Книга - Out-Foxxed

Out-Foxxed
Debra Webb


Saving the world is all in a day's work.No one notices temps–even high-level corporate ones. It's the perfect cover for Sabrina Fox's mission of national security. No one will ever suspect that the new personal assistant is really a highly skilled agent assigned to intercept top secret codes before they reach the enemy…UNLESS THE DRAGON BLOWS HER COVER.Eric Drake, aka the Dragon, taught Sabrina everything she knew about spying, then taught her the meaning of treachery. Turns out he and Sabrina are after the same target.As ruthless operatives seek to stop her at all costs, Sabrina must decide–dare she trust Eric again, or will he betray both her heart and her country this time?









Praise for DEBRA WEBB


“Brims with tightly woven suspense around every corner, and twists and turns abound. Webb moves effortlessly between two very diverse romances and masterfully keeps the reader on the edge until the last page.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Striking Distance

“A chilling tale that will keep readers turning pages long into the night, Dying To Play is a definite keeper.”

—Romance Reviews Today

“This story opens with a bang and carries the momentum until the final, chilling end. Webb has constructed a suspenseful novel that will leave the reader spellbound.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Vows of Silence

“A thrilling intrigue, Past Sins is filled with interesting characters and gripping suspense.”

—Romance Reviews Today




DEBRA WEBB


Debra Webb wrote her first story at age nine and her first romance at thirteen. It wasn’t until she spent three years working for the military behind the Iron Curtain and within the confining political walls of Berlin, Germany, that she realized her true calling. A five-year stint with NASA on the space shuttle program reinforced her love of the endless possibilities within her grasp as a storyteller. A collision course between suspense and romance was set. Debra has been writing romantic suspense and action-packed romantic thrillers since. Visit Debra at www.debrawebb.com.





Out-Foxxed











Debra Webb







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


According to Merriam-Webster, the first definition of unique is “being the only one.” That definition is followed by others like “being without a like or equal” and “distinctively characteristic.” In observing today’s trends, I often ask myself:

Where is the individuality? Where is the courage to reach deep within oneself and, unashamed, show the world what is discovered? I’ve recently found that hope is not all lost. This year I met a young man who embodies the term unique…who truly marches to his own beat and forges paths rather than following in anyone else’s. This book is dedicated to John Baxley. John, there really is no one else like you.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN




CHAPTER ONE


THE LULL of the subway train barreling through the tunnel had a hypnotic effect. Despite the press of bodies all around her, Sabrina Fox could almost have fallen asleep right there, standing up and squeezed into the middle of the throng of commuters. Her mind conjured the image of the rain that had forced her onto the subway tonight. Her apartment was only about twelve blocks from work, but no way would she walk in this downpour. As for hailing a cab, forget about it. Managing to snag a cab on a rainy evening at rush hour only happened in the movies.

Real New Yorkers took the train when the weather was uncooperative.

There was nothing colder than a rainy December night in Manhattan. Don’t let anybody tell you different. Those miles of asphalt and concrete that absorbed the heat and acted as an oven in the summer had the reverse effect in winter, mercilessly radiating the bitter cold. But with Friday evening commuters packed into the train as if this particular one were their last chance for weekend freedom, staying warm wasn’t a problem.

Standing room only. Lots of body heat.

Every stop was a study in warily choreographed footwork. Dozens of people off, dozens on; of course, no one who wanted off was ever the closest person to the door. Stepping on toes was as inevitable as breathing. That was the reason she carried her fashionable stilettos in her briefcase and wore her less-than-attractive sneakers for the trek home every day. She generally walked so it made sense.

She surveyed the people jammed into the subway car along with her. The usual eclectic blend of cultures, financial classes and age ranges. Fashion ranged from the mismatched castoffs of a beggar to the high style purchased on Madison or Fifth Avenue.

Diversity was one of the things Sabrina loved most about New York City, the city that never sleeps. There was no end to things to do. Even after calling the city home for almost ten years, she still stumbled upon a shop she’d never visited before or a cozy café tucked into the least likely place. This was home, more so than the Midwest town where she’d spent the first twenty-two years of her life.

The same afternoon she’d graduated from college, she’d taken the last plane out of Kansas and headed for the future. Her extensive study of foreign languages—French, German, Russian and Italian—landed her a job at the United Nations as a substitute interpreter. Any time the regular interpreters in her areas of expertise were on sick leave or on vacation, she took up the slack. The rest of the time, she provided translation services for visiting VIPs and their families. Fascinating work. She’d spent three years very happy there until an opportunity she hadn’t been able to turn down had come along. An intriguing new world had opened up, one that no one she knew now or in the past could possibly imagine.

A smile slid across her lips. She did love her work.

Beneath the bulky coat she wore, tucked into the pocket of her suit jacket, her cell phone vibrated. There had been a time when the one thing guaranteed by a ride on the subway was the lack of intrusion by one’s cell phone. Not always so anymore. With the expansion of service to the platforms and the cutting-edge technology of her special cell phone, there was no escape.

“Perfect.”

Keeping her left hand on the overhead grab bar to maintain her balance, with her right she elbowed at least two people in her attempts to unbutton her coat and reach into her jacket pocket. The train braked hard for the next stop, the flux in momentum causing the crowd to lean forward and then snap back. Despite the shift of bodies as some passengers moved toward the doors and others scooted into their vacated spots, she managed to open the phone and get it to her ear.

“Fox.”

“The henhouse is unguarded.”

Protocol.

Sabrina immediately took stock of her position. The next stop was approximately three minutes away. “I understand.”

The automated voice on the other end of the line gave the address. Protocol was the sophisticated link by which Sabrina received her orders.

She closed the phone and slid it into the pocket of her coat. Hoisting the strap of her briefcase a little higher on her shoulder, she considered the best route for getting off the train quickly. The space between her and the door behind her was crowded with just as many people as the space between her and the door forward of her position. She opted for the door behind her since most of those commuters were younger and only one was accompanied by a child. That group, she estimated, would move a great deal more quickly than the other.

As the train slowed, she executed an about-face. She smiled at the man directly behind her with whom she came face-to-face. Thankfully he smiled back. Inertia had the crowd of commuters who wanted off at this stop weaving as they pushed toward the doors.

Sabrina’s heart rate kicked into a faster rhythm with her body’s release of adrenaline. Every second wasted could make all the difference.

The doors slid open with a whoosh and the anxious emigration began. The instant her feet hit the platform, she broke into a zigzagging run to get around those who had no place special to be, mothers attempting to push baby strollers while hanging on to their older children and those distracted by conversations.

Sabrina took the steps up to the surface street two at a time. The cold, damp air filled her lungs, replacing the warmer, somewhat more odorous underground air. The rain hadn’t let up, still coming down steadily from the dark overcast sky.

Scanning the street for the elusive yellow cab, she hustled down to the nearest corner. She was in a hell of a hurry. Taking the train back to 42nd Street and then changing for one that would land her closer to 52nd would be time-consuming. She didn’t have a lot of that precious commodity. She needed a cab. With the continuing rain she might as well be asking God for a miracle.

A cab easing to the curb half a block to her right had her thinking that maybe the movies did get it right from time to time. Or maybe God decided to give her a break.

Sabrina didn’t give the other folks coming out of the subway station a chance to give her any competition. She ran the half block, thankful for her practical selection in footwear.

She grabbed for the vehicle’s back door before the woman who’d just climbed out could push it closed.

“Hey, lady,” the driver shouted. He pointed to the roof of his cab. “I’m off duty.”

Dammit.

Not wanting him to take off without her, she slid into the backseat anyway, much to his surprise.

“What the hell you doin’? I told you I’m off duty.”

“Get me to 52nd and Madison in under fifteen minutes—” she passed a one-hundred dollar bill to him through the open space in the Plexiglas partition “—and I’ll give you another one just like it.”

Their gazes met in the rearview mirror, his wary, hers determined. “Besides the fare?” he asked.

A satisfied grin toyed with her lips. “Besides the fare.”

He accepted the hundred. “No problem, lady.”

