Medusa's Sheik

by Cindy Dees

  “Here’s the car,” he announced cheerfully.

  Calling the vehicle in front of her a car didn’t do the glossy black Rolls-Royce any more justice than calling Hake handsome did for him. A uniformed chauffeur materialized in front of her, holding the back door open. “Mademoiselle,” the man said politely.

  To advance the mission, she had to go to dinner with Hake. This was just a job. Vanessa’s doubtful question about whether or not she could handle it popped into her head, galling her. She hated the idea of being weak. She was a Medusa. She could handle one stinking meal with some hunky guy! The folks at H.O.T. Watch Ops would do back handsprings in delight if she went to dinner with the mark.

  She smiled at the driver and stepped into the Rolls. It was as plush inside as it was outside. An elegant crystal bud vase was built into the armrest, and it held a single white rosebud.

  “Champagne?” Hake murmured, reaching into the built in cooler.

  “No, thank you.” She never drank alcohol when she was armed and working. Besides, dealing with this man required every bit of her mental faculties.

  He sighed. “You have nothing to be afraid of, Cassandra.”

  Given that she was trained in a dozen different methods of disabling him and probably twenty more ways of killing him, she would hardly call herself afraid. At least not of him directly. She was more afraid of herself. Of her reaction to him.

  She slipped a hand into her purse and hit the speed-dial button that connected her to H.O.T. Watch Ops. Speaking loudly enough so the folks there could hear her over the smooth purr of the Rolls, she asked, “Where are we going for dinner?”

  He smiled mysteriously. “It’s a surprise.”

  She sighed. Oh, well. It had been worth a try. At least headquarters knew she would have dinner with the target. They could triangulate on the GPS unit in her cell phone if they wanted to see where she was going.

  Hake leaned forward and opened the mini-refrigerator. He poured chilled water into a cut-crystal glass and held it out to her. “Here, my thirsty dancer.”

  She took the glass in silence. His dancer? The thought made her stomach tumble disconcertingly. Stop that. Not that her gut listened to her, of course.

  “Is your dancing a safe topic?” he asked.

  “I’ll let you know,” she replied cautiously.

  He laughed quietly. “You are determined to lead me on a merry chase, aren’t you?”

  “I try.”

  The rest of the ride passed in silence. The Rolls headed for the heart of London and took a street that ran along the Thames. The imposing medieval block of the Tower of London loomed across the river. And then the Rolls slowed and turned into a narrow, gated drive.

  In a few minutes, the vehicle stopped. The chauffeur opened the door for her and Casey stepped out to see a pier with a half-dozen luxury yachts moored along its length. Hake held out his arm and she had no choice but to loop her fingers around his forearm.

  The muscles beneath the fine wool suit were hard and sculpted. The guy worked out, did he? Her uncooperative stomach gave an appreciative flutter.

  No surprise, he led her to the biggest, sleekest yacht of all. A white uniformed sailor, clearly also a highly trained bodyguard, welcomed Hake aboard. Casey recognized the sailor’s relaxed, balanced stance as the same one she was trained to employ in high-threat security situations.

  They passed two more crewmen on their way to the ship’s expansive living room. Both men were as sharp as the first one. Of course, given Hake’s wealth and prominence, it was no surprise he was surrounded by bodyguards of this caliber. Frankly, now that she thought about it, the biggest surprise was that these goons hadn’t been with him at the restaurant.

  She subtly slipped her hand in her purse and turned her phone on again. “What’s this boat called?”

  Hake grinned. “Don’t call her a boat in the captain’s presence unless you want a lecture. She’s a yacht or a ship. And she’s called the Angelique.”

  Mission accomplished. H.O.T. Watch’s crack researchers would know where she was in two minutes, tops. She figured that in five more, they’d have satellite surveillance on her. Not that she needed the backup. She had things under control. At least for the moment.

