Sweet Seduction Secrets (Sweet Seduction, Book 8): A Love At First Sight Romantic Suspense Series (4 page)

I
sat
on my bike watching kids playing in a nearby park, distractedly following the flight of seagulls swooping and cawing above a crystalline ocean, and amusedly observing the strained efforts of mid afternoon joggers running along Tamaki Drive. It wasn’t that I needed time to gather my thoughts or a moment to recover from whatever the hell that was in the underground garage of ASI’s building. It was simply because I had nowhere else to be.

Mal would be expecting an update, new intel entered into the system keeping him appraised of what I’d found out to date. Day one on an assignment was always the most critical. Establishing an alias and a routine essential. But this wasn’t my first rodeo and Auckland, although for some time now foreign to me, home soil. This wasn’t Paris or London or Moscow or Berlin. And it was so far from Tehran it wasn’t funny.

It was Auckland, my birth place, a city I’d called home for the first four years of my life. Not fourteen as Anscombe’s file on me had suggested. Strange as it was, even though I have no memory of my early childhood here, Auckland still feels like home, though.

But I had no contacts. No infrastructure to pull on should I require a solid background story and an alibi or two. If anyone at ASI chose to look too closely into my “history” here, they’d find the holes, they’d see through the gaps. Nothing unusual. It takes time to set up a base. But I had a feeling my rushed recall to New Zealand and the limited timeframe I’d been given to get this done was an indication of the importance of this assignment to my employers.

I needed to establish myself fully within ASI. Avoid too much attention. Distract with something else.

The challenge, of course, would be convincing them looking deeper was not necessary.

Usually a pretty easy task, but nothing about the people who worked at ASI was easy.

From what I’d seen, so far, they were a naturally curious lot. No denying that Eric and Amber Shaw were obsessive information gatherers. And Nicholas Anscombe could never be called a pushover. That left the rest of the team to use as a distraction.

Brook and Koki were easily sidetracked; possibilities definitely lay there. But their roles in the firm were not as crucial as others. I’d leave them as options to explore. Ben and Abi, on the other hand, were a close unit, if their banter in the lunchroom was any indication. I dismissed them as possible sub-targets immediately. Jason Cain was too much like me, trained as I had been. Avoiding him at all costs until I’d established a routine was essential.

That left one. Of course it did. I shook my head, flicked my helmet over in my hands and donned it, then started the bike.

There were reasons why female operatives were highly sought after. We were outnumbered by our male counterparts in this profession five to one, and often overlooked for assignments simply because of the environments we had to infiltrate. But my employers had specifically requested me for this job.

Why?

Because they knew the only way to fool a team like ASI was to use skills not available, in this circumstance, to a male specialist.

It had never bothered me before. It didn’t now.

I pulled around the back of the warehouse conversion I'd commandeered as my base a few minutes later. Having taken several backtracks and a winding route the closer to my address I got.

The automatic door rose on silent well-oiled chains, the clink of metal ringing in the alleyway where I sat mixed in with the soft, throaty purr of my bike as it idled. I glanced left and right, confirming I was still alone, and then rolled the Ducati in under the garage door as it began to fall again.

Silence followed; both motorbike and sectional door quiet. I pulled my helmet off and dismounted, walking directly toward the control panel to my alarm system. Within seconds I’d confirmed my base was secure and the camera feeds outside showed all clear.

My booted feet echoed on the ancient, pitted wooden floors, the sound bouncing off the whitewashed walls and reverberating inside the empty space. I’d kept this property for several years now, but never found the desire to decorate it. Currently it possessed a large, wall mounted, flat screen TV and single couch in the lounge, nothing in the dining area off the kitchen, and a mattress on the floor in the only bedroom.

I had linen in the cupboards and food in the pantry, but furnishings were sparse. Hell, they were practically non-existent. It didn’t overly concern me; the barren decorations seemed to soothe my mind, which more often than not never stopped whirring.

