Takedown (An Alexandra Poe Thriller)

by Robert Gregory Browne

  She leaned farther forward and slipped her arms around him, rubbing his chest, her lips close to his ear. “Will you be going alone?”

  “That was the plan, yeah.”

  “Now why would you do that when you’ve got someone warm and willing to decorate your arm, at no charge whatsoever?”

  He turned again. “Are you saying you want to go?”

  Christ, how thick was this guy? “Only if you want me to.”

  “I don’t know, baby. I don’t think the people I’m meeting would appreciate that. They aren’t very user friendly.”

  She kissed his earlobe. “I promise not to get in the way.”

  “You want to go that bad, huh?”

  “I’m told these parties are a once-in-a-lifetime kind of thing.”

  “All right,” he said, “I’ll think about it. On one condition.”

  “Yes?”

  “You’ve gotta seduce me, first.”

  She laughed and stood up, and gently whacked the top of his head. “It’s not polite to beat a girl at her own game.”

  “Impolite, crude—you’re trying to rob me of all my best traits.”

  “We could throw in making love to a woman and forgetting all about it, too.”

  “Ouch,” he said. “You don’t fight fair.”

  “If you’re not careful, I might start getting physical.”

  “It’s about damn time,” he said and got to his feet.

  It took everything Alex had to wrangle Favreau into the bedroom without him ripping her dress off.

  She pushed him across the bed, pulled off his shoes, and told him to get out of his clothes.

  “I forgot my drink,” she said and headed back toward the living room.

  “Drink?” Favreau groaned. “Forget the damn drink and come here.”

  “And let that expensive vodka go to waste? You get comfortable. I’ll be back in a sec.”

  The moment she stepped through the doorway, she cut straight to the foyer and opened the door. Cooper was waiting in the hallway with an attractive European Bahamian woman of about twenty-five who was only a hair shorter than Alex, with a similar build and bone structure.

  His secret weapon.

  He had found her through a contact he’d made at the strip bar where Favreau and Hopcroft had their rendezvous. Alex had been nearly as troubled by the suggestion to use a surrogate as Cooper had sounded, and now that the woman was standing in front of her, she was beginning to think they should try the knockout drug again.

  But she knew that wouldn’t work a second time.

  “Did Shane explain to you exactly what we need you to do?” she asked.

  “She knows,” Cooper said.

  Alex kept her gaze on the woman. “And you’re okay with it?”

  A shrug. “It’s what I do every day. And you’re paying me enough to take a couple weeks off.”

  “Hey, baby!” Favreau called. “You get lost out there?”

  Alex rolled her eyes and looked toward the bedroom. “Just refreshing my drink!” She turned back to the woman and studied her for a moment. “Okay. Come with me.”

  She ushered her inside and closed the door.

  “What’s your name?” she whispered.

  “Lita.”

  “Did you bring the scarves?”

  Lita took them from her back pocket and held them up. Three of them, red silk.

  “Remember, you don’t say a word. Even if he speaks to you.”

  Lita smiled. “He won’t be able to catch his breath long enough to speak.”

  Favreau was down to his underwear when Alexandra came back into the bedroom, still wearing that dress that looked like a million bucks but needed to be stripped from her athletic little body as soon as humanly possible.

  A man could only take so much before the beast came out to play.

  He noticed her hand was empty and said, “Where’s your drink?”

  She brought the other hand out from behind her back and held up some red silk scarves. “I brought these instead.”

  “Where’d those come from?”

  “You’d be surprised how much my little purse can hold.”

  “Okay, but what are they for?”

  She looked at him as if he should know the answer, and then it dawned on him. “You’re not planning to use those on me, are you?”

  “You didn’t mind last night. Aren’t we trying to recreate a memory?”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “You just lie back and relax. You won’t regret a minute of it.”

  Favreau liked the sound of that, but he wasn’t sure about getting tied up. Kinkiness had never been his thing. But then a woman this hot had never spent time with him voluntarily, so he didn’t put up a fuss when she crossed to the bed, wound one of the scarves around his left wrist, and tied it to the headboard.

  She repeated the ritual with his right hand, and damn if he didn’t feel like a fool lying there in his BVDs with his arms splayed.

  She noticed his discomfort and said, “Go with the flow, Frederic. Go with the flow.”

  At this point, he didn’t have much choice.

  But then she got up on the bed with the third scarf and brought it toward his eyes.

  “Wait a minute—wait,” he said. “You’re gonna blindfold me?”

  “It’s all part of the game, baby.”

  This was the first time she’d called him that, and the way her tongue wrapped around the word, coupled with the shot of cleavage she was giving him, was enough to kick his motor into high gear. He could feel his body starting to react.

  “Aww, fuck it,” he said. “Do whatever you want. I’m yours.”

  She smiled and kissed him, then slipped the scarf over his eyes and tied it behind his head. He was relieved to see the fabric was thin enough that it didn’t completely obscure his vision. He couldn’t see much, but figured it was better than nothing.

