by Elle Kennedy
Kane shifted his gaze back to the newcomer at the table. Again he found himself thinking, this was who they were sending in?
Isabel Roma looked like she’d walked straight out of a trailer park, with all that big blond hair teased to oblivion, the gaudy eye makeup, and the rhinestone-studded jacket. She was also a little chubby, her cheeks round, her upper body slightly… padded. He had no clue what to make of her, and he suspected the others weren’t sure either. At least the dog didn’t seem to have a problem with her appearance. Bear was lying by Isabel’s feet, gazing at her the way he gazed at those rawhide bones Luke lavished him with. No accounting for taste.
“Kane?”
He shot Morgan a quizzical look. “Sorry. What were you saying?”
“I wanted to know if you filled the guys in on the situation.”
“Yeah, I did.” He glanced at Luke, then Ethan. “You guys are still in?”
They both nodded. Luke offered a cocky grin, adding, “It sounds like fun.”
Kane didn’t bother asking D. He knew the man would come along, no matter how much he disliked it. Which he’d made exceptionally clear all afternoon.
“Okay, good. So,” Morgan said briskly, “Noelle”—he said her name as if it carried the plague—“is lending us Isabel for this assignment.” He focused on the blonde. “Tell me about the cover you’ve got in place.”
“I’m Paloma Dominguez, a Brazilian heiress.” Isabel leaned back in her chair. Kane was surprised that the weight of her hair didn’t tip her over. “I’m a jet-setter. I like rich men and yachts and I’m spoiled rotten. I’ve been using Paloma for about five years now. She’s a big hit in South America. European men love her too.”
“Izzy’s a chameleon,” Abby piped up, sounding oddly gentle. “She can transform herself into anyone.”
Kane gave Isabel another surreptitious once-over. He still couldn’t figure her out. She was very personable, with a throaty, easygoing voice and an approachable demeanor. But he simply couldn’t get past her appearance.
Neither could the others, apparently.
“Look.” Luke spoke up in his lazy drawl. He turned to Isabel, holding his hands up like he was surrendering to an enemy. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I can’t see how your presence would benefit this assignment. You’re… flashy. And, um, frumpy…”
It took all of Kane’s willpower not to burst out laughing. Luke, tactful as always.
“I don’t know how much you know about Luis Blanco,” Luke continued, “but the man isn’t impressed by chicks with flash. He goes for the fresh-faced, wide-eyed look. Not…” His voice drifted.
Isabel nodded knowingly. “Not the whore from the trailer park?”
Kane’s peripheral vision caught Abby biting her lip as if she was trying not to smile.
“Um, yeah,” Luke said awkwardly.
To Kane’s surprise, Isabel began to laugh. “You actually think I dress like this?” she asked Luke.
“Uh…”
“Didn’t you hear what Abby said? I’m a chameleon.” She cocked her head, as if to toss her hair over her shoulder, but the blond monstrosity didn’t budge. Probably frozen in place with three cans of hair spray.
Kane was intrigued. Morgan had told him Noelle’s women had the ability to transform themselves in the blink of an eye, but still… How different could Isabel really look without the tacky getup?
“I just came from an assignment in Paris,” Isabel added. “My target happens to like trashy women. Trust me, boys, this is all for show.”
Luke cast Kane a look that revealed he couldn’t possibly fathom how the chubby face and plump body could be a “show.” Kane wasn’t quite sure either. Across the table, Abby seemed to be fighting another grin.
Seeing the lingering doubt, Isabel chuckled again before getting to her feet. “Jeez, you obviously have no faith in my ability to transform.”
“Izzy—” Abby began.
“Abs, these men aren’t going to take me seriously unless I show them I’m perfectly capable of socializing with a man like Blanco,” Isabel interrupted.
“Fine. Just make it fast.”
With a hint of a smile, Isabel shrugged out of the jacket and tossed it aside. Instantly her arms looked thinner. The jacket obviously had hidden shoulder pads sewn into it.
