Stilettos, Inc.

by Lexi Ryan

  “It has to be on him. I got this all from his buddy’s memories. Hell of a friend. I could see his plan to have a party with Freaky Blue-Eyed Man. Best I can tell from what I’m getting, he’s holding the keys to the door.”

  Bomb on Freaky Blue Eyes, buddy holding the detonator. Okay.

  “With friends like those...” Josie mumbled.

  “Paige, if you copy, cough twice,” Chrissie said. They’d done this enough times to understand that they couldn’t all always speak freely.

  Paige turned and pretended to tuck a strand of hair as she engaged the microphone in her ear. She coughed into her hand.

  “Are you okay?” Darian asked.

  She nodded into his chest. “The champagne gives me a little throat tickle.”

  “I’ll find Freaky Blue-Eyed Man,” Josie said in her ear. “Chrissie, you keep an eye on our party planner. Paige, let us know when you’re available.”

  “We’ve got this,” Chrissie said. “Take your time, Paige.”

  And miss out on all the fun? Not likely.

  She looked up at Darian. There was a significant possibility of fun right before her eyes. Couldn’t she just have him wait for her somewhere, and they could have a little hot, frantic sex after Freaky Blue Eyes was taken care of?

  No. No more sex with Specials. It was too complicated.

  “Oh,” Josie said, pleasure in her voice. “I thought Darian might be making an appearance tonight.”

  Paige scowled internally. Thanks for the heads up, Jo.

  Chrissie hummed. “Darian? Seriously. Take your time. Just let me read your memory when you’re done with him.”

  Paige sighed. She loved her job. It gave purpose to an ability that would have otherwise been haunting. She loved her girls. They were as skilled as they were fun. But working with readers of past and future certainly left something to be desired in the privacy department.

  Hot, frantic sex wasn’t on the agenda tonight. Which was for the best. Paige had already given Darian the wrong idea by sleeping with him the first time. She didn’t need to make it any worse. Her priority now was to get rid of him so she could do her job.

  “You’re warm,” she murmured. “Warm enough that part of me wouldn’t mind dancing with you all night.” Then, because she didn’t want him becoming suspicious, she added, “Assuming, of course, that I could pretend you weren’t a hemorrhoidal pain in my ass.”

  She could feel him soften, could feel his guard dropping and his alertness shift from the crowd to her.

  He was thinking about their night together again. She never had to worry if the guy she was with had enjoyed himself. Fringe benefit of an often miserable power. She snuggled her body closer, but looked up at him, letting her lips curve in a smile. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a repeat performance of that night?”

  “I could be persuaded,” he whispered, his dark eyes searching hers. “I’m looking for more than sex from you, Paige.”

  What a line. It probably worked for most women. The fact that he was telling the truth didn’t hurt his case—except that the idea of more than sex scared the hell out of her. She didn’t do “more than sex.” Not anymore. And definitely not with Specials.

  She reached up and traced the hard lines of his jaw. He really was beautiful, and it’d be a shame to see that pretty face get hurt if he did something stupid like try to play Rambo. “This is such a bad idea,” she whispered.

  “It doesn’t have to be bad,” he said, predictably.

  Paige had known he’d argue if she said it was a bad idea, and that was her intent. Get him to think it was his idea. When in any kind of combat with the male species, she’d found it best to always be in control of their pride.

  She chewed on her bottom lip for a minute, then let her eyes go wide. “I can feel how hot you are for me.” Wasn’t that the truth?

  “You don’t have any idea.”

  But she did. It didn’t take special powers to detect the raging hard-on pressed into her belly. “I don’t know.” She lifted onto her toes and whispered into his ear. “There’s an office three doors down the hall on the right. I slipped in there earlier, so it’s still unlocked. Meet me there?”

  He swallowed. “What about—?”

  “The party will still be here when we get back, and the president won’t arrive for at least another thirty minutes.” Her hand drifted down his back, then she let her nails drag back up. “Come on, Darian. I want you to touch me again. I want to feel you inside me.”

