If Looks Could Kill

by Andi Marquette

  “Don’t move,” she said, and her fingers brushed Ellie’s cheeks. “I’m taking the tape off.”

  Marya wouldn’t do that if she was going to pop her. Ellie braced for the sting of the tape, but it was minimal. Thank God Jonathan used masking instead of duct tape. Marya tossed it onto the floor and pulled a folding knife out of her pocket. The blade clicked as she flicked it open. She cut the zip cuffs on Ellie’s ankles, and Ellie moved so she could reach her wrists. She sighed with relief when the pressure of the cuffs released, and she rubbed her wrists but stayed seated, not sure what Marya would do next.

  “Sorry about that.” Marya handed her a bottle of water. She was still on one knee.

  Ellie drank. “Thanks,” she said, opting to use British-like manners. Perhaps that would ensure the dragon lady wouldn’t stab her to death. Or shoot her. She screwed the top back on the bottle.

  “Listen carefully,” Marya said in a low voice. She was still on one knee in front of her. “I’m with a non-US agency. This is an op. We’ve been working for months on breaking an arms smuggling ring.”

  Ellie stared at her. She might have been less shocked had Marya actually turned into a dragon lady.

  “I’m guessing that’s probably what you’re trying to do, but though we’re on your side, we have to keep up appearances or everybody’s cover is blown to hell.”

  She kept her mouth shut. An op? Who the hell was Marya Hampstead?

  The noise from the boat’s engines decreased. They were slowing down. Marya checked her watch.

  “Give us fifteen minutes before you contact your team, and stay hidden. We’re going to say you escaped.”

  Ellie nodded, wondering how Marya had figured out she even had a team. It hadn’t even been thirty minutes since the Georgios. She started to get up, but her legs were numb. Marya helped her, and her hands were warm. Ellie let go of her fingers once she was standing because even in this completely bizarre situation, she liked how it felt to hold Marya’s hands.

  “Take a sick day tomorrow from Fashion Forward,” Marya said, “since you’re not going to get much sleep tonight. I’m ostensibly in Boston the rest of this week.”

  The engines stopped. Ellie rubbed her wrists again. “And tell my team what, exactly?”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll brief them in a bit. We just can’t do it now.” She checked her watch again. “I have to go.” She pulled Ellie’s gun out of her waistband and handed it to her, butt-first. Hardly the actions of an international arms dealer with a cop in captivity. Unless she was pulling off the best double-cross ever. If so, Ellie would totally give up her pretend Oscar because Marya’s performance had hers beat by a mile.

  “You sure know how to show a girl a good time,” she said wryly as she took the gun and checked the safety before she holstered it.

  Marya smiled. “So do you.” And then she leaned in and, holy Christ, pressed her lips against Ellie’s, warm and soft, but fleeting. She was gone before Ellie could say anything else. Instead, she stood in the center of the tiny room, her mouth tingling, and stared at the door Marya had shut behind her. She snapped back to reality and checked her watch and waited. From above, she heard the slap of something on the water, and then another engine, this one an outboard. Marya and friends must have abandoned the boat with a raft. The engine noise faded into the distance.

  She continued to wait, thoughts roiling. Jonathan had cuffed Laskin on the Georgios, which meant Koslov was in with Marya. Or did it? Hell, they’d cuffed her, though from what Marya had said, it was for appearances. Was cuffing Laskin for that, too? And who did Jonathan want Marya to take care of with the pistol and silencer? Her money was on Laskin. Or was he the guy who was key to this whole operation, and Jonathan cuffed him because finally, they’d caught him?

  This was like a house of mirrors, and she still wasn’t sure if Marya was legit or pulling a fast one. A fashion mogul who was also—what? CIA? Interpol? MI6? Alternatively, she was a total con artist. Ellie’s gut said that wasn’t the case, and she decided to go with that and take Marya at her word.

  And lips.

  Jesus, her lips.

  She checked her watch and went upstairs to the bridge. There, she radioed Port Authority and settled in for another wait. And probably an ass-chewing from Rick. She sighed.

  * * *

  “What the fuck, O’Donnell?”

