t.

“I’m glad,” she said, smiling as she donned the jacket after slipping the wad of money in one of the zipper pockets.

As she walked away, Steve called after her softly, “I’ll win, you know. I’ll have your pretty little ass.”

She didn’t even turn around. “It’ll be tough, Stash. I’m kind of attached to it.”

––––––––

M
is for Murder.

M is for Marlena.

M is for Massacre. Murder. Mastication. Mangle. M is for...

“What are you thinking of, Stash?” The voice was sweet and the eyes so innocent.

Murder. Definitely murder. “I believe I now know what M Street stands for,” he answered. After all, he’d spent about six hours following Miss Maxwell up and down the famed street as she got rid of her bad mood and headache. In fact, she’d given them to him.

He would rather go through BUD/S and Hell Week again. He would prefer to be thrown out into a choppy ocean weighted down with ammo. He would choose wading waist-deep in mud for three days straight with hungry swamp gators and snakes. He would take containment training without the use of a gas mask with CS gas swirling around. Well, maybe not the last choice. That one had emptied out his guts the first few times he’d failed to properly hold his breath.

“Yes, that pair of high heels will go with this outfit. Stash! Come look—do you think the colors match?”

Steve swallowed a groan. He didn’t care whether the colors matched. He didn’t care whether those heels went with that outfit. He just knew they cost too damn much. He’d never known clothing could be so expensive.

“Well?”

He grunted, not even looking up from the magazine he was pretending to read. She’d shown him enough shoes to last him a whole lifetime, as far as he was concerned.

“Sweetheart, don’t you like this outfit? Do you think these shoes go with it?” There was definitely laughter in her voice now. She knew exactly what she was doing to him.

Steve reluctantly peeped over the magazine, meaning to just agree, and hoping to be left in peace for another ten minutes. His eyes widened. His pulse came alive. Slowly he lowered the magazine as he took in her “outfit.”

He’d seen a movie star or someone famous modeling a similar dress. A V-front opened to the navel, pinned with a brooch, exposing enough bosom and flesh to cause a riot. The material had to be illegal; he could see she wasn’t wearing a thing under that dress. Blood rushed to a strategic part of his body, and it wasn’t his brain because he suddenly felt light-headed. Wow. What in the world was holding that dress together? The vision approached him as he sat there.

“Well, what do you think?” She stood oh-so-close, right in front of him.

He was eye level to her bared flesh, and he tried to look under the material that covered the half of her breasts that mattered. How did it stick to them like that?

M is for Making Love. Magic. Mama Mia. M is for...

“More movement, please,” he answered, circling his finger in the air. Maybe if she twirled around a bit, the material would shift, and then he could see...

“I meant the shoes, Stash. Aren’t they perfect with this dress?”

What shoes? He hadn’t looked at her feet once. “Yup,” he agreed, his eyes not straying from more important things. “They’re perfect.”

“I knew you’d agree. I’ll take these then.”

He heard the mockery in her words but was suddenly in too generous a mood to care. Hell, let her buy more of these thousand-dollar things, if they all looked like that on her. He didn’t even mind missing lunch.

“Okay, I’m ready to go now.”

He stood up and looked down. Nope, couldn’t see a damn thing from this angle, either. “You’re...uh...wearing that back to the apartment?”

“No, I’ll be wearing it later. We’re going out to a fancy party one of these nights.”

“We are?”

“Why do you think I bought you those expensive clothes?”

That was an hour Steve chose not to ever remember again. Never, he vowed. Never would he again be in the vicinity of a woman buying him clothes. What should take ten minutes took over an hour of excruciating humiliation. He scowled at the memory of being poked and prodded, touched and tucked.

“You look like you aren’t enjoying your job, Stash,” his tormentor commented as she fiddled with the front of her dress.

Well, he was enjoying
that
. But shopping? Letting a man touch him where he shouldn’t? Being asked which side he...uh...He scowled again. Never mind that the man asking the questions was supposedly a tailor. If he’d jiggled that measuring tape a few more inches closer, that man wouldn’t have lived to know which side he preferred to...His scowl deepened.

A cool hand patted his jaw. “A few more days of this and I’ll have you all obedient yet.”

More shopping? He shook his head. She nodded, clearly trying hard not to laugh. He shook his head again.

“Next time we’re doing this, it’ll be on a bet,” he told her. He ran a nonchalant finger down the seam of the tempting V-opening. He didn’t care the saleslady was avidly watching them. The material was soft, tantalizing him with the way it managed to stay in place. He felt the slight tremor of her body where his finger made contact with her smooth skin. He smiled. Not so in control after all.

“What’s the bet?”

Sneak attack. “That I’ll find whoever’s after your ass.” He had a job to do, after all, and would like to know who all the players here were. One thing was for sure—if Marlena was out of the picture, then there would be no other way to find out who had hired her, and why.

Her eyes narrowed at the change of subject. “Why are you so interested in this, I wonder.” It wasn’t a question.

“Told you your ass was mine.”

“Ha.” She turned away, heading back to the changing room. “You won’t win.”

“I haven’t lost yet.”

***

M
arlena heard his footsteps behind her but chose to ignore him. She had no intention of telling him more than necessary. Stepping into the changing room, she closed the curtain. It was drawn open before she even turned around. He stood there, blocking the entrance, making the small changing room smaller with the mirror reflecting him on all three sides. She stared up at him challengingly. “There is something awfully familiar with this situation,” she remarked as she picked out what to wear next. “I assure you, I don’t need help to take this off.”

The look in his eyes was heated, full of sensuous promise. She reminded herself that the man had other things on his mind—hadn’t his last bet proved that?

