"Roger."
Back in Meredith's suite, Paige ran hot, steaming water into the claw-footed tub. She'd washed her hands and face before tending to Maggie, of course, but there was no telling what her bare back had made contact with in that alley. And her feet... Ugh!
Her plans for the rest of the night definitely didn't lend themselves to dirty feet.
Sweet, tingling anticipation fought its way through her layers of exhaustion. Smiling, she dumped an extra measure of bubbling, perfumed oil into the tub. Tonight, she wasn't worried about Meredith's client walking out of the suite with an unfamiliar scent clinging to his skin. Tonight, Meredith's client wasn't walking anywhere.
Shedding her vest and skirt and white lace panties, Paige sank into the hot water with a groan of pure pleasure. She let the water run until the bubbles reached the tip of her chin, then turned off the old-fashioned ceramic handles with one foot. Leaning against the high, sloping back of the tub, she went completely, bonelessly limp.
She'd soak for ten minutes, she told herself. Then she'd pull on the erotic lace teddy she'd dug out of the wardrobe and demonstrate to David its unique construction. The sinful little scrap of pale lemon lace was designed, she'd discovered to her somewhat embarrassed delight, for immediate carnal copulation.
Doc found her in the bathroom fifteen minutes later, sound asleep. She'd slipped down in the tub until the water lapped at her lower lip. Her slow, deep breathing fanned the bubbles dotting the water's surface into small circles.
Smiling, he bent and scooped her out of the tub. Naked and wet, she burrowed against his body, seeking his warmth. "David?" "I'm here, sweetheart." "I want to go to bed," she muttered grumpily. "Me too."
Supporting her bare bottom on one knee, he reached up to turn off the bathroom lights, then carried her into the darkened bedroom.
Chapter 13
A chorus of chattering, chirping starlings woke Paige the next morning. The birds were perched on the wrought-iron balcony railing, noisily commenting on the glorious sunshine or the availability of insects in the lush gardens below or whatever it was that birds chattered about at the ungodly hour of...
Paige lifted her head and squinted at the painted porcelain clock on the bedside table.
Ten o'clock? That couldn't be right.
She blinked a few times to clear the sleep from her eyes and checked again.
Ten o'clock.
Flopping back down, Paige studied the ornate plaster-work overhead and wondered what had happened to her normal morning energy. Usually, she jumped out of bed at dawn, eager for the day ahead. Except, of course, on those mornings when David was lying beside her.
Which he was not doing this particular morning, she acknowledged. Her hair slithered on the pillow as she turned her head to survey the empty space on the other side of the bed. She couldn't tell whether or not David had abandoned the sitting room sofa last night. The covers on his side were neatly smoothed, the way they always were when he rose before she did.
A flash of pale lemon yellow just beyond the bed caught her attention. Paige sighed, eyeing the lace teddy she'd laid out in such anticipation. If any carnal copulation had occurred in this bed last night, she'd slept right through it.
Of course... there was always this morning. And this afternoon. And most of the evening, before they were to go to Victor Swanset's villa for dinner.
At the reminder of the Dark Baron's invitation, Paige slipped deeper under the covers. After her surge of determination to see this thing through last night, in the bright light of day she was having second thoughts. And third. And fourth.
Despite his gallant, old-fashioned charm, the Baron gave her the creeps. She'd be glad when her brief association with him was over.
Of course, they still didn't have proof that Victor Swanset was the man they were after. Until and unless he showed his hand, they had to maintain their cover. Paige would be Meredith for another day and night, at least. David would be the engineer who had engaged her services for his own private symposium.
More adventure.
More excitement.
Paige groaned.
Mumbling under her breath about being careful what she wished for in future, she pushed the covers aside. She needed to go to the bathroom, badly, and she wanted to check on Maggie. She was sure Adam Ridgeway had provided their patient excellent care last night, but there were some things a woman would just as soon not have a man do for her. Especially a man who looked at her the way Adam had looked at Maggie.
