“You’re coming with us, Warick,” Jason called across the roof, edging closer. “There’s nowhere you can go, just, please come quietly.”
“Ah, he said please,” Warick went on, speaking to me now. “Such a well behaved young man, isn’t he? He wasn’t so polished when I met him; a bit rough around the edges. But he loved spending time with me and my friends; he just loved learning from us.” He paused, smirking. “Almost a father figure to you, wasn’t I, dear boy?”
Jason’s hand was shaking as he fought to stay in control. Was Warick trying to goad him into shooting?
“Quiet!” I commanded, trying to exercise some control over the situation. “Hands up in the air, Warick. Now!”
Warick was paying no attention to me; his entire attention was focused on Jason.
“And he was such a good friend to me, weren’t you, Jason? Always happy to chat about his work, his big case. And always so grateful for my help. Never realizing all this time that I was feeding him the information I wanted him to have—while taking from him what I needed to know to stay one step ahead.”
He laughed. “You know, I was only going to use that little Muslim chap once? Only Jason here got so excited when he thought he was on to some big terrorist cell, that I didn’t have the heart to let him down.”
I could see Jason gripping his gun tighter and tighter. Any second now, I thought, he’s going to squeeze that trigger and shoot an unarmed man right off the roof. It would be the end of his career; it would be the end of us.
“Jason, don’t let him get to you,” I tried to soothe him, but his attention was focused only on Warick. “Jason, look at me,” I pleaded.
His gaze shifted onto me. “He needs to die, Christine,” he said, his eyes filling with tears.
“No,” I answered. “He needs to pay for what he’s done. Death isn’t a punishment.”
Just as Jason relaxed his grip, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Warick had slid a tiny pistol from his sleeve and was aiming it straight at us. I had less than a second to react. I fired my gun, not really aiming, and hit him in his gun hand, just above the wrist.
Warick screamed in pain, the gun falling from his hand. He fell to his knees, cradling his injured arm to his chest. I breathed out slowly, and turned back to Jason—but he was already advancing on the stricken Warick, gun outstretched, finger on the trigger.
“Jason, stop! Please!” I called. He stopped walking, standing just a few feet from Warick, the barrel of his gun barely inches from the older man’s face.
I held my breath. I had spent the last two days doubting this man; doubting his every move and motive. Please, I thought to myself, please don’t let me down now.
“Cuff him,” he said quietly; so quietly, it took me a moment to react. I moved around behind Warick and restrained him, making him cry out in pain again.
You were lucky, I thought.
Epilogue
Jason
After Warick had been taken in by the Belgian authorities, the next twenty-four hours were a whirl of activity. Christine and I were interviewed separately, then debriefed together, asked to sign statement after statement, and even to hand over our guns for examination. We were both exhausted, having spent days hunting Al-Farook, then Warick, and now that he was in custody, it felt like all the adrenaline had left our systems and we were suddenly drained.
Christine wanted to get back to London as soon as possible, to update Billman, she told me, but I think she really wanted the familiarity of home. This investigation had been hard on both of us.
On the flight back to Heathrow, I had wanted to talk, but Christine had fallen asleep almost as soon as she took her seat, her head slumped on my shoulder, her soft hair tickling my cheek. I didn’t have the heart to wake her.
Christine headed back to MI5, while I headed to the hotel room I had left only the day before. It seemed like a lifetime ago since I had last been here.
I took a long shower and checked in with my handler, Thompson. We talked for a few minutes about the mistakes that had been made in the investigation—and the successes. I arranged to take some time off, and said I would report back to the New York office in ten days. I’d earned it.
I called the MI5 office, looking for Christine, but got put through to Billman instead.
“Christine’s already gone home, Agent Kern.” Billman told me. “She was determined to stay at her desk and finish off the paperwork, but I’m afraid she was dozing off at her computer. I sent her back to her flat.”
I hesitated. I had really wanted to speak to Christine; I felt there was still so much we needed to discuss.
“You could always pop round and see her?” Billman suggested, and gave me the address of a flat in somewhere she called Bethnal Green and instructions on how to get there.
I arrived about half an hour later outside a little terraced house, which had been split into an upstairs and a downstairs flat. Christine had scribbled her name on a piece of paper stuck to the bottom buzzer. I took a deep breath and pressed the button.
After a couple of seconds, I heard footsteps in the hall and the front door swung open. Christine was wearing leggings and an oversize woolly sweater and she had some sort of fluffy rabbit slippers on her feet. She looked stunned and mildly embarrassed to see me waiting on her doorstep.
“Can I come in?” I asked with a smile.
“Of course,” she said, blushing.
Her flat was small but cozy. There was a tiny sofa and the TV was on in the corner, playing some trashy talent show. I smiled to myself. I don’t think this was how Agent Christine Simmons would want to be seen by her colleagues…
“Have you come to say goodbye?” Christine asked shyly.
“Well, not exactly,” I told her, taking a seat on the sofa. Christine perched on the arm next to me. “I’ve actually come to tell you I’m staying in London. At least for another ten days.”
Christine smiled. “Agent Kern is taking a vacation?”
