What a fucking mess. He’d spent a week creating the drone from scratch so that no one could trace it back to him. Avenger worked perfectly and she had been the best solution. Efficient and deadly. But she fucked up. Or he did.
He poured himself a cognac with a shaking hand and gulped it down.
The woman had pulled a gun. A gun! Why would the bitch have a gun? And why would she be a crack shot? They said she was a beautiful model, not a commando. There was more to this woman than he’d been told.
He unclenched his fists and began pacing the room. How could this have happened? He had followed her for two weeks, watched her go to shoots, dine with other models and lift weights in the gym. He’d followed her on her runs in Central Park.There had been nothing in her behavior to suggest she was a fucking sharp shooter.
He poured another glass.
What had he missed? Should he do more surveillance? Maybe meet her in person? That would take time. Time he didn’t have. His father wanted him to kill her and get out. “Fast and invisible,” were the words he used over and over again. The KOTL wanted her dead—ASAP. His father would be muttering about now, muttering about him and his incompetence.
Would they send someone to kill him? It was possible. They might consider him a potential leak. They didn’t like regular people to know about their secrets or their mission. But his father would stall them, perhaps long enough for Leon to finish what he had set out to do.
Would the American cops find him? Cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck. Doubtful. Sadie Stewart had hit the engine dead-on causing it to explode. The drone would be in at least a hundred charred pieces.
Besides, he’d been careful to purchase the parts in different cities under different names and used rubber gloves to put it together in a pristine lab. He had covered his trail, done all the right stuff. But he hadn’t got the girl. He excelled and detail and he had carefully planned every step of the kill. But it all went wrong. Damn that woman.
A red ribbon with the text, “Breaking News,” slithered across the bottom of the TV screen, catching his eye. He turned up the volume. A well-shaped, blond announcer with fish lips painted bright red stood in front of the tape. “I’m here in Bryant Park, at the scene of the drone incident. Twenty minutes ago a drone descended on the peaceful grassy area behind me. Yes, a drone.” She motioned to the area with her hand. The camera shifted to show the grassy meadow in the middle of the park. “It flew low,” she continued, “so low many thought it would shoot them all. People started running away. Except for one woman. She pulled a gun out and shot it.”
The gun-toters of America would eat this story up.
A picture of a drone similar to his model, Avenger, flashed on the screen. But Avenger had been better made than the machine they showed. “Observers say that it looked like this, a standard carrier-pigeon drone used to carry small objects. One man said he saw a camera and a shooting mechanism on it.” The picture went off the screen and the announcer reappeared.
The sound of the crowd murmuring around her produced a low hum in the background. “Another eye-witness told me,” she continued, “the drone was honing in on the shooter. Why? No one knows. The drone blew up when the woman shot it and the police are picking up the pieces. The shooter disappeared.”
The camera panned the cordoned-off area again. “Police are collecting eye witness reports on the incident to learn more. They want to identify the shooter. At the moment they have more questions than answers.” The drone facsimile went up again. “If you know anything about this drone, or the shooter, please call… A list of phone numbers and a website were put on the screen and she read them out.
Leon groaned. There’s nothing like having one of the largest cities in the world looking for you. Eight and a half million people. Fuck. How could a simple kill go so wrong?
Bile rose in his throat. He needed his inheritance. He deserved his inheritance. He couldn’t let that red-headed bitch get in his way. He poured a third glass. Damn, he had had a bad feeling about this so-called mission from the moment he’d been given it.
He’d walked into it blindfolded. No one blindfolds an assassin. Idiots. Didn’t they want him to succeed? He had to find out more about the target. There had to be a way to kill her. Achilles had a weakness. Sadie had to have hers.
On the TV screen the announcer talked to an older woman dressed in a sweat suit. “I understand you were here when it happened.”
“Oh yeah, I was here. I told the cops everything.”
“What can you tell us about the shooter?”
