by Karin Tabke
Colonel Lazarus grabbed his arm and spun Rowland, all six foot two and two hundred forty pounds of him, around.
“My employees?” the colonel demanded incredulously. “Decide what might need to be done with them? They’re heroes! Patriots! And you speak as if I’m just supposed to give them a company watch and say thanks for the memories.”
“Remember your position, Colonel,” the senator warned. “For that matter, remember mine. It’s over!”
The colonel stepped back, but the senator knew he was regrouping to attack from another angle. “No, sir, you remember my position, and my position only, because right now that’s the only one you need to concern yourself with.” The colonel leaned in close and personal, now eyeball to eyeball. “Remember what I’m capable of, and that I will do whatever is necessary to protect this country from her enemies, especially those from within.”
“Your threats are falling on deaf ears, Colonel. We’re through here.” Rowland made to move past him, but the colonel grabbed his arm and jerked him back.
“How dare you threaten the security The Solution provides this country?”
Rowland dug in and harshly said, “This is exactly what I’m talking about. I’ ve seen it coming, like a goddamn train wreck! You’ve gotten too damn big for your own britches. It’s a checks-and-balances game, and you have tipped the scale one too many times into the mud. There is no debating here. I’m pulling the plug.”
“No, Senator, you are not.” The colonel slid his hand inside his sleek black jacket. Rowland nodded ever so slightly. Within seconds, two large sunglassed gorillas flanked The Solution’s CEO. Sharp teeth glittered in the sunlight, and the colonel slowly pulled his hand from his jacket. His pale eyes lasered into Rowland. He swallowed hard.
“So the trust has been broken, Senator.” Lazarus nodded, acknowledging the security detail. “And now, it will be what it will be.”
He turned slowly and disappeared into the onslaught of sun-starved tourists. “Sir?” Rowland’s bodyguard asked, inclining his head toward the colonel.
Rowland slowly shook his head. “Leave it be.” And knew as he said the words that one did not leave a man like Colonel Lazarus be. But he had no choice. This was an election year, he could not have his bodyguard take out the man in front of the Lincoln Memorial, no matter how much he deserved it.
Six
Two weeks later
Las Vegas
The bright, flamboyant lights of the Vegas strip oscillated across the car windows like an electric kaleidoscope, beckoning gamblers from every walk of life with the promise of instant fortune but rarely delivering.
Jax was on her way to a party she wasn’t invited to. Although the party’s host would deliver on his promise of fortune, she knew that for most guests it would come at a far higher cost than monies lost at the gaming tables.
L.O.S.T. operative Shane Donovan chauffeured the sleek limo. Jax glanced over at Gage, her partner in what should be a simple extraction op. The lights of the strip flickered across his handsome face. “Why am I nervous?” she asked.
He reached over and squeezed her hand, a gesture that would have cost him a few digits several months ago. Now, it merely caused her a ripple of nerves, which she quickly willed away. A hint of a smile tipped her lips.
In just six months, she’d traveled thousands of emotional miles, learning to overcome her past and accept her future. She was fortunate and more than grateful for her second chance at life and to be a part of something so big and so powerful as Last Option Special Team. L.O.S.T.
Briefly, she closed her eyes.
She could do this. She could do this and more.
Angela Giacomelli was a ghost and Jax Cassidy was, as Godfather liked to remind anyone who would listen, a force of nature to be reckoned with. He believed it. Promoted it. And Jax had bought it, hook, line and sinker.
Most of the time, anyway.
She opened her eyes when Gage squeezed her hand again.
“First-time jitters. Once you step out of this car, it’s showtime, and when it’s showtime, your instincts and training will kick in.”
She squeezed his hand back and released it. Their mission was simple: walk into arms dealer Andre Kozovic’s private club as if they’d owned it, get past the goons guarding his office, tap into his hard drive, and download the arming codes for the Scuds he’d just sold to a Sudanese terrorist. While they were at it, they’d get hold of Kozovic’s Zurich bank account numbers and pass codes, then, as a parting gift, fry his server, which would effectively shut down his operation.