“Well, maybe it’s about time,” I replied, returning her smile. “I was hoping we might be able to spend some time together?”
Christine slid off the arm of her sofa and onto the cushion next to me, laying her head on my shoulder, just as she had on the plane. “I’d like that,” she murmured in my ear.
I lifted her head off my shoulder and held it in my two hands. She seemed so fragile and pure; as if all the evil we had encountered in the last few days had simply washed away.
I moved closer and kissed her tenderly, her lips parting to allow our tongues to touch. I pulled her whole body closer, allowing her to climb 3astride my knees. I knew she would be able to feel my hardness in that position; I wanted her to feel it. I wanted her to know how much I wanted to be inside her.
We were kissing deeply now, almost ravenous. I slipped the sweater over her head, and she was naked underneath, allowing me to move my mouth down to her nipples. She gasped with pleasure, a tiny noise that made my cock swell even more.
She was more confident than she had been on the plane, lifting my own shirt over my head, and tracing her fingers over my chest while we kissed. I moved around her, laying her down on the sofa.
“Not quite like the private jet,” she whispered in my ear with a giggle. I slipped her leggings and panties off in one movement, and fumbled with my own trousers. The longing I felt for her was like an ache now, an itch that had to be scratched. As I slid myself inside her, it felt as if everything we had been through was nothing more than a bad dream.
I could stay here forever, I thought to myself. If she’d let me.
Make sure to check out the rest of the Romantic Secret Agents series!
Book 1-Lethal Seduction
Book 2-Deadly Seduction
Book 3-Toxic Seduction
About Roxy Sinclaire
Roxy Sinclaire writes steamy, suspenseful romantic stories as the main genre, and this includes a variety of different topics. Some of these include dark romances, action packed romances, maf
ia romances, and many more. She currently works in customer relations in New York City, but is trying to fulfill her passion in writing and eventually have her dream job become a reality.
Please see her Author Central Account on Amazon for a full list of her titles.
Sign up for her mailing list and find out about her latest releases, giveaways, and more. Plus, get a FREE book! Click here!
For more information, be sure to check out the links below!
roxysinclaire.com
[email protected]
Also by Roxy Sinclaire
Pass To Win Series:
Touchdown: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (Book 1)
Line of Scrimmage: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (Book 2)
Between The Tackles: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (Book 3)
Fourth and Goal: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (Book 4)
Game Winning Catch: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (Book 5)
Mafia Romance Series:
Dirty Indiscretions: A Dark Mafia Romance (Book 1)
Her Protection: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Book 2)
Deadly Ink: A Dark Mafia Romance (Book 3)
His Revenge: A Mafia Revenge Romance (Book 4)
His Betrayal: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Book 5)
Romantic Secret Agents Series:
Lethal Seduction (Book 1)
Deadly Seduction (Book 2)
Toxic Seduction (Book 3)
Deadly Passion Series:
High Stakes (Book 1)
Double or Nothing (Book 2)
Triple Threat (Book 3)
Standalone Novels
One Night With The Tycoon: A Billionaire Romance
Dirty Money: A Dark Mafia Romance
Object Me: A Bad Boy Lawyer Romance
Dirty Fighter: A Bad Boy MMA Romance
Fast and Loaded: A Bad Boy Sports Romance
Tempting Me: A Bad Boy Romance
The Devil’s Dream: A Dark Romance
Trapped In His World: A Dark Romance
Deceived By The Hitman: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance
Excerpt From Dirty Indiscretions
Excerpt from Dirty Indiscretions: A Dark Mafia Romance (Book 1)
I walked around the spacious room, keeping an eye on the guests. I could think of a dozen things off the top of my head, that I would rather be doing, but it was part my job description, apparently.
I wasn’t a guy that liked to wear suits, but I'd had to get used to it with the crowd I ran with. Still, dealing with the upper crust wasn’t a part of my job that I liked. I was supposed to be there to enjoy the events, not working; but I couldn’t help but act as a lookout. The party was boring, anyway.
And then she caught my eye, and I had second thoughts.
Tall, slim, in a close-fitting black dress with a slit up the side that stopped high on her thigh, showing a mile of pale, toned leg. The dress had a 'V' neckline, down the front and back, that showed, even more, skin, so pale that the contrast against the dark dress was striking. The hem nearly swept the floor, even with her high heels. Her dark brown hair was held back by pins on one side so that it hung down her back and onto her opposite shoulder. I wasn’t close enough to see her eyes, but I thought with her coloring, they would be a dark color like her hair, maybe brown.
She wasn’t the best dressed, nor was she the skimpiest dressed woman in the room, I could see that with just a cursory look around. Yet, when I took my eyes off her to do just that, I found my attention skittering back to her.
I didn’t think I knew her. That wouldn’t be surprising; I didn’t know a lot of the people at this party, considering I was technically just the help. But I'd been to enough of these parties that I knew the crowd my boss ran with.
Intrigued, I followed her around the room. She interested me more than most, because unlike everybody else, she didn’t find a group and stand around chatting with them. Instead, she moved around the room, never sticking to one group long, always with a glass of champagne in her hand that she never drank from, though she brought it to her lips a couple of times, only to be 'distracted' and forget about it again. I noticed, that in all the stops she made, she didn’t speak to anyone.
