by Honey Jans
The spot on her wrist where Condor had marked her itched and she scratched at the tiny bump under her skin. Trust him to pull something totally barbaric like that. He'd know where she was twenty-four/seven. She refused to brood about it. Instead, she'd concentrate on getting on with her job.
Bridget felt stronger, more self-assured suddenly. Whether it was the fact that she was clothed or strength borrowed from Condor, she didn't know. She trembled, fear and excitement warring in her, and headed to the spa. The knowledge that she was shuttled off to the slave-grooming parlor, when she ached to be working, made her angry. Condor was no doubt setting up for the mission, while she was to be in Lola's clutches. The thought gave her pause, but she was tough, and well trained. She could take anything the bitch threw at her. The minute she got the chance, she'd do a little recon of her own.
Thom Wetzel was by the dockside, and she could hear raised voices as he argued with someone in the shadows of a boathouse. On instinct, she veered off in his general direction to see what she might overhear.
"God damn it. I'm telling you that you'd better not screw up, Wetzel. My boss is counting on you."
She sucked in a shocked breath. James. It couldn't be, but there was something hauntingly familiar about that voice. No, it was a little lower, more gravelly. James is dead. She had to come to terms with it. Being so close to apprehending his killer must have brought him to the forefront of her mind that was all. Add that to the fact that she'd just had a steamy session with another man, and it explained it. Her lust-addled brain was playing tricks on her. Who was yelling at Wetzel then, and why? She cut through the undergrowth, trying to sneak a bit closer.
Weaving her way between hibiscus bushes and palm trees, she caught a male silhouette but it wasn't enough to go on. Whoever was doing the threatening was wary enough to remain elusively in the shadows. It couldn't be James, yet, the shadow man was eerily familiar. Her mind had finally snapped from grief. Although they hadn't parted on the best of terms, she'd loved him once.
Her bare feet crunched in some fallen palm fronds, and she froze, holding her breath.
"What was that?” Wetzel said with a frightened gasp, looking around warily.
"Nothing,” the other man bit out. “Damn it, man, get a hold of yourself. You're no good to us if you're scared of your own shadow. Just be there with the goods."
She ducked behind a palm tree and held her breath as she watched him hand over an object, before slinking away toward a cabin cruiser tied up to the dock. He was tall and lean, with sun-streaked blond hair, not brown like James's. She heaved out a sigh of relief. Still, he moved with the loose predatory stride of a panther, one of Perez's henchmen, without a doubt.
Wetzel walked back her way, stuffing what the man had given him into his pants pocket. What the hell is it? She was poised to strike. He shuffled past her through the sand, and something made him start to turn toward her. She lunged, taking him down hard and from the rear, her left hand shutting off a nerve center in his neck, with the right clamped over his mouth, cutting off his scream. He dropped like a bag of potatoes into the sand, letting out an, “Oof,” and she fluidly followed him down, making sure he stayed unconscious.
She quickly searched his pocket, pulling out a clear plastic vial with two loose diamonds inside. The sun refracted rainbows off the gem's beautifully cut surface. Why would Perez be giving Wetzel diamonds, unless they were a gesture of good faith? An illegal diamond deal came to mind. Now she knew Wetzel's motive, but what did Perez want in return? She pulled out the note.
Be on the dock at nine for the charter.
She stared out at the turquoise blue waters. It seemed the answer was out there. If she played her cards right, could she get on that charter?
"Where the hell is that girl?” Lola muttered to a guard she was walking with, stalking past on the path, headed toward Condor's bungalow. “I'm going to have her ass when I catch her."
Bridget held her breath, her body pressing Wetzel's into the sand as she froze. Lola in her fury stormed on by with her armed guard, taking no notice as she hunted her down.
Wetzel moaned, and Bridget pressed her hand over his drooling mouth, wrinkling her nose, as the smell of booze wafted up to her. The hold she'd used would keep him out for at least five minutes, and he'd wake confused, with a hell of a headache. Wetzel settled, and started to snore.