“A real looker. . . with a big dog. A good shot too. She saved us.”
“Thank you,” the announcer said. She turned away from the woman and looked directly at the camera, filling the screen with her image. “If anyone out there has a photo or video of the incident, please contact the police. . .” The numbers rolled again.
A woman with a dog. He’d been beat by a woman with a… dog.
3
Chapter Three
Amsterdam
Sebastian Wilde loved everything about his life except this. The pile of paper in front of him had grown to two feet, and every single sheet needed his attention. He picked up the top one, scrunched it into a tight ball and launched it into the air. Watching it arc then drop into the wastepaper basket on the other side of his office gave him almost as much pleasure as a bottle of beer. Aced it.
His life was near perfect. He loved Sadie Stewart more than he thought a guy like him could. He loved his zany Tante Zen who raised him and the Van der Valk clan who adopted him into their extended family. His business, dealing modern art, rocked. Helping his friend Seamus at Interpol nail assholes who traded looted art was cool too. But what he didn’t like, didn’t like with a passion, was paperwork. Another projectile flew into the air, but this one missed the target. Godverdomme.
It didn’t matter how many assistants he hired, the damn pile of paper grew on his desk like cultured, zombie babies in a Petri dish. By the time he dealt with one invoice, twenty more piled up. Did the sheets mate when he wasn’t looking? His eyes crossed from reading and signing invoices, letters, memos and legal documents. Should he set the whole pile on fire? He rubbing the bridge of his nose. That wouldn’t work. His assistant would have copies.
He groaned at the mountain he had to climb. There were no avoiding it. He needed to clear his desk, and get the big meeting over so he could be with Sadie.
In two hours that meeting with the infamous Walter Easterbrook, a British dot.com guy who bought art for investment and prestige would take place in Seb’s office. It was probably the biggest deal in his art-dealing career so far. His assistant had summoned him back to Amsterdam just for this event.
A deal with this guy meant big bucks and a bigger reputation. Sebastian hadn’t wanted to leave Sadie, but meeting Walter was not only an honor, it was an event that could cement his business, the kind of event he would tell his grandchildren about. Grandchildren? Where the hell did that thought come from?
Leaning back in his chair, he looked out the window on the second floor of his canal house. The busyness of the morning bicycle commuters made him smile. Working at home had its advantages. People flowed up and down both sides of the still canal. A mother heading for the local school balanced her son and daughter on her bike, one in front on the handlebars and one in back on a carrier above the wheel. A businessman in a suit peddled his bike with his mobile phone attached to one ear. An older lady cruised on her bike with an enormous bundle of pink tulips in the front basket. Tourists took pictures of the comings and goings with mobile phones and iPads. One carried an old-fashioned camera with a long lens. Seb could spend all day watching people in his hood. He’d left the window opened at the bottom to let the smell of baking bread from the family bakery down the street drifted in. It made him feel peaceful. He loved Amsterdam. There was no other place in the world like it. It was home.
As he studied the dark water of the canal, which looked still
and reflective, a sense of foreboding ran through his mind as if it chased a conscious thought and then settled in his heart. He shook his head. Damn, he hated getting prescient feelings. Mostly because they were right.
What could go wrong? His life was good. What could possibly go wrong?
Looking at his desk he winced. Yah, the details of business were a drag, but that wouldn’t give him this uneasiness, this deep-down, gut-wrenching, nerve-rattling uneasiness. He twisted his neck to ease the tension building in his muscles. His mobile rang. The screen said: Sadie.
Please, God, let it not be her. In one dramatic sweep of his arm, he shoved his paperwork off his desk. The sheets flew into the air and billowed down to the floor.
“Mijn liefje.”
“Seb…astian.” She was panting.
“What’s wrong?”
“Some asshole just tried to take me out with a…a drone.”
“A drone? Like… in the air…”
“If I get my hands on the guy who controlled it. . .”
