M pushed to her feet then gathered her things, preparing to head back up to her apartment, when Loki ended his call and walked over to her.
“That was Cam. After Martin got away after the Charity Ball earlier, I had him do some research for me. Turns out Martin has been visiting an old family friend while he’s in town. A Natasha Simcova.”
“Simcova?” M frowned. “That name sounds familiar. Why?”
Loki shrugged and picked up his towel then headed for the door with M beside him. “Not sure. According to Cam, she runs a high-end escort service out of a local hotel. Maybe you’ve encountered clients of hers on other jobs?”
“Maybe.” M hit the lights in the gym on her way out. “So, it looks like we’ve got plans for our evening then?”
“Looks that way.” Loki gave her a sly wink and M did her best to ignore the heavy innuendo in that gravelly tone of his.
7
The amount of intel Cam was able to come up with on Natasha Simcova was impressive, but not surprising. Turned out running an escort service which catered to Washington, D.C’s elite was both lucrative and fairly well publicized, despite its illegal nature.
Loki and M had spent the afternoon going over mountains of data on Empyrean Consultants, Inc. and its owner. Records showed Natasha Simcova had legally immigrated from Kazakhstan in 1995 at the age of eighteen. She’d worked as a waitress in New York for several years before moving to Washington, D.C. in 2002. From there, she’d had a string of odd jobs—everything from maid to mechanic—before finally starting her escort business in 2013.
“Maybe this is where you remember her from,” Loki said, turning around his laptop screen to show a photo of Simcova in a red wig with her hand over her face to shield it from the flash of camera lights. “Her affair with Congressman Lewis. Made headlines all over D.C. for months.”
“Probably.” M scrunched her nose, her expression disgusted. “That man was old enough to be her grandfather.”
“And richer than God.” Loki turned his tablet back around and scrolled through yet another screen of files linked to Simcova and her escort service. A photo popped up in his stream, this one taken just a few months prior, with Simcova dining at a posh local restaurant with a table full of foreign dignitaries. Talk about building bridges across cultures. Apparently, the UN wasn’t the only way to “make contact” with other countries.
Loki sighed and enlarged the photo of Simcova. She wasn’t bad looking at all. Early forties now, she was well-preserved, her face unlined and her bone structure delicate and chiseled in that Eastern European way of the top super models. Natasha Simcova, however, was a bit too curvy, a bit too short, a bit too rough around the edges to be truly photogenic. There was a sadness about her, a brittle hardness that warned she’d shatter if handled too roughly. Still, Loki was pretty damned sure the woman could bust balls with the best of them.
And if she’d been compatriots of the Marcogonoffs and the KGB, then she was just as dangerous as they were. Just as secretive and suspicious too. One didn’t get to be the top supplier of escorts in a town that prided itself on its discretion and righteous superiority without being able to keep silent. They wouldn’t let Loki and M just show up to one of their meet and greet parties without a viable reason. Cam had texted that there just happened to be a party tonight, at Simcova’s private townhouse in D.C. Now all they needed was the cover.
“Any ideas how we can get in?” he asked, glancing up at M from over the top of his tablet screen. “We don’t want Simcova on to us.”
M blinked at him. “I’ve got an idea. But I don’t think you’ll like it.”
“What is it?”
“We pretend to be a French couple, in town for only a few nights on business. And we want a threesome.”
Loki considered the idea. It wasn’t bad. “How will that give us a chance to talk to Simcova though?”
“She’ll be the third party in our little ménage á trois,” M said, smiling. “We get her alone, then we confront her.”
“Right.” Loki sat back and crossed his arms, doing his best not to focus on the images now crowding his mind of M and Natasha together, doing all sorts of naughty things to each other and to him. His cock gave an appreciative twitch, and he scowled. “Are we sure she’s got intel on Martin and his parents?”
“Hell yeah.” M turned her computer to face him. “According to the files I found, she linked up with them before she ever left Kazakhstan. And the KGB ties were strong in her family too. She had an uncle and a brother in with the organization. I’d say if anyone knows what Martin’s been up to while he’s been in town, it’s Simcova.”