Sabrina relaxed in the seat, pulled the safety belt across her and snapped it into place. She didn’t question the driver’s chosen route. It wasn’t the one she would have picked, but then she didn’t drive a taxi for a living. He would know the best direction for beating the traffic. At this hour, he’d be lucky to make it in her specified time limit unless he sprouted wings. But then, it was almost Christmas and money could be a serious motivator.

Anticipation had her counting the streets as the driver weaved in and out of traffic in an effort to maintain his dicey speed…39th…42nd. The blare of horns and the occasional near brush with another vehicle kept the ride interesting.

So far, so good.

Most of the street vendors had closed up shop. A hot dog cart on the corner of 45th still had a customer or two seemingly oblivious to the rain. The ambitious gentlemen who generally hawked knockoffs of designer purses, sunglasses and the like had already packed up their wares and headed home. The few who stuck it out offered umbrellas and ponchos for those who hadn’t watched the weather forecast the night before.

The crush of pedestrians on the sidewalks reminded her again that there were only a few more shopping days until Christmas. She should pick up something for her niece and nephew. Overnighting the gifts would be her only option for ensuring they arrived on time at this late date. Maybe she should also pick up gift cards for the members of her team. Letting the holiday slip by unacknowledged by her wouldn’t sit well with her relatives or her colleagues. She’d learned that unpleasant lesson last year.

When they hit 49th Street, the driver started to make his way toward Madison. Four blocks from her destination, they hit trouble—a one-way street with the first of two lanes blocked by a large delivery truck and the other clogged with an accident. The drivers of the two vehicles involved in the fender bender stood in the rain yelling at each other.

Just what she needed. At least the rain had let up.

“I’ll walk from here.” She checked the meter before passing her driver the second hundred as well as the fare. She had to give him credit; with superb driving skills and nerves of steel, he would have made it under the time limit if not for the accident. “Thanks.”

He executed one of those half nods in acknowledgement of her appreciation and stuck the money into his shirt pocket. As she got out, he laid down on the horn, joining the unpleasant harmony of the other five or six drivers who were already expressing their displeasure with the delay in traffic.

Sabrina ran the final four blocks.

She slowed as she reached the grand entrance to the Omni Berkshire Hotel, took a breath and squared her shoulders. “Showtime.”

The doorman flashed a wide, pleasant smile and opened the door for her entrance. “Good evening, madam, welcome to the Omni Berkshire Hotel.”

She thanked him and entered the marble-floored lobby. Chandeliers glittered overhead, and a profusion of flowers provided a welcoming ambience. As she paused at the registration desk, the clerk welcomed her with the same enthusiasm as the doorman.

Sabrina returned the pleasant smile. “I have a reservation. Cynthia Freeman.”

A few clicks of the computer keys and he confirmed her reservation. “Yes, here we are.”

She passed him the credit card embossed with the name Cynthia Freeman and about ninety seconds later she had a keycard to Room 608.

The elevator car was waiting, another stroke of good luck. She boarded alone and was glad that it didn’t stop between the lobby and the floor she’d chosen. Outside Room 608 she slid the keycard through the lock, watched for the green light and went inside.

The room was already abuzz with activity.

“Agent Fox has arrived.”

Sabrina winked at Benjamin Trainer as she dropped her briefcase near the door. He was the communications specialist attached to IT&PA, International Temps and Personal Assistants. He could do just about anything with a satellite link. She imagined there were a number of other things he could do quite well, but being coworkers precluded her investigation into the interesting possibility.

“Trainer, you’re looking smart this evening.” She surveyed his lean athletic frame as she pulled off her gloves and stuffed them into the pockets of her coat before shrugging out of the heavy outerwear.

Evidently the man had a date tonight. In seven years, she couldn’t recall seeing him dressed in snug jeans, a pullover sweater that looked exactly like one she’d seen in a Gap ad, and classy loafers. This man never wore anything to work that wasn’t a three-piece suit. His dark hair and green eyes were icing on the cake. But then, this was Friday evening. A handsome young guy like him would certainly have plans.

“Depends upon whether or not you wind this up in a timely manner,” he quipped, one eyebrow cocked in blatant skepticism.

“No pressure, right?” she teased.

Along with Trainer were two other support personnel on site. A control team would be close by, if not already in place.

“This is your uniform, Agent Fox.” Costumer and disguise technician Angie Russell waved her arm to indicate the maid’s uniform, shoes and other accessories displayed across the elegant comforter on the king-size bed.

“Thanks, Angie.” Sabrina was already stripping off her street clothes.

“Nice shoes.” This comment came from operation coordinator Hugo Clay, aka Big Hugh. He stood six-four and weighed about two-fifty. Not the sort of guy one wanted to run into in a dark alley. But Sabrina had figured him out long ago. He was just a big, cuddly teddy bear who could also drop a man in his tracks with nothing but his hands.

Sabrina toed off first one Nike sneaker, then the other. “I wore them just for you, Big Hugh.”

“Let’s move it, people,” Trainer reminded. “Time is of the essence.”

Sabrina’s suit jacket landed on the floor atop her coat. “Yes, sir, Specialist Trainer. We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”

“Fox is prepping now, sir,” Trainer said into the mouthpiece of his commo apparatus, ignoring Sabrina’s dig. The sir he reported to was Director Anderson Marx. Talking to the boss or not, Sabrina didn’t miss the way the corners of Trainer’s mouth quirked as he spoke. He liked it when she used that official tone with him, even if she were teasing.

As she wiggled out of her skirt, Big Hugh gently placed a listening device into her right ear. “This will provide you with a constant feed from Trainer and our esteemed Director Marx.”

Sabrina kicked aside her skirt and peeled off her black tights. “Give me the details,” she said to Hugh as she straightened and freed the buttons of her blouse.

“We have Namir Stavi on the 10th floor,” he began.

“Israeli?”

Big Hugh nodded. “He and his wife and two children are here for the Christmas holidays. The Agency picked up on reports that an attempt would be made on Stavi’s life while he was visiting our fair city. He and his family are to be executed, and the act is to be blamed on Muslim radicals who hold American visas.”

“Nice,” she mused. Some jerk was always trying to make someone else look bad on American soil. She could see how the press would be all over that kind of international incident, creating even more tension between the American and the Muslim communities, not to mention the Israelis. Recent events already had Israel a little sensitive where the U.S. was concerned.

“Our polite colleagues thought they had the situation under control,” Big Hugh explained, “but somehow the time line got moved up and the assassins hit twenty-four hours early. The agents doing preliminary surveillance couldn’t move into place swiftly enough to counter the attack, so here we are.”

By “polite colleagues,” Big Hugh meant the FBI. If he’d said our arrogant colleagues he would have meant the CIA. His reference to the Agency meant the National Security Agency, the branch of the government to which their organization was loosely attached.

Sabrina grabbed the maid’s uniform and plunged her arms into the appropriate holes before tugging the thing over her head.

“Pink must be your favorite color, Fox.” This remark came from Trainer. He glanced pointedly at her low-cut pink panties just as she poked her head through the neck of the uniform. “Every time I’ve seen you undress you’re wearing pink panties.”

“That constitutes sexual harassment,” Angie warned him with a glare as she thrust the uniform’s matching cap at Sabrina. From all appearances Angie was a stern woman, stoutly built, just shy of five feet, she had a menacing stare that could wither the staunchest male attitude. She was forty-five if she was a day and mothered the whole lot of them.

Trainer shrugged, his attention shamelessly riveted to Sabrina’s hips as she wiggled into the uniform that fit like a glove. “In my opinion, her taking off her clothes in front of me constitutes the same.”

Sabrina turned her back to Angie for her to take care of the zipping and suggested, “Next time, you strip, too, and we’ll be even.”

Big Hugh’s interest visibly heightened. “That sounds fair.”

Glee glittered in Trainer’s eyes. “Fine. Next time, we’ll all just get naked together.” He directed an amused look at Angie. “Fair is fair.”

“Like hell,” Angie muttered.

Sabrina smoothed a pair of nude hose over her legs, then slipped her feet into the white, rubber-soled shoes. “What kind of firepower do we have?”

Big Hugh pinned a button that declared her employee of the month on the crisply starched lapel of her uniform. “That’s so we can hear you.”

Angie slapped a thigh holster into Hugh’s broad hand and stated, “We’ve got a .32 here.” The weapon was dropped into Sabrina’s palm next.