  She stared at a spot on the wall. Rick never used her last name with that tone unless he was pissed or upset. Or both. This sounded like both.

  “This whole fucking op may have just been blown from here to fucking hell. I told you to wait.” He glared at her, hands on his hips. “And I don’t fucking know if I can keep your ass out of the fire.”

  Shit. Suspension, probably. Write-up. She kept her mouth shut, knowing that her usual snark was not the way to play this.

  She stood staring past his shoulder as if she were a recruit and he a drill instructor. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry doesn’t cut it. We’ve been tracking this for weeks. And you go and get yourself—shit, I don’t even want to discuss this anymore. Wait here.”

  He strode out of the room and, to his credit, didn’t slam the door. Fuck. She remained standing, going over all the punishment possibilities in her head. Worse, Rick was disappointed, and she hated when that happened. Then, for what seemed the millionth time, she went over what happened. Laskin was beating Koslov’s ass on the ship. Marya and Jonathan stepped in, and they seemed to be protecting Koslov. That could mean that Koslov was in on the op with them or he wasn’t, and they were keeping him in the dark. If that was the case, then maybe Laskin was in on the op. How did any of this figure into the dead Petrovs? And the Koslovs in general? And running arms? And were Laskin and Koslov even alive?

  She wasn’t sure. And then there was the matter of Marya. What agency was she with? Or was she totally playing everybody? This was like Alice falling into Wonderland. Nothing really made sense, but there was an inside joke with everybody but Alice. And here, Ellie totally felt like Alice.

  The door opened, but it wasn’t Rick.

  “Hey,” Wes said. “You’re wanted.”

  “I know.” She followed him across the station floor to the main office conference room where all hell was sure to break loose. Rick would try to run interference—as pissed as he was—but there was only so much he could do. She’d been up almost the entire night, and at this point, everything felt numb.

  She went in.

  “Have a seat,” the chief said. Shit. The big boss man. Like Rick, he tended to stay formal. Even at this hour, he was dressed in a crisp button-down and tie.

  This couldn’t be good. She slid into a chair at the end of the table closest to the door. Rick sat across from her, but he didn’t look as mad. A woman and man Ellie didn’t recognize sat on either side of him. They looked like CIA. Maybe DHS.

  “So we had a bit of a glitch tonight.” The chief regarded her like a dad might a daughter who’d gotten into a fender bender.

  “Yes, sir,” she said, meeting his gaze.

  “Detective O’Donnell,” the woman said. “I’m with the Department of Homeland Security. This gentleman is with the FBI. Would you mind telling us precisely what happened tonight? We will be recording this.”

  “I figured.” No names from the spooks. That’s how they were going to play this, huh? Ellie recited the chain of events again. The agents asked a few clarifying questions, but pretty much allowed her to talk. When she finished, Agent DHS nodded and interlaced her fingers on the table. She regarded Ellie for a moment before speaking.

  “Detective, what I am about to tell you will not leave this room. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” She stole a glance at Rick, who sat stone-faced.

  “MI6 has been investigating an international arms ring. Unfortunately, you discovered far more than was anticipated.”

  Ellie frowned. “You’re saying that you knew about this?”

  The agents exchanged a look wi
th each other while Rick’s expression was a warning to Ellie. Agent DHS turned off the recorder.

  “Certain communications were not effectively relayed between departments, shall we say.”

  Ellie stared at her. “So what exactly is going on?”

  “We’re not at liberty to say. What we can tell you is that MI6 has the lead on this investigation. We have read your department in as necessary, but as of right now, NYPD’s role in this is backup only.”

  In other words, the op was done.

  “We are in communication with the MI6 agents you were in contact with,” Agent DHS continued. “We’ve had to create a story in which you managed to escape but you were wounded and are recovering. How close a look did Lyev Koslov get of you?”

  Ellie replayed the scene in her mind. “I was wearing a hat and had bulky clothes on. It wasn’t completely dark, but he probably read me as cop and didn’t place me as anything but that. He hasn’t seen me at Fashion Forward.”

