The Second Betrayal (8 page)

Donovan made a low growling sound in his throat as his eyes met mine. "Forget it, Steele."

"No." I kept my tone firm and even. "I won't."

"I'm going to fix dinner," he said before he turned away.

I picked up my running shoe and almost nailed him in the ass as he walked out the bedroom door.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Belgian waffle interrogation

'The madame's fixin' to be late," Weiss said in our earpieces in a perfect southern drawl. He could nail any accent.

Five of nine languages I speak perfectly, but I never could get down a southern drawl. Weiss was stationed at the

observation apartment watching the entrance to the Elite Gentleman's Club. "I could use forty winks. She'd better waddle that lardass out of the cathouse soon, y'air

Lardass.
Smithe laughed over the comm and I almost snorted. In the recon vids I'd been shown before we put our plan into action, Madame Cherie was so skinny she could compete with any emaciated Hollywood actress. Her huge boobs

were large enough to make her look like she should topple forward with just a step. Hollywood plastic all the way.

Donovan sat in the utility van's driver's seat while I was in the passenger seat. The silence between us had been thick, dark from his secrets, ever since he'd left the bedroom earlier.

"Four thirty-six." I glanced from the darkened sky—as dark as Manhattan could get at night—to the van's dim dashboard clock. Donovan had taken a spot next to the corner curb on this side of the stoplight. Perry and Takamoto's rented Olds snugged up against the curb behind us on the corner on the other side of the stoplight.

"Takamoto." The irritation in my voice wasn't really due to the fact the madame hadn't shown up yet. Or my disagreement with Donovan. It was more due to the fact that I was trapped, unable to get home when I felt I was

needed more than ever. "Your surveillance notes show she's never been later than three forty-five am. Fifty minutes is a hell of a discrepancy."

Takamoto had seen me lose my cool plenty of times before, so he didn't miss a beat as he replied from the Olds. "This is a first since we started observing the Elite this weekend."

"Strange," Jensen said into her earpiece from where she and Kerrison had parked their Buick illegally three cars up.

"I damned sure hope that Giger dick hasn't decided she knows too much and is taking care of her himself," Kerrison said.

"Dick?" Obvious amusement was in Smithe's voice. "Since when did the lovely new Agent Kerrison stop speaking like a lady?"

Kerrison sounded like she needed her sleep as she snapped back at him. "Fuck you, Smithe."

Immediately Jensen jumped in with, "Don't even give the jerk an opening."

"We're all getting a little edgy." I shifted in my seat and rolled my shoulders. "Cut the crap."

Donovan studied me, and I turned away. Thoughts of Mama kept burning in my brain. We had to make this op a fast

one, because I needed to be there for her. I
needed
to be there for her.

"Yes, ma'am." Weiss's drawl was thicker and exaggerated this time. Almost at once he added, "Hang on. The hag's on her broomstick. She just flew right out of the shithole."

Hag
was another word that didn't go with Madame Cherie, who was anything but. Sexy clothing showed off her big boobs and skinny ass. She had long, sleek black hair and an oval face piled with enough makeup to hide any flaw that came with age. The woman had to be close to forty, but she did a great job of looking closer to thirty.

My blood started stirring as I mentally prepared myself for the job. Finally, some action. "Anyone following her?"

"Nope." The connection crackled as Weiss spoke. "She's headed straight down Sixtieth Street toward Second Avenue like usual. Three minutes and she'll be yours."

I huffed out a breath. A one, two, three easy op. Still, we worked the job with backup to make sure there weren't any snags. I peered out the black utility van's passenger-side window and at the streetiight-illuminated sidewalk. No one spoke over the comm as we waited.

Perry broke the silence as he spoke from the car on the other side of the stoplight behind us. "Madame is just about in your lap."

I jerked down my black wool balaclava over my head so that only my eyes and nose were exposed. I glanced at

Donovan whose face mask was already in place, exposing only his blue eyes and the lightly lined skin around them.

His gaze had a sharpness to it that made me wonder what he was thinking about. But I wasn't the kind of chick to ask what was on a guy's mind every time his attention was focused on anything but me. That was for insecure women, and

I'm anything but.