Seb growled. It would be nothing like if he got his hands on him. Heat rushed to his face and he noticed he was standing. “You hurt?” His voice cracked.
“No. Just mad. . . Really mad.”
“Mad’s good. Where are you?”
“Heading home. I just. . .”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I should have called Cole first. But. . .”
Cole? His blood cooled instantly as if a ton of ice chips had entered his bloodstream. Jeremiah fucking Cole was her CIA handler. The farther he could keep Sadie from him the better. “Fuck him. Where did it happen? Are you safe?” Words gushed out of his mouth.
“It happened in Bryant Park. I’m safe for now.” She filled him in on the details, as he walked out of his office and climbed up the stairs to his private apartment, what he now considered their private apartment. Time to pack.
“Where are you now?” he asked.
“I just got home. I need to call Cole. I’ll call you back later.”
Seb pulled his suitcase out of the cupboard. “Sadie.”
“I’m okay. I just. . . I just wanted to hear your voice. Really, I’m okay.”
He shook his head. “How’s. . . your body?” He knew she’d know what he meant. Was she in shock? Had the adrenalin rush come to an end? Was she scared? There were so many things he wanted to know. He would only have to look at her for ten seconds to tell these things, but instead all he had was her voice over a mobile phone connection. Fuck. He wanted to hold her in his arms.
“Sebastian.” Her voice, low and husky, raked his senses. “I’m fine.”
Oh shit. When a woman says she’s fine, you’re hooped. And Sadie would never admit being anything less than fine. Maybe he should try a different tact. “Mijn liefje.”
She laughed at the tone of his voice, knowing exactly what he had on his mind. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Do you know what I’d do to you, if I was there with you right now?”
“Tell me later.” She clicked off.
***
An hour later Sadie phoned back. Sebastian had packed, cancelled his big event with Mr. dot-com, and made reservations on the next flight heading for New York. He’d be with her in a matter of hours and then he’d be able to see just how “fine” she was. His need to be with her came over him faster than a category five hurricane and with the same ferocity. Nothing mattered more than Sadie. The awareness crystalized in every cell of his body.
“Mijn liefje,” he said trying to put all his emotions into the two words. That was impossible. He needed to be with her.
“Hi, honey. Sorry it took so long for me to call you back. I…”
“You alone?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“You okay.”
“Yeah.” She hesitated. “Ooh yeah.”
He leaned back in his chair smiling. “You know what I’d do to you if I were there?”
She swallowed. “Tell me.”
“I’d pick you up in my arms and carry you over to the sofa. I’d lay you gently down.” He paused to let the image sink in. “Then I’d do a thorough job of checking you over.”
“You want to play doctor?” The lusty rasp in her voice sent his libido into hyper-drive.
“Shhhh, good patients listen.”
Sadie groaned. “Not sure I can do this. I don’t do docile.”
“I’m not asking for comatose,” he said,” just… let me get started. You are the injured one, after all.”
“Doctor, I’ve been hurt.” Her voice didn’t sound hurt. It sounded as provocative as all hell. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. If only he could touch her. “My hair is loose and disheveled,” she continued.” My clothes are torn. I’m barely covered. My lips are swollen. . .”
“Sadie, you’re killing me.”
“I have an owie here. I’m pointing to my…”
“If only I could touch you.” His normal voice broke through their fantasy. To hell with game playing.
“Sebastian.”
“I hate being so far away from you.”
“I’m all right. Honestly, I’m fine.”
That fine word again. “Sadie, I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”
“Stud-man, you’re seriously killing the mood. Come on, Sebastian, tell me what you would do if you were here.”
He laughed. Only Sadie could turn a serious conversation to sex in a heartbeat. “Well,” he said in a deep voice. “I need to examine your body for bruises. The owie spot will have to wait until I get there.” He sighed at that thought for both of them.
She whimpered.
