by Misty Evans
Her eyes opened slowly, the lids heavy in her lusty state. “God, you’re good.”
She hadn’t seen—felt—anything yet. “I’ll keep doing this to you until you can’t walk.”
Her grin was brief but wicked. “I have to attend the party.”
No she didn’t. “That will be the last thing on your mind by the time I’m done with you.”
She chuckled low and soft. “When is it my turn to play with you?”
Under the dark skirts and plain tops, she was a vixen. A very naughty one at that. “Whenever you want, Cass.”
The wicked grin resurfaced and the next thing he knew, she’d pushed him onto his back and straddled him.
She was slick and tight from her orgasms and used a hand to expertly guide him inside. He couldn’t hold back the low moan that escaped his lips.
God, she felt good. So, so good. He arched into her, his hips rising from the bed and going as deep as he could.
Her hair was a mess, falling over her shoulders, her eyes closed, and her head thrown back as she let him know she was done with the teasing, with drawing out their lovemaking. She rode him like a pro.
Reaching up, he grabbed her amazing breasts and tweaked her nipples, urging her on.
Their bodies moved together in heedless abandon, and Mick let himself go, let Cassie take the lead. She drove up and down, as if she couldn’t get enough of him, building a frenzied rhythm. He held on, matching her stroke for stroke, and didn’t care when she shouted her orgasm loud and clear this time. His bellow echoed hers as he followed her over the edge, exploding inside her.
In the aftermath, they lay tangled in each other’s arms, and Mick knew Cassandra’s wild abandon was the best form of freedom he’d ever tasted.
9
Act like you own the place
Von Strauss estate
* * *
“This place is like a castle fortress.”
Cassandra had seen the pictures of Falana's estate, and for sure, her mansion resembled a miniature castle, but now that she and Mick were approaching the front entrance, she couldn't help but lean forward in her seat and gawk.
They made it through the front gate security, Trace acting as their chauffeur.
Mick, beside her in the backseat, stared as well, but she had the feeling it wasn't because he was impressed by the stone turrets and battlement exterior. His eyes scanned for every entry and exit point, strategically yet silently, reviewing his plan. “Nothing humble about her, but she is a countess. Goes with the territory, I suppose.”
Slowly, they followed a long line of cars to the drop off point, Trace and Mick reviewing the mission plan yet again.
“As soon as I ditch the car,” Trace said, “I'll release Slash and Henley from the trunk. We'll make our way to the laboratory to contain and seal off any bio weapons we discover there.” The two SEALs were stuffed inside a specially designed, built-in container that hid their heat signatures and weaponry in case the vehicle was searched. Good thing, since the guards at the gate had thoroughly inspected the BMW. “Once we complete that, we will find the boy and extract him.”
The line crawled, the slowness making Cassandra jumpy. She was just thankful they’d gotten through the checkpoint. “I'll keep Gotty busy and find Dr. Epstein. Once I locate her, I'll hand her over to Mick.”
It truly was like entering a fortress, guards running bomb detectors underneath the car, as well as handheld scanners over various other places. Parker had told them they did more than alert them to potential car bombs. They could pick up bio signatures of those inside, hence the need for Slash and Henley to be encased in a black silicone cloaking material to hide them.
German shepherds also sniffed the vehicle, and a hidden plate under the gate’s entrance was equipped with an X-ray scanner, similar to an airport’s, to identify the presence of weapons.
“I'll send Epstein out to you,” Mick said to Trace. “Then I'll take care of the countess.”
Done with their inspection, Trace nodded in the rearview mirror, sliding the car forward. “Slash and Henley will take care of the Epsteins, so if you need backup, I’ll be available.”
Thank goodness they’d been able to sneak in the extra help, courtesy of Emit Petit and his silicone mat. Cassandra had already filed several patents for the man, who was a visionary and somewhat of an introvert. He rarely showed his face at headquarters, and then only when working on a new project or tool for his teams. He had initially refused to file any for his amazing work, but Beatrice and Cal had convinced him to take the plunge.
