Invisible Recruit (Silhouette Bombshell)

by Mary Buckham

  Chapter 14

  When she returned to the room, she was surprised to find it empty. If Stone was trying to one-up her by staying out later, let him. After she had spent the evening talking to what seemed like every slimeball and international criminal on the face of the earth, he was welcome to chat up the rest as much as he wanted. Whatever Blade was going to present tomorrow, he was keeping it under wraps.

  On the other hand, Stone could be staying away to keep up the pretense that all was not well in the honeymoon suite. It’d worked fine so far—she complaining of a headache one night, two nights of Stone picking a minor spat before bedtime, all for the listening ears. But that could be continued only so long.

  “Here.”

  Stone’s voice came from the balcony. She followed it, not surprised to see him blending so well with the shadows.

  “What’s up?” She made sure she kept her voice low, in case there were other neighbors enjoying the late-night coolness. No heat lightning tonight, just a million stars in a jet black bowl of sky.

  “No bugs out here,” he clarified for her as she joined him, though speaking on the balcony hadn’t been an issue so far. It was the one place Blake’s goons didn’t bug.

  “We have a job. Two.”

  Finally. Something other than schmoozing. If that was all she’d wanted to do, she’d have stayed in her parents’ world.

  “You contacted Alex?”

  “Yes. Ling Mai wants us to bug Golumokoff’s place and also wants us to insert tracking devices on several of the other guests.”

  “On them?”

  “On articles of clothing or something they might use on a regular basis.”

  “Like a wristwatch or in a cell phone?”

  “Exactly.”

  “When and how?”

  “Now.” He glanced over their rail, into the midnight darkness. Their room was on the highest level, four stories up, with a three-story drop below them.

  “I’ll take the Russian’s room. You take these three others.”

  She glanced at the scrap of paper he handed her. “Why are you taking Blade? You have more experience and are quicker than I am. You’d be able to cover these gentlemen, and I use the term loosely, faster than I ever could. Also, the locks on Blade’s rooms are an older version. Quite easy to pick with my tools.”

  “You managed to smuggle them in?”

  “I have them incorporated into a chunky necklace. No one looks at it twice.”

  “Smart lady. Fine. You take Golumokoff.”

  She’d expected more of a protest from him. Maybe they were making progress. At least professionally.

  Then he added, “Get in and get out. Nothing fancy.”

  “I don’t do fancy. My instructor never taught me.”

  She could have sworn his lips twitched, but his tone was serious when he spoke again. “I mean it, Vaughn. In and out. No heroics. It’s not worth it.”

  He’d called her by her name. A first, but now was not the time to dwell on the slight slip.

  “Sure. You give the orders, I follow them.”

  “Like I believe that.”

  There was no point in saying anything else. Time was being wasted.

  It took her less than twenty minutes to change from haute couture to thief black. A silk turtleneck, hiding as much skin as possible, slim-legged pants, crepe soles with Velcro closures to easily slip on and off and the prerequisite black ski mask to hide facial glare. All items hidden in plain sight, with other outdoor wear suitable for a ski trip in the lower Himalayas. She twisted her hair in a French braid, and her pulse was steady. As steady as could be expected, given the assignment.

  At last she was doing what she’d wanted to do. Make a difference, use new skills, be alive. The rush was unbelievable.

  “You know where the Russian is?” Stone asked, as if rethinking the assignments.

  “The last time I saw him, he was talking with a group in one of the side rooms.” She kept her voice calm and modulated, nothing like her pulse. “It looked like it’d be a long conversation.”

  “Remember. Get in—”

  “And get out. Thanks, I got it.”

  “You will get it if I have to save your scrawny hide.”

  “Oh, and here I thought you cared.” She was pushing buttons, but it wasn’t often she got to tease Stone. Never, actually, and it had its own masochistic thrill. “Forty minutes tops. No more.”

  “See you then.”

  Her modified canvas ALICE vest with its multiple pockets held the devices to be planted and a krypton flashlight. Her Swiss seat harness and carabiners were checked and double-checked.

  If caught, she’d have to rely on the blade strapped to her ankle and the moves Stone had taught her over the past weeks. She hoped it was enough.

  Stepping to the balcony, she untwisted a short length of nylon rope. Earlier it’d been twined around a native rug she’d picked up in the market, a good disguise and easily overlooked by the goons scanning their luggage as they arrived.

  The nylon whistled through her hands as she fed it over the rail, tightened her waist harness and cinched her safety knot. The wind chilled her face; goose bumps climbed up her spine.

  “Here goes nothing.”

  Swinging her first leg over the rail was the hardest. During the day, one could see the sheer drop from where the hotel perched on a cliff. At night, it was worse, inky blackness yawning at her like the mouth of hell.

  “You’re not a quitter,” she reminded herself, but silently, in case Stone was still hanging around.

  The second leg was easier. A slight breeze swirled around her, enough to cool the sweat beading her forehead, but not enough for her to have to adjust her trajectory.

  She pushed off lightly, aware she had to clear the windows of the room directly below hers and touch down only on the thin slate cladding between stories.