  Hell, why was this taking so much persuasion? He’d been all hot to trot when he’d asked her to dance, and his arousal was even stronger now. If that was even possible.

  His breathing was uneven, his pupils dilated. He wanted her. Normally, that wouldn’t even faze her. She’d get rid of him and get to work. But the power of the sensations and images he flashed through her head told her they’d have one hell of a time in that office. The hungry, one-hundred-percent greedy, female-need part of her wanted the quickie.

  His eyes were hot on hers as he pulled away. “Don’t make me wait long.”

  Paige waited until he’d left the ballroom before pressing her ear bud. “Sorry, I had to lose some unwanted company.”

  “I hope you didn’t lose him for good,” Chrissie said.

  “If only my life were that simple,” Paige muttered, striding to an exit opposite Darian’s. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  “I just found the party,” Josie said. “Northwest corner of the ballroom. He’s a little shit. I can take him, no problem.”

  “I still have my sights on our party planner,” Chrissie said.

  “Chrissie, you distract him while we move the party out of here. The last thing we need to do is to panic the guy with his finger on the champagne cork. I’ll call Rider and see if he has any intel on these guys.”

  “Got it,” Chrissie said.

  “And Josie?” Paige whispered.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “I touched Freaky Blue Eyes earlier. There’s a possibility he doesn’t know about the party.”

  “How’s that possible?” Josie asked. “We’re not talking about a tiny little explo—celebration here.”

  Chrissie cursed. “I think Paige is right. Get him out of here.”

  Chapter Two

  Darian slipped into the men’s room before alerting his unit. He tapped his ear device. “Stilettos, Inc. is up to something. Paige Sykes couldn’t get rid of me fast enough. Wiley, follow Josie Bovard. Fernandez, you follow Chrissie Elliott.”

  “Which is that?” Wiley asked at the same moment as Fernandez said, “Is that the blonde?”

  Darian sighed. “Wiley, you’re on the blonde; Fernandez is on the one with the tattoos.”

  Like all SIA operatives, the guys were familiar with Paige’s firm, Stilettos, Inc. Stiletto Girl services ranged from low-profile private investigation gigs to high-profile government jobs, where they were unofficially commissioned assassins—a fact he’d had more than a little trouble grasping when he’d first learned what the firm called themselves. Because they were Specials and because they could kick ass, SIA had been trying to recruit the Stiletto Girls.

  “Copy,” Wiley said, followed by Fernandez’s response of “10-4.”

  Individually, the women of Stilettos, Inc. were powerful, but together they were nearly unstoppable, especially in the arena of gathering intelligence. For the life of him, Darian didn’t understand why they continued to risk their lives working in the field. If they joined the SIA, their intelligence abilities would be put to good use, and Specials whose abilities gave them a combative edge could work the front lines. Specials like Darian and his unit.

  “I haven’t seen any sign of Raines,” Fernandez said.

  Wiley scoffed. “Collin Raines doesn’t do his own dirty work.”

  “Don’t worry about Raines,” Darian said. “Our orders are to follow the girls.” Even if Raines was the main reason behind that order.

  Darian ran a
hand through his hair and let himself be pissed for a second. Had Paige really believed he was so easily manipulated? She’d sent him to some office to wait for her, brushing him off with nothing but lies. He hoped like hell it wasn’t because she was up to no good.

  He’d had no choice but to play her game. What else could he do? He’d had to focus on her naked and in his arms, focus on the way she looked when she was hot and swollen and ready for him. And by doing so, she hadn’t guessed his purpose. She’d only known he was hot as hell for her. Which wasn’t too far from the truth. She’d looked stunning tonight. When he’d spotted her on the edge of the dance floor, he’d had to take a minute to catch his breath. Her dark hair had been curled and pinned off her neck. Her blue sheath dress hugged her tight ass and perfect breasts and made her green cat eyes glow.

  He had to make sure she and her friends were still working for the good guys.

  He frowned. He couldn’t imagine why the girls’ loyalty was being questioned, but it wasn’t his job to imagine. His job was to complete his mission. He could think about its implications later.