  She climbed off the bed and he heard her moving around, then the lamp on the nightstand clicked and the room went dark. The only light came from the open bedroom doorway.

  A moment later he saw her standing there, little more than a shapely silhouette.

  “I think I really do need that drink,” she said.

  “Oh, don’t you dare.”

  “You said to do whatever I want.”

  She was teasing him and was damn good at it.

  “Then get it already and get your ass back in here.”

  When she disappeared from the doorway, Favreau felt a momentary spike of panic. What if this had all been some elaborate ruse? What if she really was working for Valac, and this was his way of making old Freddy look like a fool?

  But then half a minute later she was standing in the doorway again, drink in hand. He could barely see her, but it was enough. She knocked the drink back, tossed the empty glass to the carpet, then took half a step forward and began peeling the dress off her body like it was a second skin.

  What she was doing to him right now should not have been legal. Not here. Not in the US. Not even in his adopted home of France.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this turned on. He was breathing too fast, almost hyperventilating, afraid he might lose it before she got any closer.

  Or have a heart attack.

  She stepped out of the dress, turning slightly, showing him her profile, and he could see her breasts bouncing. She paused a moment to stroke them, then she turned again, and he lost her in the darkness. But that didn’t matter, because a second later he felt the bed move as she climbed on, grabbed hold of the elastic waistband of his underwear and pulled, exposing him in all his glory.

  Then he felt her skin against his and something warm and wet and wonderful happened and he tried to hold back but he couldn’t help himself, losing it in record time.

  But that didn’t matter, either, because she kept on going until he was ready again, and no matter how much he begged her to untie him and take off the blindfold, she didn’t listen, didn’t say a wo
rd, just did things with her teeth and her tongue and her fingers and her body, and before he knew it they had gone three rounds—three glorious rounds—and he was exhausted, used up, spent, worn out, and slowly drifting off to sleep.

  When he was halfway to dreamland he felt her untying his wrists, felt her hot breath against his face, but he couldn’t move, his entire being drained of energy. Weightless. Drifting.

  Then she whispered in his ear, “I told you you wouldn’t regret it.”

  And he fell asleep smiling.

  CHAPTER 30

  WHEN FAVREAU OPENED his eyes, there was sunlight in the room.

  Had he had another blackout?

  But no, he knew he hadn’t, because he remembered every moment, every exquisite detail of what had happened during the night. His world had been challenged, conquered, rocked by a woman he was now convinced could get him to do anything she asked.

  And do it gladly.

  That’s how good it had been.

  He remembered the feel of her body against his and felt himself stirring again. And then there she was, standing in the doorway, wearing that slinky dress and holding her shoes in her hand.

  “I’m late,” she said. “The guys are gonna be mad.”

  “Send them over here and I’ll kick their asses.”

  “Somebody needs to.”

  “Did I happen to mention how amazing you were last night?”

  “You may have said it in your sleep a couple times. But maybe you were dreaming about someone else.”

  He laughed. “Not likely. Why don’t you forget about work today? We’ll go outside, get sunburned. Have breakfast on the beach.”

  “Listen to you. I thought you liked to stay indoors?”

  “What can I say, I’m a transformed man. Tell your roommates to buzz off. You don’t need them anyway.”

  “I made a commitment,” she said, “and I’d like to stick to it. But there’s always tonight, remember?”

  “Tonight?”

  “The party? At Pappy Leo’s house?”

  “Gee, I don’t know, baby. Like I said, that could be tricky.”

  She frowned. “Why? Are you afraid of these people?”

  He thought about Valac’s thugs and lied. “No, I just don’t want to chance blowing the deal.”

  “And I’m some kind of deal breaker?”

  He grinned. “You’re a heartbreaker, I know that much.”

  “I’m serious, Frederic. Are you ashamed of me?”

  He sat up. “Now, come on, I never said that. But these are touchy guys and—”

  “Okay, I see what this is. You got what you wanted and now you’re done with me. Thanks for a great time.”

  She turned in a huff and disappeared from view. Favreau heard the door slamming as he scrambled out of bed and snatched up his pants. He yanked them on and nearly stumbled as he zipped up and ran into the foyer.

  He pulled the door open, saw her moving down the hall toward her suite and said, “Alexandra, wait!”

  She stopped. Turned.

  “Screw it, all right? You can come. I want you to come.”

  “I don’t want to blow your deal.”

  “No, no, no, I’m an idiot. Forget those guys. Hell, they may even show me a little more respect if I’ve got you hanging on my arm.”

  She softened. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Absolutely, baby. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Alex had neglected to get a new room key, so Deuce had to let her in.

  “I feel guilty,” she said.

  Cooper stood near the computer cart, watching as Warlock ran a 3D simulation module based on blueprints and satellite images of the Latham estate.

  “Guilty?” Deuce said. “About Favreau? The guy’s murderous scum.”

  “No, about Lita, the girl Cooper hired. I can barely stand touching the creep and she got the full treatment.” She took a breath. “At least he passed out. That was a blessing for both of us.”

  Cooper looked up from the screen. “That wasn’t an accident. I had her slip him just enough of the Stonewell cocktail to persuade him to sleep.”