“Undercover operatives can’t survive if they don’t know how to alter their appearance,” Isabel explained. She shot Luke a pointed look. “As a former SEAL, you should know what I’m talking about. How many times did you have to disguise yourself when you were running around in the jungle or Afghanistan or whatever war zone you were assigned to?”
“A few,” he admitted. “Though to be fair, SEALs don’t do deep cover too often. Our job is to get in and out before anyone knows we were even there.”
“A disguise is a disguise, no matter how short a time you use it.” She stood at the head of the table, off to Morgan’s side, and pointed to the tight baby tee she’d been wearing under the jacket. The top showed off her midriff, and nobody could miss the slight roll of cellulite at her belly. “Certain clothes can help, but unless you’re willing to gain or lose thirty pounds for a gig you need to find ways around it. Makeup, for example.”
Isabel bent down and rummaged around in the duffel bag she’d brought outside. She stood up a second later with a tiny packet of tissues. She proceeded to wipe her stomach, then her cheeks and chin, and when she finished, Kane was startled to see a dramatic change. Her cheekbones suddenly seemed higher, her chin more defined, and her stomach was as flat as they came.
“Subtle makeup,” she continued, “designed to play with light and shadow, giving the impression of, say, cellulite.” She rolled up the hem of her shirt to show the strategic—and like she’d said, subtle—padding sewn beneath it, padding that altered not only the garment but also the figure of the person wearing it.
“Oh, and my hair isn’t this big, okay?” she said with an annoyed breath. To hammer the point home, she ran her fingers through the stiff beehive atop her head, finger-combed it for a few seconds, and suddenly her hair was cascading down her shoulders.
Kane was actually stunned speechless. The woman in front of them really had transformed. She was actually kind of beautiful, and he wasn’t the only one to notice. Luke was all but gaping, his eyes darkening with appreciation. Ethan looked slightly amazed. D looked rattled. Morgan just seemed bored. And Trevor didn’t even blink.
“See, I’m a chameleon,” Isabel said with a pleased little smile before bending down to retrieve the jacket she’d carelessly dropped on the ground.
“She’s also a trained sharpshooter and fluent in seven languages,” Abby said wryly.
“Seven?” Ethan echoed in awe.
Even D looked impressed—and nothing impressed that smart-ass.
Isabel sank back into her seat and folded her hands in her lap. Casually, she glanced over at Trevor, who hadn’t uttered a word during the entire exchange, and said, “So, what do you have to offer?”
It took a few seconds for it to register that the blonde was speaking to him. Trevor Callaghan lifted his head, fixing Isabel with an indifferent look. He’d watched her entire transformation without much interest, which wasn’t a huge surprise. Nothing seemed to interest him these days.
The woman was attractive. He did notice that. Her skin, now devoid of that gaudy makeup, was smooth and tanned, and her body was slender with just the right amount of curves. Her eyes were her most dominant feature, though. Big and brown, with flecks of amber around the pupils. Could be contacts, but there was no hiding the intelligent gleam to them. He felt a distinct pang of discomfort under that shrewd gaze.
Fuck. He shouldn’t have come back here. He’d been doing just fine in Aspen, in the small but cozy condo he and Gina had shared. The condo they’d bought themselves as an engagement present. Why had he let Kane talk him into coming back? Why the hell was he here?
Because you want to die.
The t
hought rushed into his head, bringing a peculiar sense of tranquillity. God, how soothing it was. Yes. Yes, he did want to die.
Though, really, was it possible to die when you were already dead inside?
“Are you going to answer me sometime this century?” Isabel asked, the corners of her mouth twitching.
“What did you want to know?” he asked gruffly. His voice sounded strange to his own ears. He hadn’t spoken in a while. Couldn’t even remember the last time he’d said a fucking word before Kane called him up and asked if he was willing to come back for a gig.
“What’s your cover? Kane said we’re going in together.”
Trevor suddenly found it hard to speak. Everyone around the table was watching him, expectant. He was suddenly reminded of Gina’s funeral. They’d all looked at him the same way. Expectant, waiting for him to fall apart, to explode.
God, the funeral.
Had it really been a year ago? It felt like yesterday.