Sabrina checked the .32, which was loaded.

“That good?” Hugh asked.

She glanced down at the thigh holster he’d just fastened into place. She sheathed the .32 there and let the skirt of her uniform slither back down over it. “Perfect.”

“I’m definitely in the wrong line of work,” Trainer commented dryly. “I don’t even get to touch the thigh holster, much less strap it on.”

Angie cleared her throat, drawing Sabrina’s attention back to her, and held up her hand. A lovely ring, gold with a small cluster of diamonds, sat on her palm. “Be careful with this.”

Sabrina gingerly picked up the piece of jewelry. “Poison?”

Angie nodded. “Stick your target good.” She pointed to what looked like an extra stone on the back of the band. “Depress this at the same time and the poison will be released.”

Cautiously sliding the piece of lethal jewelry onto her right ring finger, Sabrina asked, “How long does it take to work?”

“Ten seconds at most. Even a guy the size of Big Hugh will drop like a rock. But don’t miss. There’s only one dose.”

“I assume this means that the protocol for this op is kill first and ask questions later.”

Big Hugh nodded. “We know who set up the attack. We know the ultimate goal, leaving no reason to make this any more difficult than necessary. The enemy is totally expendable.”

“Do we know how many bogies I’ll encounter?”

He shook his head. “Surveillance spotted two, but there could be more we don’t know about. Control hasn’t been able to get a visual inside the room as of yet. Something about the way the duct work is set up.”

It was always good to go into an operation with as much knowledge as possible. But some situations just didn’t allow for as much advance information as others.

“I can’t risk arming you with anything heavier,” Angie interrupted. “They’ll most certainly pat you down.”

Sabrina nodded. “I understand.” She turned her attention to the cleaning cart waiting by the door. “We have a passkey?”

Angie joined Sabrina at the cart. “This is the same cart all the cleaning ladies on staff use. We’ve rigged it with enough tear gas to put down a herd of elephants, but we don’t want to go that route unless absolutely necessary. Protecting the lives of the hostages is top priority, as you know.”

Sabrina understood. The moment the bad guys noticed anything off-kilter, the killing would begin. If they killed even one of the hostages before the gas put them down, that was one too many, and the operation would be considered a failure. A SWAT team could go in and neutralize the situation, but that wasn’t the goal here. This operation was about rescue, not extermination.

“Room 1012.” Big Hugh provided the passkey. “We’ll be listening to every word. The cart’s rigged for sound, too. If you need us, you know what to do.”

“And if I don’t need you,” Sabrina countered, “I’ll let you know.” These ops could get tense. She didn’t need a control team moving in if there was any chance she could recover the situation.

“We won’t make a move without the code phrase,” he assured.

“Let’s do this thing, then.” Sabrina grasped the handle of the cart and pushed it through the door Trainer held open.

“Good luck, Fox,” he murmured as she passed.

She hesitated long enough to whisper back, “I don’t need luck, Trainer, I’m Sabrina Fox.”

He grinned. “That’s right. How could I forget?”

Sabrina pushed the cart into the corridor and the door closed behind her.

“I wish this night was over already,” she muttered.

“Sound check is good.” Trainer’s voice whispered in her ear, compliments of the commo link Big Hugh had tucked there.

“I need a long hot bath and a bottle of wine,” she added softly as she parked her cart in front of the elevators and pressed the call button.

A sound of deep, guttural agreement echoed in her ear.

She had to smile. Maybe she’d give Trainer a little tit for tat given that he’d made that smart-ass remark about her panties. She did prefer pink lingerie, that was true. She owned pink panties in every imaginable style. French cut, lacy thong, extreme low-rise.

The elevator doors slid open and she pushed the cart inside and selected the tenth floor. Since she was alone in the car, she leaned against the wall and sighed dramatically.

“Lots and lots of frothy bubbles. Neck-deep hot water. Oh yeah, that’s exactly what I’m going to do when I get home.” She closed her eyes and made one of those throaty, wistful sounds that made her think of hot, sweaty sex. “I’ll probably start taking my clothes off before I even get through the door to my apartment. Light every candle in the place and take the bottle of wine and two stemmed glasses to the tub with me.”

“Is that an invitation, Agent Fox? You did say two glasses.”

Director Anderson Marx.

Her gaze snapped open, her face flushed with embarrassment. “Negative, sir, I was…just getting into character with a relaxation technique.”

Damn, she’d forgotten Marx was tied in already. Damn Trainer. He should have said something.

She could imagine him, with his mike muted, laughing his ass off.

“Standing by,” Big Hugh said, reminding her that he was there as well.

“Ten-four, Big Hugh.” She didn’t worry about the big guy; she wasn’t his type.

The car glided to a stop with a soft ding. She pushed the cart into the alcove outside the bank of elevators. A floor-to-ceiling window was on the right, the corridor running parallel to the front of the building on the left. She took the left and headed for Room 1012.

A few steps later, she arrived at the door. She inhaled a deep, fortifying breath, then let it out slowly. She touched her uniform where the holstered weapon lay snugly against her inner thigh, then knocked loudly on the door. “Housekeeping,” she announced.

The room was quiet beyond the door.

Anticipation released another round of adrenaline that ignited a fire in her veins.

She knocked again. “Housekeeping!”

After waiting the perfunctory ten seconds, she slid her passkey through the reader and watched for the green light. Braced for whatever she might find, she pushed down on the lever and backed into the door, ushering it inward as she went.

With her back fully to the room, she pulled her cart through the door. Her pulse edged into that alert zone that reminded her that she’d just turned her back on the enemy. But she needed whoever was in the room to believe she expected to find it empty.

When her cart cleared the open doorway, the door closed with a heavy thud.

“Don’t move.”

The undeniable feel of a muzzle pressed against the back of her skull.

She caught her breath, adopted an expression of terror, making her eyes go wide and leaving her lips slightly parted.

A hand moved over her torso. She tensed, as much from the need to ensure whoever it was didn’t find the weapon fastened against her inner left thigh as from the need to appear frightened.

She twisted slightly away from his touch. “What’re you doing?” She was proud of the fear infused in her voice, as well as a second harsh intake of breath that sounded completely credible. “What’s going on here?”

Harsh fingers curled around her arm and jerked her around to face the owner of the gun that had left an impression on her scalp. “Shut up,” he growled.

She made a small shrieking sound, just loud enough to be convincing without alarming him. Things could go downhill fast if he or one of his friends grew suspicious of her and panicked.

“You have very bad timing, lady.” He leered at her, his gaze raking down to her breasts. “You should have skipped this room.”

Making her body tremble wasn’t difficult considering the guy jammed the silenced muzzle of a Glock 9mm under her chin. Not exactly comfortable—and she didn’t trust him not to accidentally fire off a round. Glocks weren’t designed for amateurs or idiots. He looked exactly like the latter, a little too excited and gung ho. Considering the uniform she wore, she doubted her breasts had caused the effect.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “Please…please…don’t hurt me.”

He laughed, nice and loud as goons would do. “Please, please don’t hurt me,” he mimicked in a high-pitched, squeaky voice.

“What do we do with her?”

The new male voice came from behind the goon currently manhandling her.

Well, now she knew for sure there were at least two of them.

The goon with the 9mm still rammed against her glanced menacingly over his shoulder. “What the hell are you doing? Get back in there!”

Sabrina knew this room was a two-bedroom suite. Though she couldn’t see anything beyond the large man blocking her view, obviously some or all of the family were being held in one of the bedrooms.

When the goon’s attention turned back to her, she dropped back into character. “Please,” she pleaded, “I’m just a housekeeper.” She shook her head frantically. “I don’t—”

“Shut up!” He backhanded her.

She saw at least one star on the heels of the pain that shattered in her jaw. She didn’t have to taste the blood to know he’d busted her lip. Nothing major, just a tiny crack.

Marshalling the requisite tears, she dove deeper into the part of terrified hostage.

Her new friend shoved her to the floor next to her cart. “Don’t move,” he snarled, “while I decide what to do with you.”

Shaking for the benefit of those watching, Sabrina huddled against the cool stainless steel of the cart and covertly took a look around the room.

Two men lay on the floor near the massive wall of windows that, behind the drawn drapes, overlooked Manhattan. Both men were bound and gagged, and either dead or unconscious.