The conference’s last roundtable discussion had taken place that afternoon, and Cassandra had made sure to thank Seymour for the invites, she and Mick sitting with him. Falana had looked like a queen holding court as she gave the closing remarks, and Seymour had told Cassandra he was excited for her to meet his boss at the party that evening. Falana intended to offer her a job.
Mick held her hand covertly in the backseat. “As soon as I give you the signal,” he said to her, “you get out and find Slash and Henley. Do not hesitate or argue with me about anything. Are we clear?”
Their early morning lovemaking had continued for hours. Cassandra knew her body should be tired, but she felt like she was running on pure adrenaline. She was equal parts thrilled at what had happened between them, and terrified at what might, tonight.
Not might, would. They were stopping a potential killer, one who was armed and ready to harm hundreds, if not thousands of people.
God, she wanted to kiss him. She opted for squeezing his hand instead. “I will, I promise. Please be safe and come back to me.”
He grinned. “You know I will. I'm not done with you yet.”
They made it to the front of the line, several men in dark suits opening their doors and motioning them up the steps to the large, formidable entrance. On every step was a petite topiary covered in miniature lights. The double French doors were flung open, the strains of an orchestra filtering into the warm, summer night air. Trace pulled away and Cassandra took Mick’s arm as he led her up the stairs and into the house.
Everyone was dressed in ball attire, long, flowing gowns and tuxedos everywhere she looked. They were greeted by a butler who showed them to a long line of people waiting to speak to Falana.
Cassandra nervously smoothed a hand over the garnet red silk of her dress, stopping on her stomach. She wore an undergarment that slimmed all the right places of her figure while enhancing others. It featured a padded bustier, which she didn't need, but it hiked her double Ds up to enormous proportions that Mick could hardly keep his eyes off of. The dress had a deep V and she feared a wardrobe malfunction, but she enjoyed the fact Mick practically salivated every time he ogled her.
He wasn't the only one, now that they were there. As each person or couple finished their greeting to the countess and made their way back down the line, all eyes found their way to Cassandra and her boobs.
She tried not to blush and squeezed Mick’s arm a little tighter. “I feel like I'm meeting the queen,” she murmured to him under her breath. “A receiving line for an after-conference party? You’d think she was royalty. I guess she believes she is. She sure acts like it.”
Mick lifted a brow, as if questioning how she knew anything about royalty, and she shrugged. “I watch Hallmark Christmas movies. Shoot me. I know all about royal receptions and balls. Seems like a bit of overkill for the end of a conference on synthetic biology.”
As they drew closer, she spotted Seymour on Falana’s left, introducing attendees from the conference to her. The Countess was bedecked in an all-white gown, diamonds sparkling at her neck, in her ears, and on both wrists. The chair she sat in resembled a throne, red velvet and all.
When he spotted Cassandra, she saw his eyes bug out. Mick must've seen it too, his arm tucking her closer. She smiled coyly at Seymour, batting her lashes, and received a large smile in return. He could barely take his eyes off her as he continued introducing the people in front of
them. Those seemed a bit hurried, as if Seymour couldn't wait to get to her.
“Here we have Ms. Cassie Juno,” Seymour said to Falana. “And her boss, Mr. Graham Sterling from Codex One.”
Falana nodded at Cassandra and held her hand out to Mick. He bowed and kissed the top of it.
Cassandra felt a twinge of jealousy, even though she knew he was playing a part. “An honor to meet you,” he said.
Cassandra saw him give the countess a smoldering look and the jealousy spread like a flash fire. Falana allowed him to continue holding her hand, her return look cool and haughty. Could she truly be unfazed by Mick’s smolder?
She was a strong woman.
Cassandra felt her claws coming out
“Your home is amazing,” she said around a fake smile. “Such a generous thing to do, holding a party here after the conference.”