  “Shit! Where’d they go?” The muffled curse came from Wiley. Darian could hear him moving, shuffling through the crowd, handing out a series of Excuse me’s and I’m sorry’s.

  “Crap. They’re headed for the roof. The fucking roof. No one up to any good goes up to the roof in the middle of the inaugural ball. Could I have some backup before these ladies get us all killed?”

  Darian was already heading for the stairs. What are you up to, Paige?

  When he hit the stairs, he had to step over an unconscious Secret Service agent. The handy work of a Stiletto Girl, no doubt.

  He was up the first flight and working on the second when Fernandez said, “That’s all you, Lorring. I’ll be watching Punky Brewster here,” he said, referring to Chrissie, whose clothes, tattoos, and wild hair made her look more like a punk rocker than a secret agent. “She’s keeping a very careful eye on someone.”

  “You didn’t watch much television as a child, did you, Fernandez?” Darian asked.

  “What?”

  “Punky Brewster wasn’t actually a punk—”

  “Oh, shut it,” Fernandez muttered. “Get back to work.”

  “I’m halfway there.” Darian rounded the landing on the third floor and picked up speed.

  He heard a door slam.

  “What the hell?” Wiley muttered.

  As Darian stepped onto the top floor, a hand shot out from the dark corner, in it was a gun. Pointed right at his head. “Stop,” Paige barked. She was holding Wiley against her, which was interesting since she was six inches shorter than Wiley.

  Wiley made a move, and, just as quickly as she’d drawn it on Darian, she pointed the gun back to Wiley’s head.

  Fuck. What was she up to?

  Darian stepped forward and brushed his fingertips over her arm. “Don’t do this,” he whispered, projecting relaxation. God, she was soft. And she smelled like fucking sunshine after a new rain. The thought didn’t do much to change his feelings about her doing fieldwork.

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but you move one little toe toward that roof, and I will shoot your friend here.” Paige growled the words, but his power was working and her shoulders relaxed. Her face was no longer drawn tight.

  Darian shot a glance to Wiley, who looked more amused than worried.

  “This is how you’re going to repay us for saving your ass last fall?” Wiley asked.

  Darian winced. Probably not the best time to bring that up.

  Wiley looked at Darian. “Let me know when I can take her down. I’ll be on that roof in three seconds flat.”

  Darian tensed his jaw and Wiley shrugged in response. They both understood they needed to avoid commotion—their orders had been clear. But they also needed to know—

  “What the hell is going on up there?” Fernandez demanded in his ear.

  Paige tightened the arm around Wiley’s neck. “You never saved our ass. You got in the way. And you’re doing the same thing now. We have the situation under control.”

  Wiley snorted and Darian kicked him in the shin. He didn’t care that Wiley’s machismo caused him to find her sentiment amusing. Sharing his feelings wasn’t helping the situation.

  “You want to tell me what’s happening on that roof?” Darian asked, using all his willpower to maintain a calm tone and wondering how much hell she was going to give him when he flipped her around and snapped the gun from her hand.

  “The situation is under control,” Paige repeated.

  Wiley shook his head. “You don’t give me the go or she doesn’t give a better explanation, I’m going ahead without it. Screw you both.”

  “No!” The horrifying screech came from the other side of the access door.

  “Shit,” they all responded in unison.

  “What’s she doing to him?” Wiley asked, unconcerned about the gun at his temple.

  “Fuck!” Fernandez came over the ear piece. “I turned my back for one minute and Punky Brewster disappeared.”

  “She’s doing her job,” Paige said to Wiley. “Now let her.”

  The choppy hum of a helicopter grew closer.

  Wiley spun away from Paige. The move had her up against the wall and her gun in his hand before she could blink. Darian moved at the same time, pressing her hands against the wall.

  “It’s too late, Lorring,” she murmured softly. “It’s taken care of.”

  Wiley headed for the roof, and Darian didn’t move a muscle.

  Their eyes met in the poor light trickling in from the open access door. “Unknown suspect, Punky Brewster, and myself coming your way,” Fernandez said.