“Scared I’ll win?” he taunted.

She wasn’t scared. She was tempted. And Marlena wasn’t sure whether taking this temptation would prove deadly. Every time he looked at her with those dark eyes with their devil-may-care gleam, she wanted to throw caution to the wind and let him come nearer. She would, but not until she was sure who he was, not until she was sure she would be in total control of her emotions.

She couldn’t help it, though. She needed to know what he had in mind. “What’s the price this time? Another kiss?” She played with the brooch holding the dress together, feeling excited and intrigued. He hadn’t made a move for her but she felt caressed—all over. Another new sensation that bothered her. Men had undressed her with their eyes before, but she’d never felt her body responding in this way.

Steve shook his head. “If I win, you’re going to let me find out how that dress stays on like that.” He looked at their reflection on his right, leaned a little into the room, and touched the area on the mirror he was referring to. He traced the outline of one breast with his forefinger, moving with a sensuous wickedness, as if he were imagining sliding the dress off to one side.

Marlena stopped breathing. He hadn’t touched her, and her body was tingling all over.

“Excuse me, sir, but you can’t be back here so long. The other lady customers will complain,” one of the salesladies interrupted from behind Steve.

Steve’s smile was raffish and confident as he stepped back and closed the curtain, and Marlena was alone again. She cocked her head, trying to make out his words to the saleslady.

“Sorry, ladies,” she heard him say, “but that dress she was wearing made me forget what I was doing.” Pleased female laughter followed his male excuse.

Marlena smiled to herself. Liar. He knew exactly what he was doing. She looked at herself in the mirror as she undressed slowly. He made her feel...desirable...that was the word she’d been trying to find, to explain this odd warm and tingly sensation. Despite the danger, and maybe because of it, she was beginning to like it.

Half an hour later, as Steve stopped at a red light, Marlena took a quick look around and came to a decision. When she chose to, very few could rival her speed. A quick slide to the driver’s side, and she had her foot on the gas pedal; before Steve could react with a “What the—” the car ran a red light in front of the police cruiser.

It all went according to plan. Ten minutes getting a ticket. Two minutes of lecture. Marlena spent an extra minute flirting with the policeman. Steve had looked at her enigmatically throughout the whole incident, but hadn’t said anything other than “Yes, Officer.”

He was probably too mad to say anything at the moment. In fact, he was probably planning revenge. But Marlena didn’t care. She had what she wanted. “Steve McMillan,” she said the name with satisfied glee. “Now I know who’s after my ass.”

His sideways glance was very telling. Oh yeah, he was hot. “This is going to cost you, lady,” he promised. “This won’t be the only moving violation of the day.”

***

H
er laughter was pure amusement, drawing Steve’s attention. She shook her hair in the breeze as the sportster sped along, looking pleased with herself. Her new outfit was a chic cream-colored blouse with pearl buttons and matching pants. It was a good contrast to her vibrant coloring, and he couldn’t help wondering whether she was wearing some of those lingerie items he’d seen her pick out. He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than normal, willing his imagination to behave.

Stopping at another traffic light, he deliberately revved the engine and gave her a warning glance. Another cruiser was parked close by, and that sent her into another peal of laughter. Her mirth was infectious and he found himself smiling back.

This wasn’t good. He was in danger of having his identity discovered by the most dangerous woman he’d ever known, and he found life funny. He zipped into a higher gear, entering the highway in a rush of accelerated speed. It was a longer way back to the apartment.

“No traffic lights,” he explained, when Marlena looked at him inquiringly. There was nothing like driving a fast car with a faster woman. Risking another traffic ticket, he stepped on the gas. The woman beside him only laughed more, her hair whipping back in the wind. She looked so carefree, as if she didn’t have murder on her mind. Then she placed her hand over his on the gearshift, and it felt...strangely right.

Magnificent.

Machiavellian.

He told himself this was just an exercise to remind himself to be careful, that he wasn’t driving himself crazy thinking about her. It wasn’t a very convincing excuse. They were both quiet as he drove the car into the secured parking lot. Why did it feel like they’d shared a moment that was only theirs, back there on the highway?

“I can play lackey again, or I can play maid,” he offered.

“Hmm, a gentleman,” Marlena mocked. Pretending to consider a moment, she then lifted a shoulder. “Well, practice makes perfect, and you still need to get better as a lackey before I can promote you. Make sure no one bothers me while I’m in the bath, okay?”

She was baiting him about last night, of course. Steve would have preferred to be ladies’ maid, but kept his expression as bland as hers. “No one will dare bother you,” he said, managing to tone down the dry sarcasm in his voice.

There were so many packages, he had to make a couple of trips, but he didn’t mind. It gave him time to clear his head, plan his next move. Marlena had said something about a fancy party. Who in D.C. would invite someone like Marlena? Was there any connection with the contact TIARA was trying to find out? He hoped so. He sure didn’t want to attend any fancy-schmancy do and stand around like an idiot.

Maybe he ought to just give in to Harden and let him go after Marlena Maxwell and press her for details. Shopping and partying weren’t his way of working for Uncle Sam. More than once he had wondered why he’d allowed himself to be transferred. D.C. was too formal for him, too bland.

Well, last night and today had added some color. This assignment had been the most action he’d seen in a while. It was the sitting around in intel work that had him climbing the walls. More than once he’d jerked out of a daydream of hiking in jungles or racing through the desert in his favorite dune buggy, the Desert Patrol Vehicle. And God, of all things, he missed the rubber duck, the amphibious thirty-foot inflatable boat his fire team fondly named Joy, for the great ride home after a recon mission.