The unmistakable sound of a hard fist connecting with soft flesh tugged her attention to her extreme right.

An older man was secured to a chair. His face bore the signs of a severe beating, yet he somehow managed to look distinguished in his distress. As she watched, he groaned and attempted to turn away from the next blow coming his way.

Mr. Stavi.

Well, at least he was still alive.

The guy beating him made Goon Number Three. The taller guy standing back watching the torture was Number Four.

Four to one.

Not the worst odds she’d ever encountered.

But not the best, either.

Since the wife and children were not in this room, her initial assessment had likely been correct. The family, dead or alive, was being held in one of the bedrooms. Since Goon Number One had ordered Goon Number Two back to his post, she would work under the assumption that he still had live hostages to oversee.

The sound of a round being chambered hauled her attention once more to the man hovering over her. She stared into the ominous black barrel of the 9mm, then at the bully beyond it.

“I’ve made up my mind,” he declared.




CHAPTER TWO


“GET UP.”

In her earpiece, Big Hugh reminded her that all she had to do was say the word and a team would move in and do the takedown.

“I’ll do anything you say,” she offered, sending a pleading look at the man with the gun and a definite message to Big Hugh that the team should stand down for now. She refused to allow the new wave of fight or flight that surged to divert her focus. She had to be ready for any scenario. “Just don’t hurt me.”

“Get up,” her captor roared.

Sabrina scrambled to her feet, mindful of the thigh holster she didn’t want making an appearance. Sheer determination kept her heart rate far calmer than it should have been, ensuring a clear head. She’d learned long ago the secrets to remaining cool and collected in the face of death. The enemy could only kill her once and only if she allowed herself to screw up. No matter the situation, some amount of control always belonged to her, no one could take that away.

The fear and panic she permitted on the surface were for the enemy’s benefit. She needed these men to continue to believe that she was just a hotel maid, an innocent civilian who had no clue what was going on here. As long as they felt in control, their actions would be more predictable.

“Take her into the bedroom with the others,” Goon Number One, the man who appeared to be in charge, told his minion. The boss was older than the others. Streaks of gray had invaded the raven-colored hair along his temples. His grim face told her he’d had more than his share of experience in this sort of activity. Despite his age, he looked lean and fit physically. What was more, his heritage was impossible to calculate. He didn’t look Middle Eastern and he certainly didn’t sound so.

Goon Number Four, the man she decided to call Tall Guy since he was well over six feet, grabbed her by the arm and hauled her toward the French doors that separated what was likely the master suite from the parlor. Inside the elegant spacious bedroom, a woman and two children cowered in the farthest corner from the door.

The wife and kids of the man currently being tortured.

Also in the room was Goon Number Two, the one she’d heard ordered back to his post before getting a visual on him. His age was easy to guess, maybe twenty-two or twenty-three. His inexperience was even easier to see. He handled his weapon as if he weren’t sure how to hold it or what to do with it next. His eyes were wide with his attempts at taking in everything at once.

Goon Number Two was scared.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t necessarily a good thing. His inexperience could cause any number of mistakes. Not to mention that his presence reconfirmed the odds against her—four to one.

But hey, what good was a challenge without interesting odds?

The French doors abruptly shut behind her, sending her tension to a new level. With the doors closed, it would be difficult to hear what was going on in the other room. She would simply have to depend upon Big Hugh to keep her informed for now since he was monitoring that room via the rigged cart.

“Over there,” Goon Number Two commanded, directing her to join the other hostages.

Keeping up the necessary facade of fear, she edged past him and moved hesitantly toward the woman and children.

As she passed the en suite bath, she noticed three men, well dressed and obviously dead; they didn’t move and were unrestrained, piled on the floor in front of the elegant marble vanity. The three dead guys most likely were—had been— Stavi’s security detail. What a shame. Even a family’s own personal security couldn’t keep them safe in the finest of hotels.

Sabrina scrutinized the woman and her children. She saw no signs of mistreatment. That was good. She hoped like hell she could make sure it stayed that way. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, hoping to reassure the woman with the words and her determined expression.

“No talking!”

Sabrina sent Goon Number Two a scornful glare but he was too busy watching his friends through the French doors to notice. She got the distinct impression he didn’t like being left on babysitting duty. He wanted in on the important stuff like the torture. He wanted to be in the middle of the part that really mattered, killing an Israeli VIP.

Too bad for him.

The little girl, who was six or seven years old, Sabrina guessed, started to sob. Her mother tried to reassure her to no avail.

“Shut that kid up,” Goon Number Two growled, “or I’ll shut her up for you.”

Well, wasn’t he the tough guy. Terrifying women and children surely made him the man of the hour. Not.

Sabrina analyzed the dialect. Not Middle Eastern or European, she was reasonably sure. Even those who’d lived in this country for many years had a difficult time dumping the accents they’d learned growing up. There was training for that purpose, but these people sounded like heartland citizens. Midwestern U.S., maybe.

Were these guys homegrown terrorists? Somehow the idea made her all the more furious, sick to her stomach.

The woman picked up her little girl and held her close. But that left the little boy, who looked to be only four or five, standing alone and clinging to his mother’s leg. He would probably start crying, too, as soon as he figured out his mother would have trouble picking both him and his sister up at the same time. Poor kids. And at Christmas at that. Sabrina wanted to hurt these guys just for that.

But antagonizing these goons would not be helpful, though she already understood that their mission included killing not only Stavi but his wife and children, as well. Delaying that move as long as possible was essential. To do that, she had to play submissive and cooperative. Sabrina wanted the trouble to go down later rather than sooner. She needed time to prepare a strategy that included saving all the hostages.

“I have to go to the bathroom.”

The plan was hasty and lacked originality, came pretty much out of nowhere, but at least it was a step.

Goon Number Two glared at her. “Shut up,” he hissed from between clenched teeth.

Not to be thwarted so easily, she did this little bounce from the knees, the universal gotta-go gesture. “Please, I have to go.”

Another of those icy glares. “So go, just don’t step on the bodies.” He smirked and nodded toward the bathroom where the three men lay in a pile. “And leave the door open where I can see you.”

Making her way across the room, Sabrina stayed close to the wall, as far from Goon Number Two as possible. Once in the bathroom, she stepped over the dead men and scooted in next to the toilet. Knowing that her guard was likely watching, she hunkered down over the toilet which was, thankfully, shielded to some degree by the wide vanity and added plenty of realism to her ploy. While she pretended to relieve herself, she sized up the three men on the floor. Whatever weapons they’d been carrying appeared to have been taken.

She righted her clothes, tore off a piece of toilet paper and used it to protect the tips of her fingers as she flushed the toilet. She wouldn’t be leaving any prints lying around. The guard glanced in her direction but immediately returned his attention to the goings-on in the parlor. While the sound of rushing water provided some amount of cover, she whispered, “Four. Possibly American-born. Hostages still viable.”

“Roger that, Fox,” came Trainer’s voice in her earpiece. “We’re running voice analysis right now.”

There was always the chance that a terrorist would be in one or more data systems, including voice recordings, but the chances of a voice match were more unlikely than not.

Careful not to make any sudden moves, Sabrina eased back into the bedroom to join the other woman and her children in the corner between the king-size bed and the wall of windows. As in the parlor, the curtains were drawn for privacy, blocking out the magnificent view of the city she loved.

Goon Number Two opened one side of the French door and said something to his cohorts in what sounded like butchered Arabic. Since Sabrina was not that familiar with the language, she could only guess at some of the phrases. Hugh would keep her informed. She seized the opportunity and whispered to the woman, “I’m here to help you.”

The woman’s breath caught and her watery gaze locked with Sabrina’s. Her lips parted as if she might say something but, thankfully, she held back whatever had been on the tip of her tongue. Relief rushed into her wide dark eyes.

Sabrina’s options were pretty much limited at the moment. If she gave the word for the tear gas to be released, Stavi would likely end up dead. Maybe even the woman and children. And, of course, her.

Best thing to do was ride it out a few minutes more.

The exchange continued in the language she didn’t understand. The fact that they had stopped speaking in English was a bad sign.