  “That you’re aware of,” Agent FBI said.

  “Yeah, okay.” She exhaled, impatient. “But we’ve had surveillance all over that place and Koslov hasn’t shown up since I started there. He may have gotten a look at me at a dance club last week, but again, it was a dance club. Different context, and I doubt he connected that sighting to me dressed like I was on the ship. But he hasn’t shown up at Fashion Forward,” she repeated.

  Agent FBI looked at Rick.

  “That’s affirmative,” he said. “We’ve had eyes on Koslov the entire time Detective O’Donnell was on site. He did not go to Fashion Forward and has not been in the vicinity.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant.” Agent FBI nodded at Rick. “Detective, that will be all.”

  Ellie looked at the captain for confirmation, and he nodded. She left and went back to her desk.

  “How’d it go?” Wes asked from his desk.

  “Don’t know. Feds.”

  “Shit.” He came over and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “For what it’s worth, O’Donnell, it took some brass balls, boarding that ship.”

  “Yeah, well, it was actually really stupid.”

  “There’s that. Next time, bring backup.” He returned to his desk, and Ellie sat staring at her computer.

  “O’Donnell,” Rick said, but he didn’t sound as mad.

  She got up and went back into the conference room. The agents were gone.

  The chief looked at her. “I’m reprimanding you,” he said. “You did not follow procedure, and you disobeyed your team leader.”

  Ellie’s stomach burned. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

  “That said, you’ve done some damn good work on this case, and it’s not your fault that ‘communications were not effectively relayed,’” he said in an imitation of Agent DHS’s tone. “You made the model connection. MI6 hadn’t been able to figure out how other buyers were involved. They guessed information might be passed at these venues, but they hadn’t been able to catch Natalie Koslov doing it. So, because we’re trying to keep up appearances, finish the internship at Fashion Forward.”

  “Sir?”

  “DHS seems to think it’s the best way to go about this. Hampstead isn’t going to reveal your identity to Lyev Koslov, and as Detective Wallace noted in your defense, Koslov hasn’t been hanging around the building.”

  “What about Laskin? Doesn’t he figure in this?”

  He nodded. “MI6 will handle that angle. You are to simply put in your time. Surveillance will continue to monitor Lyev Koslov and, if applicable, Yuri Laskin, but the Hampsteads are no longer targets.”

  “Is Laskin still alive?”

  Rick gave her a look.

  “That’s not our business,” the chief said.

  “Does Marya Hampstead know that you want me to stay on?”

  He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “She suggested it, in consultation with DHS and the FBI. It’s only a couple more weeks.”

  “Yes, sir.” That was a weird relief, that Marya was okay with it.

  “And as far as the op is concerned, you’re done.”

  Of course she was. Ellie gritted her teeth and nodded.

  “You can move out of the temporary place.”

  Well, that was good. She nodded again.

  “Dismissed. Go home and get some sleep.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ellie returned to her desk to get her pack. She was on her way out when she heard Rick behind her.

  “Els, wait.”

  She did. “I’m sorry,” she said before he spoke again. “I fucked up. I’m going to work really hard on not doing that again.”

  “I know. Come on. I’ll give you a ride.” He sounded like he usually did, much to her continued relief. She followed him to his car, thinking she could sleep for a week. And as she sat in Rick’s car as dawn broke over the Brooklyn Bridge, the memory of Marya’s kiss, brief as it was, heated her far more than the morning sun.

  CHAPTER 15

  “Could you do me a favor?” Khalil stood in the coffee room, looking like he was about to pass out.

  “Sure,” Ellie said. “What’s up?”

  “I think I might have a virus or something. I’m going home. I already told Tyler. But I was supposed to take a cup of coffee to Ms. H and—”

  “Say no more. Been there, done that. Go home. Get some rest.”

  “Thanks.”

  He left, and she loaded a French Roast pod for Marya. It would be the first time she’d seen Ms. MI6 in over a week. The night on the Georgios was like a bad dream, with the exception of the kiss part.

