by Misty Evans
“I assume the countess is well guarded or you wouldn't need me.”
“There have been several attempts on her life—she believes her brother is behind them—so yes, she takes security seriously, but not to the extent you might expect. Kossiwa Enterprises is in her husband's research facility, located on their estate, and she has added additional security to make sure Dr. Epstein does not try to escape with her son.”
“If we remove the countess from the equation, Epstein and her son should be safe.”
“Unfortunately, if the doctor has built a version of Disease X, her knowledge will make her a target for others as bad as, or worse than, the countess. With our help, she can choose to start over—change her name, build a new life with her son—if she wants.”
“And her research? Is that going to be turned over to the World Health Organization?”
“I’m not privileged to Beatrice’s plans in that regard, but I believe it will be destroyed so no one can use it.”
Cassandra sensed that reassured Mick in some small way. “I'll need blueprints of the house, details about the guards, their routines, et cetera. It will be tricky to apprehend a countess and exfil the scientist and her son at the same time if it’s just me.”
“Barnstorming the mansion won’t work for this mission, but”—she shot him a grin—”I have a plan.”
3
Playing spy
Mick nearly fell off the barstool trying to stay upright, but his body was shutting down. Too much adrenaline after his long stay in Club Hell. Too much liquor after the imposed dry spell.
Cassandra seemed to know. “Whew, I’m beat,” she said, faking a yawn as she eyed his hands, both of which gripped the edge of the countertop for dear life. “How about we pick this up first thing in the morning?”
She looked as fresh and determined as she had when he first spotted her in the helicopter. Liar.
Such a beautiful one at that.
His male ego hated it, but his body rejoiced at the idea of throwing himself on a soft mattress.
If only he could take her with him.
Unfortunately, he needed to know the rest of the details of the op before going nighty-night. His brain could stew on them while he was unconscious.
“What's your plan?” The words sounded dull.
Cassandra shuffled papers together and shoved them in her briefcase. “The timing is crucial as Falana is looking for investors to produce the disease on a more wide-scale basis. Biohacking The Future, a conference going on this weekend in Vienna, is hosting microbiologists, epidemiologists, and virologists. Dr. Epstein is scheduled to give a lecture and is a guest on a panel of experts. We believe Falana will be recruiting investors there. Beatrice wants you to go undercover as one, befriend Falana, and secure an invite to a party the countess is hosting at the end of the conference. Act sort of like a raven.”
“A raven?”
“It’s a spy term for a male agent who seduces people for intelligence purposes. You shouldn’t have to actually seduce the countess to get close enough to…eliminate her…but we’re hoping your good looks and charm will get you in the door.”
“Sounds like a ball of fun. I know nothing about viruses or biology.” But he had an idea, one that would keep the beautiful lawyer close. “You’ll have to play the role of my assistant and keep me from looking like an imposter.”
“I know,” she said, patting the top of his hand. He saw three of her instead of one. Damn, was he drunk? “Unfortunately, I don’t play spy, so I’m going to teach you everything you need to know about viruses and antidotes before I send you in. Well, maybe not everything, but a crash course on the key concepts.”
“I’m not a spy, Cassie. I’m not doing the mission unless you come along as my assistant. I suppose you could be my mistress.” He waggled his brows at her.
She bit her bottom lip and glared. Even that was beautiful. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m an attorney. A damn good one, but even if I were a spy, I wouldn’t play the role of your mistress.”
A lawyer, right. But there was more—much more, he had the feeling—than she was letting on. “How do you know enough about synthetic biology to give me a crash course in it?”
She glanced away, fiddling with her briefcase. “My parents were both physicians working in the field of public health and specializing in R&D. I cut my teeth on bacteria, viruses, and genetic coding.”
Gross. “There’s no way I’m going to play the part of an investor without you by my side.”
“I thought you were flipping amazing. Surely you can handle buddying up to the countess.”
A grin.
Tease.
He pushed up off the stool, hung onto the countertop for balance, and once his head stopped swimming, he headed for the stairs. There was a bed calling his name. “You can join me upstairs if you want to confirm the amazing part for yourself. Otherwise, I’ll expect you to be ready to play my girlfriend at the conference tomorrow.”
She didn’t like the term mistress, fine, but he wasn’t letting her squirm out of helping him. Like he’d told her, he wasn’t a spy and didn’t have an inkling how to handle the entire mission on his own.
He didn’t wait for a response, his legs heavy weights as he took the stairs one at a time, praying he didn’t look as wiped out as he felt. He knew her eyes were on him, Hunter’s too.
Every cell in his body screamed at him for signing that damn contract.
One mission. Get this one done and he would start a new life. Fuck France, Austria, Erisia, this Beatrice woman, and the president. Fuck anyone else who wanted to use him in the future. He would do this one last mission and then real freedom would be his.
Dropping the fig leaf
Mick woke face down on a soft blanket, confusion clouding his brain. Where am I?
The room was dark, a smidge of light coming from the closet. Someone was moving around in there, but he barely had the energy to keep his eyes open and figure out who.
