by Misty Evans
Naked, except for her thong, she yelped when the bathroom door flew open.
Whirling, she found Ryker in the doorway, a cup of coffee in his hand. Her arms flew to cover her breasts, heat flushing her skin at the realization he’d just gotten quite a view of her ass.
His gaze flicked over her then away, locking on the painting over the bathtub as he set the cup on the vanity. “Your coffee, JoJo.”
Damn, he was fast. Either that or she’d been lost in thought too long. “Thank you, hotcakes.”
The side of his mouth quirked. “I'm going to grab a shower.”
He marched over and turned it on. It was an open shower, tiled with beautiful Carrera marble, a half wall on the outside to contain the water. A gorgeous marble planter on top overflowed with ferns and ivy.
Could she at least get dressed first? She turned away, starting to hustle to her clothes, but a strong hand went under her poofy hair and grabbed her by the neck, making her yelp again.
Ryker’s lips came close to her ear and chills swept down her spine. “What happened between you and Senator Hinch? Does he know you? If he sees you in the casino, will it blow our cover?”
Hinch? Shifting gears, she shook her head, both in answer and to pull out of his grip. The night of the fundraiser she'd been in a wig, glasses, no makeup. She’d been posing as a party planner, working with the Quentins—the couple throwing the fundraiser. She’d made herself invisible, one of the help, and there was no way the senator would recognize her now, would he?
The only time she’d encountered Hinch there was when she and Lynette Quentin walked in on him harassing Chloe. He’d paid no attention to Mia, giving Lynette a predatory smile and exiting the room quickly. He’d not known Chloe was even related to ‘the party planner.’
Mia turned her face to look at Ryker and shook her head again. Seemingly appeased, he moved away and headed for the shower. She watched his graceful, catlike movements, the scars on his back and shoulders looking even more serious in the daylight. He stopped, his hands going to the waistband of his PJ bottoms.
Wait, he wasn't going to drop them before she'd even left the—
Yep. The navy blue bottoms hit the floor, and she discovered she wasn't the only one who went commando on occasion.
Okay, then. She turned away, but not before she appreciated his muscled backside, tight ass, and tree-trunk legs. Her tongue snuck out to lick her lips and she mentally chastised herself. Heaven help me.
She wasn't getting that view out of her mind for a very long time.
* * *
At four o'clock, Ryker went to join the poker game, leaving her on her own. They’d dutifully spent the day marking off Enya’s to-do list, watching security guards and reinforcing their feel of the place.
As she kissed Ryker goodbye at the elevators in view of the security cameras, his hand squeezed hers before the doors closed, taking him to the game on the private second floor.
Mia touched her lips, still tingling from the kiss. It hadn’t been anything deep and meaningful, simply a quick peck, yet, like everything else with Ryker, it felt…important. Significant.
God, he’s good. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she was JoAn Manafort.
Without his bigger-than-life presence, she suddenly felt alone.
Parker and the rest of the Nemesis Group she’d brought were ensconced inside the hotel with them, and Ryker was only a few floors away. His constant presence in the past twenty-four hours had crept under her skin. His protectiveness, his resourcefulness, and something she couldn't quite put her finger on that felt a lot like companionship, made his sudden absence weigh on her.
But Beatrice had a side job for her, and although Mia didn't understand the end game behind it, now was probably the perfect time to complete the job. Not only had she covertly snatched one of Karl’s hairs from his jacket when they’d said good night yesterday, she'd seen him stub out a cigarette on one of the terraced verandas earlier. She and Ryker had taken a late lunch there, and Karl had dropped by to say hello, Enya following in his shadow. He’d finished the cigarette, standing there talking to them, and Mia had smiled through the smoke, pretending it hadn’t bothered her. On his way back inside, he’d put out the cigarette in one of the black receptacles near the doors.
After finishing their meal, Mia chewed a piece of gum, crying a little inside that the expensive outfit she was wearing now smelled of smoke. Then without anyone noticing, she used the gum as a decoy, placing it in the receptacle and swiping the cigarette butt in one deft move.
A stray hair. A cigarette butt. Should do the trick for the DNA Beatrice wanted. Back in the room, Mia fished out the two items and put them in a special bag to protect them. Beatrice hadn't wanted Ryker to know about this little side mission, but why?
Did it matter? Mia had done the job, and she felt pretty damn good about it.
She texted Parker with a thumbs up emoji. A few seconds later, Parker spoke in her earbud. “Time for the casino. Roulette wheel number seven. Put the evidence bag in your purse, Artemis, and be ready to switch it out. Hathor will do a brush pass.”
That was it? Okay, she could handle that. She hadn’t met the woman who went by the code name Hathor, but a picture had been in the files Parker had given her to review on the plane, along with the casino’s blueprints and other information. Hathor had checked in as another guest to lend backup if needed.
With a handful of chips, complements of the hotel, Mia headed downstairs. The sound of slot machines filled the air, a cheer going up from one of the roulette tables. Mia moseyed around, scoping out the crowd, the security guards, and covertly looking for Hathor. If the woman was there, she wasn't making herself known, so Mia worked her way toward roulette table seven.
