by M. C. Adams
In her peripheral vision, she spied the doorway to the bathroom. She could see a portion of the toilet and a tiny open window with a curtain moving slowly in the breeze. An escape route!
The brute reached out for her ferociously. She grabbed his wrists and inched her face toward his. She nuzzled her nose against his left ear, and then flicked her tongue against his earlobe. She tugged at his ear with her teeth, the way Serge used to do, and let her tongue slide down the side of his cheek.
“Are you ready for your little she-devil?” Alexa whinnied like a little pony. His hands moved toward her body, and she inched her hips away from him, hoping he wouldn’t brush against the gun she carried. He lurched his mouth toward her breasts.
“Not yet,” she stammered. She shoved his hands away and let go of his wrists.
He let out a snort that turned into a growl. He narrowed his beady green eyes at her and furrowed his brow. Alexa tried to tame his developing anger.
“I’m not ready. Almost.” She motioned to the bathroom. “I need a moment, then I’ll be at your service.” She gave him her best “she-devil” grin. Backing away, she maintained eye contact until she reached the bathroom door. She pursed her lips together, traced her upper lip with her tongue, and then bit down hard on her lower lip. The brute started to unzip his pants and expose his erection. Alexa held up a finger to restrain him while she slipped into the bathroom and pulled the door shut.
Her quivering hands fumbled with the doorknob as she searched for the lock. No lock. She’d have to be quick. Her chills became tremors racing up and down her body. Her torso convulsed, and her breathing staggered. Get it together, Lex! her subconscious screamed at her.
She scurried toward the little open window in the shower, flushing the toilet as she passed it. The window was about the width of her shoulders. It would be a tight fit.
She grabbed the window frame above her. It was at the level of her head. She hoisted herself up and squeezed through the opening. On the second floor, there was a drop of nearly twenty feet to the ground. She held the windowsill and lowered her body as close to the ground as she could get. She took a breath and let go of the windowsill.
She landed on the balls of her stilettos. Her heels hit next; something gave way, then she fell to her left hip and rolled onto her flank. The gun remained secured in its holster over her left side, and it dug into her skin when she rolled. Alexa scrunched her eyes together, fearing the impact would make the gun fire. It did not. She reached around and clicked the safety back into place.
Above her, the brute cursed through the bathroom window. His voice scared her to her feet and sent her scampering off down the street. She assessed her injuries as she fled. Only mild injuries, scrapes and bruises, no broken bones — nothing serious. Where’s the hotel? Before she gained her bearings, a black van swooped around the corner and stopped in front of her. The side door thrust open, and Mike’s face appeared in the darkness. He reached out his arm and scooped Alexa into the vehicle. The dark interior was sprinkled with a myriad of lights, monitors, and switches along the opposite wall. Mike sat on the bench seat at the back of the van, a laptop and headphones lying next to him.
A pale-faced young male crouched on his knees next to the technical equipment. With his short blond crew-cut and his fitted red sweater, he looked like a young Captain Kirk sitting in front of the Enterprise control panel. He and Mike both stared at Alexa. She could only see the dark hair of the driver in the front seat.
Alexa broke the awkward silence. “It wasn’t Ivan,” she stammered. She pointed toward the building she’d jumped from. “He — he wasn’t Ivan.”
Captain Kirk sat motionless while Mike nodded in her direction. “Yeah, Poppy. We know.”
“What? How do you know?” Then she realized the TV monitors were displaying pictures of the red headed brute shouting from the window of the room she had just escaped. She soaked in the details as her glance moved from one monitor to the next.
“You sent me there, and it wasn’t Ivan. Why?” Her voice was smaller than she could have imagined.
Mike shrugged. “I was as surprised as you. We didn’t have a visual when we sent you in there. Didn’t get a look at him ‘til you showed up. Don’t know where the mix up happened.” He reached up with one hand and rubbed his chin.
She blinked and turned to Captain Kirk. He had a wicked smile on his face. “Maybe it was a test — to see if you could handle it.” Kirk snickered.
She swiveled to face Mike. “A test?” she questioned.
He kept rubbing his chin, deep in thought. “He wasn’t one of our guys. Wouldn’t make sense to test you like that, could be dangerous.”