Falana finally withdrew her hand, but didn't take her eyes off Mick as she spoke. Her voice was lush with a British accent. “It was quite packed with lectures and little time for socialization. It's one thing to intellectualize the challenges the world faces with our new advancements in public health, but I've often found that true progress is in networking to bring the best ideas forward. Wouldn't you agree, Dr. Gotty?”
He nodded, staring at Cassandra. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes on her face and not dropping lower. “Absolutely.”
“Your interest in all of this is commendable,” Mick said. “It isn't often we find someone of your stature so committed to the medical research field. I hope you'll allow me to pick your brain later about potential investments I'm looking into. I could use your expertise.”
Falana’s expression barely changed, and yet, Cassandra sensed the shark smelled blood in the waters. The thinnest of smiles curved her lips. “I look forward to it.”
Before they headed off to the ballroom for food and dancing, Cassandra agreed to meet Seymour later. She felt his eyes on her ass as they walked away.
She released the breath she'd been holding. “That went well.”
Mick chuckled softly, steering her toward an empty table. “Worried?”
Of course, she was. Any normal person would be. “Do you think you can get her alone when you chat later?”
He pulled out a chair for her. “Never underestimate my charm, Cassie.”
She snorted as she sat. “Would I do that? Especially after our stolen hours together this morning?”
He snagged glasses of sparkling wine from a passing waitress, and Cassandra gave a start. There was something oddly familiar about the woman. Her disguise was done perfectly, but Cassandra had a keen memory for faces and she’d recently worked intensively with the woman to get her out from under a noncompete clause with the CIA.
Under that wig and glasses was one of Nemesis’s latest acquisitions—Nicola Russo, a former spy who’d briefly worked for Mexican National Intelligence, and now went by the codename Hathor.
Why was she here, and why hadn't Parker told her about the plant? Cassandra dug inside her clutch and slipped her comm unit into her ear. “Jett, come in.”
Mick took a swig of his drink and quirked his eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”
Parker responded at the same time, echoing the same words.
“Why didn't you tell me Hathor was inside?”
“She did tell us.” Mick cleared his throat. “I forgot to relay it to you. You were sleeping.”
It was Cassandra's turn to raise her brows, and she heard Parker again echo Mick. He and the others had spent hours going over the extraction plans with Parker that morning, while Cassandra had caught up on her sleep.
Her part in it was so small—keeping Seymour busy and watching for any opening to engage Dr. Epstein—Mick had let her sleep in. A part of her didn't want to know all the details of his plan, especially if it involved killing the countess. They’d drilled the basics into her head over lunch, and she hadn’t questioned anything else.
“What else did you forget to tell me?”
He leaned forward and put a hand on her knee. “We need her help disabling the cameras at the research facility. It’s a closed circuit system that Rory couldn’t break into. I should've told you, and I'm sorry. A lot on my mind.”
He said it with the patient tone of a parent, making her feel like she was overreacting. Maybe she was. “I just wasn't expecting her.”
He squeezed her knee through the dress. “This is what I do, trust me. I promise, everything is going to work out fine.”
She did trust him and felt bad for making him think otherwise. His eyes shone with utter confidence, like always, and she nodded. “Never mind, Jett. Mars explained.”
“Roger that,” Parker said, falling silent.
Cassandra left the earbud in, a long wave of hair hiding it. Her necklace contained a micro camera and recorder so Parker could pick up audio and video from the party.
There was a large dance floor, but most people congregated around the edges, indulging in hors d'oeuvres and the expensive champagne. As Cassandra and Mick scanned the room and its occupants, her mind kept flashing back to that morning with him.
Light glinted off his hair, one lone renegade section refusing to be tamed and hanging rakishly across his forehead. They’d spent time in the shower, making love there, as well as in his bed, on the floor, against the wall, and he’d even bent her over a dresser with a mirror, encouraging her to watch as he entered her from behind.