Even though she’d been scanning the crowd, she didn't see Hathor until the woman was right in front of her. Dressed in haute couture and flashing diamonds from head to toe, Hathor knocked her shoulder into Mia’s as if by accident as she passed, causing Mia to drop her clutch. “Oh,” Hathor said, bending down. Her voice was accented. Italian. “Mi dispiache! So sorry.”
Mia bent down too, annoyed with herself that she’d dropped the purse instead of allowing the pass off, but a second later, she had a matching clutch in her hand as Hathor took hers.
It was so easy, Mia couldn't help but smile as Hathor said something else to her in Italian and resumed her elegant walk out.
It was her first official brush pass. Check it off the list! She was damn good at this spy shit.
Turning around, she continued her journey to the roulette tables. She was feeling lucky and it was early. There wasn't much she could do until Ryker came back from the poker game and filled her in on anything important Karl had shared.
A part of her itched to break protocol and find his office, break-in, and search for records of the illegal adoptions. The whole second floor appeared to be his; from the blueprints on the hotel, she knew he kept a large office there, along with the private gambling rooms.
Was he stashing black market weapons there too? Seemed like the lower level basement would be a better place to hide them.
Breaking into Karl’s office wasn’t her job tonight, and Parker would throw a fit, refusing to black out the cameras or lend any other help if she went rogue.
Roulette it is.
She’d just stepped up to the table to place her bet when she saw the familiar blond hair and smiling face of the man she hated most in the world.
Senator Hinch.
Her stomach roiled and she quickly turned away, no longer feeling like playing. Filing behind the group watching the roulette table, she stayed hidden and kept an eye on him. He moved through the crowd with ease, smiling and flirting with the waitresses, his security dressed in suits with obvious comm units in their ears. He liked the flash and importance of having his own private bodyguards tailing him everywhere.
You would think he was president the way he acted.
Could be one of these days so
on, if she didn't find a way to bring the truth to the American public—if he would molest a sixteen-year-old, borderline autistic girl, what else would he do?
She stayed back but followed him out of the casino. She thought he might be going to the private restaurant where she and Ryker had met with Karl the previous evening. Apparently, it was the spot for the whales and other bigwigs to hold meetings, and probably to boost their egos into believing they were so important they couldn't eat with the normal riffraff.
But the senator kept going until he reached the elevators. As she stopped at one of the large mirrors in the hallway and played with her hair, he boarded one and the doors closed. She watched the lights and saw them stop on the fourth floor. A few seconds later, the elevator descended again.
It had been only him and his two bodyguards, so he must be staying on that floor. Why wasn't he attending the private poker party tonight? Maybe he sucked at the game.
But then the elevator went down to the lower level.
Hmm.
Was Hinch in there or had someone else got in who had access to the basement?
Mia had nothing else to do for the next few hours but she didn't want to blatantly go up in the elevator in case Hinch decided to use it. She found the emergency exit that led to the stairwell and began to climb.
She heard the fire door open below—the one she’d just come through. She stopped, listening.
Whoever it was didn’t speak and their footsteps were nearly silent, but she made out two different sets.
And they were coming up fast.
Not bothering to be quiet, she continued climbing, made the turn, and ran up the next set of concrete steps. The footsteps behind her sped up as well.
She grabbed the next floor’s fire door and yanked at the handle.
Locked.
Shit.
The second floor—Karl’s office and the private poker dens. Of course, he’d have this floor locked from anyone who happened to journey into the stairwell. There were no cameras that she could see, so the locked door wasn’t a surprise.
She gave another yank, hoping it was just stuck, but it wouldn’t budge.
A glance over her shoulder and she saw two men behind her. At least she thought they were men. They were dressed in black from head to toe, including their ski masks.
The hair on the back of her neck rose.
“Oh, gosh!” She put a hand to her forehead, her heart beating like she was racing a horse. “I’m so glad someone found me. I seem to be lost and can’t get back in on any of the floors.”
They didn't buy her act, both reaching for her, and she tossed her clutch, preparing to fight.
She managed to kick the first goon into the one behind him, taking them both by surprise. Fight or flight? Mia had a split second to decide.
It was two against one. Odds were they’d catch her before she made it to the next floor.
Or the one beyond that—maybe all the fire doors were locked from the stairwell.
Hopefully, Parker was sending help already, because really, there was nothing else to do but fight.
Two against one. And me in high heels.
Mia fought, landing a couple good punches and another kick to the pair of goons before one of them grabbed her clutch from where she’d thrown it and the other knocked her out.
* * *
Protecting your asset in a hostile land
* * *
Artemis—Mia—had screwed up.
Beatrice paced her office, listening to Parker's logic, running through their various options in her own mind.
“If I send Hathor to aid her,” Parker said, “she’ll have to come up with a story for why she was in the stairwell and found Artemis.”
“Too complicated.”
Parker continued. “But Artemis is on camera going into the stairwell, and if those were Kaiser’s men, and we want to keep her undercover identity intact, she has to report the attack. If she doesn't, he'll be suspicious.”