She rolled off him, wiping her hand off on his jacket, and tucking her finds back into his pants pocket. With Lola safely out of sight, she sprang to her feet, and hurried past the dock memorizing the sleek cabin cruiser, on her way to the spa. She had to try to get down here in the morning. As she neared the spa, a large glass enclosed building, she noticed several naked women sunning themselves in the courtyard. No worry about tan lines here. She smiled.
Her smile vaporized when she saw Lola standing by the door, blocking them actually, with the tall, dark, armed guard by her side. Oops. So the bitch had beaten her back here.
"Where the hell have you been, Star?” Lola said, glaring, tapping the toe of her sandal. “I've been looking everywhere for you. And poor Ed here, has torn the place upside down looking for you."
Bridget peered up at Ed's cold and stupid eyes ... all brawn, no brains, but dangerous when cornered.
"Sorry, I got lost."
Lola gritted her teeth. “I don't know what game you think you're playing, but we keep our submissives on a pretty short leash here. Don't we, Ed?"
"Yes, ma'am,” he said, frowning at Bridget.
"That's good,” Bridget said, bowing her head in servitude. “It'll go with the collar Jason just gave me."
"So I see.” Lola icy eyes lingered on the emblem of her servitude. “Just watch your step, missy. Any longer and you would have been punished."
Try it and die, bitch. She masked her glare, and said meekly, “Yes, ma'am."
Lola crossed her arms. “That's yes, Mistress Lola."
"Yes, Mistress Lola,” she said sweetly, realizing Lola was watching her closely.
"I don't go in for your master's indulgent attitude, brat, so watch it.” Lola cocked her head, looking her up and down. Her frowning gaze lingered on Bridget's defiant face. “There's something different about you, Star."
Bridget bit her lip; she hadn't given them away with her uncooperative attitude had she? “I'm just a little new to this master, that's all."
"Oh, who owned you before?"
Bridget stood rooted to the spot, her mind racing for an answer, as Lola and Ed exchanged nervous looks. Her thoughts jumped to her latest collar. “Hans, Hans Booker.” She watched Lola visibly relax, and even smile. So money and power are the way around her.
Lola looked at her with new interest. “I didn't know he was into the life. You'll have to give me his address and I'll add him to our database."
That'd be hard to do seeing he was in GITMO. Of course, Lola wanted him; he was loaded and well connected. It probably took a lot of well-heeled clients to keep this pleasure palace afloat. “I don't think my current master would like that."
Lola chuckled. “There is that to consider. We have to humor them, don't we, the poor dears."
So Lola was a bed slave, too. As she was absorbing that fact, a cry of alarm from behind her made her wince. They'd found Wetzel.
Ed's pager started to beep. He looked at it and growled.
"What is it?” Lola asked, grabbing his arm.
"Wetzel's drunk again. One of the gardeners found him sprawled in the sand about five clicks away."
"Drunk again,” Lola muttered, rolling her eyes. “Well take care of him, Ed. We can't afford to lose him."
"He claims somebody jumped him,” Ed said, rolling his eyes.
"Check for any sign of a struggle,” Lola ordered. “We can't afford to take any chances with our new client coming on board."
Bridget relaxed. She hadn't been caught, and she'd gathered valuable information. The new client had to be Perez, and she was going to be in on the kill.
; * * * *
Condor walked out of the bungalow after unpacking, and finding what he expected to—bugs, both the video and audio kind. He'd let them be, even though the thought of the slimy bastards watching him and Bridget's private, intimate moments pissed him off. On the plus side, he knew that their heated interactions might counteract blunders she'd make playing his submissive under Lola's jaded eyes. There was going to be trouble. Like the fact that she'd suddenly gone missing. Lola's coming back to fetch her a few moments ago told him that. His excuse that he'd delayed her and that she was on her way hadn't convinced Lola.
Bridget had defied him, as he'd feared, no doubt going off to investigate on her own. He pulled her coordinates up on the screen of his diver's watch and saw that she was now moving toward the spa. What in the hell had she been up to? Scratch that, maybe he didn't want to know. He couldn't afford to be drawn off his game by worrying about her. He'd just hoped that she knew what the hell she was doing. Even though he was concerned, he couldn't do anything about it now. He'd just have to trust to Bridget's limited skills as a field agent to keep cool, and come up with a good excuse for her tardiness on the fly.
