Dangerous Assignment (Aegis Group Book 4)

by Sidney Bristol

  “Keep reading. I need a shower.” Luke stepped into the bathroom, left the door open, and turned on the tap.

  The list was long and mostly frivolous, but he’d done as much for other clients. Not that it was in his job description to be a go-for guy, but if the gig was boring, at least going on errands let him stretch his legs and get out. The only difference was that they had no idea if corn was really corn or code for something else. He couldn’t blindly trust his employers one bit.

  By the time Ethan finished his monologue of the list with bonus commentary, Luke was showered and ready to tackle at least the next part of the day.

  “I’m still waiting on the IDs from those guys last night,” Ethan said.

  Aegis Group had two of the most badass techs around. If Zain didn’t know where something could be procured—he could in less than an hour. Gavin’s special power was not sleeping. The kid worked round the clock with a tenacity that didn’t stop.

  “We need to drop it, man. I don’t think it’s a good idea to go poking around while we’re still with these people.” The fear in Abigail’s voice and his promise haunted Luke.

  A knock at the door interrupted Ethan’s reply. He held up his finger, as though Luke needed to be told to hush.

  Whatever.

  He stepped into clean boxers and snagged a pair of pants, stepping into them while Ethan answered the door. Luke didn’t even have his trousers fastened before Ethan stepped back and Abigail entered.

  Luke’s reaction was immediate. Their gazes locked, and it took all of his self-control to not walk across the room and kiss the woman senseless. Except she had a wrinkle between her eyes and a frown on her lips.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.

  “Something happen this morning?” What wasn’t Abigail telling him?

  “Shopping was tedious. How was your morning?” Her gaze trailed down to his chest.

  “Fine.” He fastened his pants, the better to keep his dick under control. He snagged a shirt and his belt, conscious of two sets of eyes watching him.

  Ethan tilted his head to the side. They hadn’t had a moment to discuss the open door policy with Abigail, but Luke wasn’t about to leave her out of anything.

  “Two of the guys from last night are unknown as of yet, the other two? The little guy and his friend? They’re known to have connections with ISIS. One of Mason’s contacts at the CIA is highly interested in anything we may find out. You know what’s really the cherry on top of all this?”

  “What?” Luke shoved his feet into his shoes, fully dressed and ready.

  “They’re coming tonight.”

  “Great,” Abigail muttered.

  “What’s so great about that?” Ethan threw up his hands.

  “I didn’t mean…” She glanced at Ethan, a flash of annoyance behind those dark brown eyes.

  “Lay off,” Luke snapped and closed the short distance between himself and Abigail. He’d promised to stop looking into them. So he would. What was done was done.

  She turned her head toward him. There was something so damn regal to the way she moved. A turn of her head, the way she breathed or even crossed a room was beautiful.

  She tipped her chin up, the long line of her neck taunting him with memories of last night. How she’d tasted.

  “If they’re planning a large-scale party like this, I fear we’ll be dropped by tomorrow. Too much of a liability. We’ll know too much.” Abigail planted her hands on her hips, all business now.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Ethan said.

  “Don’t worry about this. Ethan, we stop digging now. We do this job. We get out of here. Together. Okay? This way we all get home to our families.” Luke clenched his hand to keep from touching her, from offering that shoulder once more. This needed to be different. He couldn’t jump in whole hog like he’d done in the past. Abigail was different. He needed to be different.

  She flashed him a tight, tense smile. He could sense the worry coming off her in waves, and he got it. He finally got it.

  Abigail was more than she appeared.

  She was…working something. Some sort of undercover operative, and if he and Ethan kept digging, they’d fuck up what she was doing. She couldn’t tell him who she worked for, that much he got, but they were on the same side in this. What they did was dangerous, no matter what. And with clients like the Smiths, the risk was that much greater. Which was all the more reason for them to stick together. Together, they could watch each other’s backs and make it home. And maybe then he’d learn her secrets.

  Hassan held his breath as he side-stepped into the suite. He was sweating buckets, and there was nothing he could do about it. His contact had come through, all right, but the tech was old, janky, and volatile. His luck, the devices would blow too early.

  “Watch it,” he snapped at the American idiot.

  “Over there,” the man gestured at the table.

  “I know where chairs go.”

  Hassan led the line of people with dining chairs toward the table. He slipped around to the designated spot for Mr. and Mrs. Smith, placing them exactly so.

  It wasn’t strictly necessary that the chairs be the Smiths’. Close proximity would do nicely, but he wasn’t going to take a chance. He directed the other staffers, adjusting chairs, hustling about, keeping his head down.

  Just because Yael hadn’t noticed him didn’t mean she wouldn’t. He’d changed his appearance, but it might not be enough. She wasn’t stupid, just complacent. Everyone else might think she was dead, but he knew the truth. What she’d done, the sneaky bitch.

  “Hey.” The chef grabbed Hassan by the arm and pulled him into the kitchen. “Where’s my money?”

  “I told you, I’ll slip it to you after dinner.”

  “Don’t think you can pull one over on me.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Hassan pulled his arm out of the man’s grasp and tugged his jacket into place.