She’d never blushed so hard or had so many orgasms in her life. Her only sex partner, Robbie, hadn’t been so…skilled. She’d also never felt so…amazing. Even now, simply thinking about it made her horny. Using a paper decoration of a swan, she fanned herself. Her mouth was dry, but too much alcohol was a poor idea. “Do you think they have water?”
He noticed her hot flash and seemed to know its origin. He brushed a finger across her naked collarbone. He tapped his earbud, muting it. “There will be plenty more of that when we get back to the safe house,” he whispered in her ear as he rose. “I’ll find you some water.”
God, she was a furnace now. “With ice, please.”
A cocky grin. “Remind me to show you a trick I know with ice”—his gaze fell to her lap and her panties grew wet. “You’ll love it.”
She swallowed hard, watching him saunter away. He disappeared into the crowd, searching for Hathor, no doubt, and the glass of ice water.
Still fanning herself, she tried to relax but Parker said, “There’s something wrong with your necklace. We’re getting intermittent feed.”
Cassandra tapped at the gem hiding the camera and started to ask what she should do when Seymour appeared at her side. He slid into Mick’s empty seat, smiling. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you. Falana would like to speak to you now.”
“Yes, of course, but I’m waiting for Graham to bring me some water. It’s so hot in here and I feel a bit faint.”
He took her hand and drew her from the seat. “I’ll find him and bring him to meet us.”
“Asshole,” she heard Mick say. Thank goodness they could hear the conversation.
She glanced over her shoulder, hoping to spot Mick or Hathor as Seymour led her from the ballroom. She couldn’t find either, but knew Mick would be on her trail shortly.
“Command, we have a problem,” came a voice through the comm. It sounded like Henley.
“Go ahead,” Parker said.
“We are inside the research facility. There are no vials of any kind. No powders, liquids, or anything that appears to be a biological agent.”
A low-grade panic hit Cassandra in the belly. She could only half listen to Parker, Trace, and Mick discuss the issue as Seymour kept chatting her up.
He drew Cass down a long, dark paneled hallway. At the far end, were a series of photos showing Falana with various rich and famous people. Patrons and investors, he called them.
In her comm, she heard Mick say, “Keep it up, Cassie. You’re doing great. I'll rescue you from that asshole sho
rtly.”
Was she? Keeping Seymour busy was easy, but the second part of her job hadn't been to meet with Falana. It had been to locate Dr. Epstein.
“Falana is so inspirational,” she said to Seymour, trying not to appear distracted. “She knows a lot of people. I didn't realize until tonight that she was your boss.”
“Everyone loves her,” he gushed. “I do hope you’ll consider her job proposition.”
“Of course.”
He patted her hand. “You’ve made quite an impression on her.”
“I only just met her.”
“She’s done her homework on you and your boss.” He winked and smiled like the cat that ate the canary. “After you speak to the countess, perhaps you’d like a tour of the lab?”
Oh no. No no. Henley had already deserted the area, but she had no intention of leaving the mansion with Seymour, being alone with him.
“You have a lab here?” She glanced around at the ostentatious hall, complete with chandeliers, wood paneling, and an expensive runner under their feet.
“Nothing big, but top of the line. I do some of my experimenting in it.”
Some? “Where else do you work?”
He gave her a perplexed smile. “In the field, of course.”
“Oh,” she chuckled. “Right. I thought perhaps you had another job since you said ‘some’ of your experimenting.” She wondered what type of experiments he ran in the field. “Where do you most enjoy your fieldwork?”
“Here and there.” They stopped outside a closed wooden door and he knocked. “Wherever the job takes me.”
A woman’s voice came from inside. “Enter.”
Seymour escorted Cassandra inside. In her ear, the others continued discussing strategies to find the vials. Apparently, they’d already considered this possible scenario.
What if there weren't any of Epstein’s virus? What if all their intel had been wrong?
Things were getting messy, and nerves bounced around in her stomach, making it cramp.