“Fox, can you get a little closer to the man speaking? There appears to be a malfunction in the listening device we planted on the cart,” Big Hugh said in her ear piece.

She coughed, which meant not likely.

Goon Number Two glanced at her.

“The man nearest you has asked how the hell they plan to get out of there and why it’s taking so long. He’s nervous, it seems.”

Nervous was definitely a good assessment. Goon Number Two was antsy as hell, partially motivated by his feelings of being left out.

“We’re going to send Angie to the door with towels in an effort to get you back into the parlor.”

Sabrina cleared her throat, giving the “affirmative” signal.

Since Goon Number Two was still chatting with his friends, Sabrina decided to make some preparations for the children. She eased closer to the woman, keeping an eye on their guard while she whispered as softly as she could and still be heard, “Have the children sit down on the floor close to the bed. Tell them to crawl under the bed if anything happens.”

The woman nodded. She murmured in her daughter’s ear, since she still held the child in her arms. The mother settled the girl onto her feet and she immediately did as Sabrina had suggested. The little girl tugged her brother down to the floor next to the bed alongside her. Obviously knowing her children would not stay in that position unless she was as close as possible, the mother scooted in as near as she could.

The discussion between the four men appeared to be turning less and less friendly. Though Sabrina didn’t understand the words, she couldn’t have missed the tension in the exchange.

“Looks like we have a whole new ballgame here, Fox.”

Sabrina focused on Big Hugh’s voice while maintaining a visual on Goon Number Two.

“Our man Stavi apparently has some information these guys want. The man in the room with you mentioned that if he didn’t talk soon, they would have to move without the information or risk being captured.” That meant that the stakes had just been upped. If Stavi had intelligence these men needed, then allowing any one of them to leave this hotel room would be a mistake with ramifications more far-reaching than they’d first thought.

“Marx wants one alive if possible.”

Great. How the hell was she supposed to keep one goon alive?

She cleared her throat just loudly enough for Big Hugh to hear. She had her orders, no point arguing. All she could do was her best. Protecting the lives of the hostages was priority one as far as she was concerned.

The knock on the door to the room silenced the men.

“Housekeeping!”

The boss, looking annoyed and harried, appeared at the French doors and pointed at Sabrina. “You! Come!” he demanded harshly, his voice kept low to ensure that whoever was at the door didn’t hear him.

Sabrina, maintaining her scared-to-death demeanor, hurried over to the doors. “That’s my coworker with the extra towels I ordered for this room.” She moistened her shaking lips and drew in a ragged breath. “If I don’t go to the door, she’ll just assume I’m finished and come on in anyway.”

Fury streaked across the man’s face. “Get rid of her or she dies.” Sabrina nodded frantically.

The boss ushered her to the door. He stepped back so that the opening door would block him from view. He indicated the gun in his hand just in case Sabrina had forgotten.

She reached for the lever, took a moment to visually brace herself for her attentive audience’s benefit, then pulled the door open.

“Oh! Mary, you’re still in here.” Angie stood in the doorway, her short, stocky frame filling out a maid’s uniform, her arms loaded down with fluffy white towels.

“Yeah,” Sabrina said, “the bathroom’s a mess. Those kids wrecked the place. It’s taking longer than I expected.”

“I’ve got your towels.”

When she took a step, Sabrina moved to meet her, from all appearances blocking her path. “That’s okay, I’ll take them.”

Angie passed her the towels. “Well, if you’ve got it under control, I’ll move on. Natalie’s got problems in ten and fourteen, as well.”

“Thanks, Ang.”

When she walked away Sabrina closed the door. So, the control team was in position in the rooms on either side of them. Angie purposely didn’t specify the floor to throw off the men listening.

The control team would prepare to launch devices into the room for auditory as well as visual monitoring. If they made a single wrong move or sound, the guys in here could go ballistic. But it was a necessary step at this point. Attempting to position any sort of device before an agent was in place would have risked the hostages’ lives. With Sabrina inside to do what she could to protect the hostages, the next step had to be taken.

The tall guy grabbed the towels and shuffled through the stack. Sabrina used the opportunity to check on Stavi’s condition. He looked a little the worse for wear while Goon Number Three, the man who’d been beating him, looked revved for the next round. At this rate Stavi would be dead very soon.

“Please,” Sabrina said to the boss. “I don’t have anything to do with this. Just let me go. I’ll leave. I won’t say a word to anyone.”

The boss nodded toward the master suite and the tall guy hustled her off in that direction. The thuds and groans of new torture resumed behind her.

The woman, looking wide-eyed and wringing her hands, stood exactly where Sabrina had left her.

The tall guy shoved her toward the bed and then made some remark to Goon Number Two about her having a great ass. This he did in English, so she understood he wanted her to know he’d made the statement.

As soon as Sabrina was next to the woman, she whispered, “My husband?” Her face reflected her anxiety about his fate.

Sabrina arranged her expression into a mask of optimism. “He’s okay so far.”

The intense discussion between the men recommenced. Sabrina was pretty sure this swiftly deteriorating situation wouldn’t last much longer. Stavi would be dead and then they would all die.

“Oh, hell.”

Sabrina stiffened. Whatever had just gone down had Big Hugh worried.

“Fox, they’ve just asked your guard to bring in one of the children. We’re standing by for your instruction.”

A new kind of tension roiled through Sabrina.

“We’ll be okay,” she said to the woman, but her real agenda was to let the team know that no movement on their part was necessary, she had the situation under control for now.

Goon Number Two stalked over to where Sabrina, the woman and her children cowered in fear.

“What’re you doing?” Sabrina asked, her voice infused with terror.

“The boy,” the man demanded. “Give me the boy.”

The mother howled in agony. “No, no, no, not my son. Not my son!”

The man slapped her hard. “The boy,” he commanded.

“Wait.” Sabrina reached toward the man.

He reared back to slap her. She lunged at him, her right hand fisted, the pad of her thumb set against that extra stone on the back of the ring she wore. She rammed her fist, ring first, into his throat.

The back of his hand connected with her cheekbone sending pain radiating up the side of her head. Then he froze. He stared at her for a moment as if he didn’t understand what had just happened. When he started to reach for his neck, his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed to the floor.

The woman and children started to wail and sob, Sabrina joining the cacophony.

The tall guy barged into the room. “What the hell is going on in here?” He spotted his pal, then aimed a suspicious glare at the women. “Shut up!” He leveled his weapon on Sabrina. “Move against the wall.”

Sabrina flattened against the wall next to the window behind her. She reached for the woman and ushered her back as well. A child clung to either side of her. All were sobbing hysterically.

“What happened?” the tall guy demanded, his question directed at Sabrina.

“I don’t know.” She forced her voice to quiver. “He came over here to get the boy and he just stopped, looked kind of strange and then crumpled to the floor.”

That she hadn’t reached for the downed man’s weapon would lend credence to her innocent bystander status.

Keeping an eye on her, the tall guy squatted down just far enough to touch his fallen comrade’s neck. He felt for a pulse, a frown overtaking his expression.

Speaking in that broken foreign tongue again, he called out to his pals in the other room.

The torturer in the other room stormed in next. “What is taking so long? I need the boy.” He drew up short when he saw Goon Number Two on the floor.

Sabrina held on to one of the woman’s arms and made small sounds of terror; the woman did the same. The children continued to whimper and sob, amping up the frustration level of the enemy.

Sabrina figured that this was as good as it was going to get. Only one, the boss, was left in the room with Stavi.

She pulled downward on the other woman’s arm. Their gazes locked. Sabrina nodded to the floor. The woman moved her head up and down in acknowledgement.

Her right hand easing down to the hem of her uniform, Sabrina watched the two men prepare to drag their friend away, probably to join the dead security detail in the en suite bath.

As soon as each man had crouched down and hooked an arm under the dead guy’s, she snatched her .32 out of its holster. Two rounds, one in the temple for the tall guy, one smack in the middle of the forehead for the torturer who turned to look up at her in surprise.

She was halfway across the room when the boss suddenly loomed in the open doorway, his weapon leveled on her. Two more shots, this time straight through the heart. She hit the floor and rolled just in time to avoid the round he managed to squeeze off before he dropped. Unlike the jarring blasts from her .32, a swift hiss and pop were the only sounds his silenced weapon made.