  If he was lucky, the idiot would be blown out of the windows. Otherwise, Hassan might need to finish the job himself.

  He extracted himself from the kitchen, thanks to the arrival of the prep chefs, and ducked out through a side door. Everything was ready. He glanced over his shoulder, some of the strain fading away. One, last piece to fall into place.

  Hassan ducked down a hallway and slid his key card into the slot of his room. He’d adjusted the cameras so there wasn’t a clean shot of the door, no way to place him as a guest and an employee, not that anyone would confuse the two personas, but he needed to be ultracareful.

  The lights remained off.

  He picked his way through the room to the dresser and picked up the phone with the red tape. It hadn’t been used yet. He’d saved it for this purpose.

  He dialed the one contact saved in the phone and waited.

  “Omar Natsheh.” The man’s voice was bored. Jordan’s intelligence department hadn’t proven near as exciting for the former spy.

  “I have information on a woman named Yael.”

  Something squeaked in the background. Hassan could imagine Omar with his feet propped up coming suddenly to life.

  “Who is this?” Omar asked. He’d never been a particularly good spy.

  “She’s going to set off a bomb. Tonight. If you’re willing to make a trade, I can ensure you capture her.”

  “I’m listening…”

  The noose was around her neck, now all he had to do was pull.

  Abigail strolled around the perimeter of the suite. The hotel staff had busted butt all day to change it into something that would suit the Smiths’ tastes for this dinner party. It was extravagant, with the complete attention of the hotel’s head chef, plenty of bubbly, music, servers…

  No wonder Ethan and Luke were sweating bullets. It was precisely the kind of situation they couldn’t control. There was no way for them to vet the staff or guests, especially since they were denied a guest list.

  If
she had time to play her role properly, she’d be fretting right along with them. Unfortunately, she’d spent the entire day pulling out her hair, trying to figure out an opening when Luke wasn’t distracting her.

  Being near the man scrambled her brains.

  She’d thought the solution was working him out of her system. It hadn’t worked. If anything, she’d become some sort of addict, hooked on his smell, the taste of his lips, the feel of his arms around her…

  Distractions got people killed.

  And Luke was a delicious distraction she couldn’t afford.

  Case in point—she should not be peering through the front doors at his ass. She could all too well recall just how muscular he was, the way they felt under her hands when he flexed…

  Abigail shook her head.

  What was wrong with her?

  She’d been undercover for far too long, that was what. She craved human connection. Someone to know her, to touch her in a way that was all her. She wanted it so badly, she’d screwed up.

  This morning she could have eliminated Mrs. Smith with no eyewitnesses, no casualties, nothing to weigh on her conscience, but she’d forgotten her secondary weapon. Besides, she wanted both Mr. and Mrs. Smith dead. One was only half of the equation. It wouldn’t do. So she’d waited. And now she might not get another chance. She couldn’t blame it on Luke, though it would be convenient.

  What was it about the man?

  She positioned herself nearer the entrance and studied the first few guests to arrive. As a bonus, she had a nice view of Luke chatting with more guests on their way into the suite. Three were familiar to her, the others new faces.

  If she had no heart, no soul, she’d do it here. Now. With all of these people around. Just blow up the entire suite. But that wasn’t the way she’d been taught. If even one innocent life was at risk, the cost was too great. It was one of the tenets she’d held fast to, even now that she was on her own. So far she’d pulled off a dozen hits with no one the wiser as to who was behind it. At least not that she’d heard, and her network was large. Expanding. It was amazing the kind of information readily available for the right price.

  Ethan emerged from the master suite, his gaze sweeping the room.

  She stilled, barely daring to breathe.

  This might be her chance. When the Smiths came out, if she could get in, rig something in their rooms… There would be too many eyes to place her there. Would it matter? After they were eliminated, what was left? Nothing. She couldn’t go back, only forward. And the future was bleak. Lonely.

  Last night she’d felt alive in Luke’s arms…

  Worry about getting rid of the Smiths.

  She glanced toward the entrance to the suite.

  Luke was on the other side.

  Last night…she had to stop thinking about it. If she kept this up, she’d lose her head all over again. She’d never felt such…passion. Not like that. It still had the private parts of her mind shaken.

  What would it be like to love a man as herself?

  Though who was she anymore? Did she even know?

  Maybe after this, once it was all over with, she could find someone. Settle down. There wouldn’t be a family in her future, not in the traditional sense, but she could have something.

  “You’re glaring so hard I think you’re scaring people.” Ethan stopped at her side, hands crossed in front of her.

  “Am I?” She schooled her face, easing the muscles, forcing herself to appear calm.

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ve got everything under control.” He spoke slowly, the double meaning not lost on her.

  “You don’t know me.” All across the world, human kindness existed, but never for her. So what did they hope to gain?

  Ethan shrugged.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Don’t break Luke.”

  She stared at him, puzzling out what that request meant.

  “What?” Ethan shrugged. “He’s a good guy.”

  “And I’m—what? The Big Bad Wolf?”

  “No, I’m just saying, be nice to him. Most women just use him.”