Instead of obsessing over his wandering partner, he set to work. After planting some unobtrusive sensors of his own, a scrambler for times he needed to speak clearly, and a signal to let them know if someone entered, he picked up his old green backpack and left by the rear exit. He cut through the back of the compound, going around servant's quarters until he broke through the scrub brush and onto a beach. The Delta Intel had pointed out several caves dotting the far side of the island. One would be a good sight to set up base camp and communications.
He walked through the jungle until he heard the rush of a waterfall and came up a rough tropical paradise. The falls fell into a pool, which in turn fed into the ocean. Behind the falls was a rocky outcropping. He made his way around the rocks to a cave well camouflaged by vines and ventured inside.
The sandy floor was dry, showing that it didn't flood at high tide. Satisfied, he set up the two-way radio and arsenal. He grinned, seeing that some of the Dangerous Liaisons goodies had come along for the ride. Jasmine bubble bath and cherry lube, not that he expected to use them with Bridget. Just the memory of Bridget coming in his arms made him swell, his cock twitching. He had to be careful or she'd have him tied up in knots, and then he'd be of no use to anyone. He stuffed the goodies back in the pack, and got on with the job. He made his way back to The Retreat, carefully memorizing the landmarks in case he had to find his way here in the dark, and in a rush.
He snuck back unnoticed and casually set about prowling the grounds. He took his time quietly assessing the formidable security, and keeping an annoyed eye out for Bridget. A glance at his diver's watch told him she was in the spa, finally being good. He relaxed a little, the stiff set of his shoulders easing, and turned to head toward the pool and bar.
Spotting Thom Wetzel and Ari Kahn in a cabana by the poolside bar, Condor veered off in that direction, suspicious of them. Happy hour seemed to be in full swing with guests bellied up to the teak bar, and several other cabanas full. Condor stopped at an empty barstool within earshot of the men's cabana, and gave the two a sly look. Ari Kahn looked like the mogul he was, dressed in a blue colored silk shirt, tan slacks, loafers, and wearing designer sunglasses. By contrast, Wetzel looked like a bum, his lightweight linen suit rumpled, and full of sand, his hands shaking, as he squinted into the sun. The man seemed to be in a light state of shock, with a bruise on the side of his face and his neck.
Condor's jaw tightened as he recognized the signs of a Delta take down technique. Naughty Kitten, he'd have to paddle her ass for that.
"You stupid ass, Wetzel,” Khan snapped, brushing a few flying grains of sand off his silk shirt. “I told you not to drink so much."
Wetzel licked his lips, gulping. “I'm telling you I wasn't drunk this time, someone jumped me, knocked me down, after my meeting with—"
"You stupid ass, don't say his name,” Kahn cut in. “Right. Some invisible ninja attacked you, and then disappeared in a puff of smoke."
"She smelled like wild jasmine,” Wetzel said.
Condor almost groaned. It was the scent of Bridget's exotic perfume. He closed his eyes praying for patience.
Kahn crowed with laughter. “A mere woman kicked your candy ass. Now I know you're just fantasizing, given your kinks."
"Keep my kinks out of this. They're none of your business."
"Don't get riled. This figment of your imagination didn't take any of your valuables, did she?"
"No,” Wetzel said, pulling a vial and note out of his pocket.
"Put them away, fool,” Kahn said with a growl.
Wetzel winced and stuffed them back in his pocket. “You don't have to yell. I've got a hell of a headache. I'm not thinking straight."
Kahn glared at the rum punch in the other man's shaking hand, and Wetzel put it down. “That's better. Lay off the sauce, and that's an order. I want you sober for the charter tomorrow morning,” Kahn added in a low tone. “Make sure you show up. My associates don't like to be conned."
"Me con you?” Wetzel said with a snort. “I don't see why we can't do this on dry land."
"Stow it, and take your seasick medicine. You just make sure you're there with your end of the bargain."