"All yours, sweetheart," Smithe added. "And Steele, I'm talking to Donovan. If there was ever anything sweet about you, the polar ice caps might melt."

I would have rolled my eyes but I was too intent on watching for Madame Cherie. I stared at the side-view mirror and saw her round the corner. She tottered on the four-inch heels she wore despite the fact she was at least five-ten, six inches taller than me without her shoes. What with the heaviness of her boobs, her thin frame, and the heels she

wobbled on—all up against my extensive training—she ought to be easy enough to grab in a hurry.

Donovan climbed into the windowless back of the utility van and prepared to open the sliding door. I grasped the

passenger-door handle. When the ma-dame was directly in front of the sliding door, I gave a quick nod to Donovan.

He slammed open the door at the same time I bolted out of the front seat. It was his job to help throw her in once I grabbed her.

I sprinted the six or seven feet between her and the van.

The bitch pulled a can of pepper spray out of her small purse—and nailed me full in the face.

"Fuck!" I was blinded as brutal pain burned my eyes, forcing wetness down my cheeks, soaking my balaclava. The spray set flame to my lungs, and my upper body spasmed as I started choking. My eyes, nose, and throat were burning too bad to even smell it.

I tore off my balaclava but gulped in more pepper through my mouth and coughed even harder. I could barely open my

eyelids a slit but saw her blurry figure turn to run. In Special Forces and during RED training I'd been sprayed while being forced to finish off my assailant. I hadn't lost either hand-to-hand combat exercise.

This bitch was so not getting away. I was beyond pissed as I tackled her skinny ass and brought her down hard.

She landed with a harsh cry and I heard a
thump
that was probably her head against the concrete sidewalk. A metallic sound skittered away. The pepper spray can, probably.

I was ready to slug her just to make myself feel better, but someone jerked me away from behind. Through the blur in my eyes I saw Donovan grab the kicking and now screaming woman and literally toss her into the van.

"I'll drive," Kerrison said from behind me—she must have been the one who pulled me off the madame. "You two take care of her. And please shut her the hell up."

I was gritting my teeth too hard from pain to answer. Instead, I dove into the van and slammed the sliding door into place.

Kerrison swung the van onto the street with tires squealing in a good imitation of a movie car chase. I stumbled before I went after the madame as she bucked and thrashed against Donovan.

When I looked at the woman—the best I could considering that my sight wasn't any better yet—I saw that Donovan

had not only cuffed her wrists but put plastic cuffs on her ankles as well.

The language the madame used as she screeched was so expressive she might have embarrassed my commanding

officer in the Army. Well, hardly, but damn could she let it out.

Pepper spray straight in one's eyes isn't always followed by reason. But I managed not to slug her as I dropped beside her and Donovan. Can't hit a bitch when she's down.

"The gag and the blindfold are by her head." Blood rolled down Donovan's cheekbone. Looked like the madame had nailed him with her pointy stiletto heel.

I kept coughing, but I was blocking most of the pain now, like I'd blocked just about any kind of pain countless times over the years.

My sight was less bleary as I was rocked back and forth while trying to crawl toward the gag. "Jesus," I shouted at Kerrison between coughs. "We've got her. Let up on the NASCAR driving."

Kerrison said something that I couldn't hear and I realized my earpiece had fallen out. The madame jerked her head

forward and nearly bit my arm as I reached for the black strips of cloth.

"Knock her out or something," I said to Donovan. "Punch her." He shook his head in amusement as the woman stilled.

"That's better." I gave the madame a sweet smile. Ha! Tell Smithe I couldn't be sweet. Well, act sweet at least. Another cough spoiled my attempt at keeping my smile. "But I might punch you myself, just for fun."

Madame Cherie's look of bewilderment would have made me laugh if I wasn't still so ticked about being pepper-

sprayed.

And if thoughts of Mama hadn't been heavy on my mind at the same time we were getting ready to interrogate the

madame. We needed to get this over with, damnit.

We'd tied the madame to a kitchen chair in the middle of the living room in the snazzy apartment Kerri-son and I

would start sharing tonight. Or this morning, rather. Kerrison had sent all her stuff over during the day with Donovan.