A cinch.
The stretch rolled to a slow, easy stop outside a mini Sung Dynasty–style castle. Out in front, two valets and several “doormen” dressed in black-and-red satin wushu uniforms managed the comings and goings of all guests. Each one of them looked like a Dallas Cowboy linebacker stuffed in satin pj’s.
Jax shook her head as she looked up at the “castle.” Everything was possible in Vegas. The structure was only three stories, but it was long and wide. From the blueprints she’d studied, she knew that Kozovic’s office was on the third floor at the very back of the right wing.
“It’s showtime,” Gage said as Donovan opened his door. Gage slid out of the limo and straightened his tailored suit. It was the perfect complement to her own attire.
She was dressed to thrill in a skintight hot pink leather sheath dress that barely covered her ass. The sleeves were long, concealing all kinds of nifty little tools of her trade. Her long, tanned legs were bare, with just enough of a glow to make a man long to feel them wrapped around him. Peeking from her shoes were perfectly pedicured toes. Her deep-auburn wig was cut blunt in the back but framed her face in a long A-cut point. Her makeup was subtle but dark, highlighting her naturally high cheekbones, full, pouty lips and big contacted brown eyes. She looked hot, and despite her flashy colors and micro-mini hem, classy as hell.
Beside Gage, Donovan stood as erect as a sentry. Gage extended his hand to Jax.
As planned, she slapped it away. As fluid as liquid silver, she slipped out of the idling Cadillac, her deadly gold Versace spiked heels contrasting nicely with the red carpet.
“How dare you set a limit!” Jax snapped in a pseudo-whisper. By the valet’s raised brow, she knew he’d heard.
So far so good.
“Meine liebe,” Gage said in a slight German accent as he grasped her elbow, “I am not in za mood to write anoza million-dollar-check zis evening.”
She yanked her elbow from his grasp. “Then, meine liebe, I’ll write mein own check.”
Jax strode past him, raising several more sets of eyebrows. Knowing the security cameras were on them, she let them take a good, long look. As soon as the security team identified them as the high-rolling, philanthropic German power couple Dieter and Sabrina Clausen, Kozovic would authorize their entry, eager to take their money via stacked decks and loaded dice. They, like most of Kozovic’s clients, would tolerate the scam for the privilege of trading in information and black market goods.
Jax touched the huge bouncer guarding the threshold on the forearm and smiled up into his suspicious eyes. “Make him stay out here.” She pouted prettily. “He is so cheap!”
Gage gently took her hand from the bouncer’s arm and tucked it into the crook of his. “Bri, liebling, let us not discuss zees things in front of strangers.”
Jax smiled and leaned into Gage, “Didi, bitte.” She looked up into his eyes and silently pleaded for him to relent.
He sighed heavily, then dug into his jacket pocket for his wallet and presented his credentials. He didn’t have to. The powers monitoring from inside had already granted them entry. The bouncer stepped back and opened the heavy vermillion trimmed golden doors. He made a short bow and said, “Welcome to Shangri-La, Herr Clausen, Frau Clausen.” And allowed them to step over the threshold and into an opulent wonderland.
Several people milled around, staff dressed in the same black-and-red satin wushu uniforms lurking inn
ocuously in the shadows. Murmurs and glasses tinkling were tempered with the soothing sound of several wall waterfalls.
“We have fifteen minutes before Kozovic excuses himself and returns to his office for his hourly count,” Gage softly said. They entered a sleek Chinese-themed gaming room. Jax knew that farther down the halls they would find private gaming rooms, where private deals were being negotiated.
“Herr Clausen,” came a voice to their left. Andre Kozovic himself walked up to meet them. An escaped Milosevic puppet, he was a small, wiry man with dark, sharp features. His small nose twitched like a sewer rat as he inhaled her perfume. He did an admirable job hiding his Serbian accent, but it stuck to him like stink stuck on a turd.
“Mr. Kozovic, my apologies for our impromptu visit—” Gage began.
