Kiss the Enemy (Slye Temp)

by Dianna Love

  Snake Eyes finished covering the exit points, then he repeated that the jagged roof design had no chopper access. Security personnel held the elevator keycard access. “Everyone passes through a metal detector so don’t walk in there with a weapon, Duke.”

  She opened the cape, exposing the dress that stopped just below her thong, and snorted. “Like I could hide a gun in this getup?”

  “I wouldn’t put anything past you.”

  Smart man. She’d tried to tuck just one knife somewhere, but no chance.

  She’d found aerial photos showing the only flat area up high was a penthouse patio with a pool. It was huge, but not big enough for a helo pad. “Where’re the key card and mask?”

  He reached back inside his bulky coat as he stepped forward slowly and withdrew a red, satin bag the size of two hands. “Violet’s ID key card works only tonight and this mask is worn once then replaced.”

  Margaux held her hand out.

  Snake Eyes eyed her with contempt. “If you force me to come over there, I won’t forget.”

  She held her spot, willing to take her chances by pissing him off.

  He stuck the card in the satin bag and tossed the bag to her.

  She snagged it from the wind and looked inside. Gold mask with decorative carving. Black, red, and gold feathers poofed out the top. She pulled the drawstring on the satin bag that weighed nothing and dropped it next to the parapet.

  Margaux asked, “What about Violet?”

  “She’s tied up neat as a Thanksgiving turkey. The men I sent were covered head to toe.”

  Margaux let an edge of steel cut through her quiet voice. “Did they hurt her?”

  “No. She’s fine. The police will be alerted at daylight about strange noises coming from her apartment. Her employer will have no reason to think she was in on this, as we agreed.”

  Nodding, Margaux went on. “Now, about this merc meeting the Banker.”

  “Dragan Stoli. A Russian who’s built a name for himself rather quickly over the past year. He runs a team of elite operators, no tie to any one political group. Explosives and tactical experts.”

  “What’s he doing here if he’s out of Russia?”

  “As I understand it, the Banker doesn’t recruit until right before an operation. As this is supposed to be his first venture in the US, he’s clearly wanting to meet with those who can insert without detection. He has something planned on the West Coast and soon. My new contact in New York indicated the Banker would be interviewing more than one group. It’s a shame I’ll miss the opportunity to work with him.”

  This butt wipe didn’t give a piss about the danger the Banker presented to thousands of innocent people in this country. And it would be thousands, because this terrorist only got involved with large-scale destruction. If she tossed Snake Eyes over the edge she’d be doing the gene pool a favor.

  She asked, “What kind of mercs is he looking for?” There were thugs then there were deadly operators.

  “The kind that keeps the Navy training SEALs.”

  This got more complicated by the minute. There would be no time to follow a tracker to the Banker. The minute she had the tracking chip in place on Dragan, she’d have to risk calling Sabrina. With a major operation in play, there was too much at stake now to take any chance of losing the Banker or Dragan.

  Who do I have to kill to get a real break?

  She hated seat-of-the-pants ops, but it wouldn’t be the first time. At least, the Trophy Room rules worked in her favor with the masks. “Did you come up with any description of the Banker?”

  “If I had that, it would cost you far more than is in that bag.”

  “I shouldn’t be paying for anything considering this is our problem to solve and I’ve paid you plenty for him already.”

  He waved that off as insignificant. “I gave you a deal. Appreciate that and don’t quibble.”

  “What do you know on the Russian?”

  Snake Eyes ran a finger over his bony chin that had a patch of beard the size of a silver dollar. “I don’t have a lot on Dragan, but he was behind that commando assault that went down at a hotel in Pakistan four months back, and he delivered a stolen load of missiles to Abri A’duazam nine months ago.”

  This Dragan character needed to burn, too. If Margaux had a team with her, she could bring him in. “What else?”

  “Dragan is almost as hard to find information on as the Banker. But I did get something personal on him. He doesn’t go anywhere without his bodyguard. Big sucker. Dragan will be known as Mr. D at the club tonight and Dragan’s got a thing for women.”

  “That’s intel on someone with a dick?” she asked in a wry tone.

  “You have a point, but what I’m saying is that he has an insatiable appetite, so you should get an opportunity to get close to him even if you have to stand in line.”

  In her experience, men who talked about how much sex they got usually didn’t, but she could use the insight on Dragan’s ego to her advantage.

  Snake Eyes warned, “Don’t try to talk to Dragan without going through his bodyguard first. That’s a standard Trophy Room rule for anyone who brings a bodyguard.”

  “Why do these men need protection in a room full of hookers?”

  “It’s a power image thing, I suppose. And when I say Dragan goes nowhere without his muscle, I mean nowhere. I would assume it’s to cover him while his guard is down when he’s otherwise engaged with a woman.”

  Ah, hell. That would make inserting the tracking device tricky.

  Place the tracking device on the bodyguard? She’d figure that out when she got there. “Photo of Dragan?”

  “Unfortunately, no, but I do have a description. He’s five-ten, has short black hair and a scar running from his right ear to his collarbone. He prefers tall, blond women, which is why Violet was the perfect choice.”