Back on her feet, she holstered her weapon and rushed to the corner where the woman and children huddled together near the floor.

“Everything’s all right,” Sabrina assured. “Come on, let’s check on your husband.”

Thank God the woman and children hadn’t been in the way of the single shot the bastard had managed. One of the lavish pillows on the bed hadn’t been so lucky.

The husband was already shrieking and making all kinds of noise. He kept calling a name—his wife’s, Sabrina presumed.

While the woman and children crowded around the injured man, Sabrina checked the two other hostages bound and still unconscious on the floor to ensure they were still breathing. Both were alive—drugged, she presumed.

Time for her to get out of here.

Other guests would no doubt have called the front desk by now to report the sound of gunshots.

Sabrina propped the door open and prepared to wheel her cart out of the room.

“Please wait.”

Sabrina hesitated, then turned to the woman who’d called out to her.

She hurried to where Sabrina stood poised to get the hell out of there. “Thank you.” The tears rolling down her cheeks and the quiver of her lips told Sabrina that she wanted to say much more but wasn’t sure how.

Sabrina smiled. “You’ll be fine now.”

She had to get out of there.

Pushing the cart with all her might, she hurried to the elevators and stabbed the call button. “Come on, come on,” she muttered.

The control team in the rooms on either side of 1012 would stay put until hotel security had arrived and called the local authorities. Once the Federal Bureau of Investigation was on site to take charge, the control team would withdraw.

No one would ever know that IT&PA had ever been there.

That was the way it worked.

Anticipation seared through her as she trekked the slow movement of the damned elevator on the digital readout above the closed doors. If security caught her up here, they would want to question her. She couldn’t let that happen. Abandoning the cart wasn’t doable since it was rigged. She had no choice but to ride this out.

One of the two elevators stopped on her floor and she held her breath as she waited for the doors to slide open and reveal the occupants, if any, of the car.

Empty.

Her arms weak with relief, she shoved the cart into the empty elevator and selected floor six. No sooner had the doors started to close when a ding announced the arrival of the second elevator.

Close. Too close.

Even as her car started to descend, she heard running steps pounding in the corridor beyond the elevator alcove she’d just vacated.

Hotel security had arrived.

Director Marx wouldn’t be happy that she’d had to take out all four of the perpetrators, but there hadn’t been any other option.

Those men would have killed her and the hostages had she not used deadly force. Wounding one of them in hopes of interrogating him later simply hadn’t been feasible.

Outside 608, she had just reached for her passkey when the door opened.

“He’s not happy,” Trainer said.

Angie had already grabbed the other end of the cart and was helping Sabrina guide it into the room.

“It was my call to make,” Sabrina countered, not the least bit intimidated or sorry she’d chosen the course of action she had. Stavi was alive. He surely knew what those men wanted with him. All the Bureau had to do was convince him to share the information. As far as Sabrina was concerned, that was their problem.

She’d done her job. All four hostages were rescued.

Angie, still sporting a maid’s uniform, rushed over to help Sabrina disrobe.

Trainer turned his back and focused on unrigging the cart. Big Hugh jumped into the fray and helped get the job done.

When all the equipment and disguises were packed in typical wheeled, upright luggage, each member of the recovery team left with at least one bag in tow.

All but Sabrina, who carried only her briefcase as she took the elevator down to the lobby and stopped by the front desk. “I’m leaving very early in the morning,” she told the clerk. “Can you clear me without my having to bother checking out?”

“Certainly, Miss Freeman. We’ll slip the final bill under your door by 3 a.m.”

“Excellent.”

Sabrina strode out of the hotel, her sneakers silent on the shiny marble floor. The same doorman who’d greeted her what felt like a lifetime ago, bid her a good evening. She gave him a smile of thanks and hurried off into the gloomy night.

The rain was gone, leaving the city she loved with a crisp bite in the air and smelling pretty damned clean for a place that teemed with no less than eight million people.

Once in a while, a taxi cruising for a fare rolled by on the street, the tires cutting through the water puddled there.

She didn’t bother hailing one. She would walk, at least for a while, to give herself time to unwind and to let the cold air remind her that she was still alive. That was the great part about her work. She came so close to death at times…close enough to appreciate living one more day. Not everyone understood how that felt. It was the most satisfying feeling she’d ever known. Maybe that made her a freak, if so, that was okay.

The scene back at the hotel would be one of chaos until the feds arrived to take control of the situation. The Stavi family would only know that a maid had saved their lives.

Sabrina hadn’t touched anything in the room so there wouldn’t be any prints left behind, not that it mattered. She didn’t exist in any of the traditional spy world databases. IT&PA wasn’t known in any capacity whatsoever by its sibling agencies.

All involved in the rescue would do exactly as Sabrina was doing now—disappear in the night…until next time.




CHAPTER THREE


THE HOT WATER slowly but surely warmed the winter chill that had seeped deep into her bones, relaxing her tense muscles. Sabrina had ended up walking the entire twenty blocks home.

Without the rain, it hadn’t been so bad. She’d needed the time to clear her head. To rid her lungs of the smell of death.

She studied her arms and the new bruises there. So far her cheek hadn’t swollen. There would be some discoloration from the slaps she’d taken but, if her luck held out, no noticeable swelling. Bruises could be covered, swelling could not. She was damned lucky things hadn’t been a hell of a lot worse.

Just part of the job. Pain and death were a constant in her line of work. She’d gotten used to it a long time ago.

At least that was what she told herself. Occasionally she’d let the kill-or-be-killed reality get to her, but then she would remind herself that what she had done had saved a man and his family. That was what really counted.

The only part that counted to Sabrina.

The first time she’d killed a man, Marx had walked her through the aftereffects.

Sabrina closed her eyes and tried to block the memory but it came anyway. The assignment had been in Ireland. The target had been an American traitor leading a terrorist cell who had recently obtained a military-grade nerve gas. Sabrina had gotten in, made the strike and gotten out in twenty-four hours. Eliminating that target had allowed local authorities to seize the highly lethal nerve gas before it could be used to take innocent lives.

She’d been fine until she returned home.

The reality of what she’d done had hit her then. Marx had known it would. He’d been waiting for her at her apartment door.

During the verbal exchange about how she was fine, she’d fallen apart. He’d talked her through the turmoil, helped her to see the greater good she had accomplished. His wise and calm reasoning had done the trick.

Sabrina blinked away the memory. Funny thing, she realized just then—her father had done that for her dozens of times growing up. He would talk her through a trying time. She supposed, in a way, Marx had stepped into his shoes.

“Way too deep, Sabrina,” she mumbled. She needed to relax and put work behind her.

She’d certainly created the right atmosphere for it. The candles flickered and glowed, filling the room with a cozy ambience. The scented ones oozed their subtle fragrance into the air, adding to the pleasant mood. She’d left the overhead lights off, allowing only the illumination of the dozens of candles. Just like she’d told Trainer she wanted to do.

She smiled and wondered if he’d managed to make his date. Big Hugh was likely out with his significant other, enjoying a quiet dinner for two at some ritzy restaurant off the beaten path. Angie would be at home with her husband of twenty years and their three kids, maybe watching a movie with a tub of buttered popcorn.

Sabrina couldn’t fathom how Angie managed it. Her husband couldn’t know about her work. He thought her employer was an international temps and personal assistants agency. An agency that provided support personnel for visiting dignitaries from other nations or provided support personnel for American businessmen traveling to foreign countries whose companies had no ongoing reason to keep one or more linguists on staff. And that was exactly what IT&PA did in addition to covert government operations.

It was the perfect cover. Movement in and out of a country was never seen as suspicious, and many times their targets were the ones doing the hiring. Now that was burrowing in deep. That was the ultimate cover, one the enemy didn’t suspect for a moment. The usual government agencies couldn’t hope to accomplish that depth of infiltration.

Not everyone employed at IT&PA were secret agents. Some were “exempt” employees, meaning they were exactly what they appeared to be—clerical personnel with additional skills such as multilingual abilities as well as in-depth knowledge of foreign countries. Oftentimes a job consisted of nothing more than serving as an official guide on a visit to another country. Anything a businessman or woman, American or otherwise, could need in the way of temporary assistance would be found at IT&PA.