Now, four hours later, Loki stood in front of the full-length mirror in M’s apartment again, this time adjusting his black suit jacket over his jeans and T-shirt. He wasn’t sure what one wore to visit a modern-day brothel, never having need of one himself. He’d never had a problem getting women into his bed. Getting them out was another matter entirely. Maybe someday he’d find a woman he wanted to stay with him forever—a woman who challenged him mentally, physically, and sexually—but until then, he was content with short-term flings and no strings attached.
“Ready?” M asked, coming around the privacy screen where she’d been changing and causing his breath to lodge in his chest.
She looked… Well, she looked very, uh…
“Wow,” was the most he found himself able to say. He’d thought M had looked spectacular in that red evening dress the night before, but now she looked downright incredible. Long slim legs encased in fitted black pants. A tailored black jacket that hugged her curves in all the right places on top, sans shirt underneath, revealing a tantalizing V of creamy flesh on her torso. Black stiletto heels on her feet. He’d never really been a foot man before, but Jesus. If those shoes didn’t scream Fuck Me Now, he didn’t know what did.
She brushed past him, her short black hair artfully disheveled and her makeup minimal—just mascara, a hint of blush, and ruby red, infinitely kissable lips. Her scent—cinnamon, roses, and warm, clean woman—enveloped him in a cloud of lust and Loki knew then that he was in more trouble than ever. This was supposed to be about the mission. Supposed to be about saving his company and moving forward into his future.
Except right now, all he could think about was the beautiful woman by his side and what he wouldn’t give to have her, all of her, even for just one night. Summoning every ounce of fortitude he possessed, Loki gave a curt nod and headed for the door. He’d talk to Simcova, get the new leads they needed to go after Todd Martin, then he’d come back here and take care of business in the shower. Alone. “Ready.”
If M noticed his heightened state of arousal, she gave no indication. In fact, she barely gave him the time of day at all as they drove from her apartment in Arlington across the Potomac River, and into the chic urban neighborhood of Friendship Heights. The irony of the name wasn’t lost on Loki. Simcova and her cohorts got way more than friendly with their clients, that was for sure.
He pulled the SUV up outside of a modern glass and steel building on Military Road and got out, handing his keys to the valet before walking around to help M from the vehicle. Her hand felt small and delicate in his and for the first time, he felt a surge of protectiveness toward her. Yes, she could fight better than most men he knew, and she was smart as a whip. But there seemed to be a lingering sadness about her ever since they’d started discussing Simcova and he couldn’t figure out why. He was determined to get the answer though, before all this was over.
They stopped at a security desk inside the pristine marble lobby and gave their names. Cam was supposed to have set up their invitations to Simcova’s soiree tonight.
“Use the elevators over there, Mr. Smith,” the guard said, pointing to the right without looking at Loki. “Fifth floor, third door on the left.”
He ran through the directions as though he spoke them many times a day. Given the amount of business Simcova’s Empyrean Consultants did a week, Loki wasn’t s
urprised.
Loki thanked the guy then led M over to a set of golden doors and pressed the button. He cast her a sideways grin. “All set, Mrs. Smith?”
“Always, Mr. Smith,” she said, smiling back, though he could still see a hint of tension and uncertainty around her mouth and eyes. “Always.”
The elevator dinged and they stepped onboard. Once Loki had pushed the fifth-floor button and they jerked upwards, he turned to M again. “We don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to.”
“Yes, we do. We need to find Martin. This is the best way to do it.”
“No, I mean the whole threesome cover.” He sighed. “If you don’t—”
The elevator dinged again and the doors opened, ending their discussion.
“It’s fine.” M walked out first, shoulders back and head held high, the picture of confidence and strength. If Loki hadn’t glimpsed the vulnerability beneath, he might’ve been fooled too. Still, she was right. This was their best shot at getting a lead on Martin’s new whereabouts. M looked back at him over her shoulder, her expression annoyed. “C’mon, cowboy. Don’t tell me you’re chickening out on me now.”