Captain Kirk laughed out loud. “Dangerous? Sounds like one hell of a good time to me.”
His words stung to the core. Already on edge, she couldn’t ignore them. She turned to him accusingly.
“What the fuck do you mean by that? That son-of-a-bitch could have raped me. That’s a sick idea of a good time.” She fumed with anger.
“Jeez, Mike, call off your bitch!” Kirk shouted across the car.
It was a poor choice of words. Mike’s eyes hardened, and his right fist smashed against the kid’s chin. It made an impressive smacking sound. The impact sent the kid into a sideways spin, and he fell to his shoulder. Alexa’s eyes widened in disbelief.
The authoritative sound of Charles MacDonald’s voice over an unseen speaker system interrupted the action. “That’s enough.” His speech brought calm to the chaos in the van. The kid rubbed his already swollen jaw. Alexa couldn’t tell if it was broken or dislocated, but his face looked deformed. Surprisingly, he didn’t even wince in pain.
Charles took control of the situation. “Elizabeth, you acted on the information we were given. The information we were all given.” His use of her pseudonym sent another set of chills coursing over her flesh. “It shouldn’t matter to any of you if this is a test or not. No matter the circumstances, this is your job. You follow your orders. Your orders are from me and are handed down from my superiors. We all follow orders.” Alexa’s head drooped like a dog being disciplined by its master.
“Elizabeth, Ivan is in Versailles. You will meet with him soon. Another night. Be prepared. At this point, you should all go back to your quarters and reconvene when I contact you next.” The speaker cracked and went silent. Alexa looked at Mike, then the floor, purposely avoiding the eyes of Captain Kirk. The van came to a halt; she hadn’t realized they’d been moving. Mike reached behind her and opened the car door. She stumbled out of the van, favoring her sore leg as she limped into the building. She didn’t even say goodbye to Mike.
The car sped away into the night. Alexa hurriedly closed her trench coat and tied the belt tight around her waist. She must’ve left it open after the great reveal to the redhead. She climbed the stairs and settled into her room.
It wasn’t until she was alone and her door was locked that the heart-wrenching emotion of the night’s escapade fully rose to a conscious level. A whirlwind of feelings coursed through her veins. Fury. She had put so much trust in her team tonight — her team led by Charles MacDonald. But they failed her. This was the same team that couldn’t find Ahmed, one of their most-wanted men. Her eyes narrowed as she noticed the trend. Had Charlie Mac purposefully led her astray? Did Charlie betray me? She had trusted him to lead her to Ivan. She had a plan for Ivan.
Other emotions simmered to the surface more slowly. Fear. Alexa had mentally prepared for tonight’s events with the understanding that she would follow a plan established by her teammates. The red headed giant was a kink she hadn’t prepared for. She couldn’t handle that kind of uncertainty. Fear could cost her her life.
She swallowed hard at the thought. Her subconscious tried to push it back down, but it was useless. She hobbled toward the bathroom. The fear billowed from her stomach into her throat and presented itself as a chunky-green vomit she spewed into the toilet. She slumped onto the bathroom floor, her mind becoming clearer af
ter vomiting.
She would not succumb to the fear. Instead, she reminded herself that she had survived the night’s precarious turn of events. In spite of the incidents that transpired, in spite of the chaos, she had escaped with her life, and she didn’t even have to shoot the brute. That had been her first thought when she realized the man wasn’t Ivan. Who the fuck cares if he’s not Ivan? Shoot the bastard and get out, fool. But she had restrained herself. She managed self-control and maintained her senses. Yes. I can do this.
After her nerves settled, Alexa realized she was more confident than before. Maybe this was a test. Maybe Charlie Mac was making a point. She stood in front of the full-length mirror in the corner of her tiny room and watched herself undress. She watched herself pull off the layers of her high-dollar hooker costume piece by piece. Her appearance was an odd combination of eroticism and humor. On one hand, she felt like she was on her way to a Halloween party. On the other hand, she found the way her skin peeked through the lace allowing all the sensuous areas to show alluring. Her delicately tapered upper thighs, buttocks, lower abs, and cleavage were in full view. I look like Lady Gaga! She laughed out loud and shed the ensemble. Tomorrow, I’ll buy something else. I need something I feel confident wearing when I meet Ivan.