As soon as he saw a pair of sexy legs, everything came rushing back. Cassandra emerged from the closet, carrying clothes. When she saw he was awake, she quickly glanced away.
“Sorry to wake you.” She hustled toward the door. “I didn't see anything.”
That's when he realized he had shed his prison garb and was lying naked on the covers.
At least he was facedown, because his cock immediately responded to her. “What are you doing?”
She stopped with her back to him. “Earlier, I picked this room for myself and left my suitcase in here while you and Trace were out.”
He hadn’t even noticed. He’d trudged into the room, shed his clothes, and fell face down on the bed. “You're welcome to share it with me.”
Her soft chuckle caressed him, teasing his already hard cock, and she glanced over her shoulder. “You’d like that, wouldn't you?”
She grabbed for the doorknob.
“Wait.” He pushed himself up to his elbows. “You can have it. Just point me in the direction of a free bedroom and I'll get out of your hair.”
Her hand shot out, stop, as though she were afraid he would flash her. “It’s no problem. You stay. Besides, you've already stunk up the sheets.”
He sniffed, getting a good whiff of prison and his own body sweat. He hadn’t noticed it before. “Guess I could use a shower, or maybe three. Sorry about hijacking the bedroom.”
“Please. No big deal.” Her gaze dropped to his chest, and then she quickly looked away. “You're a hero who just spent a lot of time in prison. You deserve the best room in the house.”
She disappeared before he could say anything, and exhaustion pulled him under once more.
But his sleep was interrupted by nightmares, and his body wasn't used to the comfort of the mattress. He tossed and turned, eventually getting up to take a shower in the attached bathroom. Cassandra had forgotten her shampoo, and as he stood under the hot water, he flipped the lid of the bottle open and breathed deeply. Jasmine and honeysuckl
e. For a long time, he just stood under the spray and sniffed the shampoo, appreciating both.
There was another bottle on the corner of the tub, this one lemon and argon oil, whatever the hell that was good for. He used it to wash his hair several times, and then scrubbed the grime off the rest of his body. By the time he was done, the hot water had cooled. It was still the best thing he’d felt in eons.
He wiped steam off the mirror and stared at his face. The beard needed trimming, his hair too.
But not tonight.
Back in the bedroom, he stripped the sheets and blanket, the reek of his body still on them. The bed beckoned, but he found a clean blanket in the closet and curled up on the floor with it, falling into a dreamless sleep as the sun snuck over the horizon.
4
Elicitation to commit on same idea
“I can't do it,” Cassandra said to Beatrice, who was on the other end of the conference call. The third member was Parker.
Queen B, as most of the staff called her, was at home in DC, where it was nearing midnight. “Can’t or won't?”
Cassandra sipped coffee, already at work, sunlight falling across the breakfast bar and her briefcase. She'd already had this argument with Parker and gotten nowhere. “You didn't hire me to spy for you. That’s Parker’s expertise, not mine. May I remind you, she's also a medical doctor who would be your best bet as an undercover agent in this situation.”
Parker stayed silent, but Cassandra could mentally see the former spy and elite doctor rolling her eyes wherever she was hanging out. Somewhere nearby, but she hadn't shared details.
“I hired you to make Shadow Force run more smoothly,” Beatrice said. “Lt. Ranger is right; he needs your guidance on the subject matter to pull off the mission if you're going to send him in to get close to Falana, posing as an investor. That was your idea, correct?”
Yes, and it was a damn good one, but… “You and Parker want us to keep a low profile. The way to do that is have Mick buddy up to the countess and score an invite to her party rather than forcibly going into her home and risking the lives of Dr. Epstein and her son.”
“I agree. It's a solid plan, better than our previous one, but I also agree with Lt. Ranger. He needs you by his side to make sure Falana believes he's a legitimate investor. He doesn't have to be a scientist, but he needs to know the basics of what he's talking about in order for her to believe he’s legitimate.”
What had she gotten herself into? Mick was a loose cannon, and he wasn't about to listen to her. Even if she could play the part, he would drive her crazy. “I don't know how to be anyone but myself. I'm not an actor.”
“So be his chief operating officer, like you’re mine. You seem to have that role down pat.” Was that sarcasm? Beatrice did not joke, although occasionally, Cassandra heard irony in her tone. “I already had Rory create backstop identities for both of you. Look them over and prep Lt. Ranger for his job. I know you can do it. Besides, if anyone can keep him in line and on task, it’s you.”
More sarcasm? Cassandra doubted anyone could keep Mick in line. How had he made it into the SEALs? “You planned this all along, didn't you? Having me take over this mission and keep an eye on the lieutenant?”
A soft laugh, and with that, their conversation was over. The line went dead.
Cassandra ground her teeth, setting down her phone and taking another sip of coffee. On her laptop, she brought up the files Rory had sent, reading them and tapping her pen against the counter.
The lives of a woman and her son were on the line. Was it worse to refuse to help, or to follow orders and screw everything up? Either way, she could be endangering them.
By the time she’d read through her and Mick’s backstop identities, Trace was fixing breakfast and keeping one eye on the local news.