I stripped out of my leather jacket and sat down on the sofa, picking my laptop up off the floor where it had resided. On the outside it looked like any other Dell or HP out there. But once you lifted the lid and tried to power it on, it became obvious that this little device was anything but. I ran my finger over the touch-pad, a laser light flared as it read my fingerprint, then leaning forward I stared at the camera portal - for all intents and purposes like any other camera lens on any other laptop - and waited for my retina scan to be approved.

The screen flashed to life, the laptop making barely a sound as the processor worked in lightning quick speed, and then I entered my ten digit access code. The logo and emblem for the Department came up on the monitor, but I barely saw it; the flashing message notification at the bottom right stole all my attention. I clicked on the icon and waited for the email to appear.

I had expected it to be an update from Mal, but it wasn’t.

In town on business. We should meet. Caleb.

I sat back on the sofa and let out a long breath of air. Caleb Hart was a specialist like me. Trained in the varied acts of espionage like me. Employed by the same people as me. And if asked this morning whether I knew where he was currently assigned, I wouldn’t have had a clue. I hadn’t seen him in close to nine months. And like me, he shouldn’t have been aware of where I was, unless he needed back-up and his handler approached Mal for assistance.

I pulled out my cellphone and put it to my ear. “Mal,” I said, knowing the voice activation would connect me.

I tried to keep my contact with Mal down to the bare essentials, but this was an exception and needed immediate clarification. Of course, Caleb could be contacting me off-grid, which in and of itself raised interesting questions. Caleb was not the sort of agent I could see going rogue. Too controlled. Too dedicated. Too deep into this world to ever consider getting out.

Like me.

“Talk to me,” Mal’s voice ordered over the line.

“Secured?” I asked.

“Standby.” A lengthy pause then, “You’re good. What have you got?”

Instinct had me saying, “Blueprints match on layout, but I’ll be adding more detail regarding surveillance.” Rather than the questions regarding Caleb that clamoured for attention inside my mind.

“To be expected.”

“Eight targets identified,” I continued.

“Names?”

“Anscombe, Tanaka, Osborne, Tamati, Monaghan, Savill and both Shaws.”

Silence. Then, “Any concerns?”

“No.” At such an early stage into an assignment, I would never admit to concerns. Whether they existed or not.

“Their control room…” Mal started. The big blank in the Department’s reconnaissance to date.

“State of the art, no expense spared,” I replied. “Also physically secured behind a two tier entry system; camera and internal locks. It would take C-4 to bust it down.”

“The question is, do they leave it untended and if so, how do they re-enter?”

“Or do they let an operative who shows aptitude towards video surveillance in when the Shaws are off duty?” I countered.

“Good,” Mal said approvingly. “That could be your angle.”

“I’ll need to test the waters first,” I pointed out.

“Your target window is seven days, you know this.”

“Seven days is cutting it fine for a simple snatch and grab, for this it’s suicidal.”

“God created the heavens and earth in seven days,” Mal declared in his steady,
empty
voice.

“I never claimed to be God,” I countered.

“You’re a specialist,” he said, deadpan. “You’re much more capable than a deity.”

I shook my head, but didn’t argue. “Seven days then,” I said, careful to keep my voice devoid of any emotion.

“You’ll have this wrapped up in three.”

“I appreciate your confidence in my abilities,” I quipped. “But what assets do I have to call on if need be?”

His answer was too long in coming. Only a second more than necessary, but enough to let me know he’d seen through my ruse. A ruse I’d painstakingly set up over the course of the past few minutes of conversation.

Mal had been my handler since the beginning. I’d never met him. I didn’t know what he looked like, how tall he was, or even if the voice I heard over the phone was naturally his. I assumed his name was false. But in actuality I didn’t know for sure. He was arrogant enough to use his given name, even when everything else about him was a mystery.

“You’ve asked for assistance exactly three times before,” he said evenly. “What makes you think you’ll need it on this assignment?”

“Covering my bases,” I replied, just as evenly.

Silence. He didn’t believe me. I’d screwed up and for the first time since I’d joined the Department, I wondered if a screw-up would cost me my life. Oh, I’d been in situations that were a matter of life and death before, and had those situations result in life and death. My life. Their death. But none of them compared to the eerie feeling I had when my handler went silent on the other end of the line just after I’d admitted to the potential need of assistance.