  Paige didn’t try to pull free of Darian’s grip or even scream at him to release her. Her calm demeanor may have fooled him once, but Darian knew that face now. He knew the little twitch in her jaw. She was pissed.

  “They’re moving a guy out in a chopper,” Wiley said in his earpiece from the roof. “Oh,” he said. Through his earpiece, Darian could hear Josie’s soft voice in the background, but he couldn’t make out the words. “A bomber,” Wiley filled in, barely missing a beat as he shared the new information. “The suicide bomber is gone, but the man with the detonator is still inside.”

  Of course. Which would make us the shmoes who tried to stop them from saving a building full of innocent people. Relief pumped over Darian like water from a broken dam, drowning his damaged pride.

  “You can’t keep taking these missions when you’re not equipped to deal with them.”

  She didn’t respond. Not verbally. But her gaze darted to the access door.

  Right, so the Stilettos Girls had gotten the bomber out of the building. Now he was the ass for not believing they could do it. Better than her knowing the truth: that the SIA wasn’t worried about the competence of Stilettos, Inc. They were worried about their loyalty to the U.S. government.

  “It’s a risk,” he explained. “You three are too valuable. It’s too much of a risk.”

  Again, nothing but that wide-eyed look that said, You don’t know shit, you little dick-for-brains. He wasn’t a Reader, so he didn’t know for sure those were her thoughts. Just a hunch.

  “Bring him back!”

  Darian released Paige and turned to the man who’d just stumbled onto the landing.

  Oh, fuck. He knew this guy—or had known him, before he’d left the SIA.

  Darian extended a hand. “Relax. We can work this out.”

  “I’ll blow up the goddamned ’copter! Bring him back!”

  He closed the space between them. On a single exhale, Darian touched the man and flipped a switch in his brain to send a signal.

  The man crumbled, dropping to the floor and sobbing. Projecting emotion was so much easier when the subject was already emotionally primed, but that was just ridiculous.

  Paige patted the man down before he could recover from his wave of grief. Her eyes widened as she touched him. A tr
emor passed through her, but she continued patting him down while Darian focused on incapacitating him with grief—grief he knew Paige was feeling every bit as powerfully as the man.

  He knew part of what she was feeling—she’d be picking up the emotion Darian was projecting onto him. But it was worse than that. She’d also be feeling the darkness and ugliness inside of this man, and that Darian simply couldn’t imagine.

  If flooding the man with emotion hadn’t worked and he’d had to project pain, would she still put herself through this?

  “Where’s the remote?”

  The tattooed Stiletto Girl appeared at the top of the stairs, dragging Fernandez by his shirt collar. She didn’t let go when she answered Paige’s question. “There’s no remote.”

  Paige pulled away, visibly grateful for an excuse to break the connection. “Then how?”

  Darian answered, “He’s a Special.”

  “I figured as much,” Paige muttered. “I’m afraid to ask what his ability is.”

  Chrissie tightened her grip on Fernandez, who looked more amused than annoyed. “He blows things up. I should have gotten that from his memories, but I thought he just had a lot of experience with explosives. I saw him blow crap up, but I didn’t realize—”

  “He doesn’t need actual explosives to do it,” Paige finished for her. “Which explains why I didn’t get any sort of reading from Freaky Blue Eyes.”

  “No explosives,” Darian said, “but he has to spend a lot of time around the object. The more time and energy he focuses into it, the bigger the explosion.”

  Chrissie jabbed a finger at Fernandez. She had daggers for eyes and they were aimed right at Darian. “You want to tell me why this guy was getting in my way?”

  Fernandez smiled and shrugged.

  “Threat averted,” Paige said softly. “Let him go.”

  Chrissie scowled and released Fernandez. “I need some fresh air,” she muttered.

  “I’ll take care of him,” Fernandez said, brushing his hand over the perp’s forehead.

  The guy looked up at him with puppy dog eyes and stood. Fernandez put an arm around the perp’s shoulders and led him downstairs.