The star of the mission had yet to make an appearance, sleeping in. Henley and Slash were patrolling the grounds to keep an eye on things.
The good thing was they weren’t headline news. As Cassandra enjoyed her eggs and toast, she came up with a new plan.
Not entirely new, but with a twist that could work and put her in the driver’s seat with Mick.
“Did the security video catch the explosion?” Mick sauntered into the kitchen, smelling like soap. His hair wet from a shower. She'd heard the water running last night after she'd awakened him, but he must have felt like another shower this morning. He stared at the TV news. “Did they get my good side?”
He certainly looked and smelled better. His hair curled against his neck.
Trace clapped him on the shoulder, rising from his stool to shovel eggs on a plate for him. “Sorry to disappoint you, man, but you didn't make the news, in France or the US.”
“No manhunt?” He appeared truly crestfallen.
Trace and Cassandra both shook their heads. “I’m sure there is one going on, but it’s covert. Parker says there was a drone that might have caught us leaving the helicopter and that’s how the police caught up with us last night. That was them, apparently, on the bikes.”
Mick closed his eyes for a moment, sniffing the air and breakfast, and then he frowned at the TV. “Damn. That escape was legendary. I thought for sure they caught it for posterity.”
“Good thing they didn't,” Cassandra said, refilling her coffee mug. “If you're going undercover, you don't want your face splashed all over the news.”
Duh.
He didn't seem to read her mind and winked at her. “True, but I assumed you were going to change my appearance, Themis, before you shove me at the countess.”
She leaned against the counter and gave him an evil grin. “Yes, partner, we’re giving you a makeover, and by the way, my codename is no longer Themis.”
Both men looked at her.
“Partner, huh?” Mick grinned. “So you're going to be my girlfriend?”
“I prefer Roman goddesses to Greek, so I'm changing my name to Juno, considered the counselor and protector of the state. I think it's more fitting.” She turned her laptop so Mick could read his backstop identity. “I am not your girlfriend, Mr. Graham Sterling, codename Mars. I am your chief operating officer, Cassie Juno.”
“Ha. I see what you did there.” He stole a piece of toast from her plate. “Mars, god of war. I like it. So you are going undercover with me.”
“The basics of the plan are the same—you're an investor looking for opportunities in the field of synthetic biology, especially where it pertains to viruses and antidotes. You deal with legal and some gray market areas. I am your COO, and I keep you from making bad investments or ending up in trouble with all the international laws.”
The toast was already gone and he brushed his hands together to get rid of the crumbs. “I like it, but I think you should still be my girlfriend. It's sexier.”
Sexier, right. Because that's how they could sell themselves to the countess.
Which he knew was a terrible idea. His expression told her he’d said that to get under her skin.
She would not give him the satisfaction. “Come on, Mars, or maybe we should call you Romeo.” She headed for the stairs, taking her coffee with her. It was going to be a long morning. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Give something to get something
With his hair still damp, it made sense to trim that first. Cassie sat Mick on a straight-back chair in the bathroom and picked up a pair of scissors. They weren't made for hair, but were thin enough to work.
“You’re a beautician too?” he asked as she combed and parted his hair.
“You think I made chief operating officer on my looks alone?” She combed a section straight up and snipped. “Why does it surprise you I can trim your hair?”
“Because you're a lawyer?”
He seemed genuinely confused. She snipped another inch. “My sister, Amanda, is a stylist. She used to practice on me, following YouTube videos, as well as her class manuals, when she was in cosmetology school. I picked up a few things.”
He grinned up
at her. “You are a woman of many talents.”
“Not really.”
“No wonder this Beatrice gal put you to work for her.” He tried to watch her in the mirror, sneaking glances as she worked her way around to the back of his head. Probably worried she’d lop off more on one side than the other.
She gave some thought to it, just for fun, but unfortunately she needed him to look like a billionaire, and not someone who had his hair trimmed by an attorney with a common, every day pair of shears.
“Do you like her?” he asked.
“I have great respect and admiration for Beatrice and all that she has done. Emit Petit started Rock Star Security, but Beatrice and her husband, Cal, are the ones who created Shadow Force International. The men they’ve saved and given jobs to are a rare breed who struggle with normal life and jobs.”
He narrowed his eyes slightly and assessed her in the mirror. “All well and good, but you didn't answer my question.”
She stared back, pausing before the next cut. “Why does it matter if I like her?”
“So you don't?”
What was he getting at? “I wouldn't work for her if I didn't, but it's not about what I like or don't like. Bottom line, I trust her, and there aren't many people I can say that about in this world.”
There was that scrutiny in his eyes again. “Who betrayed your trust and made you so jaded?”
Robbie’s face flashed through her mind at the same moment she made the cut and the tip of the scissors nicked her skin. A tiny line of blood rose along the cut. “Dammit.”
She set the comb and scissors on the counter and ran water to wash the blood off. “I'm going to leave some length to your hair so you can pull it up in a man bun. Very European, and it will emphasize your bone structure. The countess has a thing for male models since her husband passed. She should find you attractive, and that alone should help you get her attention.”