  Her parents’ world was forgotten; her new world consumed her. The stakes were high. Screw up here, and not only would she and Stone suffer, but also the team and the Agency.

  She tightened her hold as her shoes thudded firmly yet silently against the siding, reminding her to inhale between swings. Two floors more to go brought her level with the balcony she needed. It wasn’t like Blade to take a lesser room, but this time it seemed to suit his purposes.

  The interior was stygian dark. She hoped that was because he was still playing host and not because he had returned to the room early. With a pause outside the balcony door, scanning through paned windows, she crouched down to examine the lock, using her flashlight as little as possible.

  The lock was as she had described it to Stone. The interior ones leading from the hallway were keyless entry pads, but no one had thought to change the locks on the exterior doors. Probably figured no fool would want to scale this high up a cliff face to reach the resort in the first place.

  She glanced behind her, listening to the wind picking up in intensity as it stole through the nearest treetops. Treetops below her.

  Showtime!

  Picking the lock took less than two minutes. With a gentle push she opened the door, damming her breath with the movement, and paused.

  Stillness.

  No breathing from the bed. Nothing except the ticking of a clock.

  All clear.

  She closed the balcony door behind her softly. Her shoes made no noise as she crossed the Bokhara rug to the far door, the one leading to the main hallway.

  Her heart slammed into her ribs as she heard voices on the other side, then slowed its beat as she realized it was two guards talking to each other. Nothing more.

  She crept away, giving a quick peek into the bathroom. Empty.

  Stone had given her three listening devices. Newer versions that did not need an electrical connection as older models had. No light sockets and switches for these puppies; they could be inserted anywhere.

  She scanned the room before moving.

  The first bug went at the end of the bed, almost dead
center in the room. The second device fitted nicely near the dresser, where Blade’s briefcase lay locked. The third. Where should the third go?

  She chose the briefcase, knowing it was a bit dicey. She inserted it on the base, hoping it worked as well as the techs had promised.

  She hesitated. This was Blade. He had saved her once and now she was repaying him by spying on him? If Stone and Ling Mai were right, then Blade deserved it. But if they were wrong, she was betraying a friend, one she still owed.

  It was then that she heard the sound. Voices raised on the other side of the main door.

  Blade was back.

  A quick scan. Not enough time to make the balcony. No room beneath the bed. Bathroom too small.

  Damn and double damn.

  Every childhood horror movie she’d ever watched flashed before her.

  When in doubt—

  She ducked behind the window draperies as the door swung open. Blade was silhouetted by the hallway light, turned away from her.

  He spoke guttural Russian to the two men beyond him.

  If he as much as glanced at the window, she was a goner. She splayed her feet sideways, hoping the material did not sway, praying he’d cross to the bathroom before doing anything else.

  If he found her, Stone would kill her. No, wait, Blade would kill her first, then go after Stone. Neither was a good scenario.

  The light blazed on, mimicking midday in August. No wimpy watt bulbs in this hotel.

  Bathroom. Bathroom. Go to the bathroom.

  Blade’s feet crossed to where the briefcase lay. Then paused.

  Bathroom.

  She could hear the slight click of the lock on his case opening. The sound of it being laid against the dresser.

  For the love of God, go to the bathroom.

  His cell phone rang.

  Didn’t the man have a bladder? If he were a woman, he’d have been in and out by now.

  He spoke, Italian this time. She could make out a few words. Not many, but maybe, if she lived, she’d have some news to share with Stone.

  A big if.

  Something about Lake Como. He had a home there, that she remembered, but the conversation could be about anything. He spoke too fast for her to catch more than a few phrases.

  Blade hung up.

  Then nothing. Total silence. Her breath backed up in her lungs. She was sure her pounding pulse could be heard, sure this whole wanting-to-do-something-vital-with-her-life theory was a big mistake.

  If he as much as glanced at the window, he’d be able to see the rope dangling there, lighter than the darkness around it. When would they start making black nylon rope?

  He cleared his throat; a cannon blast at close range would have been quieter.

  Then he moved.

  Toward her? She strained to hear. Hard to do when pin-pricks of light danced in her vision from lack of oxygen.

  Then she heard it. The click of the bathroom door.

  She counted to three, then peered out.

  Nothing. It was closed.

  She stepped back, opened the balcony door and closed it. Five more beats to grab the rope and hand over hand pull herself out of sight of the window.

  Only then did she start breathing again.

  She’d done it. If she could have released one hand long enough to punch it in the air, she would have. Instead, she clenched them both tighter around the nylon rope.

  Sweat cooled in the hollow of her back. From fear? Exaltation? Both?

  She could hardly wait to tell Stone; she’d done it.

  One hand over the next, she climbed higher.

  Payback was going to be sweet.

  Chapter 15

  “You’re late.”

  Good thing Stone waited until she had at least one leg swung over the rail before scaring the bejabbers out of her.

  “Anyone tell you not to hide in the dark and scare people?”

  She swung the other leg over, unhooking her rope and harness.

  “I said forty minutes. It’s been fifty-two.” He stepped from where he’d been leaning against the far balcony rail.