The agency had been the brainchild of Anderson Marx, the director. Only the president himself, and the directors of the CIA, FBI and NSA were aware of IT&PA’s presence in the spy world. IT&PA was neither bound by borders nor inhibited by the usual rules. Sabrina and her colleagues could be assigned anywhere in the world at any time, and only in the situations where the usual means would not work or had failed. The latter was the reason the standard rules didn’t apply. IT&PA was only called in once there were no other alternatives.

Today’s mission could have been so much worse. She’d been lucky. The four men who’d taken the Stavi family hostage could have killed them all before she’d arrived. The fact that they hadn’t suggested two possibilities—the intelligence they’d hoped to obtain had been extremely valuable, or the men simply were inept.

Telling herself it wasn’t her problem now, she ducked her head under the water and banished all thoughts of the day’s mission. The big brown eyes of those children and their mother elbowed their way into her thoughts, interrupting her desperately needed relaxation. She’d saved them. Why the lingering feelings of uncertainty?

Because it could have so easily gone the other way.

She went through this every time children were involved in a mission. After seven years, one would think she would get over the after-the-fact apprehension. But she didn’t.

If she mentioned the feelings to her team, Angie would insist that it was nothing more than her biological clock screaming at her since those feelings were unfailingly related to missions involving children. Sabrina was thirty-two, after all, Angie would say.

Sabrina didn’t know how to tell Angie this, but she didn’t have a biological clock. It had given up hope and gone out of business years ago. She had no desire for those kinds of strings. No permanent attachments allowed her to accept any and all assignments without hesitation.

The trickle of denial that filtered through her ticked her off. She wasn’t about to let the past intrude on her present.

Not ever again.

Sabrina climbed out of the tub. Frothy bubbles slid down her skin and accumulated on the floor as she stepped onto the cool tile. She should eat. The wine and the bath had been very nice and very necessary, but she needed food. She’d learned from experience in the past couple of years that food could be an extremely reliable way to distract herself from things she didn’t want to think about. Her intense workouts allowed for that occasional indulgence.

Grabbing a couple of big fluffy towels, she wrapped her hair in one, turban-style, and swabbed her body with the other. As she did, she considered what frozen entrées she had in the fridge. There might be the makings of a salad if the expiration dates hadn’t passed too many days ago. She spent so many late nights at work she didn’t stock the refrigerator regularly and as soon as she did, she ended up throwing half of the food out a week or two later after returning from an unexpected mission.

The doorbell rang as she shuffled out of her room. A frown tugged at her brow. It was almost nine and she just wanted to vegetate for the rest of the evening. Why the heck would anyone be at her door now?

Then she remembered.

She stalled in the middle of her living room. No way was she going to answer that door.

This was the one downside to being single. Well-meaning friends. If her single friends were involved in ongoing relationships, they wanted everyone else to be as well. Not one, especially the one likely outside the door just now, could understand how Sabrina could be happy without a steady guy in her life. She couldn’t tell them that a steady relationship created unnecessary questions.

A new round of pounding on the door rattled the hinges. “Sabrina! I know you’re in there.”

Damn. This was a new low even for Veronica.

Veronica Call and Sabrina had started out at the UN together as substitute interpreters. They’d stayed friends after Sabrina was recruited by IT&PA.

“I’ll just keep banging until you open up!” Veronica warned. “Or your neighbors call the cops.”

Knowing she wasn’t kidding, Sabrina released both dead bolts, then wrenched the door open. “I was in the tub.” Not exactly a lie.

Veronica, hands pushed beneath a heavy fur coat and stationed on red silk clad hips, surveyed her skeptically. “You knew I was coming,” she accused. “We planned this evening days ago.”

“I forgot, okay?” Sabrina stepped back, allowing her furious friend to enter.

Once inside the door, Veronica pointed to Sabrina’s bedroom. “Go get dressed. You’re going out.”

For about five seconds, Sabrina considered telling her to forget it but then decided against it. Veronica was one pushy broad. If she didn’t get her way, she’d just stand here all night and argue her case. The woman must have been a trial lawyer in another life.

“Where are we going?” Sabrina asked, padding to her bedroom and leaving the door open so they could still talk.

“Blue Note. Wesley’s meeting me there.”

Wesley. Oh, yes. Sabrina remembered him. Tall, handsome, gorgeous golden eyes, sleek ebony skin.

“What I don’t understand,” she said loudly enough for her friend to hear, “is why you want me there. Isn’t Wesley enough for you?” Sabrina grinned as she rummaged for something to wear.

“Wesley has a friend.”

She should have seen that one coming. Dread pooled in Sabrina’s gut, and she glanced at the other woman who now leaned in the doorway, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest.

“That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Come on, Sabrina. David is nice. Really nice.”

Sabrina removed one of her favorite little black dresses from its padded hanger. “Nice?” She tossed her friend a skeptical look. She hated being set up.

“Nice and handsome and sexy as hell,” Veronica fired back, her temper flaring to match her hot red dress. “I know you’ll like him. You just have to give him a chance.”

Sabrina smoothed the tight sheath over her hips. “And you’ve met this David?”

“Well, no, but Wesley told me all about him.”

“Wesley told you he’s sexy?” Sabrina countered. “Now I’m worried about Wesley.”

“You’re impossible.”

Sabrina stepped into a pair of black stilettos and uncoiled the towel from her hair. “Gotta blow dry.”

Fifteen minutes later, dried, styled, and accessorized, Sabrina slipped into her coat and announced, “I’m ready.”

“’Bout time.” Veronica assessed her from head to toe and back. “You look fabulous. David should be very pleased.”

“My greatest aspiration,” Sabrina said wistfully as they exited her apartment. “To please a stranger.”



THE PREMIER JAZZ CLUB on 3rd and 131st was packed. As a close cousin of the owner, Wesley had reserved the best table in the house. The exciting, spirited atmosphere immediately lifted Sabrina’s mood. Even if David hadn’t shown. Or maybe she was simply enjoying Veronica’s discomfort over the fact that her scheming had failed so miserably. There was nothing more humiliating than masterminding a blind date only to have one half of the couple fail to show.

“I’m sure he’ll be here,” Wesley said again.

Sabrina wasn’t keeping an exact count, but she was pretty sure he’d made this same comment at least seven or eight times.

“Should we go ahead and order?” Veronica asked looking immensely uncomfortable.

Served her right. Maybe this would teach her a lesson.

Sabrina tried not to get too much glee from the circumstances but she just couldn’t help herself.

“Yes, let’s order.” Wesley looked even more appalled than his date.

The waiter arrived as if he’d sensed the shift of intentions at the table. He made his recommendations and then efficiently accepted their orders.

“You know,” Sabrina felt compelled to say considering the downtrodden expression worn by her good friends, “this really is okay.”

Wesley’s expression suddenly brightened. “There he is.”

Sabrina usually controlled her baser urges better than this but for some reason she totally blew it this time. Like Veronica, she almost broke her neck trying to get a glimpse of her incredibly late blind date.

Any oxygen in her lungs evaporated as instantaneously as a drop of water on a scorching desert rock.

David was gorgeous. Drop-dead gorgeous in fact.

Apparently noticing Sabrina’s stunned look, Veronica leaned close and whispered, “I told you. My Wesley has exceptional taste.”

Sabrina shot her a disdainful look. “The jury’s still out,” she muttered.

David paused at their table, apologizing profusely and then introductions were made.

It had been a very long time since anyone had waltzed into a room and blown Sabrina away like this guy did. Maybe she’d just been lonely for far too long. Whatever the case, the tide turned and the night suddenly had the makings of a great evening. She’d have to thank her friend later. Much later.

Dinner and dancing with expensive wine and intelligent conversation were enough to make any girl happy for a few hours. But by 1 a.m., Sabrina was ready to go. And her hurry had nothing to do with the food or the place or the time.

It was David.

She hadn’t been this determined to take a man home with her in far too long to recall.

Veronica and Wesley waved goodbye as they loaded into their taxi. David didn’t need to hail a cab because he had his own limo. He gave the driver Sabrina’s address before powering up the privacy shield.

At thirty-two, and well experienced in the ways of the world Sabrina was not usually this easily impressed. But she had to admit, this guy had pushed all the right buttons.