Kozovic shook his head and directed his sharp gaze on Jax. “No apology needed when you bring such a lovely lady with you.” He ignored Gage’s extended hand taking Jax’s instead. He brought it to his lips and bowed slightly, then kissed it. His lips were warm, as were his hands, but his empty eyes were cold.
“Frau Clausen,” he said, then straightened. Jax smiled into his eyes.
“Mister Kozovic, Didi loves his habanos and Glenfiddich, please see that he has both and show me to your craps table.”
Kozovic smiled. “A woman who is direct and knows what she wants.” He waved his hand, instantly a server appeared. “Have Petar bring my private humidor down, and bring Herr Clausen a bottle of Glenfiddich and a glass of ice.” His smile deepened as he looked at Jax. “Madam, your pleasure?”
Jax smiled back. “Hot dice, the unloaded kind.”
Kozovic’s brows shot up into his hairline. Jax chuckled, the sound low and seductive. “Come, come now, Mr. Kozovic, I came here to vin. Legitimately.” Jax turned to Gage and hugged his arm to her bosom. Kozovic’s eyes dropped to them. “My husband came for his own reasons, and, while I powder my nose, he will be most happy to share them with you.”
Jax inclined her head questioningly, and Kozovic pointed toward the west wing. “You will find all that you need down this hall, behind the door with the plum blossom.”
Jax stood up on her tiptoes and kissed Gage full on the lips. She almost laughed when she felt his initial stiffening before he masked it and smiled lovingly down at her. Jax brushed her fingertips across his cheek. “Meine liebe,” she whispered, “zeh sky is my limit tonight.” She turned and left them both. As she sauntered through the main gaming room, every eye at one time or another found her. She made it to the hallway and, as a female server walked by, said, “Excuse me, but could you please help me with my zipper in the ladies’ room?”
The woman smiled and followed Jax into the vast power room. It was a lovely atrium, with the sound of subtle waterfalls in the background of the exotic flora. If she’d had the time, she would have admired it, but she didn’t. Quickly clearing the room, Jax opened her purse, grabbed the small aerosol can from inside, turned and sprayed the server in the face. The woman slumped unconscious to the floor. Jax dragged her into the large stall at the far end of the room and quickly undressed and exchanged clothes with her, then left her sitting on the toilet in the stall. Before exiting the bathroom, Jax pressed a button on her watch, scrambling the security cameras for two minutes. Just enough time to get to Kozovic’s office. She had less than ten minutes to get in and out. The clock was ticking.
“I’m on my way up,” Jax softly said to the small earmike.
“Copy,” Donovan said.
Quickly rounding the last flight of stairs to the third floor, Jax strode toward the gorilla in a suit guarding the outer door to Kozovic’s office. “You’re not allowed up here,” he growled, striding toward her.
“I’m new, I—” Jax got in as close as she could. His massive paw grabbed her by the throat. Not missing one single beat, Jax bent her right leg at the knee. With a sharp twist, she freed her spiked heel from the sole, exposing the tip of a spring-loaded needle inside. She went limp in the goon’s arms, dropping to the floor when he released her. As he bent down to gather her, she stabbed him in the neck, instantly releasing the poison into his bloodstream and dropping him to the floor.
Gage was right. Her nerves had disappeared the instant she’d stepped out of the limo. Now, she was all calm, cool, resolve.
Replacing her heel, Jax removed the other to reveal a small surgical scalpel. She grabbed the big guy’s right hand, singled out his index finger, and, cutting around the knuckle, she snapped it back. She cut through the exposed joint, then lopped the digit off. Jumping over the body, she pressed the finger to the biometric scanner. The air-locked doors released. She entered the hallway leading to the office, tossing the finger aside.
“Entering office hallway,” she softly said.
She now had less than twenty seconds to get into Kozovic’s office before the cameras unscrambled, then seven minutes to do what she had come to do.
She hurried to the opulent gold, glass and teak double doors, pressing her watch to the door. She rotated the outer ring of the watch face clockwise and scrambled the tumblers in the lock, then pressed a magnet to them. With a soft pop, the doors unlocked. She pushed the doors open and hurried in, closing the doors behind her.