  “Don’t get anal on me, Stone. It’s been a long night already. I’m here now. Job’s done. An attagirl would be appreciated.”

  “I don’t give attagirls when you screw up.”

  Oh, that was choice. But what had she expected? A pat on the back might have been nice. A simple question or two about how she’d accomplished her goal. Something. Anything. Except this.

  Then she heard the fear beneath his anger. For her? Or for the mission? Did it matter?

  She wrapped the rope in a small coil, her heart still pounding, her breathing still too shallow and fast.

  “Look, there was a complication.” She tried to use routine to harness the rush still humming through her veins. “But it’s all taken care of now.”

  “What complication?” He stepped closer.

  Leave it to him to focus on that little detail.

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  She turned to enter the room but he stepped in front of her.

  Not a wise move. Not with the adrenaline coursing through her system with the force of Niagara Falls.

  “What complication?”

  A smart person would have been afraid of his tone.

  “I said I handled it.”

  So, she wasn’t smart.

  “Princess.”

  She stepped forward until she stood so close her breasts butted his chest. Daring him. Wanting him to push back so she could release some of the energy pumping through her at Mach 3.

  By the flare of his nostrils, he knew it, too.

  “Blade showed up.” She ground each word from between clenched teeth. Her jaw would ache in the morning. “I was in the room. He went into the bathroom. I left. End of story.”

  Was that going to be good enough for rock man?

  No. Of course not.

  He raised his hand. Her breath hitched, waiting for a blow, surprised that he’d lose control.

  But leave it to him to do the unexpected.

  Instead of a swing, he brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek that had untangled from her braid. A slow sensation of touch rippling like wildfire through her.

  That quickly the air escaped, replaced by the fear she’d experienced earlier but couldn’t afford to acknowledge.

  “I told you to be careful.” His words washed against her, husky and deep.

  “Yeah, but you didn’t give the message to Blade.”

  He laughed then. A real laugh, if a bit rusty and one touching something so deep inside her it ached. An awareness, a need to see this man laugh more, to let down his guard, at least around her.

  “Damn you, princess.” And then he kissed her.

  Not like in front of Ling Mai and the others, but softly, tenderly.

  She expected fire from this man, sparks and heat and passion. Not gentleness.

  She leaned into it. Found the kiss as welcoming as a warm blanket on a frigid night and as tempting.

  She’d been afraid. So very afraid. Every step of the way from her first arrival at The Farm for training to the slow glide down the nylon rope.

  But she could not admit it aloud and stay an agent for long.

  And he seemed to sense that. With words unspoken, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her along the length of his hard, lean body, he offered just what she needed right then. A way to slow her racing pulse, a mindless drop. A physical release.

  He deepened the kiss and she danced after it.

  The man was meant to kiss. Lord, was he meant to.

  She heard a soft moan, surprised it was hers, not surprised when he waltzed her back into the room, her knees hitting the back of the bed. No words were necessary. No trappings of romance and seduction.

  It was inevitable. They’d poked and circled and snarled and hungered since the first day they had met. Two wary strangers fighting an attraction neither wanted nor sought.

  It was inevitable.

/>   And it was right.

  He took his time, touching and tasting, guiding and gentling every raw nerve until she didn’t know anything except him. There was room for no more.

  She wanted his taste on her tongue, in her pores. Each rasp of skin against skin made the ache within more taut. Murmurs gave way to groans, need building, want replacing sanity.

  He sheathed himself and she hesitated, wanting to tell him she didn’t need protection. But this was Stone; it was what he did.

  When they joined, it wasn’t with a roar or crash but the melding of sunset into the night sky. Rightness. Perfectly right and meant to be.

  Inevitable.

  It wasn’t until later, much later, as she lay in the bed, the sheets scrunched at her feet, watching the brush of dawn across her skin, that she realized what had happened.

  She glanced at him, his eyes closed, his face as rough-hewn and as tempting in sleep as it was in waking.

  His breathing sounded even. Smooth and restful, even as hers jammed somewhere south of her breast-bone.

  She rose, shaky and unsteady, not wanting to acknowledge what had happened and the complications it created. But like a burr on a sock, it clung, refusing to be kicked free.

  Deal with it.

  The rug felt deep and thick beneath her feet as she padded into the bathroom, turning on cold water to splash onto her face, grabbing a towel to cover her nudity. Aware of a chill that had nothing to do with the morning temperature but that was seeping from her heart. She turned the shower on high, letting the steam fog the mirror.

  You’re a big girl, Vaughn, play it cool. It was an itch that had wanted scratching. Nothing but a need met, oh so well.

  She caught herself smiling. When she glanced up from the sink he was there, behind her, watching her, his gaze no longer dark and heavy-lidded but intense and wary. Familiar, yet different.

  He said nothing, but simply stood there, the sheet draped across his waist, his torso lean and muscled in the dawn’s soft light. Even as she looked, she hungered for him again and for that alone she hesitated.

  With the water still running she could speak, not loudly, but what she wanted to say didn’t have to take long.