She wanted him.

“Would you like a nightcap?” He gestured to the minibar as the luxurious vehicle smoothly rolled away from the curb.

Sabrina moved her head slowly from side to side as she slid off first one shoe and then the other. There was only one thing she wanted right now.

As if he’d been waiting all night for that single cue, David loosened his tie and shouldered out of his jacket. He ushered Sabrina down onto the seat and spread open her heavy faux fur coat. He kissed her nose and then her eyes before placing his lips firmly over hers. The kiss was slow, thorough and incredibly sexy. The fire, by contrast, did not start out slow and easy, it blazed instantly and roared out of control, making her greedy for more.

He kissed his way down her throat and to the cleavage revealed by the low-cut dress. He smoothed his hands over her thighs and hips, and then he started to do things that drove her completely mad.

Within sixty seconds of his first kiss, he had her coming fast and furiously and he hadn’t even unzipped his trousers.

She came twice before they reached her building, David using nothing more than his skilled touch, his equally masterful kiss. He sent his driver home and they kissed some more as they entered her building. She didn’t remember how they managed the four flights to her floor, only the feel of his mouth and hands on her body. She couldn’t remember when she’d enjoyed kissing so much. There was something so enticing about his mouth.

Somehow they reached her apartment and she fumbled for the key. Once they were on the other side of that door, a desperate race to get naked started. By the time they fell onto the bed together, she was rushing toward climax yet again at the mere thought of finally having him inside her. She jerked open a drawer in her bedside table, fishing for a condom. He ripped open the package and slid on the protection sending her heart rate into triple digits just watching his hand slide over his hard, fully erect member.

He moved over her and kissed her long and deep before nudging firmly between her thighs. She’d almost forgotten the incredible ecstasy of that first moment of penetration. He pushed his way inside and held very still until they’d both caught their breath.

Then he started the frenzy all over again with his hands. The way he touched every place that longed for attention without her having to say a word was indescribably hedonistic, especially with that incredible sense of fullness where she needed it most. He massaged, licked and nuzzled her body while keeping his hips perfectly still. Every muscle in her body responded to his touch, begged for more.

And then he moved. Flexed those lean, powerful hips in that age-old rhythm that sent her over the edge in two deep thrusts.

Hours later, when he collapsed beside her she’d come no less than five times. A record.

Completely exhausted and utterly sated for the first time in what felt like forever, she drifted in and out of sleep. David slept like the dead beside her. Not that she could blame him. He’d worked hard to give her those five lovely orgasms.

Any man who could do that deserved plenty of rest.

She got up and went to the kitchen in search of a bottle of wine. Standing naked at the fridge, she peered inside to see if there was anything that struck her fancy in the way of a snack. She grabbed the block of cheese and a bunch of grapes and prepared a small platter of snacks. Her lover might not wake up, but she was starved.

With her bounty on a tray, she wandered back to the bedroom. She set the tray on the table by the window and then curled into the chair next to it. As she sipped her wine, she studied the man in her bed. She didn’t know that much about him except that his name was David Hedrick and he worked on Wall Street. Unlike Veronica, she wasn’t looking for commitment and certainly not for a husband, so no other details were especially essential.

The dim glow from the lamp on the bedside table provided just enough illumination for her to appreciate his numerous assets. Her gaze slid over his tight buttocks and along his long legs. No. She didn’t need a husband or even a steady boyfriend. But sex, well, that was another story. She’d forgotten just how much she enjoyed it.

It had been too long.

The image of another man loomed in her head and she pushed it aside. She told herself her long abstinence had nothing to do with him, but she wasn’t entirely convincing. But he was in the past, over, gone. She wasn’t one to dwell in the past.

She tipped her glass and emptied it in one long swallow. Sleep tugged at her, but she ignored it and poured herself another glass of wine. She intended to have at least two more before she let herself sleep. Otherwise she was sure to dream about that past she so badly wanted to forget.

Maybe that was what tonight’s desperate lovemaking had been about.

No, she argued. Tonight with David hadn’t been about the past. Tonight had been about her needs as a woman. Nothing else.

The telephone rang. She heard the annoying clatter from the living room. She’d long ago turned off the ringer to the bedside extension. If work called, they used her cell phone, not her landline.

She stood, grabbed the bottle of wine and trudged off to the living room to answer the call. If it was Veronica, then Sabrina might just have to kill her.

After a long swallow directly from the bottle, Sabrina grabbed the receiver. “This better be good,” she threatened.

Silence.

Well, hell. “Hello?”

More of that thick silence.

She hated when this happened. When she started to hang up, she head the sound…a whisper of air as if someone had taken a breath.

Dammit.

“I know you’re there. If you don’t want me to hear you, then hold your breath.” She waited three more beats before she hung up.

A quick glance at the clock confirmed her suspicions. 3:30 a.m. The call came at that same hour every time.

And she knew it was him. She couldn’t prove it, of course. But she knew.

Damn him.

Eric Drake. The Dragon.

The mere thought of his name sent shivers chasing one another over her skin.

She had worked hard to put him behind her, to get over him, but the wound had never completely closed. She’d let him so deep inside her that she wasn’t sure it was humanly possible to completely evict him.

He’d been her Interpol counterpart, her lover, her everything…and that had been a mistake.

One she would never make again.

She headed back to bed, sleep and the effects of the wine clawing at her now. She surrendered to it, let it push thoughts of him from her mind.

The shrill ring of the phone split the air once more.

Swearing, she rolled over and snatched up the receiver. “What?” If this was him… Why the hell did he do this? Why didn’t he just leave her alone?

“Sabrina?”

Oh, hell. Her sister.

“Leslie, sorry about that. I thought you were someone else.” Then she remembered the time. She sat bolt upright, the haze of sleep and wine dissolving instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Mom. You need to meet me at the hospital.”

And just like that Sabrina’s great night was over.




CHAPTER FOUR


THERE WAS SOMETHING about the medicinal smell of a hospital that made Sabrina think of running away. It wasn’t that the people inside the hospital were sick or dying, which, of course, was depressing enough. No, she was pretty sure it was more likely because for as long as she could remember, her mother had required regular hospital admissions. Growing up, she and her sister had spent many nights holding vigil at their mother’s hospital bedside.

Not due to any physical ailment. Nope, her mother had been and still was, to some degree, a hypochondriac. Janelle Fox could suck the very life out of other human beings with her neediness. Everything was all about her.

“She’s really sick this time, Sabrina.”

Sabrina didn’t doubt her sister’s assessment, but somehow, standing here in this hospital in Kansas after all these years of watching their mother pull this crap, it was hard to be sympathetic.

Leslie, her only sibling, had always defended their mother. Maybe because she was the oldest and somehow felt it was her job. Whatever the reason, Sabrina was the third wheel in this relationship. Especially since their father had passed away.

“What’s the diagnosis?” Sabrina hated that her skepticism showed, but, hey, she’d scarcely had any sleep.

Leslie Fanning shook her blond head in slow contempt. “I don’t know why you even came.” She had the same hazel eyes and tall, lean physique as Sabrina, but their personalities heralded from opposite universes.

Sabrina shrugged. “I don’t know why you even called me.” She leaned against the cold, white wall and folded her arms over her chest. She wasn’t going to take any holier-than-thou crap from her sister this time. The episode three months ago had been the last straw.

“You are unbelievable, do you know that?” Leslie hissed. She glanced around the corridor to make sure no one had heard her hushed outburst. “Our mother could be on her deathbed and you wouldn’t care.”

Sabrina rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger. This was so ridiculous. The same old melodrama they’d played out a dozen times before. “You don’t know how I feel, Leslie, so don’t pretend you do.”

“I know that I’m the one who lives here.” She moved closer so she could keep her voice down, but that didn’t keep her outrage from oozing from every pore of her skin. “I’m the one who takes care of her needs, week in and week out. While you’re off in New York being you and without a care as to what anyone else needs.”

Sabrina looked at her sister, really looked at her for the first time in a long while. She did look tired, and older…older than her thirty-seven years. Maybe Sabrina wasn’t giving her sister full credit here.

“You’re right. I’m not here. I don’t know how it really is. I can only go by what I see when this stuff happens.”





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