Paige had one bare foot on the carpet when a brisk knock sounded on the bedroom door. She slid back into the bed and yanked the covers over her naked form once more. Maybe Maggie wouldn't mind waiting a few more moments, she thought, her pulse leaping.
She cast a quick glance at the lace teddy, but it was too far out of her reach. She'd just have to make do without it, she decided, injecting a note of sleepy-sultry huskiness into her voice.
"Come in."
The double doors were nudged open. A heavily laden cart trundled in, followed immediately by a bright, freckled face.
"Bonjour, mademoiselle."
Paige clutched the satin coverlet higher. "Good morning, Henri."
"Monsieur, he tells me to order you the breakfast, which I have done. Me, I have eaten already, but I will join you. Just to keep you company, you understand."
A collection of domed dishes and an elegant silver coffeepot rattled as the boy rolled the cart to the edge of the bed.
"We have here the brioches and the croissants," he informed her, lifting the lids for her inspection. "And sausage and fresh fruit. And a seafood quiche of a quality that is not quite what one expects of the Carlton, but it will do."
He plucked a fat pink shrimp from the dill-and-lemon garnish atop the quiche and popped it into his mouth. "Yes, it will do."
Dragging the dressing-table chair over next to the cart, he plopped down on it and beamed at her expectantly. "So, mademoiselle, which shall you have first?"
Paige's need to go to the bathroom had transitioned from urgent to desperate. Moreover, she didn't think it entirely appropriate for her to breakfast naked with this child, as precocious as he was. But the covetous sidelong glance he gave the sizzling sausages tugged at her heart.
"Why don't you pour me a cup of coffee?" she suggested. "I'll start with that and wake up a bit while you, uh, test the dishes for me."
Tucking the coverlet under her arms, she puffed the pillow up behind her back and accepted the milky coffee Henri prepared for her.
With unabashed gusto, he piled a dish high with delicacies and dug into them.
"Where is monsieur?" Paige asked after a moment, trying to catch the boy between mouthfuls.
"He goes across the hall, to confer with the other gentleman and your so-lovely friend."
Tilting his head, Henri eyed her shrewdly. "Your friend is not in the business I thought, yes? Nor are you, mademoiselle."
Paige took a sip of coffee, hiding behind the cup until she decided how to answer.
"Why do you think that?" she finally asked, stalling.
"Because the so-large gentleman who has such a passion for you tells me I must stay here, where he can keep the eye on me. But I am not—under any circumstances, you understand—to discuss fees and prices with you."
"Oh."
"And me, I am not stupid."
No, he wasn't stupid. Pitifully thin and bruised, perhaps. Definitely dirty. But not stupid.
"So, mademoiselle, what is it that you do here? And what is it that we must do tonight that puts the so-serious look in monsieur's eyes?"
"We?"
"But of course, we."
If David had been reluctant for Paige to join the OMEGA team, she could just imagine his reaction to the news that Henri was volunteering for an active role in their mission. She was trying to find a way to let the boy down gently when he gave her a cheeky grin.
"I will stay here with you for a whi
le, no? I cannot go back to the Allees, you see. Not for a while. Antoine, he sees me with you before you put the bullet through him. Now he will break my head, as well as my legs, if he catches me."
"The pig," Paige muttered.
Although Maggie had managed to confirm that there wasn't any connection between their operation and Henri's former business partner, Paige now wished David had put the thug away permanently, instead of just pulping his face.
Henri was not going back to the Allees, she decided grimly. Not today. Not next week. Not ever. Paige wasn't exactly sure where he would be going, but she'd get David to work something out. Or Adam Ridgeway. He could put all that inbred authority of his to work on Henri's behalf.
"Why don't you roll the cart into the sitting room?" she suggested to the boy. "Just leave me a brioche and some coffee. We can finish this discussion after I get dressed."
