The woman glanced from Joy, who was now standing behind her, to Dixon. He smiled politely. "Do have a good evening and thank you for stopping by."
The woman, visibly pale and shaken, moved away from them. He offered Joy his hand, helped her to be seated, and pushed her chair in for her. She cast a glance in the direction of the rapidly disappearing brunette. "Sooo..." Joy looked at him. "Whatcha know, Quick Draw?"
"She was higher on the food chain than the one who came this afternoon."
Joy snapped straight in her seat. Glancing around to make sure there were no ears within hearing distance she crooked her finger at him and when he closed in, she whispered, "You holding out on me? You never told me there was a visitor this afternoon."
"I was saving it for table conversation. Do you remember I told you we'd talk tonight?" Dixon retorted in the same hushed tone. "Besides, you distracted me with that dress and all the talk about devouring me."
Joy laughed at that, turning several heads. Her sexy, throaty laugh would turn his head if he heard it too. She laid a hand on his and leaned back in, "I did do that, didn't I?"
"You did." He saw the sommelier heading his way and nodded toward him, giving Joy a heads up.
She glanced over at the man and smiled back at Dixon. He waited until their wine was approved and poured before he leaned in to speak with her. "A middle management mouthpiece came by the office not more than five or ten minutes before you came back to The Residence. The lady-in-black’s visit tonight tells us two things."
Joy took a sip of the wine and leaned into him to whisper, "They are desperate to put you in that seat, and they knew where you would be tonight, but not necessarily that I would be accompanying you."
Dixon leaned in, so there was barely any space between them. He traced his finger along her shoulder and watched her skin tighten when a shiver ran through her. He whispered, "What an observant assassin you are, Ms. Nguyen."
She closed the distance between them and murmured against his lips, "I'm better than you know."
Dixon smiled as she kissed him. He didn't doubt Joy thought herself to be at the top of her profession, but he knew there were those above her—the elite who worked as Shadows. She was good, but she wasn't elite.
Chapter 14
"He's a brazen asshole. Why are we pursuing him? We can find someone else." Third all but flopped back in her chair and crossed her arms.
"The Governor has already set the press conference to announce his appointment. We don't have anyone else that we can use without a longer delay." First reiterated the information she'd already stated.
Second snorted, "And a longer delay means there will be no vote in our favor."
"Correct. So, my position is that we contact him again and have the Governor offer him the seat." First spoke as she looked out her window.
"Concur." Second agreed.
"I don't like it, but I'll go along with the majority. You have him under surveillance, I assume?" Third asked.
"It wasn't necessary prior to tonight. Our agent has been more than adequate in providing information. Or so I believed." First responded.
"Do we have the ability to sway Simmons? Is there a connection between him and our asset?" Third mused out loud.
First leaned forward and glanced at the information she had on her desk. "I think there is a level of trust. I don't know if we can levy any pressure."
“Then we contact him. Tell him we are authorizing him to be the lead on the Guardian operation. What he believes and what happens are two different things. I have plans for Mr. Simmons. Plans that he will not like." Third sounded decidedly happy with herself.
"What are you thinking?" Second had obviously heard the tone of her voice, too.
"I'm going to show Mr. Simmons why he does not want to play with the big girls." Third leaned in toward the camera on the top of her computer making her bigger in First's screen.
She could see the fire in Third's eyes. Fire she hadn't seen in a long time—not since they overthrew the elders who were decimating the vision their sisterhood had been pursuing since it was formed under Mary Tudor. Bloody Mary had devised and empowered her three most trusted ladies in waiting, known as The Fates, to ensure her sister did not come into power. Unfortunately, with her untimely death, The Fates were too new and weak to prevent Queen Elizabeth's ascension, but they did not disband. They formed a triad and a legacy that had since changed the course of world events on numerous occasions. Today, The Fates were powerful, invisible, well-funded and perched on the verge of several worldwide events that would make them the most powerful entity on Earth, and no one knew they existed.
First smiled and leaned forward, not wanting to miss a single word of Third's brainchild. Her sister sneered at the camera as she spoke, "We use him. Install him as the senator to get the votes and intelligence we want. We let him spoon-feed us the information about Guardian, but we set the date and time of the event. We keep him busy with the left hand and with the might of our right hand we will take out Guardian as we simultaneously slay the acting senator. Mr. Simmons dies. No man will ever dictate our actions. We wreak havoc on Guardian. That agency is our largest security concern. The other international agencies are too mired in governmental red tape to be more than a lumbering threat on the horizon. I want Guardian destroyed."
"If we don’t strike a death blow, they'll come after us." Second replied.
"They have no idea we exist. Who are they going to come after?" Third growled.
"True." Second added.
"We are a rumor. There is nothing that can be linked to us." Third scoffed.
"That Simmons knew of us is concerning though," First mused. "He could have been making an educated guess. Putting rumors together."
"What?"
"We've been compromised?" Second asked over the top of Third who shot out the same question.