Condor took in their conversation, his body tensing. He had a damned good idea who the ninja attacker was—Bridget. Damn, she'd defied his direct order. He'd have to find a way to unobtrusively crash their charter. He hadn't missed the jerks ogling Bridget and, instead of bashing their teeth in, he smiled, and took his beer from the bartender and moved toward their cabana. They immediately clammed up at his approach. Kahn's cool assessing gaze raked over him, telling Condor the man was on his guard. Condor gave them a friendly smile and hoisted his beer in a toast. “Cheers, gentlemen, care for some company?"
Wetzel started, spilling his drink, his panicked gaze darting to Condor. “Damn,” he muttered, then flashed a disgruntled gaze up at Condor. “No, we're..."
Kahn swore, and pulled back to avoid the rum punch that was rolling across the glass-topped table toward him. “You'll have to excuse my clumsy friend here. He's had too much to drink."
"I have not,” Wetzel snapped, giving Kahn a resentful glare.
Kahn ignored him, focusing on Condor. “Take a seat, Mister..."
"Welsh, Jason Welsh,” Condor said, slipping into a rattan chair. He noticed that Kahn's smile wasn't all that welcoming. His gaze was suspicious. A natural tendency in the circles he moved in. About half the governments in the world would like to get the goods on Aristotle Kahn, but the reputed arms dealer was both smart and elusive.
Kahn smiled. “We saw you arrive earlier, Welch. You're new around here."
The confident statement told Condor all he needed to know. Kahn wasn't just a casual guest. Could he be Lola's master? Condor nodded. “I just joined the club,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Any advice you two would like to give me?"
Kahn smirked and shrugged. “Relax and have a good time. We saw you with the new bit of fiery talent earlier. The sexy redhead, exclusively yours, or do you trade?” he asked, leaning in closer.
Condor smiled and took a slow a pull from his longneck bottle of beer. He could feel Kahn's horny interest and he had to force himself not to punch the other man's teeth in. He was feeling way too territorial over his partner; a warning sign he needed to heed. He'd start emotionally distancing himself from her. It was the only way to ensure their safety. At least the probing question confirmed Lola's statement that there was slave swapping going on. Damn it all, why hadn't Delta Star's Intel department picked up on that tidbit? He sure as hell wouldn't have brought Bridget if he'd known. No damned way was he taking the risk of pretending to share her. He was keenly aware of Kahn's avid interest, and his irritation that Condor was making him wait. The dirtbag wanted immediate gratification. It was a good clue to his personality. “Why?” Condor asked sett
ing down the bottle. “Do you have an interesting trade?"
"As a matter of fact, I do,” Kahn said, with a cruel smile. “The brunette I brought with me is well trained, but a bit too obedient, if you know what I mean. It's been years since I tamed a fiery redhead. A man likes a little variety."
Condor took in the other man's confident arrogance. “You are so right,” Condor said, vowing that it'd be a cold day in hell before he'd ever let him touch her. “But sorry, she's mine exclusively; it's in her contract.” He watched Kahn frown. The mogul didn't like being thwarted.
Kahn shrugged. “Pity."
"So tell me, what's there to do on this island?” Condor asked, spinning the conversation in a different direction.
"Besides the sporting life and ogling the occasional naked girl?” Wetzel asked with a smile.
"There's always role reversal,” Kahn said with a dry chuckle, making Wetzel glare at him. “Some guys like to be dominated. Not that they'd like it to get out,” he added, giving Wetzel a steady look.
"I suppose whatever floats your boat,” Condor said, gratified when Wetzel shot him a grateful smile.
"There's also golf, deep sea fishing, and diving, if you like the water,” Kahn cut in genially.
"Pity, I don't play golf,” Condor said dryly, letting the man think they were simpatico.
Kahn chuckled. “Well then, like I said, there's always slave swapping. A few of the members bring extra girls and put them up for auction."
Condor cataloged the information. Perez was said to travel with several women, one French, another Swedish. “Anything interesting and exotic?"
"I hear tell there's a bit of authentic Parisian tail due in tonight,” Wetzel said.
Kahn bristled, glaring at him.
Condor set down his beer casually, trying not to show his gratification. This might be it. We could be out of here by morning. The thought made him gloomy, although he didn't understand why.