Loki exhaled slowly, then followed her down the hall to the third door on the left then knocked. “Here we go.”
A young woman in her twenties, Asian with long sleek black hair and short red fingernails, answered the door. “Mr. and Mrs. Smith?”
“Yes,” M said. “We have an appointment with Natasha.”
“This way, please.” The woman gestured them inside and Loki got his first glimpse inside D.C.s most notorious brothel. And it was nothing like he imagined. No tacky velvet sofas or erotic art decorating the walls. Nope. This place looked like it could’ve come straight out of Architectural Digest. It was bright and airy with large windows gracing two walls and had a welcoming feel with all the warm hardwood floors and stainless-steel. The furniture in the open concept living room was tastefully beige and contemporary and a large granite breakfast bar spanned nearly the length of the room on one side, leading into a well-appointed chef’s kitchen.
“Ah, you must be my new clients,” a husky voice said from down a hall leading off from the kitchen. The words held a hint of Slavic accent. Natasha soon appeared in the kitchen, her heels clacking on the hardwood floor. She stopped at the opposite end of the breakfast bar and gave Loki and M a slow appraising look. “Mr. and Mrs. Smith. I do not get very many married couples these days.”
She looked much the same as she did in her pictures, but perhaps even more brittle in real life, or at least she did in Loki’s estimation. Could’ve been the fact that even with the curves, she appeared fragile. And she was shorter than he’d expected too, maybe only five-one or two. Her presence though seemed to fill the entire townhouse, filling the air with a buzz of anticipation.
“Come, sit.” She waved a hand toward the living room. “We must get to know each other first.”
They all took a seat, Loki and M on one sofa, Natasha across from them. M was oddly quiet now, but Loki didn’t have time to worry about that. He turned on the charm, hoping to schmooze Natasha into telling them what they needed to know. “Thanks so much for seeing us on such short notice.”
“Hmm.” Natasha narrowed her gaze. “Your assistant said you were in town on business. You are from France, Mr. Smith?”
“Oh.” He gave her what he hoped was a self-deprecating grin. “My wife here is. I’m from Texas originally. We met when I went to Paris to open the European headquarters of my international finance firm.” Loki leaned back into the cushions, grateful for the time he’d spent going over his cover with Cam. Made things flow much easier that way. He even slipped an arm around M’s shoulders and tucked her into his side for effect, despite her stiff posture.
“Yes,” Natasha said as she stared at M. “Do I know you, Mrs. Smith? You seem very familiar to me, as if we’ve met before.”
M shook her head, still silent.
Loki’s hackles rose a bit more, but he had to keep it together. They still needed to question Simcova about Todd Martin and they couldn’t do it here with the Asian woman lurking about. He wanted total privacy for his interrogation, in case Natasha decided to bust out some of her KGB-trained moves on them. Besides, he hoped that once they got behind closed doors, M would perk up again and start acting like her normal self.
“So,” Loki said, adding a twang of Texan drawl. “We gonna get this party started or what?”
Natasha raised a brow at him, her expression bland. “Your cashier’s check?”
“Right.” He pulled out the check Cam had had messengered over to him, drawn on the nearly depleted accounts of Norse Security. And if that didn’t remind him why he was doing all of this, nothing would. He handed the funds over to Natasha then pushed to his feet, dragging a reluctant M up beside him. “Let’s do it!”
He started back toward the hallway where Natasha had originally emerged from, thinking they’d use one of the bedrooms in the townhouse, but she stopped him short.
“Ah, no, Mr. Smith. We won’t be doing it here.” She walked back over to the front entrance and held the door open. “We have other units in which we conduct our business.”
Of course they did.
Taking M’s hand, Loki led her out into the hall then down the corridor to where Natasha had stopped in front of another door. She punched a code into the key pad on the wall then pushed inside. Loki followed, despite his misgivings. After all, there were two of them and only one of Simcova. He knew firsthand what a good fighter M was. They could take Natasha down, no problem, when the time was right.