  Margaux’s auburn hair was tucked beneath a blond wig styled to emulate Violet’s long, straight locks that hit just below her shoulders. “How is the meeting being arranged?”

  “The Banker’s person is supposed to contact Dragan between 12:30 and one tonight, or technically tomorrow morning. And there’s a line the women use in the Trophy Room to let the men know they’re interested.”

  “I thought the whole point was for the men to do the chasing.”

  “It is, but some men prefer aggressive women who won’t give it up easily. Dragan supposedly enjoys role-playing with leather and chains. Approach the bodyguard and say these exact words. ‘Tell Mr. D that I’m interested in speaking with him alone. I’ll allow him one minute or I’ll move on.’ That informs Dragan you’re interested and should get you close enough to do whatever you have planned. That is, unless you piss off the bodyguard.”

  “Think I can manage that,” she assured him.

  “One last thing. Two of the three owners are out of the country. Sergio Santiago hired Violet and he’s the only one that will be around tonight.” Snake Eyes scratched his chin again, taking her in with an analytical eye. “You look very much like Violet, but I wouldn’t plan to stay in view much longer than ten minutes, and definitely avoid any contact with Sergio.”

  Icy fingers gripped her stomach in warning. Sergio might have taken Violet for a test ride first, which meant that he’d know a hell of a lot more about the new girl than her face. “Fuck. Picked the best one for me to imitate, did you?”

  Snake Eyes made an exaggerated sigh. “She was the only one who fit the tall and blond description, plus was somewhat close to your shape. The owners normally observe via cameras. Just don’t let Sergio get you alone.”

  Or you’re royally screwed, she finished silently.

  “If you miss your 12:30 window, this is all down the drain, Duke.”

  “I can tell time.” All Margaux had to do was find the man the Banker wanted to meet and tag a tracking device on the operative before he went to the meeting. Piece of cake with a team, but she didn’t even have backup. “Is that it?”

  �
��Yes.”

  “Then come get your money.”

  His face was shadowed, but she could feel anger surging off of him at having his phobia tested. He took one slow step at a time, breathing harder the closer he came to the wall.

  A couple more seconds and he’d be in perfect position. He stopped two feet from the bag and bent over, jaw clenched and arm shaking as he reached out.

  Margaux kicked his feet out from beneath him.

  He fell toward the gritty surface face first, jerking a gun from his coat.

  She was ready and disarmed him before he hit the ground. Then she tossed his weapon aside and dropped a knee down, hitting the middle of his back with her full body weight.

  That knocked the kick out of him.

  Wind howled, blowing her hair around and muffling the curses he was yelling.

  She grabbed a pair of plastic cuffs hidden next to the bag and secured first his hands behind his back then his feet. She stood up and used a foot to shove him over on his back, then placed her spiked shoe on his chest.

  He twitched and jerked, cursing between gasps for air. “What the ... fuck!”

  “You wouldn’t sell me out to someone with a fatter wallet, now would you?”

  He shook his head. “You’re making a mistake, Duke.”

  “If you’ve given me even one piece of faulty intel tonight, or if I find out I’ve been played in any way, I will come for you. And when I get through with you there won’t be a part worth donating to science ... unless someone wants to make a change purse out of your nut sack.”

  “You should never make unnecessary enemies, Duke.”

  She glanced at the delicate women’s watch she’d normally never wear. 12:17. Thirteen minutes until showtime, but the hotel was a five-minute walk. She pulled the sheer sleeve that hid her muscular arm back down over the watch. Not that the women in this nightclub weren’t in shape, but she kickboxed regularly and it showed.

  Reaching inside her cape, she pulled out a switchblade and flipped the blade open.

  He didn’t flinch, just watched her with the gaze of a man considering murder.

  She picked up the satin bag and reached over to the ledge where she’d left her silver purse. It held a cell phone, a miniature camera that doubled as a tube of lipstick, and a tiny EPIRB unit the size of a grain of rice that would send out a signal the minute she activated it, much like tracking units on a deployed life raft. It had a sticky surface and she intended to plant it somewhere it would stay.

  Dropping the knife on the ground next to Snake Eyes, she walked away.

  Eleven minutes to go. Her timing was perfect.

  Sabrina had accused Margaux of being reckless, but the minute she learned that Margaux had walked into this viper pit without backup, Sabrina would change that assessment to mental.

  That wouldn’t matter unless Margaux walked out alive.

  ~*~

  Snake Eyes lifted up and struggled sideways to reach the knife. Duke is a dead bitch.

  By the time his fingers touched the cool metal, his long-legged client had strutted across the rooftop and disappeared through the exit door. He nicked his fingers and cursed while he turned the knife into position to cut through the plastic cuffs.

  The minute his hands and feet were free, he reached over for his bag of money, dragging it with him as he crab-shuffled across the rooftop. He rolled around into a sitting position next to the exit door, panting. His heart pounded like a freight train coming down the tracks and he could smell the stink of his own terror.

  No one humiliated him and got away with it.

  Pulling out his cell phone with one hand, he hit the speed dial button. He used his other hand to check the cash—all there.

  After two rings, a click at the other end of the line was the only indication the phone had been answered.