She and I hadn't been in the apartment together until now.

As Madame Cherie scanned the room with frantic-looking brown eyes, I sprawled in a big comfy leather chair that had an ottoman. I put my feet up while feeling like I had a bad sunburn on my cheeks and I'd smoked a pack of cayenne

peppers. Unfortunately the stuff smelled more like ant and roach spray, which in turn made me smell like one big well-sprayed roach.

On the other hand, the smell of something heavenly was coming from the kitchen. God it was good having Donovan

around.

"What's for breakfast?" I shouted as I thought about getting my butt off the chair and taking a shower. Kerrison was already taking hers.

Donovan walked the few feet from the kitchen area and looked at me. "You look like hell."

I flipped him the bird. "Nice shiner," I said as I looked at his cheek and the round cut from the ma-dame's heel and the purpling skin around it. "So what smells so good that I'm tempted to skip a shower just to stuff my face with whatever it is?"

"Belgian waffles."

"With strawberries and whipped cream?" I sighed as he gave a nod. I placed my palm on my growling belly. "You're the best."

He shook his head with amusement before heading back into the kitchen. I glanced at the woman cuffed to the chair in the middle of the room. She might have been frowning if a person could frown with a gag in her mouth.

"Be a good girl and you might get some, Madame Cherie," I said. "Believe me, his waffles are worth spilling your guts for."

Kerrison walked in, her red hair damp and her cheeks pink from the shower. Her feet were bare, she wore an orange

University of Tennessee T-shirt, and faded blue jeans. She looked just like one of those fresh-scrubbed girls from next door. Or whatever.

"So that's the latest in torture techniques?" Kerrison plopped onto the couch across from me so that the madame was between us. She jerked her thumb to the kitchen. "Let them get a whiff of his cooking and start salivating until they talk?"

"Oh, yeah." I nodded emphatically, keeping an entirely serious expression on my face. "Wait until you try them. His waffles have the prisoners telling us everything from the time they lost their first binky to the last time they had a bowel movement."

Kerrison tucked her long legs beneath her on the couch. She grinned as she looked at Madame Cherie, who had just

rolled her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head in an I
can't believe these idiots
motion.

I almost laughed. "If you have any idea how this bunch probably saved your skinny ass, you'd be a little happier right now."

"Let's take her gag off and see if she screams." Kerrison had an evil-witch kinda light in her pale green eyes as she glanced from me to the madame. A hint of a southern accent was in her voice that I hadn't heard before. She uncurled her legs and got up from the couch. "Hey, you want to grab the bat out of the closet just in case she does?"

Kerrison was really starting to grow on me.

"You betcha." I stood, too. I really was going to hit the madame if she screamed. "But I'd rather use my fist to knock her out."

The madame didn't look even the tiniest bit scared. She just had an exasperated expression on her features.

"The woman in front of you has been trained in jujitsu since she was eight years old." Kerrison got behind the madame. "Twenty-three years is it?" Kerrison said to me.

"You do your homework." I nodded at Kerrison, a little impressed that a new junior agent had that info on me already.

Kerrison shrugged. "Some of the guys in the gym said they wouldn't take you on for anything. And jeez, a couple of those bastards are built like trucks."

I almost grinned, but I was trying to look mean-serious at the madame. Kerrison was right—a few of the big bad

agents at RED said hell no to sparring with me, but it was good-natured. They'd seen me break a bad guy's neck using just my thighs.

Kerrison started untying the madame's gag. The woman was still cuffed at her ankles as well as her wrists. We'd taken her stilettos off in the van. Stilettos were lethal weapons—I should know since I'd once tried to kill a man while

wearing a pair of my own. Donovan was lucky she hadn't planted one of her heels in his eye instead of on his

cheekbone.

I pushed up the sleeves of the black turtleneck I'd worn for tonight. "Ready when you are."

"Sonofabitch" was the first thing Madame Cherie said after her gag was removed. She glared over her shoulder at Kerrison and then at me. "Get me out of these fucking cuffs."