I narrowed my eyes.
I looked around. Everyone was busy, making polite conversation and whatever else those rich types did when they got together at a party. I caught sight of my boss on the other side of the room and decided that for once, he wasn’t doing anything shady. No one was paying attention to things they shouldn’t, yet this woman didn’t look like she was paying attention to anything specifically.
Trying not to act suspicious, I moved into her orbit. She wasn’t following a pattern, but I'd gotten good at maneuvering this sort of shindig.
I was lucky enough to have her coming closer to me. No one was close enough to pay any notice to either one of us. I couldn’t resist the urge to move and intercept her circuit.
She looked up, almost surprised, to see me. I'd seen her moving with single-minded focus, despite how randomly she seemed to move, so I wasn’t sure I bought that she was surprised to run into me.
"Please, forgive me for interrupting you, ma'am, but I couldn’t help but notice you and get a little curious." I gave her a genuine-looking smile, playing the part of a young gentleman.
It was almost laughable.
The surprised look was instantaneously replaced by something gracious, a small smile curving her lips. "Think nothing of it. Who, if I may ask, do I have the pleasure of conversing with?"
She held her hand out to me, the curl of her lips turning up into something like mirth. Feeling amusement curve my own mouth in response, I took her hand and brought it to my lips, kissing the back of it. Her dark eyes watched me, intent on mine.
"Luke Bable. But please, call me Luke."
Bable, technically, wasn’t my real name, but it was the name I’d taken when I’d left my old life after being recruited. It was a safe enough name to use, the few times I’d had to introduce myself to people because Luke Bable did not exist.
The pretty lady in front of me didn’t need to know all that, though.
"It's wonderful to meet you, Luke. I am Elda Abba. But you can call me Elda," she added, her smile turning into a smirk.
"Elda," I repeated, curling my tongue around the name. Her eyes grew slightly darker in fascination, and I felt almost smug. Her last name was foreign, but I couldn’t begin to think from where. "Well, Elda. I was wondering if you would mind accompanying me."
I tugged her closer by the hand, pulling it around my elbow and flattening my hand over hers on my arm. She moved without resistance.
"Should I be worried? A strange man comes up to me and asks me to accompany him. It's suspicious, no?"
I chuckled, keeping my voice low. "It’s a private party. Trust me, everyone is vetted for these things. We're both here, so you should have nothing to worry about," I said pointedly.
Her lashes lowered to cover her eyes, lips pursing. "As you say," she murmured, diplomatically.
I pulled her with me and she followed. We avoided other guests and the staff. The room was quite large and littered with guests, but I didn’t need to take her from it.
Instead, I dragged her over to a corner that left us out of view from most of the room, and the section that could still see us weren’t going to be considering dark corners unless they wanted some action for themselves. But this crowd was much too classy for something like that.
I stopped her there, turning so we were facing each other and took a quick glance around, just to be sure.
"Are we here for any reason in particular?" she sounded amused.
I decided to be blunt. "I need to frisk you."
Just about any other person would have been annoyed or insulted. No one got frisked at these parties, they were checked before they got this far. This woman was a little special, though.
"Is there any particular reason?" she murmured, looking up at me from under her lashes, but I thought her amusement only grew.
"I never saw your name on the guest list."
She gave a Gallic shrug. "Maybe I was invited last minute and my name isn’t on it."
I smiled tightly, repeating, "Just the same, Miss Abba, I'm going to need to frisk you."
"There's no reason you can't still call me Elda." She tugged her hand away from me and I didn’t stop her. "And of course, you can frisk me. For purely security reasons."
I narrowed my eyes on her. "Are you laughing at me, Elda?"
"I wouldn’t dream of it, Luke."
I was sure she was, though.
She took a step back and raised her arms from her sides, arching an eyebrow at me, her look practically daring me to go ahead.
I couldn’t help the suspicion. These parties had such tight security, even I was impressed. No one not on the list—prepared weeks in advance, should have been able to bypass it. How she got in, I didn’t know, but I didn't think asking would get me anywhere. She'd just deny, deny, deny.
Or, if she was especially good, she'd have an airtight excuse.
"You can frisk me," she told me when I didn’t immediately begin.
I moved closer, moving my hands and placing my fingertips on her wrists. There was no need, her arms were bare so there was no way she could have hidden anything there, but I ran my fingertips up her arms and to her shoulders. I followed the straps of her dress, sliding my hands down her sides and around her back, being thorough.
Of course, there was nothing on her. I also noticed the very conspicuous lack of a purse on her person. And what self-respecting woman, even in a crowd like this, wouldn’t have a purse on her? I didn’t see her coming in, so there was no way to know if she had one somewhere in the room. I'd have to leave her and go ask the guard outside the main entrance.
But I couldn’t think about that for long. I couldn’t really think of anything but slowly frisking her, all the time my eyes on hers.
Toxic Seduction (Romantic Secret Agents Series Book 3) Page 12