  The coffee machine finished, and Ellie removed the cup but didn’t put a lid on it. Marya clearly had some kind of superpower, because any time Ellie tried to drink coffee at her desk without a lid, she was guaranteed to spill it. She carried it carefully to Marya’s partially open door and knocked.

  “Yes,” she said, and Ellie stepped in.

  “Coffee. Khalil—”

  “Went home. I know.” Marya smiled and took the cup from her.

  Her fingers brushed against Ellie’s, and chills went up her spine.

  “My apologies. I’ve been indisposed, and this is my first morning back in the office.”

  “You’ve got a fashion empire to run. I get it.”

  “Among other things.” She held Ellie’s gaze, and it was all Ellie could do not to grab her and kiss her into next week. Which would be a very bad idea given the whole MI6 thing and operation Find the Guns. And her reprimand.

  “I was wondering…” Marya said, “and I know this is short notice, but is there any chance you might want to go to a party tonight? Since it’s your last Friday with us.” She lifted the cup to her lips and sipped. Ellie wrenched her gaze back to Marya’s eyes, which didn’t stop the heat building behind her ribs.

  “Sure. When and where?”

  “If you come to dinner with us, we’ll drive you to the party.”

  “Is that your idea of blackmail?”

  Marya smiled again. “Of course not. I’m incentivizing.”

  “Well, in that case, it worked. Yes. I’ll go to dinner, too.”

  “Good. We’ll be gathering in the lobby at five.”

  “All right.” She turned to go before she said things that could get her in trouble.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” Marya said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Oh, and Ellie—I do hope you’re planning on accessorizing, like you did the other night. Certain accessories come in handy, in virtually any situation.”

  She nodded. “Always.”

  “I like a woman who’s prepared for anything. Because you never know what could happen.”

  Ellie shrugged and smiled. “I try. See you soon.” She left, tingling in places she wished she wasn’t. Now, all she’d be doing for the next three hours would be looking forward to being in the same room with the unattainable Marya Hampstead, who wanted her to be armed at this party. That left her something to think about, but Tyler loaded her up with some correspondence to
deal with and a few things to proofread, and by the time she finished everything, it was almost five.

  “Bye,” Liz said as she gathered her things.

  “Yeah. Have a good weekend.” Ellie waited for her to leave before she called Rick and told him she was going to a fashionista dinner and party. Keeping up appearances and all. Good thing she’d taken to wearing a holster tee under her work shirts. She grabbed her bag and jacket and went to the lobby.

  * * *

  Ellie sipped her Coke and watched the party interactions. Dinner had been fun, because she sat next to Tyler and another guy she liked, and they talked about things other than fashion. The party, however, was a different scene entirely. People peeled off into various cliques, though Marya moved seamlessly from group to group. Clearly a woman of many talents, and not for the first time, Ellie wondered how much of her past was complete fabrication, and how exactly an MI6 agent had come to be a fashion mogul. That was years in the making, that kind of elaborate identity building.

  She checked the rest of the crowd again. A few she recognized from the fashion show after-party, and some may have been in recent news reports she’d perused while researching. This party took place in a refurbished warehouse in Chelsea. She liked the exposed brick and high ceilings, which made an event like this feel more down-to-earth.

  A server approached her, carrying a tray. “Would you like a refill?”

  “Not right now, thanks.” She set her glass on his tray and looked around the room. Lyev Koslov had arrived. And, in typical Koslov fashion, he was dressed in a well-tailored black suit. Plus, he was surrounded by women. What was the deal with this guy? Did he not know about Marya’s other identity? Or was he in on this whole thing? Maybe he was Russian law enforcement? Playboy was another good cover story, if that was his situation.

  Koslov took a glass of champagne from a server and toasted the women, in total party boy mode. Another man joined the group, this one in a well-fitted brown suit. Ellie watched him. Something about him was off. For one thing, he didn’t fit with this jet set crowd. He looked sort of like somebody’s bodyguard, and he made Koslov really nervous. The new guy leaned in and said something to Koslov. Whatever it was, Koslov’s jaw clenched. The new guy gave Koslov a hard stare then walked away. Koslov watched him for a moment and then slipped back into his charming persona with the ladies.