  A crewman came in and asked, “Are you ready to dine, sir?” At Hake’s nod, the man laid a table for two. Hake spent the next few minutes giving her a tour of the salon, which held an impressive collection of art and baubles from around the world. Her host proved to have impressive expertise in both archaeology and art. In spite of herself, she wondered what else his wide-ranging education encompassed. She always had found smart men irresistible.

  “Dinner is served,” yet another crew member announced.

  “How many people are on the Angelique’s crew?” she asked.

  “Eleven at sea. Seventeen in port.”

  “Why the difference?”

  “Security,” he answered shortly. “My father insists upon it.”

  “He’s probably right to insist,” Casey commented before she stopped to think.

  Hake whirled to stare at her. “You know who I am?”

  Crap. She thought fast. Probably best to stick to the truth. “Of course, I know who you are. You’re one of the most eligible bachelors in Europe. And with your…escapades…splashed all over the tabloids, it would be darn near impossible not to know who you are.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Don’t believe most of what you read in the British gossip rags.”

  “The truth is worse?” she asked lightly.

  Hake laughed. “If I were American, I’d plead the Fifth Amendment to that one.”

  She smiled. “I’ll let you plead it…this time.”

  Hake waved off the crew member and held her chair for her himself. She brushed past him to take her seat and her pulse skittered at the proximity to him. Oh, Lord.

  He smelled fabulous. His cologne was as smooth and sophisticated as he was.

  Someone dimmed the lights in the salon, leaving only a pair of tall tapers between them for illumination. A low arrangement of a dozen red roses decorated the table. Was it just luck, or had he specifically ordered those flowers and his crew worked a miracle to get them at this time of night?

  She looked down at her plate as the waiter uncovered it and had to smile. A gorgeous prime rib stared back up at her. “Your staff is really, really good,” she commented wryly.

  Hake merely smiled enigmatically at her and murmured, “Bon appétit.”

  The meal was delicious and the conversation enjoyable as they discussed everything from ballet to Formula 1 car racing—a hobby he’d given up recently at the worried urging of his family. Gradually, she found herself relaxing. It was just food and talk. She could handle those.

  After a sumptuous dark chocolate mousse, she laid down her spoon with a sigh of contentment. “My compliments to the chef.”

  Hake nodded. “I’ll pass them on.”

  She smiled over at him. “I have to confess, I’ve had a wonderful time. Although, I’m going to have to exercise for hours tomorrow to work that off.” Thankfully, Hake didn’t leap on that and suggest any lewd alternatives for working off the meal with him. She asked, “Would you have one of your men call me a cab, please?”

  Hake looked stunned for a moment but recovered quickly. To his immense credit, he didn’t argue or press her in any way to stay. He merely murmured, “No need for a cab. I’ll have my driver take you home.”

  “I don’t want to put him out,” she protested. “It’s very late.”

  Hake waved off her protest. “I insist. I’d worry about you making it home safely otherwise.”

  Right. As if she was in any danger. She highly doubted that too many people in London could hurt her in a one-on-one fight. She had to admit, though, another ride in that amazing Rolls would be fun. “All right,” she acquiesced.

  Hake walked her down the pier to the car a few minutes later. Although she was as nervous as a cat, he didn’t even try to kiss h
er cheek good-night, and for that, she was grateful. Smart guy. Must have figured out his only chance was to go slow with her. Mental whiplash jerked her. His only chance? He had no chance at all with her. They were never going to be a couple or even hook up for a one-night stand. This was work.

  “Thank you for a lovely evening,” she murmured.

  “Likewise. We must do it again soon.”

  Her toes curled at the prospect, but a frisson of alarm chattered down her spine. Too much more proximity to him and she’d be in grave danger of weakening.

  She breathed a huge sigh of relief when she pulled away from the pier in his Rolls and his tall form faded into the night behind her. She gave an address to the driver and sat back to relish the plush seats and silky smooth ride.