She waited until Henri had closed the bedroom doors, then made a dash for the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, she'd scrubbed her face, brushed her teeth and her hair, and pulled on a black knit tank dress held up by narrow spaghetti straps that crossed over her bare back. The deceptively simple little dress—what there was of it—clung to Paige's body like a second skin.
Slipping on a pair of strappy black sandals with thin cork soles, she grabbed a few essential supplies for Maggie and stuffed them in her purse, alongside the gold halter, then hurried across the hall with Henri. While waiting for a response to her knock, she rested a hand on his shoulder. The light touch caused the boy to blink up at her in surprise, as though he weren't used to human contact.
Paige smiled down at him reassuringly, although the sensations conveyed from her fingertips to her brain shocked her. She registered both the threadbare quality of the navy sweater the youngster seemed to live in, and the thinness of the shoulder it covered. She'd make an excursion to the hotel's gift shop this morning, Paige decided, her mouth settling into a determined line. Henri needed clothes, as well as nourishment.
When David opened the door a moment later, her inner tension and nervousness eased perceptibly. This was the David she knew. Calm, solidly handsome, his brown hair combed, his gray shirt tucked neatly into a pair of dark slacks. His eyes showed no trace of the so-serious look that Henri had noticed earlier.
"So you've finally decided to rejoin the living," he said, with a small, teasing smile.
Warmed by the intimacy of that half grin, Paige followed Henri into the suite. "You should've wakened me.
"I tried," he murmured, for her ears alone. "Several times. You were unconscious. Naked and sprawled over most of my side of the bed, but unconscious."
"Try harder next time."
That settled the question of whether or not he'd abandoned the sofa last night. Unfortunately, it didn't tell Paige whether he'd tried to wake her in an attempt to abandon his self-imposed restraint, as well. Resolving to put that scrap of lemony lace to work at the first opportunity, she headed for the bedroom, while Henri peeled off to investigate a basket of pastries.
"How's Maggie?"
"Better. Her throat is still a little raw, but she's recovered her energy."
She'd recovered more than just her energy, Paige saw as soon as she walked into the bedroom. Her face had lost its deathly pallor, thank goodness. Her eyes, a deep nutmeg brown without their disguising contacts, sparkled with a combination of rueful humor and relief.
"Morn... ing," she rasped.
Paige had heard bullfrogs with more melodious voices. "Good morning. Sorry I slept so late. Certain people failed to wake me."
"That's probably my fault," Adam volunteered. He pushed back his chair, one of two around the graceful Italian table that had been dragged in from the sitting room and placed next to Maggie's bed.
A total absence of sleep certainly hadn't lessened Adam Ridgeway's air of command, Paige thought. His blue shirt wasn't quite as crisp as last night, and the crease in his dark slacks had all but disappeared, yet he showed no other visible signs of his long night, except the dark stubble shadowing his cheeks and chin.
"Doc and Maggie were bringing me up to date on the operation," he explained.
Paige glanced at the papers and drawings littering the table's tooled-leather surface.
"So I see."
Her respect for the other woman edged up another notch. As sick as Maggie was last night, she'd recovered enough to participate—nonverbally, Paige hoped—in a mission briefing.
"Control came through with a detailed description of Swanset's villa," David told her. "The place has thirty-six rooms, including the servants' quarters. I've drawn out a floor plan for you to memorize before we go in."
Her jaw sagged. "You want me to memorize thirty-six rooms?" "You can't go in blind."
"No, of course not," Paige said weakly. Good God, while she was sprawled blissfully across the bed, David had been sketching out thirty-six rooms for her to memorize!
He pulled a folded sheet of notepaper out of his shirt pocket. "We've revised the emergency codes, as well."
"New codes?" she asked, her heart sinking. "I've got them down, at least the important ones. One-one-three for emergency assistance. Two-three—"
She stumbled, trying desperately to remember the digitized signal for "Agent in place, backup requested".
"The numeric system allows too much possibility of error during translation at headquarters," Adam interjected smoothly. "We've switched to a selection of code words that allow immediate voice recognition."