As if sensing his sudden urge to flee, Morgan took pity on him and spoke up instead. “Trev’s been using the alias Julian Martin for years. Julian dabbles in the arms trade, but he’s also a part owner in a Brazilian brothel. He’s an American who inherited a fortune from his folks, travels the world, and invests money in shady enterprises.” Morgan turned to Isabel and let out a low laugh. “Congratulations, Paloma Dominguez. You’re now married to Julian Martin.”
Isabel looked intrigued. “And we’re in the market for a sex slave?”
“Sure are.” He glanced at Trevor. “You’re still chummy with Felix Esposito, right?”
Trevor nodded, forcing some confidence into his voice. “I helped him out of a jam the last time I played Julian. He owes me one.”
“Good. On the flight back, Holden used his computer voodoo and connected Esposito to Samir Bahar, who happens to be the solicitor for Luis Blanco. Bahar comes from Turkish royalty, but he’s made his money working as the attorney for a handful of Middle Eastern and South American lowlifes.”
Trevor grew thoughtful. His brain was beginning to function again. They’d done this so many times, he could do it on autopilot. “I get Esposito to set up an introduction with Bahar, then try to arrange for a meeting with Blanco.”
“You probably won’t get it,” the redhead told him.
Trevor tried to remember her name. Annie? No, Abby. Abby Sinclair. When their eyes met, he was surprised by the jolt of connection he experienced. Her eyes… they were almost as empty as his own. Like looking into a mirror. She was dead inside too, he realized. Did she know it?
“Blanco gets Bahar and his other minions to do all his dirty work,” Abby continued. “He’ll have taken great pains to distance himself from the auction. Other than using his estate as the location, he probably hasn’t done any of the legwork.”
“All we need is an invitation,” Morgan said briskly. “Trev, you and Isabel will pose as prospective bidders. Hopefully, if you throw enough money at Blanco, he’ll let you join in the fun.”
Morgan tapped his fingers against the table. “We just need you and Isabel to get an in. Once you’ve got it, we’ll come up with an appropriate plan for extraction.” He looked at Abby. “You know the layout of the compound, the interior, right?”
She nodded.
“Good. You’ll need to go over it with Kane, draw us up some blueprints. As far as I know, you’re the only agent who’s ever managed to get inside there, so you’ll have to provide every last detail.” He frowned. “Make sure to label the positions of the guards, at least those that you remember. But we’ll have to assume Blanco increased security after your escape.”
She nodded again, then spoke hesitantly. “There’s one other thing. Two, actually. If Blanco ends up wanting to meet with you”—she glanced at Trevor—“Devlin will probably be there. Kane said you worked with him before—will that be a problem? Will he recognize you?”
Trevor pursed his lips. “Honestly, I don’t think he will. I didn’t go on that mission with Devlin. I was at the airfield, though. Spoke to the guy for like two minutes.”
“And you were rocking that mountain-man beard at the time,” Kane said with a grin. “If I met you once, and eight years ago, I probably wouldn’t recognize you now.”
“Well, just be careful,” Abby warned. “Do your best to stay out of his line of sight if you happen to meet.”
“And the second thing?” Isabel prompted.
“If Blanco does invite you to the estate,” Abby said, “you should be prepared.”
Trevor narrowed his eyes. “For what?”
“Blanco has cameras installed in every room of the house. He claims it’s a security precaution, but I think he’s just a plain old pervert who gets his kicks watching other people screw. I did some snooping and confirmed there aren’t any microphones, so conversations should be all right, but the cameras are definitely there.”
“So what you’re saying,” Isabel said warily, “is if Trevor and I are invited to the house, the bastard will want us to put on a show?”
“Oh, he’ll expect it,” Abby replied matter-of-factly.
While Isabel looked unfazed, Trevor couldn’t help but feel startled. He wasn’t sure that was something he’d be able to do. Isabel was an attractive woman, yeah, but…
She’s not Gina.
Pain torpedoed into his gut. The black hole inside him widened another fraction of an inch. How could anyone expect him to touch another woman when the only woman he wanted to touch was buried under six feet of dirt?