  “Really? But how did she—”

  Cooper held up a hand. “You don’t want to know.”

  Alex nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry I asked.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I gave her an extra thousand. She left with a smile on her face.”

  For the next few minutes, Cooper brought Alex up to speed, mapping out their strategy and filling in the details he and the others had worked out.

  Alex listened carefully, but part of her mind was drifting, thinking first about Favreau and Lita, but soon moving on to Thomas Gérard and Eric Hopcroft and the text message she had received from her father.

  If it’s too much to ask, I’ll understand.

  Was it too much?

  She wouldn’t know until tonight.

  CHAPTER 31

  ALEX AND FAVREAU were picked up by a limousine.

  There was a whole line of limos in front of the hotel that evening, where several of the guests—dressed to the nines and babbling happily—waited to be whisked away to Latham’s wonderland. The secret was now out. The party of the year was about to begin, and many of those who had been left in the cold were confronting the hotel’s concierge, wondering how they, too, could join the anointed.

  Alex felt as if she was headed to the prom from hell, saddled with an escort who would never have made even her D-list in the real world. She wore a dress that was a bit less revealing than the previous ones—and allowed for more flexibility—but the look of rapture on Favreau’s face the moment he saw her only increased her sense of dread.

  Thankfully, the look faded by the time they climbed into the limo. Alex knew he must have been thinking about dangerous and shady business associates and double crosses and all the things that could go wrong tonight.

  So was she, for that matter. But there was only one thought that held the uppermost spot in her mind.

  Her promise to her father.

  Consider it done.

  As the limo made the turn out of the driveway, Favreau put a hand on her knee and squeezed. “So what do you say, baby? You happy now? Is this what you wanted?”

  What she wanted was his hand off her knee. Unfortunately, breaking his fingers wasn’t an option. “Like I told you, these parties are legendary.”

  “If they’re so legendary, why haven’t I ever heard of them?”

  “Because you’re a guy who likes to spend his entire day in his room, remember?” She gave him a sly smile. “Unless you’ve got business to attend to.”

  He slid his hand upward and caressed her thigh. “I’d much rather attend to you.”

  Resisting the urge to elbow his kidney, she placed her hand over his. “All in due time, darling. All in due time.”

  Cooper, Deuce and Warlock hijacked the catering van about a block from the company parking lot.

  Thanks to Warlock’s scouring of Leonard Latham’s recent credit transactions, they were able to target Gold Coast Kitchens, the catering service hired to handle ancillary food preparation and additional staffing for Latham’s overworked kitchen help. The driver was running late, the last of several trips to the estate, and an impromptu roadblock using the rented Buick had encouraged him to pull over.

  The sight of their weapons sealed the deal.

  He raised his hands without argument and Cooper hit him with a tranq dart, knocking him cold in ten seconds flat.

  “Nice,” Deuce said. “Another Stonewell cocktail?”

  Cooper nodded. “He’s good for a few hours.”

  “Poor guy’s just trying to make a living. Probably never hurt a soul.”

  “He could be a wife beater for all you know.”

  Deuce thought about this. “I think I’ll go with that scenario.”

  After dragging the driver out of the vehicle, they checked the ID in his wallet an
d threw him onto the backseat of the Buick as Warlock waited behind the wheel.

  Deuce moved around to the van’s cargo hold, opened the doors, and found a tall metal food rack that carried a couple dozen pies of various persuasions in pink windowed boxes stamped GCK BAKERY. The smell that wafted from inside was a little slice of heaven. He was sure he detected cherry-raisin, one of his favorites.

  Now if only he had some ice cream.

  Cooper was already dressed in an outfit similar to the uniform worn by the Gold Coast catering staff—black pants, white shirt, and black vest. His outfit might not have been an exact match, but they doubted anyone would take much notice.

  He checked his watch and climbed onto the driver’s seat of the van. “Alex should be there any minute now. We’d better get moving.”

  Deuce nodded, then crossed to the Buick, and got in next to Warlock.

  “Let’s put some wheels on this wagon and ride,” he said.

  Without a word, Warlock popped the car into gear and punched the gas.

  When Alex saw the dark and shuttered fruit stand less than a block ahead, her gut tensed.

  They were almost there.

  She always got this way right before an op kicked into high gear, like a performer about to go on stage not knowing what kind of an audience to expect.

  But tonight was on a whole other level. Tonight she was about to walk into a situation with so many variables—not the least of which was her own internal conflict—that she couldn’t be sure she’d walk out again. It was almost like running a raid on a Baghdad bunker with an unknown number of armed insurgents inside.

  She had gone over the blueprints of the estate and Warlock’s 3D simulations, but diagrams and software models couldn’t tell her anything about the human factor.

  It didn’t help that she was currently weaponless. They had a plan to remedy this once she was inside, but there were no guarantees the plan would work.

  It also didn’t help that Favreau had spent the last twenty minutes trying to paw her at every opportunity. Fending him off without pissing him off was a skill she’d had to develop on the fly.