  She nodded, as if that made any sense. It didn’t. Luke was a grown man, likely a lot more accustomed to slipping in and out of beds than she was. The man was a charmer. He even had her thinking she could settle down. Have a life. It was completely unlike her. And strange.

  Her wordless answer seemed to appease Ethan. He strolled toward the dining area, keeping to the edges of the room.

  The suite doors opened and Luke herded in what had to be the last two guests for the evening.

  She stilled an instinctive shudder.

  The man was talented. His hands…

  She swallowed.

  Eye on the prize.

  She had a goal. And sadly, it was not to spend another night in his bed.

  The dinner would begin in roughly ten minutes. She checked her watch to be sure. What were the chances she could slip into her room, extract the explosives and detonator from the hair dryer she’d outfitted to transport them, and rig something up in the couple’s room?

  Low.

  The chances were always low.

  The Smiths stuck to their hotels. One of them was always in line of sight of their suite. No one went in or out without them observing or supervising it.

  Despite their frivolous appearance, they were careful.

  It was why she’d left them for last. Because she couldn’t identify a good enough opening. They surrounded themselves with people, changed out their staff, and kept an eye on everyone.

  This was not going well.

  Tomorrow, without a doubt, the Smiths would slip out, leaving Ethan, Luke and herself at the hotel. She’d have to dump this alias and figure something else out. Already she’d discarded the idea of a hit due to the constant presence of bodyguards. Who knew if the people they’d next hire were like Luke or Ethan? Good men caught up in a job they didn’t want to do.

  No, she couldn’t take that risk.

  Which meant it had to be done tonight.

  She’d find a way.

  “Hey, beautiful, what’s on the menu?” Luke’s nearness spurred deep yearnings. The kind of desires that got a woman in trouble.

  She tilted her head to the side, glancing up at him. Her breath caught in her throat, somehow managing to also feel like five pounds of added weight.

  “Me-n-u?” He grinned.

  The line was so bad it was funny. She chuckled and shook her head.

  “I got you to smile,” he said.

  “You have the uncanny ability.” She allowed herself the smile. It was hard not to when a man like Luke looked at her as if she were desirable.

  “What do you think our chances of getting some of that are?” Luke jerked his head toward the small galley kitchen, where the head chef was whipping up something that smelled amazing.

  “Not very likely.”

  “Damn.” Luke shook his head.

  Abigail watched the guests assemble around the table. Ethan stood behind Mrs. Smith, her chair in hand.

  This was Abigail’s opportunity. The Smiths had their backs to the suite. She should be able to get to her room and sneak the explosives into the master. But first, Luke needed something to do that wasn’t anywhere near her. When this happened, she wanted both men to be—without question—innocent. If the authorities were going to blame someone, it needed to be her.

  “I’m going to the bathroom.” She looked up at his dark eyes, so trusting and open. This was the hardest part about covert work. Fooling those around her into believing the lies she had to spoon feed them. What would he think if he knew the truth? He’d probably hate her on principle.

  “I can hold down the fort.” He gave her a little salute.

  She chuckled. As much as she wanted to keep him to herself, embrace her greediness, when this was over, she’d never see him again. People around her died, and Luke? She wanted him to live. He’d seen the horrors of the world and war, and still he
smiled. A man like that was a gift.

  Abigail strode toward her room.

  She heard it first.

  The click. An almost unidentifiable sound. Except Abigail had heard it a thousand times. Even in a crowded room, she’d know that sound.

  She caught sight of a burst of light, part of the detonator sparking out of the corner of her eye, then—chaos.

  The concussion wave hit her as the booming of the bomb robbed her of her hearing, and even with the split second warning, she was caught as unprepared as the others.

  She sailed through the air. The last thing she saw was the ornate carpet before everything went dark.

  6.

  Hassan cracked his eyes open, staring at the ugly patterned hall carpet. His ears rang. His body pulsed with the feel of the concussion blast. Yeah, that last pound of C4 had probably been a bad idea, but he’d wanted to be sure it got the job done.

  Fuck, that hurt.

  He hadn’t gotten clear of the blast in time.

  He pushed to his feet, his head still spinning, ears ringing, and glanced over his shoulder. The suite doors were blown off their hinges, and smoke billowed into the hall. His hearing was still sketchy, but he didn’t see any movement.

  Any second now, Omar would race up the stairs with the Jordanian police at his back, ready to make an arrest. Hassan had made sure to give them just enough information that they’d be in the area when the blast happened.

  He shook his head and stumbled down the hall.

  It was time to stop being Hassan.

  He made it to his room, swiped the card and stepped into the suite. He stripped the uniform off and tossed it into a trash bag near the door. A quick rinse in the shower dislodged the worst of the debris and dust, plus it loosened the spirit gum holding the wing in place. For the first time in days, he pried the too-shaggy head of hair off his scalp and threw it in the general vicinity of the garbage.

  The whole room needed to be turned over before he could extract himself, but if he were lucky, he could melt into the crowds in the mass exodus that was about to happen.

  He towel-dried and hurriedly dressed in the expensive suit, cramming the rings onto his fingers, and bagging up what he needed to dispose of, what he was keeping and the rest could stay.