CHAPTER 32
She woke that night from a convoluted nightmare. She didn’t remember it fully, something about Ivan trying to suffocate her. She fought back, but he was too strong. She pulled something from a belt or pocket. Yes, the syringe. She aimed for his carotid — and woke in a flurry.
“Dammit!” she cried aloud. I’m so tired of nightmares. She wanted to say a little prayer to ask them to stop, but she didn’t let herself. She doubted God would answer any of her prayers anytime soon. She shook off the idea. I’ll handle my own nightmares. She rustled under the covers until the sunrise beckoned her to her feet.
She ignored Charlie’s orders to remain in her room. It looked beautiful outside, and she yearned for sunshine and fresh air. Feeling more confident today, she decided to go for a run through town. She put on a sports bra and loose tank over a pair of spandex running shorts.
She stepped into a crisp, clean morning. The chill that hung in the air meant she could run without overheating. She tucked both her work-issued credit card and her hotel room card key into her sport top. As her sneakers skipped across the sidewalk, her thoughts became jumbled as her mind darted haphazardly from one topic to the next.
It feels so good to disobey Charlie Mac after last night’s spectacle. She could have giggled. Then her mind turned to Britt. Barbados. She remembered their hang-gliding experience offered to them by one of the locals. They had dared to fly tandem on the same glider. She remembered the beautiful view of the trees, flowers, and beaches below them. Britt’s face beamed with an adventurous smirk. They were supposed to land on a large open area of beach, but a gust of wind took them through bushes and brambles that scraped across their legs before depositing them about fifty yards out into the ocean. Britt’s strong arms caressed her frame as they scrambled to disembark from their glider and make their way to the shore.
Never a strong swimmer, she would have drowned in the ocean waves if it weren’t for Britt. I should have been scared. But Britt’s grasp had been so reassuring, and when his eyes sparkled like that, I forgot to be afraid. He gave me courage and strength I didn’t know I needed. Without him, she was incomplete.
Alexa shoved the feelings from her mind, and a new topic bobbed to the surface: Jimmy Thornton. What is Jimmy Thornton doing now that I am gone? Has he found some other young, naïve female doctor to make unwanted advances upon? Why did he ever go to those dreadful hearings? He was so eager to help me by giving Appleby that list of names. The list I never thanked him for. . . . An audible sigh escaped her lips. Maybe Jimmy had genuine feelings for me — something more than the lust he portrayed. I’ll never figure him out. Trying to do so will make me crazy. The last day she saw Jimmy was also the day she ran into Britt’s father.
Ugh, back to Britt. She couldn’t help but worry about his father. His health was only so-so when she left. Even though he pretended he was as strong as an ox, he’d suffered a small heart attack a few years back, and his cardiac function was dwindling. Alexa always thought she would be around to help out Dale Anderson in his old age. She shook her head from side to side as if to physically clear the thoughts from her brain.
The syringe from her dream popped into her mind. She recalled the image, and for a moment she felt powerful — invincible, even. She needed to carry that syringe with her the day she met Ivan. Just in case. Delivering direct oxygen into the brain’s bloodstream wasn’t a fast death, but it was death, nonetheless.
She stopped, and then glanced in both directions trying to figure out what caused her subconscious to halt her. Her eyes went to an adult store on the other side of the street. Their storefront contained many black leather, dominatrix-looking pieces. If she were meeting Ivan dressed as a prostitute, she wanted something that made her feel dominant. Alexa jogged across the street and entered the store.
A teenage girl manned the counter, and the store was otherwise empty. The girl’s green eyes peered at Alexa mischievously. The store shelves were filled with toys and racks of clothes that ranged from pearl string panties to leather chaps, whips, feathered brassieres, and stiletto platform heels with dice embedded in the heels. Alexa perused the women’s section and came across a faux-leather three-piece outfit that looked promising.