The new unit was nothing but a glorified studio apartment. One big open room with shiny wood floors, a few windows, and a huge California King-sized bed against the wall. Natasha closed the door behind them then walked over to what appeared to be a closet in one corner of the room. Inside, from what Loki could see, was the world’s largest collection of sex toys. Everything from neon pink dildos to whips and chains and a couple wicked looking pairs of spiked hand cuffs.
Natasha emerged with a semi-automatic which she pointed at his chest. “Sit on the bed, please.”
Loki glanced over at M, who was staring at her toes, then back to Natasha. “Oh, darling. There’s no need to—”
“I know who you are, Mr. Low.” The gun remained steady in Natasha’s hand. He had no doubt she knew how to use it. “I’m not an idiot. And I can guess why you’re here as well. You want information on Todavi Marcogonoff.”
At first, Loki just blinked at her, too stunned to speak. When the hell had he given them away? He’d been so careful, played his part to a T, been—
“It’s me,” M said, as if reading his thoughts. “She recognizes me from before.”
“Before what?” Loki hissed.
“Da.” Natasha strolled over, giving up any pretenses now. “You look like you have done well for yourself, myshka.”
M raised her head at last, jaw tense. “I’ve done better than well, Mistress.”
Natasha stopped a few feet in front of them and Loki finally connected the dots. “Holy shit! You used to work for her? M? Is that true? That sure as hell didn’t show up on any of my research.”
“It wouldn’t,” M said, her gaze never leaving Natasha’s. “It was one of my first undercover gigs. I spent a year infiltrating Simcova’s circles, gathering intel on her clients, building a database of sensitive information for my client that they could use against them, if needed.”
“You were an escort?” The thought both tantalized and terrified Loki.
“No.” M scowled at him. “I never slept with any of them. I was more of an assistant. Booked all the appointments, kept the girls happy and paid, managed security when needed. Like what the Asian woman is doing for you now, right?”
This last question was directed at Natasha, who gave a curt nod.
“I never sold you out. Never spoke a word about your business. Only what I learned about your clients and their, uh, proclivities.”<
br />
“I trusted you,” Natasha hissed. “I allowed you into my inner sanctum and you used it against my clients.”
“They’re big boys and girls. They can take care of themselves.” M squared her shoulders and crossed her arms. “If you help us now, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of too. You were a good friend to me once, Natasha. I’d like to return that favor.”
“Fuck you and your favor.” Natasha pointed at the bed. “Sit. Now, or I’ll call my guards and have you both taken down so fast you won’t know what hit you.”
Loki did as she asked, with M moving in slowly beside him. “She’s right. My client will pay handsomely for intel about Todd Martin’s whereabouts.” He cringed. “Sorry. Todavi Marcogonoff. If anyone’s betrayed you and your homeland, it’s him. He’s selling secrets to the highest bidders, regardless of collateral damage.”
“Idiota kusok,” Natasha mumbled in Russian. “I warned Todavi not to cross the KGB, but did he listen? Nyet. He just goes off and does what he wants, thinking he’s this big-time pop star and his life is golden.” She shook her head. “This is the reason I’m getting out. No one gives a shit for rules anymore.”
“You’re leaving the KGB?” M asked, her expression surprised. “But you love it there.”
“It’s not the same anymore, myshka. All these young assholes with their big plans and bravado. I’m done with these silly games. Besides, it’s beginning to affect my business.”
Loki tried to steer the conversation back on track. “What about Marcogonoff? Do you have any idea where he is now?”
“He escaped you at the charity ball, did he?” Natasha chuckled, still keeping her weapon trained on him. “He always was a wily shit. Took after his parents that way. And I have heard rumors of where he will go next, but they are just that. Rumors.”
“We’ll take rumors at this point, Mistress,” M said.
“You call her Mistress?” Loki whispered. “Did you and she ever—”
“Focus, cowboy.” M gave him a stern look. “Mistress is a title meant to show respect. And what I do or have done in the privacy of my bedroom is none of your concern.”
Norse Security: The Complete Series Page 24