“I’m in.”
Ten seconds and the cameras would unscramble. Yanking off her wig she tossed it onto the solitary camera in Kozovic’s office, covering the lens. By the time they figured it out, it would be too late. She moved quickly. Pressing the magnetic flash drive to the CPU of Kozovic’s laptop it clicked it on, then she moved to the double closet doors and opened them. The server. She pressed another magnetic key card, setting a three-minute timer that would trip the power surge protector and fry every digital imprint in Kozovic’s server.
“Kozovic has just been alerted, Jax, get out of there,” Gage said in her earpiece.
“One more minute!”
“You don’t have a minute. Get out.”
Jax dragged several heavy chairs from in front of the desk and wedged them under the ornate office door handles. The room had one high window. She was on the third floor.
The sharp twap-twap-twap sound of bullets shattered the glass panels of the office door. Jax hurried to the laptop, removed the magnetic flash drive and shoved it down her bra. She hopped up into the high windowsill, kicked out the glass with her feet, did a chin-up for advantage and somersaulted out the window just as the office doors crashed open. She felt for the narrow ledge below with her feet but found only air. She had to release one hand to allow her body to drop lower. Ah, the ledge. She let go of the building with her other hand.
“Exiting from the back office window,” she said.
As she worked her way along the narrow ledge to the edge of the wall, she turned and leapt onto a swaying palm tree, then grabbed a thickly fronded branch and rappelled down against the narrow trunk just as the stretch came rolling into view. Jax sprinted toward her ride as the men in Kozovic’s office opened fire on her.
As the limo reached her, a door flew open, Jax dove in as Gage grabbed her arm, pulling her inside. The door slammed shut behind her.
Jax laughed as she tried to talk, but she could not utter a coherent word. Her heart was beating so fast and so furiously that she thought it would explode. Finally, catching her breath, she grinned. “We did it!”
Gage grinned in return as they high-fived. Donavan smiled at them in the rearview mirror.
“Nice job, Cassidy,” he said.
Seven
Two weeks later
Washington, D.C.
From his secured place among the night shadows, Marcus watched Jason Blalock, hunched down in a dark trench coat, walk toward the dilapidated apartment building. Only one of the three streetlights on the right-hand side of the building was lit. It sputtered a tobacco-stained orange, barely useful. Like a rabbit that knew the wolves were watching, Blalock shot a nervous gaze up and down the street—first right, then left, then right again—before he jerked open
the graffiti-sprayed front door and disappeared through it.
Even from across the street, Marcus could smell Blalock’s excitement; it was as potent as his fear. Excitement for what awaited him on the tenth floor and the fear of what his transgression would cost him, should he be caught.
And he would be caught.
Marcus curbed a sneer. Since his change seven years ago as he lay dying in the hills of Afghanistan, his natural predatory senses had become so acute, so fine tuned, so accurate, his vision rivaled that of a hawk, his sense of smell was as keen as a wolf’s, and his reflexes that of a cobra. No living thing could stop him. He was a vampire of the highest order.
His kryptonite was his thrill of the chase, then his lust for the blood. Fresh, warm, human blood. It was what sustained him.
He raised his head toward the sliver of moon, inhaling the heavy air. It stank of squalor and hopelessness. The people who lived here in the bowels of the nation’s capital, had long ago given up on themselves, as had the people who ran the world’s most powerful government, less than two miles away. The cops didn’t bother coming down here, and neither did the social workers or the charities. There wasn’t a church for blocks in any direction.
Senator William Rowland’s chief of staff was seriously slumming, but it was Wednesday night, after all. Even if it meant walking among the dredges of the nation’s capital, Blalock never missed his Wednesday night boxing sessions: roughing up D.C.’s endless supply of prostitutes before he returned to the swank Chevy Chase town house he shared with his trust fund trophy wife.
Blalock probably considered himself lucky that the streets were so dark and deserted. Usually the pushers hung out with the hypes and the street whores who couldn’t turn a trick that night. But not tonight. It was as if they knew Marcus was there and must stay away to live another day.