  Snake Eyes had to swallow his fear before he could croak out the words, “All done.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Headed to the club. My debt to you is cleared?”

  “As long as you did everything I said.”

  Snake Eyes wiped the sweat off his brow in spite of the freezing-ass weather. “I did. She bought every word.”

  CHAPTER 5

  If this was a trick, Logan wasn’t taking the bait. The petite brunette had just finished telling him how many ways she could rock his world once they left the Trophy Room.

  He kept the irritation out of his voice and maintained his Russian accent. “I doubt your bosses would approve of you giving it away for free and I have never been a fan of leftovers.”

  Her smile faded, but she was too tough to be insulted. “I didn’t realize you couldn’t afford this menu.” She walked way. Finally.

  One minute before 0030 hours. Was the contact here already?

  The elevator doors swooshed open and for the first time tonight a woman caught Logan’s eye.

  A long-legged fantasy emerged, entering the room slowly like a secret thought. She didn’t sashay around in her shimmering gold dress, dragging tongues out in her wake as several others had. No, this one strolled through, letting it be known that she was here, she was available, and she was not going to be easy.

  Talk about hot.

  That kind of confidence turned Logan on faster than big boobs and pouty lips.

  Blond hair flowed around a sleek neck and graceful shoulders. Sheer sleeves covered her arms, but she appeared more buff than soft. Her legs flexed with cut muscle. Not the kind earned from a steady diet of aerobics. He might be the rare man in here who appreciated a woman with serious muscles earned from hours of hard workouts. Those legs would fit perfectly around his waist.

  She paused to speak to a man standing with another woman. Madam Amazon’s perfect lips offered the possibility of a smile, but no more, as she moved on.

  Legs wrapped around him and those lips on his. He wanted a taste. He wanted ...

  What the hell? He was getting hard as stone and he blamed it on going without for almost a year. Logan balled his hands against his arms and thought of ugly hookers, his brother in prison, anything but how much he liked the way the long-legged beauty moved.

  She made it around the room and her gaze shifted toward Dragan for a brief moment, then returned to surveying the rest of the room. But that one flicker of notice was enough to jack Logan’s spidey sense into high gear.

  Tall, blond, and moved like she’d had serious physical training.

  Could this be the Banker’s contact?

  Calculating her physical appearance, the time factor, and the way she watched the room as she navigated her way around, Logan would bet his left nut that she was the one.

  Another man detained her. She leaned in, listened, considered and gave him some answer that managed to leave him smiling in spite of her walking away.

  Her gaze had been hidden inside the slits of her gold domino mask until she turned toward the aquarium and the fish cleared. Those intense purple eyes peered through an opening between rocks and fish to meet his. He didn’t so much as twitch beneath her perusal, but keeping one body part in particular under control was a test.

  Think ugly old hookers.

  He had a rule against hookers, no matter how hot. He’d never been that desperate.

  But this was a mission and he needed the Banker.

  ~*~

  Dragan and his attack bodyguard were here.

  Margaux hid her flash of relief that Snake Eyes hadn’t screwed her so far. As she walked the room, keeping the aquarium between her and the bar, she gave polite smiles, trying to ignore the men as they ogled her the way cowboys admired prime beef. She took her time weaving through the group of hardtails, who hallucinated her into their current sexual fantasies, and the array of stunning women who paid her no mind.

  If Dragan was here, that should mean whoever the Banker was sending to make contact had not arrived yet. That’s how it would work in a perfect world.

  Lately, in her world it could mean the Banker’s person had already
made contact and Dragan would just walk out once he tired of the female attention.

  Margaux might have already gambled everything on tonight, but something told her she wasn’t through placing bets.

  Women with invisible price tags surrounded Dragan.

  Every masked woman in this place had one.

  Including Margaux. But only for tonight.

  Choosing to play a role was far different than actually being used that way. She’d never let someone hurt her physically again.

  Never let herself get in the position where someone she loved could trade her for—

  Stop it. Unproductive thinking was dangerous on a mission.

  She kept moving, taking her time getting around the room, building interest. At least she hoped Dragan was noticing since he was turned this way with his back to the bar.

  Dragan Stoli had no reason for a place like this.

  Most of the men were of the same cut as the gray-haired fiftyish guy she’d just passed who had a paunch, manicured nails, and sported a diamond-encrusted watch.

  Gray-hair gave her a lifted-eyebrow invitation.

  She tilted her head and returned his leer with a taunting smile, but turned away. A discreet no.

  Better than the eww screaming in her mind.

  How long could she avoid getting cornered by one of the men without someone on staff noticing?

  This would have been a hell of a lot easier with backup. Even a weapon would be nice, but her razor-thin dress wouldn’t hide a freckle and security had scanned her, head to toe. And taken her coat.

  But they’d cleared her purse and shoes.

  Keeping watch on Dragan with sly glances, Margaux made the turn around the far end of the room and proceeded toward the bar behind him.

  She’d caught sight of her watch—12:32—when she lifted her hand to wave over the male bartender, who wore an expression that was a combination of interest and distance. His six-figure income depended on maintaining selective memory and not engaging with any of the female guests.