It wasn’t why I had asked. I didn’t need assistance.

It wasn’t an unusual request, anyway, despite having only asked for aid three times before, as Mal had said.

It was because of Caleb’s unusual contact. And now my handler’s reaction had me wondering.

Was this a test? Had I been chosen for this assignment for more reasons than my sex? Did the Department suspect I was going rogue?

“So?” I said, bluffing. My heart rate was steady, no sweat beaded my brow.

My mind was whirling like a dancing dervish.

“All assets are assigned to other locations,” Mal said, making me close my eyes and clench my hand around the cellphone at my ear. “You’re on your own. If you have concerns about your ability…”

“I don’t.”

“… then we’ll pull you out for debrief.”

Debrief. Not likely.

“But assistance is unavailable at this time,” he concluded.

“Then I have the city to myself,” I said steadily.

“Yes. Just how you normally like it.” I didn’t miss the word choice;
normally
.

“I’ll be in touch when I have more,” I advised, wanting this conversation over with.

“Seven days, Charisse,” he said, using my real name, not my code name, not an alias. But
me
. It made the whole conversation that much more visceral.

The line went dead and so did any hopes of further assistance from my handler. I was on my own. Not just because supposedly no other agent was in Auckland City, but because trusting Mal with anything other than the basics was now out.

I placed the cellphone down on the sofa beside me and started to make a mental list of what I needed. Caleb was in town, either unknown to our superiors or on a classified assignment that I was not approved for. His message was on the Department’s system, encoded but still there for anyone who cared to look. The first thing I did was delete it. Thoroughly.

Then I closed the laptop down, grabbed my jacket and cellphone, and headed towards the garage, swiping up a leather satchel from beside the door as I stormed out. I took one look at the Panigale and slung my leg over the Diavel. I needed to blend in for more reasons than ASI. Black suited my mood. Black suited this assignment.

I was awash in black as I tore out of the garage, gunning the 1200cc, 119 kW engine, letting the roar soothe the blackness with a defiant flash of colours. Hostile environments were not unknown to me, but Auckland seemed, right then, to be the most dangerous location I had yet been deployed to. My hometown. The city I’d spent the first few years of my life in. I felt like an alien, foreign and uninvited. And it was all because of Mal.

No, that wasn’t true. Mal was as subject to the Director’s whims as the rest of us. But because he’d been on my side for the past ten years his betrayal now cut deep. Deeper than I would have thought possible.

Mal wasn’t much for conversation. We didn’t chat. We conversed. We shared intel. We spoke only when we needed to, not because we wanted to. He was not a friend. Not even an acquaintance. He was my handler. But even handlers have their place in our lives. Usually at the top of the pyramid, immediately below the Director, and two below our employer.

We trusted them. We believed in them. Mal’s actions, his disloyalty, was as devastating as the Director making a poor tactical decision and throwing the Department into jeopardy. It was a betrayal of unfathomable consequences.

I pulled the bike up outside a small, specifically chosen electronics store, turning it off and removing my helmet, all while I took in the street, the cars, the people, the CCTV cameras. If I was truly being tested, Mal would be hacking those right now. I looked down at the bike, one I’d had in storage here in Auckland for several years. I came back to the city occasionally, in between assignments. It was a good layover destination when en route to Wellington. I’d never considered my apartment here to be anything but a place to lay my head once or twice a year. Now it was my base and as such under the Department’s surveillance.

Jesus. Had they bugged it? My bike? I let out a slow breath of air and cracked my neck from side to side, trying to release the tension. It worked. It always works. It’s how we’ve been trained.

I slid off the bike, repositioned my satchel, and then pushed through the doors to the store without a backwards glance. If Mal was watching, all he’d see was an agent doing her job.

Twenty minutes later I had what I’d come for, my satchel laden down with high-end tech gear. The owner of the store somewhat better off for their financial windfall. And the contents of my bag untraceable. There’s always one place in a big city where you can get hot items. Where the proprietor is prepared to break the law. And therefore unwilling to have the law look too closely at them.