Hmmm. Sadie had never been a whimpering woman. She was more like a commanding, Amazon-warrior kind of lover. She’d take, ravage, scratch and scream, but never whimper. Maybe she felt like whimpering today. Maybe. Hell, was she into this fantasy, or was she just humoring him, so he would stop worrying?
“Miss Sadie, are you sure you want me to do this?”
“Doctor, I need you to do this.”
“Uh-huh. Okay. I’m touching your torn blouse, considering what I should do with it.”
“Oooh.”
“Stroking my hands down your arms as I look over your body.”
“You have such big hands, Doctor.” Her breathing increased.
“Your skin feels warm and soft and inviting. I’m trying to be professional, but I’m so aroused I want to spread your legs apart and take you, hard and fast, to end the desire burning inside me. But I’m not telling you this. Slowly I run my hands over your curves. Your beautiful curves. ‘Checking for broken bones,’ I say.”
“Am I allowed to do anything?”
“Close your eyes. Try to relax. Let Dr. Wilde give you a thorough examination.”
“Mmmm. My eyes are closed.”
“I continue to run my hands over your body, feeling it warm to my touch.”
“Doctor…”
“As my fingers trace your breasts your breath hitches with pleasure, and my cock jerks.
“‘No broken bones,’ I say, ‘but I’ll look some more, just in case.’’’
“Yes, Doctor. I want you… to be sure.”
He let silence still their conversation for a moment.
“Are we alone?” she asked.
“Uh no. The two ambulance attendants, a man and a woman, are standing on the other side of the curtain, waiting to find out if they need to take you to a bigger hospital. The man is looking though the gap in the curtain, which is about an inch wide.”
“He’s watching us?”
“His eyes are focused on you.”
Sadie sighed.
“I glare at the man who watches and then my hands return to your ripped blouse. Slowly I undo the top button, letting my fingers touch the soft skin on your breast as I do so.”
“Mmmm.”
“I open the second button. I’m so hot for you. I just want to rip it off. But I force myself to slow down. I open a third.�
��
“I can feel your manly hands rough against my sensitive skin. My lower belly aches for you. I ache for you. I try to control my breathing. I try to pretend that I’m not affected by your touch, which scorches me with red-hot fucking desire.”
Seb groaned. “Carefully I open your blouse, exposing two round, firm breasts partially covered by a white lace bra. My heart hammers against my chest. I don’t know if I can continue to move slowly. God how I want you. God, how I always want you.”
“Go on.”
“‘No bruises in sight,’ I say, and with my thumbs I brush the nipples trapped inside the lace.”
Sadie moaned.
“They harden like nuggets of gold beneath my touch and I rub them back and forth. . .” Sebastian stops for a minute. Imagining Sadie rubbing herself for him was too much. His cock pushed against his jeans and he swallowed. Control. He needed to keep control. He wanted to do this for her.
“And I have to lie still?”
“Very still.” His voice sounded ragged with desire. She would know how turned on he was and that turned him on more. “Sadie…”
“Keep going Doctor. Your touch is so healing.”
“My hands slide down to your waist. They tremble as I undo the button and zipper of your pants. I slide them down your unbelievably long legs. Sculpted, I swear, in heaven. Your body is sending me beyond…” He took a breath. “I throw your pants to the floor.”
“And what about my thong?”
Oh shit. Her thong. Her white, lace thong. The one he bought her in a boutique in Florence. The one she wore for their special nights. “Sadie,” he whispered. “You’reundoing me.”
“Your touch is gentle, but firm, sensitive, yet demanding. I don’t know you, but that no longer matters. I want you,” she said.
“My hand slides to your sex and finds you moist. But I want you wetter, much, much wetter.”
Sadie groaned. “Can I do anything yet?”
“No.”
“Nothing.”
“Hey, I started this fantasy. I get to call the shots. I’m touching your mouth with my hand now, to still you from talking.”
Lovin' Danger: Mata Hari Series Book 4 Page 2