  The driver offered to walk her inside the apartment building but she turned him down firmly. She watched the vehicle until it had turned a corner up ahead and disappeared, then turned and flagged a taxi. She gave the driver, a grizzled Cockney fellow this time, her actual address and sat back for the long ride across London. She wasn’t about to let Hake El Aran know where she was staying. After all, their relationship was going to end up being all about power and leverage if she didn’t miss her guess.

  Let him stew about how to get in touch with her again. He’d do it on her terms or not at all.

  Chapter 5

  F urious Hake leaned forward to glare at the pair of private investigators squirming in Geoffrey’s office Monday afternoon. “What do you mean you’ve got nothing on her? Surely you managed to get her name at least!”

  “I’m sorry, sir. The restaurant pays her in cash and she does business under a license in the name of Cassandra. Nothing more.”

  “My man told you where she lives from when he dropped her off. Couldn’t you track her from that?”

  Negative shakes of the P.I.s’ heads. “False address. No woman matching her photograph lives in any apartment building for two blocks in any direction of the spot your man dropped her off.”

  Hake sat back, flabbergasted. The woman had well and truly hoodwinked him! She must be laughing her head off to have pulled the wool over his eyes like that. A part of him admired her clever evasion, but another was more determined than ever to solve the mystery of Cassandra. He knew one way to learn who she was. Ask the woman herself and don’t let her off the hook until she told him what he wanted to know.

  “When does she dance again?” he asked. “Did you at least find that out?”

  The P.I.s looked relieved. “We did get that. This coming Saturday.”

  Five days until he could get to the bottom of this mystery. The wait would kill him. He tried not to look as if he was sulking, while Geoffrey dismissed the investigators and closed his office door behind them.

  “Hake, you and I need to talk. I’ve got some news from your father.”

  When Geoffrey turned on the electronic white noise machine behind his desk to foil any possible listening devices, Hake sat up straight. Not many topics rated this level of caution from the attorney.

  “The buyers have contacted your father and accepted his terms. The deal is a go.”

  “Excellent. What does he need me to do?” Hake replied, both appalled and relieved. He was appalled that he and his father were being forced into selling this equipment to likely terrorists and relieved that they might yet get out of this mess alive.

  “Their agent will contact you here in London. Your father has one instruction for you—don’t screw this up.”

  Hake snorted. “That goes without saying. Besides, I never screw up deals.”

  Geoffrey looked pained. “I really wish you two would reconsider this scheme. It’s entirely too dangerous. There must be another way—”

  Hake cut him off. “You have the affidavits from me and my father on file, right? And copies elsewhere in safe deposit boxes?”

  “Yes, yes. I followed all of your instructions to the letter. But as I’ve said before, I don’t think a set of letters from you two stating that your intent is to identify these jokers and turn them over to the authorities once you have proof that they’re trying to buy nuclear manufacturing equipment from you is going to hold up in court.”

  Hake sighed. They’d been over this before. “Geoffrey, my father and I are dead men if we refuse outright to do business with these people. They have the means and the mind-set to kill us simply because we know they exist. But no way is El Aran Industries selling precision milling machines to these madmen.”

  “Tell someone. Your own government. The Brits. The Americans. They’ll help.”

  Mention of Americans sent Cassandra’s lovely visage flashing through Hake’s mind. Reluctantly, he pushed the image aside. “My father and I both agree that government bureaucracies would bumble around and mess up the deal. They’d end up getting us killed anyway. Better that we handle this on our own and turn over the bad guys when we have all the evidence we need to prove our innocence and good intentions.”

  “I don’t like it,” Geoffrey retorted heavily.

  “Duly noted,” Hake replied implacably. He didn’t like it either, but what choice did they have? It was either appear to play ball with these terrorist, or be murdered. Personally, he richly appreciated being alive.