"Voice?" Paige threw Maggie a doubtful look.
The patient grinned.' 'Only... one... word. Can't... mistake.. .it."
Paige knew darn well that this small, select committee had made the switch from numbers to words for her benefit, not because of any translation problems at headquarters. She was grateful, relieved, and just the tiniest bit annoyed that she hadn't been consulted in the matter.
"I'll study the codes and the floor plan later," she told David. "Why don't you and Adam take a break and go into the sitting room?"
He flipped through his little notebook, frowning at the neat lists. "We've got a lot of work to do here."
"We can do it later," Paige said firmly.
Adam rolled his shoulders a bit, finally demonstrating a little human weariness, but seconded David's opinion. "If Maggie's up to it, we should go on."
"La... ter," the patient croaked. Paige ushered the two men out and shut the door behind them. Her shoulders sagging, she leaned against it. "Are they like always this on the job?" "Doc... is." "And Adam?"
"Don't... know. Am... finding... out."
Paige caught a flicker of what looked like intense, personal satisfaction in the other woman's brown eyes. She was dying to ask how the long night had gone with the impeccable Mr. Thunder waiting on Maggie hand and foot, but she respected her privacy too much to pry.
Levering herself away from the door, she walked over to the bed and dumped the contents of her purse onto the satin coverlet.
"I brought some essential sickroom supplies," she announced. "Perfumed bath oil. Meredith's complete makeup kit. Silk panties. And your little lavender kimono, guaranteed to make the wearer feel like a million dollars and the observer loose his cool completely."
The private satisfaction in Maggie's eyes went very public. She stroked the short, silky kimono with the tip of one finger and gave Paige a wicked grin.
"You... doll!"
By late afternoon, Maggie's energy, Paige's ability to concentrate and Doc's patience were all wearing thin.
Even Henri's inexhaustible curiosity had petered out. He had stopped trying to listen in while they conferred, and had taken up residence in front of the armoire housing the entertainment center. A huge bowl of sweet black cherries kept him company.
"Let's go over the mission objectives one more time," Doc instructed.
"A—I pass the microdot," Paige parroted. "B—you convince Swanset to demonstrate his digital imaging tec
hnique, and in the process insert a virus into his system." "Good."
"C—we leave the villa, giving him time to play with the stolen information. You activate the virus by remote signal, thus destroying his system, and that of anyone who tries to access to the stolen technology."
Doc nodded. "Right. No heroics. No flashy stunts."
"No making hamburger out of Swanset's face," Paige added sweetly.
"And D—" Maggie croaked, her voice almost recovered, "OMEGA sweeps in for the kill."
Doc rubbed the back of his neck. Compared to many of his missions, this one sounded relatively tame. Passing a subtly altered microdot and slipping an electronic time bomb into a computer wasn't exactly the stuff of an Ian Fleming or Tom Clancy novel.
But this technology was on the cutting edge. Right now only a handful of international military and paramilitary organizations, like police and drug-enforcement agencies, were using its awesome, high-speed video and data imaging capabilities. If an outsider with his own agenda was to tap into or divert the flow of essential security information, he could hold some of the most powerful governments in the world hostage.
The psychological profile Claire had pieced together on Victor Swanset showed them he would be merciless with that kind of power.
It had taken most of the night and all of this morning to sort through Swanset's many dummy corporations and his tangled financial dealings, but OMEGA now knew that Victor Swanset himself had destroyed Albion, the studio he'd built from the ground up. Rather than see it produce what he felt were inferior films after the war, he'd anonymously reacquired large blocks of shares in both the studio itself and its major suppliers. In a ruthless move that sent shock waves through international stock markets, he'd dumped the shares and caused several major entertainment corporations to fold.
He'd brought down two successive governments, as well, all without leaving his mountain fortress above Cannes. Since then, his financial empire had spread around the globe, until he gained controlling interests in several multinational communications-industry corporations.
Undercover Man Page 16