First hadn’t wanted to worry her sisters, but they needed to know. "Not our identities, but Simmons named us as our collective." First flicked her perfectly manicured middle fingernail with her thumbnail. The wrinkle in the situation regarding her strategic movement within the American government was unforeseen, and if she'd let herself admit it, concerning. She'd sent Ten to meet with the man and to dictate his future course of action. She glanced back at the screen and added, "He further alluded that should we decide to remove him from the equation, any information he has about us would be released."
There was a hiss of air. That came from Third. "He has to have a weakness."
"His family is gone. Our agent hasn't indicated anyone close enough to be used as leverage." First flicked her eyes over the documents she knew by heart, still looking for any indication of weakness. She found none.
"So where does that leave us?" Second asked.
First drew a deep breath. "There is no change to the plan.
"We use him and then we eliminate him. We get him into the Senate seat, get the votes you require, and then we delay as much as we can on the Guardian situation. Should we find he has usable intelligence, we move on it. Use him as the face of the operation. If it goes bad, he is the one who falls on his sword. No ties to us. No witnesses to any further meetings. Move Ten to another country and move her tonight. It would be a shame to have the man identify her and lose her as an asset." Third deftly summarized First's own thoughts.
"Simmons will need a point of contact," Second added.
"Phone calls only. Synthesizers used to mask voices, the calls can be made by voice over IP and bounced a million times. We cut off the communication before it can be traced or spiked," Third retorted.
"That it can be done isn't the issue. My concern is...should it be?" First sighed heavily. "We can walk away."
"Hundreds of millions of dollars left on the table? Power to leverage the United States to our way of thinking in the other vote? No, I say we continue. We have essential operations that need that funding," Second said in a dismissive tone. "The man, Simmons, is smart, but he also has a grudge ag
ainst Guardian. People seeking revenge make mistakes. I agree with Third. We use him, and if profitable for us, go after Guardian. But he is the only one that is exposed, the only one to take a risk until we eliminate him. That organization has cost us dearly because of their involvement in my operations in Colombia. Time, money, and trained people up in smoke because of them."
"We can't forget about our losses when the Bratva was taken down. Thankfully we’d just started our association. The money we invested into the hacker they’d groomed is starting to be realized. Our technicians are just now beginning to pull information off the cloned hard drives he sent us as a failsafe.” First was hopeful the time and energy involved in breaking past the man’s firewalls would be worth the investment. They’d been working on it for years and progress had only been reported within the last few months.
“The Bratva initiative was all a waste. Time and money that saw no profits, thanks to Guardian. Putting a bullet in Guardian's brain would eliminate many problems." Third spit out the words like they left a rancid taste in her mouth.
"The tech team has shown some advancement," First reminded her. Third's eyes rolled, and she shook her head. It was a common source of disagreement with them.
“Then it's decided. I’ll brief Four. She will make the calls and keep us informed. Mr. Simmons will vote for us, provide us with information, and then die.”
“Concur.” Second stated.
“I will be the one to develop the operation to take him out.” Third gave a deep throaty laugh. “Eliminating pestilence is my specialty.”
“You know dancing on your toes all night has got to suck.” Joy lifted her four-inch heel and extended her toe. Dixon's eyes traveled the length of her leg. The flash of streetlights let her see his desire. She was so going to get fucked the way she liked tonight. She twisted toward Dixon. "That prima chick was strong as fuck. Did you see the muscles in her legs?" She lifted her leg higher and turned her foot to look at her calf. "Maybe I should work out more."
Dixon chuckled, drawing her attention from her leg to the man admiring it. "I think your legs are perfect just the way they are."
"Yeah?" She turned her ankle this way and that and considered the musculature of her leg. "I don't know. Don't suppose you'd know someone I could wrap them around to prove how strong they are?" She'd never had a regular gym routine, and sparring partners were few and far between. She practiced her skills alone or against real opponents.
"I do." He reached for her just as his cell phone's ringtone peeled through the back of the limo. "Hold that thought," he cautioned her, waggling his eyebrows as he reached inside his coat to retrieve the device.
"Simmons." His eyes darted over to her as the voice on the other end of the connection spoke. She could hear the voice. Deep...and mechanical?
Dixon turned his head toward the window. "I accept. I assume you are making phone contact because your minions have failed. Send me a schedule of events I am required to attend and the way you want me to vote." He paused for a moment before he laughed, "No, you'll send it via messenger. I won't have a digital trail of this arrangement out there to be used against me." He listened and a satisfied smile crossed his face before he ended the call.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Making things right." He shrugged and pretended to get busy putting his phone away, but she saw through that bullshit.
She cocked her head and furrowed her brow at him. The man was so damn confusing sometimes. "Making it right with whom?"
He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. "With myself. When I'm done here, there won't be any bars on that fucking cage that I can't break down." His eyes opened and swung to meet hers. "Or I'll be dead, and I won't have to worry about it any longer."
Joy slid her hand into his and looked forward when he did. His last comment was a sentiment she'd always believed for herself. No one cared if she lived or died. It didn't matter if she came back from a mission. Or at least it hadn't.