She grabbed a brassiere with mesh panels built in the sides that came with a matching bottom. Not much left to the imagination. Nylon stockings with a garter belt completed the look. She sneered at the costume. At least it’s opaque. That’s an improvement from the red lace outfit. Alexa took the garment to the checkout counter, where she found the store girl making pouty expressions into a hand mirror. What a peculiar girl, Alexa thought as she headed back to her hotel.
She entered her hotel room elated from her secret rendezvous. As she tossed her bag onto the bed, she heard the ring of the Crackerjack phone. Dammit! I forgot about that silly phone. She raced to pick it up.
“Where the hell have you been?” Mike hissed at her.
“Sorry. I just now heard the phone,” she lied. “Have you been trying to get a hold of me for a while?”
“Only the last two hours. Dammit, Poppy! You gotta keep that phone with you at all times. That’s the deal. Where the hell have you been?”
“Out,” she half-whispered.
“Don’t give me that bullshit. I know you went for a run. You’re not hiding anything from me. Look, I don’t care if you run, just try to lay low. Okay?”
“Fine.” She seared, hating that he had caught her and was disciplining her like a child. She changed the subject. “Mike, why did you call? Has there been a new development?” Her tone quickly changed from aggravated to eager.
“Yeah. We need you to be ready. Ivan’s checked into the same hostel you visited last night. Expect a call from me later this evening. Lay off the booze today, and for Christ’s sake, keep that phone on you at all times. Got it?”
“Got it,” Alexa murmured.
Oh, fuck! Attempt to kill Ivan — round two. She frowned; she knew a stiff drink would be needed to walk into that situation again. She hated to go against Mike, especially after he went out of his way to stand up for her against Captain Kirk the other day. But she wanted to steady her nerves.
Alexa poured herself a strong vodka soda, plopped on the bed, and rummaged through photos of Ivan. She concentrated hard on the details of his face, the tone of his arms, his tattoos, and that scar on his neck. She laid out the new ensemble she had bought, a pair of black heels and red lipstick. She chose a pair of cheap heels with an ankle strap that would help hold them in place if she needed to run. She ran her fingers over the thin strap of leather. Who am I kidding? Running in heels is a losing battle. It’s as hopeless as hand-to-hand combat with a man.
Nervous, she found herself pacin
g the floor waiting for Mike’s call. Through narrowed eyes, she willed the Crackerjack to ring. After an eternity of silence, Alexa turned the television on. Her fingers flipped through various news stations until she found one covering U.S. news. She wanted a follow up on the Boston marathon bombings.
The faces of two young, accused men flashed across the screen. Next came glimpses of a shootout scene that ended in the death of one of the men, and a reporter spoke of a manhunt for the second man. Alexa remembered her conversation with Mike the other day. “It’s okay,” she said out loud. “You’re doing the unfathomable to protect the innocent — like those poor people in Boston.” The garbled quality of her voice made her even more choked up. Don’t be sad now, Lex. Be angry. Let the story fuel your fury and boil your blood. Let anger replace the fear and give you the strength and adrenaline you need to overcome Ivan. Kill the son-of-a-bitch. Rage swept over her like a fever.
The news channel switched to cover another story, so she turned the TV off. Grabbing her iPod, she played a Limp Bizkit song. Soon, she found herself jumping about while lip-syncing to “f— this” and “f— that” lyrics, to help her maintain the blood boiling state. She felt invincible. Bring it on, Ivan. You’ve met your match. Alexa swallowed another shot of liquor and began shuffling through photos of Ivan’s victims.
She carried on such for another hour or so — until the Crackerjack phone rang. Oh no! Mike! Alexa jumped to her feet, and a pang of nausea spread from her stomach to her head. Damn vodka. Don’t vomit. She adjusted her footing, and the nausea subsided. The phone rang again, and a sobering adrenaline surge replaced the nauseous wave.
“Hel-lo?” Her voice cracked.
“You ready for this?” His tone was a mixture of excitement and anticipation.
“Yes. I’m ready. Tell me what you know.” She tried to enunciate her words clearly; she didn’t want him to know she had defied him by drinking alcohol. He paused. God, he’s analyzing my speech. She felt his urge to interrogate her, but the moment passed. Instead, he went over the details of the night’s plan.