“All I’m saying is be prepared,” Abby said with a shrug. “If you two end up in one of those bedrooms, try to find a way around the sex part. But keep in mind that Blanco and his men will most likely be watching, so you need to stay in character every second you’re in there.”
Morgan shot Trevor a cautious look. “Trev, will that be a problem?”
Yes.
“No,” he said, slowly shaking his head.
Fuck it. Who cared anyway? When Kane had said those three words over the phone—possible suicide mission—Trevor had experienced a wave of anticipation so great he’d nearly keeled over from it. If he wasn’t such a pussy, he would’ve blown his brains out months ago. But he couldn’t do that to his mother and his sister. They’d probably blame themselves, and he couldn’t have that. His mother already blamed herself for canceling her dinner with Gina the night she was killed. Trevor couldn’t add another serving of guilt onto his mom’s plate. He wasn’t a total bastard.
But if he died in the field… if he died trying to save a dozen innocent girls, then his family would be spared having to scrub his brains off the bathroom tiles. Win-win for everybody.
He set his jaw and added, “It won’t be a problem at all.”
Abby stared at her reflection in the mirror of the guest bathroom, assessing her appearance. The bruises were still purple, but some were starting to fade to a splotchy blue. In a few days they’d be green, then yellow, then disappear entirely. She wasn’t usually prone to insecurity, but she couldn’t quit thinking about the way all the men had ogled Isabel out there on the terrace. Not that she blamed them—Isabel was gorgeous, and her personality was just as appealing as her looks. Abby wasn’t normally a jealous person, but over the years, as she’d watched men and women alike get lost in Isabel’s laid-back charm, she’d wondered how it would feel, having people like you.
She pulled her gaze off her bruised face and took a breath. She wished she could erase the gleam of appreciation she’d glimpsed in Kane’s eyes when Isabel had been putting on her show. Jeremy had taken her to a movie once, when she was sixteen or so, and Abby clearly remembered how puzzled she’d felt when the heroine on the screen rebuked her boyfriend for ogling some other woman. Abby had thought it weird that the heroine was angry rather than relieved. I don’t want anyone looking at me like that ever again, she’d told Jeremy. Let them picture someone else naked.
For some reason, that memory came back to her now, as she pictured the look on
Kane’s face when Isabel started to undress. But so what if he found Izzy attractive? As long as he helped her save those girls, he could admire anyone he pleased.
Sighing, she stepped out of the washroom and headed to the living room, where Kane had said he’d wait for her. They were supposed to draw up blueprints of Blanco’s compound, and she was eager to get started. The faster they planned this rescue, the faster they could be back in Colombia.
And the faster she could get away from Kane and the disturbing feelings he evoked in her.
Low male voices met her ears as she approached the doorway. When she recognized one of the voices as belonging to D, she instinctively ducked to the side and went still. Eavesdropping wasn’t very polite, but when it came to the black-eyed man who’d confronted her last night, she needed all the ammo she could get. Especially since she had a hunch that D would do all he could to persuade the other men to abandon the rescue.
“I don’t think we should do this.”
Yep, she’d seen this coming.
“Seriously,” D said. “I don’t like anything about it. Isabel seems competent, but did you see Trevor’s eyes? I don’t know what Morgan was thinking. Trevor is in no shape to be part of something like this.”
“I’m not sure I disagree.” Kane’s voice now, low and weary. “But Morgan wouldn’t give Trevor the okay to get back in the field if he didn’t think Trev was up to it.”
“And Abby”—D went on as if Kane hadn’t spoken— “she worries me the most, man. I don’t trust her. And I don’t like her either.”
She clenched her teeth, though there was really no reason to be annoyed. D had made his feelings about her clear—to her face. She shouldn’t be surprised that he was voicing those same suspicions to Kane behind her back.
“Bear likes her,” Kane pointed out, his tone laced with humor.
“Bear is an idiot,” D shot back. “And he isn’t in danger of getting killed, not unless Luke decides to bring the mutt along on the extraction, which ain’t gonna happen.”