She threw the man beside her a sideways glance. Getting back to him two weeks ago had kept her going. Hell, it had been the reason she'd fought as hard as she had against that coked-out bastard. Reading into that revelation was dangerous, and it was stupid to try to second guess someone else's emotions. But it was also the truth, and she'd learned the truth was an inconvenience that always needed to be acknowledged. Dixon squeezed her hand as if reading her thoughts. She flashed another look at him, but he still studied the neighborhood they were passing through, lost in his own thoughts.
They arrived at The Residence, Dixon tipped the driver, and the car pulled away from the curb. They turned to go in when she caught movement coming out of the shadows down the street. She halted the same time Dixon did. To say she was curious as to why Mr. Smith was walking down the sidewalk toward them at this hour of night was an understatement. Joy threw Dixon a cautious look and let him step forward to meet the man. She opened her purse and palmed her automatic. The man was a bull, but a .45 through the brain would stop anything, no matter how large.
"Smith? What are you doing here so late?" Dixon's question was calm and professional.
"What do you mean? You sent me a text?" Smith reached into his jacket to retrieve his phone.
A flash from the inside of The Residence caught her eye. Joy screamed, "Down!" and pulled on Dixon's hand. Dixon grabbed Smith's arm and yanked.
"What the—" Dixon's words were lost in the percussion of the explosion. She felt the heat an instant before Dixon's body covered hers and drove her into the sidewalk. The sounds of bricks, wood, and glass catapulting through the air were lost on her, but she knew it was happening. Joy felt a sharp pain tear through her thigh and tucked her legs closer to her body. Her lungs burned as she tried to inhale against Dixon's full weight. She blinked open her eyes, trying to focus through the smoke and shroud of dust that was falling around them. Her ears were so screwed. She could only hear muffled sounds. Alarms from vehicles parked along the curb sounded like they were submerged underwater. Dixon rolled off her onto his back. Joy gasped and lifted to her hands and knees and searched for Smith. He lay face down, halfway in the street. Dixon coughed, or she assumed so because his hand rose to his mouth and his shoulders shook. He dropped his hand and gazed at the debris surrounding them.
Joy glanced at the stone facade of the house and grabbed his coat. The front of the second story hung precariously, swaying above them. "Move. We have to move, now."
"What?" She didn't hear his reply but read his lips as he likewise tried to understand her. She pointed up. He blinked and shifted his gaze to where she pointed. His eyes widened in alarm. He rolled onto his hands and knees and glanced at Smith. He pointed at her and then across the street. Jolting forward, he grabbed Smith, rolled him onto his back and grabbed his arms before he stood and started to drag the man out of the way. Out of training and perhaps bolstered by habit, Joy grabbed the purse that held her weapon. Two steps farther toward safety she saw a cell phone. She reached down to pick it up. Pain tore through her leg, and she almost went down. She glanced at the back of her thigh and grimaced. A piece of glass was embedded in the side of her leg. Not large, but the motherfucker hurt like hell.
She limped beside Dixon as he dragged the huge man across the asphalt and realized, somehow, she was missing a shoe. Joy carefully placed her bare foot trying not to step on glass or sharp shards of the building material that littered the street. Her hand was buried in her purse, finger on the trigger of her weapon. She scanned the street, and she saw Dixon doing the same as he tugged the three hundred pounds of dead weight across the debris-laden street.
People started appearing from the surrounding buildings. Joy slipped her purse strap over her shoulder, withdrew her hand and closed the snap when two men in different states of dress raced forward to help Dixon get Smith to safety. A woman wearing pajamas and a robe reached Joy and insisted she sit down on the curb. She still couldn't hear shit, but she didn't need to hear to know someone had tried to kill all of
them. She extended her leg and examined the glass in her thigh. Dammit. Stitches. Dixon dropped onto the curb with her as police cars pulled onto the scene.
"Smith?" She shout-talked at Dixon.
He glanced at the man who was being tended to by a police officer. "Alive." His words were almost understandable between the ringing in her ears and the sirens that kept getting louder.
"What the fuck happened?" She leaned toward him and looked at the brownstone. The front of the building was gone. Chunks of brick, wood, and pieces of furniture littered the street. The area where they'd stood moments earlier had received little debris as the force of the explosion seemed to have gone up and out rather than just out. She'd worked with an explosives expert on several occasions and had learned enough to know whoever set the bomb didn't mean to kill them...unless they expected them to be in the house...but why not wait until later when there would be no doubt? But he would have been in the house if Smith hadn't strolled up to the front of The Residence. Was that by chance or was it planned?
"I'm not sure."
Joy started at his response and had to fight to remember what she'd asked. Oh, right. What happened? She swung her head toward him. "Why was Smith here?"
"I don't know." Dixon nudged her and nodded towards the cops who were talking with a neighbor. One of the uniformed officers headed over to the curb when the neighbor pointed toward them.
"Mr. Simmons? I'm Officer Reyes. Is this your home?"
"Sir?" Dixon started to get up, but the man put a hand on his shoulder and squatted down, so he was on the same level as they were. A considerate cop. Huh...
"Was anyone else home?" The police officer asked him in a manner that led her to believe they'd found a body...or portions of a body...
Dixon Page 15
