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I ALWAYS DRESSED UP, no matter what the occasion. Even if I was just leaving my hotel room for a bucket of ice, I never knew what might happen. It was best to look good at all times, and to carry at least one weapon, maybe two.
I’d had that drilled into me from childhood. If my guardian ever found me without a weapon of some kind, he would force me to stand in the kitchen, holding buckets of water until my arms ached. I only had to do that twice before I learned my lesson. Even in sleep, I had a small knife attached to my ankle, and when I was awake, there was usually a gun strapped to my thigh.
The night I was supposed to meet my new partner. I’d been through enough of those to know they never lasted. I wasn’t looking forward to the game of one-upmanship most field agents played. Whoever it was would likely judge me for being a woman; they would decide that they knew what was best and I would have to spend precious time reeducating them. Either that or I would just ditch them at the first opportunity, solve the problem myself, and resign myself to sharing the credit.
I applied my lipstick, glancing into the mirror to check my work. The woman who stared back at me didn’t seem to be a trained assassin. I liked it that way. I thought she looked a little daring but mostly harmless. It was a mask I wore no matter what actual disguise I was in, and it had served me well over the years. If I could get my opponents to underestimate me, that was like money in the bank. I could spend it over and over again until they finally realized they had met their match. And by then, it was usually too late.
I checked my phone again, reading the text from my handler. I was supposed to meet her in a different hotel suite so as not to reveal where I was staying. I assumed the same was true for this other agent who would be helping me. He was probably staying under an alias on another floor altogether. In the intelligence game, the less information you had about your associates, the better.
I fluffed my hair again, making sure it highlighted my cheekbones. Finally satisfied with my appearance, I picked up my clutch and went out into the hallway. The door locked behind me, which was fine. Advanced safety features weren’t that difficult to get around, especially if you had the right technology. I had no reason to think I would need to break into my own room again, but you never knew. The night could turn out quite differently than anticipated, and I had to be ready for any challenge.
I took the elevator down to the second floor and walked along the corridor until I found my room. I wore high heels because they matched my outfit but also because I knew how to use them. On the right woman, heels served to entice or to repel, depending on the circumstances. I considered them one of my weapons and knew that my guardian would have approved.
I knocked just to be polite. The door opened, and Jasmine showed me in. I was early, and my so-called partner hadn’t arrived yet. I preferred it that way; it gave me time to scope out the room and ensure that we really were alone.
Since Jasmine knew me so well and I didn’t have to pretend with her, I stooped to look under the beds and checked the closets to satisfy my curiosity. She just watched as I circled the suite, opening every door to check for intruders. When I had satisfied myself that there was no one else there, I gave her one of my famous smiles.
“All good?” she asked.
“All good,” I replied. There was a bar cart in one corner of the living room, and I went to investigate. “So who is this guy?” I asked.
“MI6,” Jasmine said.
“I know that,” I sighed. “What does he like? Who are his friends? What are his weaknesses?”
Jasmine laughed quietly. “You know those details aren’t in official files.”
“You surprise me,” I said, dropping two cubes of ice into a tumbler. “I wouldn’t have thought you would let that stop you.”
“He’s a fan of Manchester United,” Jasmine offered. “He owns a yacht and enjoys fishing, although he won’t admit it.”
“There you go,” I approved, pouring myself two fingers of whiskey.
I heard a sharp knock on the door and glided into the bedroom to hide. Jasmine smoothed down her dress and went to answer, pretending she was alone. It was a dance we had perfected over the years, and it served both of us well. If whoever was at the door meant her harm, I could easily appear and take them out. If it was the appointed spook from Great Britain, then I could choose my moment to say hello.
But all my careful planning went out the window when I heard the man’s voice. It was a melodic bass from somewhere north of Newcastle, if I had to guess. I’d heard it before, only once. He was the man from the bar in Casablanca, the only mark I had ever let live.
I drifted toward the door that separated the bedroom from the living room. Unlike me, he didn’t immediately search the place for other spies. Foolish. I could have taken him out right then, and he would have been unable to defend himself.