What the hell was her operative doing in that stairwell, and more importantly, who were the men who’d attacked her? What did they want?
The ideal solution was to contact Ryker and send him to get Mia back to their hotel room. That meant alerting him while he was in the poker game. Parker couldn’t regain the connection with Mia—either she was unconscious or had lost her comm unit.
Or she’s dead.
“Vital signs still active?”
“Yes, registering on her watch.”
Beatrice could put that outcome aside for the moment, but how badly was she injured?
“We could trip the power in part of the casino and cause a blackout,” Parker went on. “The distraction will interrupt the poker game and I'll send Apollo to handle her. By the time he alerts Kaiser to the attack, they can get their story straight about why Artemis was in the stairwell.”
That could work, yet creating a power interruption could backfire on them too. Kaiser would start looking into what had caused the burp, and having to cover their tracks on short notice could create issues that would require redirecting Parker’s attention from her two spies.
“Put me through to Apollo,” Beatrice said, taking her seat at her desk.
“You want to speak to him directly?” Parker asked.
She had avoided doing so, wanting to let Parker handle the whole mission herself. Yes, Beatrice had had to convince Mia to take this job, and provide her with motivation to convince Ryker, but speaking directly to the man and giving him directions was a whole other thing.
In the past, he’d always had so many questions, always wanted to argue about her decisions. She was used to strong men who thought they knew how to handle a situation, protect someone, and strategize. Every single one of them did, she had no doubts about that, but with her intellect and experience, she saw things from a different perspective. The emotional agendas that often drove them did not sway her in the same manner. Logic was what she trusted, that and understanding human motivation.
“Yes, put me directly through. Make sure the call looks like it's coming from JoAn.”
Parker didn't question her about anything else. Fifteen seconds later, a phone on the other end rang in Beatrice’s ear.
Ryker’s voice was casual, but Beatrice caught the underlying concern. “JoJo? What is it, mon coeur?”
It had been a long time since she'd heard his voice and it brought back memories. “JoAn is in need of assistance. She’s in the hotel’s south stairwell, second floor, unconscious. Do exactly as I say so we do not raise Kaiser’s suspicions, Apollo.”
He barely paused for breath, as if hearing her voice after all these years was no surprise. “Of course. Are you all right?”
Exactly what any husband would say to his wife if she called to tell him she’d been mugged. He’d always been quick on his feet, a brilliant spy in the field. A brilliant SEAL.
Shifting the phone away from her mouth she went back to Parker. She had an idea. “Go ahead and create the distraction,” she said, “but don't blackout the whole casino. Make it something smaller that still requires Kaiser’s attention.”
“Roger that,” Parker said, but Beatrice was already speaking to Ryker once more.
“All right, Apollo. Here's what you're going to do.”
The poker game had been in full swing when Ryker’s phone vibrated gently inside the pocket of his suit coat. The five other men around the table had consumed enough alcohol to be easy targets, but he made sure to lose as many hands as he’d won. He loved a good poker game, loved the competition, and the men playing against him had more money than common sense and were at best mid-level players.
The buy-in had been five thousand, no small sum. Although he’d left his earbud in his pocket, he was allowed his phone, which had surprised him. The rules were few and the atmosphere more like a hen party than high-stakes poker. Gossip flowed as freely as the liquor.
He was in the middle of a good hand and under the scrutiny of all the players when his ph
one buzzed, Mia. He considered ignoring it.
He still had a few misgivings about her ability to handle the mission. She’d done well so far, and Parker hadn’t given her much grief about going off script, but she was still inexperienced, untested. The hardest part was yet to come. So far, all they’d managed was getting him back into Kaiser's good graces. The next step—getting the man to commit to doing business with them—might be the most challenging.
His phone buzzed again and, with a sigh, he’d folded. As everyone’s attention swung to the man beside him, Kaiser’s sheik friend from North Africa with a colorful wardrobe and a love of cigars, Ryker withdrew his phone.
It was Mia, of course, and he started to shoot her a text, but his gut told him to answer it. “Excusez moi,” he said to the table, rising and venturing to a sitting area filled with velvet covered chairs, big screen TV, and a bar made out of mahogany. “JoJo? What is it, mon coeur?”
The moment he’d heard the strange voice on the phone—although, deep in his brain, he knew it well—every nerve in his body had snapped to attention. He hadn't glanced back at the table, however, to see if anyone was watching him. Didn't matter. Something was wrong, and he had to play it cool.
Cool went out the window as Beatrice explained what had happened to Mia and what she wanted him to do about it.
Everything in him screamed to get to her, even as he’d acted his part, following Beatrice’s lead. The lights in the room had flickered, gone off for several seconds, then come back on.
From the corner of his eye, he’d seen Kaiser's assistant, Enya, interrupt the game. As one ear had listened to Beatrice, the other eavesdropped on what Enya was saying.
“There’s been a slot machine malfunction, sir.”
Kaiser had waved her off, chewing on his cigar as he studied the cards in front of him. “You can handle a malfunctioning slot machine.”
“It’s not only one, sir.” Enya glanced up as Ryker blew past the table on this way to the door. “It's all of them.”