  Hake spent much of the remainder of the week handling the paperwork associated with fabricating a state-of-the-art milling machine for an as-yet-unspecified buyer. He figured he would eventually have to come up with a fake entity to represent the real buyers. It would be the only way past the government regulators who closely watched such things. One step at a time, though. First he had to make contact with the terrorists and identify them. Then, he had to wait and see if they actually managed to come up with two million euros to pay for the machine.

  Normally, he would’ve gone out and partied Friday night…and incidentally woken up Saturday morning to see himself on the front pages of the tabloids. But he was beat after a busy week of setting up the illegal deal and chose to go to the yacht to crash early and alone Friday evening.

  He wasn’t saving himself for Cassandra, dammit. He’d never limited himself to one woman, and he didn’t plan to start now. He certainly didn’t sit around mooning over some girl who hadn’t even given him her name. He vowed grimly to have both her real name and a kiss from her tomorrow.

  He dreamed of her that night. Hot, steamy imaginings that had him waking up at dawn grouchy and intensely uncomfortable. The woman was like a fever in his blood. He had to have her, and soon, so he could begin getting over her.

  Cassandra was jumpy and irritable all day Saturday. It didn’t help that her Medusa teammates had shown up in London the day before to help with the play of Hake El Aran. After her little disappearing act to his yacht last week, her superiors had decided that eyes-on, human surveillance backup was the way to go with this mission. Great. Just what she needed. People watching her every move with the guy. Even if they were her sisters-in-arms and constant comrades for the past two years. It felt like a hell of an invasion of her privacy.

  Whoa. Check that. There was nothing private going on or about to go on between her and Hake El Aran.

  Vanessa Blake had sent orders along with Monica Fabre, who in her previous life had been a very high-priced call girl, to give Casey any pointers she thought might be useful. Thankfully, the sum total of Monica’s advice had been, “You’re playing hard-to-get better than I ever could have. In my line of work the point was not to be hard to get. I don’t know what to tell you other than keep doing what you’re doing. Get the guy panting after you so hard he can’t see straight. That’s when he’ll get careless and let slip with the information we need.”

  The idea of having Hake panting after her was both intimidating and scintillating. Problem was, she was likely to end up panting after him even worse than he would be after her. And then where would they be? She’d compromise the mission and blow a huge undercover investigation. If it went badly enough, terrorists could end up with the capability to manufactur
e their own nuclear weapons, for God’s sake.

  But still. Panting? Every time the thought crossed her mind, she got a little more tense and grouchy.

  Some comedian at H.O.T. Watch had sent along a new costume for her with her teammates. She had no idea where they’d gotten it, but the thing was R-rated, pushing X-rated.

  Casey unzipped the garment bag in her dressing room, wincing as she did so. The dress really was magnificent. Long-sleeved and floor-length, the gown was black and sheer in its entirety. It came with, in effect, a black bikini and bra for her to wear underneath. The only cover the thing afforded her was a serpent starting at her right shoulder, heavily beaded in tones of copper and gold. It wrapped around her strategically so she didn’t look naked. But that was about all that could be said about its body coverage.

  Clusters of long, beaded fringe were sewn randomly all over the dress. Whenever she shimmied in it, the entire gown seemed to quiver, the snake alive and flowing sinuously across her body. The costume was entirely gorgeous, and so sexy it embarrassed her to look at, let alone imagine herself wearing.

  She was saving it for the late show. Meanwhile, she had to get through the first set. It would be strange dancing with an earbud in her ear. She’d given her teammates strict instructions not to bother her during her performance, however. They were only allowed to talk to her in a life-threatening emergency.

  Her microphone pickup was tricky to hide. Belly dancing costumes weren’t designed with battery packs and wires in mind. She ended up going with a microsize unit that clipped underneath her right bra strap. It poked her a little bit but was bearable. And thankfully, the unit laid flat enough that it didn’t make her costume look weird. She only hoped her perspiration didn’t knock the thing out. And she prayed she had no need of it during the course of the evening. Having to call for help at any point tonight would not be a good thing.