I don’t know why I didn’t kill him. Something about the way his body felt underneath mine had warned me that I would regret forcing him to leave this world. He was handsome in a rugged kind of way. Though he looked comfortable in his three-piece suit, I could equally imagine him in cargo shorts and a Panama hat.
I thought about Jasmine’s intel on his fishing and yachting habits. What I wouldn’t give to spend a night alone with him on the ocean. The things we could get up to might make life pleasurable again. But of course, that was out of the question. While I remembered him fondly as someone to whom I had given a great gift, he probably thought I was the devil.
There was only one way to find out.
I stepped out of the shadows, still holding my drink. His back was turned as he helped himself to a glass. I had enough time to appreciate the curve of his backside before speaking out and making my presence known.
“I never thought I’d have the pleasure of seeing you again,” I said.
He whirled, instantly recognizing my voice as I’d recognized his. I expected him to attack, but I wasn’t prepared for the ferocity. He threw the glass he was holding to the ground and lunged for me, leaving me with precious few seconds to react.
I chugged my drink, not wanting to waste it, and chucked the empty container to the bed behind me. Ducking away into the bedroom, I hugged the corner. When he came through the doorway, I sideswiped him with my left elbow.
He was ready for it; I don’t know how. He caught me up in his arms and twisted me around to pull me flat against his chest. I stomped on his foot, using the heel of my shoe to dig into his skin. That didn’t stop him, but I could feel the tension racing through his leg.
Fighting dirty, I bit into his arm. That produced the desired effect. He threw me away, sparing moments he didn’t have to investigate the damage. I licked my lips, egging him on. He lunged again, but I slipped away between the bed and the wall.
He came at me, so I kicked my shoes off into his groin before jumping up and dashing across the mattress. He snarled, his face a vivid mask of rage. I hopped down on the other side, grabbing the bedside lamp and holding it like a baseball bat.
He laughed, slowing his gait to circle the bed like a tiger. I realized that hitting him wasn’t going to do any good. He would simply deflect the object with his forearm, leaving me vulnerable once again.
So I let the bulk of the lamp drop and snapped the cord between my fists. That got his attention. It was a much more lethal use of the weapon, and I could see fear in his eyes. He kept his distance, searching for a way to attack.
I realized I was blocked in with my back to the wall. There was no way past him if I didn’t want to climb on the bed again. That option was out because it would cost me my balance. He was so close I could easily picture him capturing me by an ankle and dropping me to the blankets. But then, maybe that was the best course of action.
I allowed him to think that he had me at a disadvantage. Without letting go of the electrical cord, I stepped up onto the bed. Just as I suspected, he took the opportunity to upend me. My head hit the pillow as he surged on top of me, his hands grappling for my wrists. But I had a few tricks left up my sleeve.
Wrapping my legs around his waist, I had him right where I wanted him. I looped the cord around his neck and pulled, putting my whole body into the struggle. I heard him gasp and felt an enormous pressure as he flailed around. He drove his elbow into my side, causing me to relax my grip. Then he hit me broadside in the face with the lamp, and I dropped the garrot altogether.
We both lay there stunned, side by side on the bed. It was a moment of peace brought on by strenuous activity. I knew I’d better get up and find something else to fight with—either that or reach for the pistol that was wedged between my thighs.
But before I could take action, I heard a dry comment from the living room. “I see they’re acquainted.”
I sat up.
Standing in the doorway, merely watching me and the Brit struggle for our lives, Jasmine and another man looked on in amusement. Since she was my handler, I gathered that the stranger was another admin type. That meant that the man I was trying to kill was my...
“Clark, meet your new partner,” Jasmine said.
“Partner?!” I gasped.
“Hell, no,” the Brit snapped, straightening his tie before thundering to his feet. “I can’t work with her. Do you know who she is?”
“Theo, meet Agent Clark Abrams,” the other man replied. “She’ll be assisting you on this mission.”
