He wasn’t wearing his weapons belt, but he always kept a handgun at his ankle and a knife in the sole of his boot. Not that Flynn would give him a chance to use either.
Once he’d raised his arms, hands behind his head, he slowly turned and faced the red-headed man he’d called a friend. Women had always gone for the bastard’s inherited Irish charm and wit.
“You destroyed everything.” Flynn’s hand remained steady, his weapon levelled at Jaymie as she stepped up beside Brick. “Had a real good thing going with Chavez before you took out my half of the operation.”
“Nothing personal,” Brick said, maintaining his calm. “You know we were paid to take it out.”
“Bullshit.” Flynn’s naturally pale complexion had reddened to the point that Brick wondered about the man’s blood pressure. “You would have had intel.”
Brick gave a slow nod. “Like I said. Nothing personal.” He stared at his former friend, more anger rushing through him because Flynn had turned to narcotics – to producing and selling cocaine. When Brick had found out, it had become personal.
But Flynn had spotted him during the takedown of his drug organization and retaliated by kidnapping Brick’s nephew. Flynn had been a friend of the family at one time and knew way too much about Brick’s personal life.
“Since you managed to get the kid back,” Flynn said, “I think I’ll take care of this little sweetheart. You can watch as I bleed her out.”
From the corner of his eye, Brick looked at Jaymie. She didn’t blink and her expression was neutral. A combination of pride and fear for her made his focus all the more clear.
Flynn held his gun on Jaymie as he drew a knife from his belt. He held the gun in one hand, the knife in the other.
Brick glanced at Jaymie’s hands behind her head. She was pointing one finger towards the men behind her.
He met her gaze, hoping she could see that he understood exactly what she intended to do.
Flynn raised the knife as he took a step towards Jaymie.
She dropped almost flat to the ground, in a push-up position.
Brick dived for Flynn and tackled him. He knocked the gun from Flynn’s hand, but the knife pierced his shoulder and pain shot through him, swift and hot. He ground his teeth to hold back a shout from the pain, at the same time slamming his fist against Flynn’s jawbone. He felt bone crack beneath his knuckles.
Jaymie twisted on to her back as the two other men went for her. She gathered herself in a tight ball and rolled between the men, catching them off guard.
She drew a knife from her waistband and another from her boot so that she had a knife in each hand. She surprised the men again by going on the offence – and slicing each of their Achille’s tendons in a swift move of each hand.
The men shouted and shrieked as their legs gave out. Jaymie didn’t pause. As they hit the ground she sliced one man’s throat and rammed the other knife into the other’s heart.
After a gurgle and a pause, both men went slack.
Brick and Flynn still grappled on the ground. Blood flowed from Brick’s shoulder but he ignored it as he fought. Flynn possessed extraordinary strength.
Flynn slammed his fist into Brick’s eye. For the slightest moment, Brick felt disorientated, but he recovered and delivered a knife-hand strike to Flynn’s throat.
The man gasped for air and started to swing. Brick grabbed Flynn around the neck in a death hold. With one quick movement, Brick twisted his former friend’s head and snapped his neck.
Brick pushed himself to his feet and slammed his boot into Flynn’s head, even though the man was already dead. Adrenaline ran high and powerful through Brick’s body. The thought of what Flynn had intended to do made him want to kill the bastard all over again.
He turned and looked at Jaymie, getting to her feet. She was breathing hard, smears of blood on her hands, her hair plastered to her neck – but she was alive.
Thank God she was alive.
They stared at each other for a long moment.
“Well, that’s certainly an interesting way to tell a girl that you love her,” Jaymie finally said with a hint of a smile.
The power of his feelings for Jaymie nearly overwhelmed him. He strode towards her, grabbed her in his arms and nearly crushed her in his embrace.
He kissed the top of her head and rubbed her back with his palm. “I love you, Jaymie.”
Brick caught her by the chin and tilted her face up so that their eyes met. There they were, standing in the middle of three dead men and he was telling her he loved her.
When she smiled, something exploded in his heart. Something warm that flowed through his body.
Jaymie wrapped her arms around his neck and brushed her lips over his. “I just so happen to love you too, you big ass.”
Lipstick Spy School
Gina Robinson
Inside every woman there’s an inner Bond girl longing to break free. The Lipstick Spy School had one mission – to draw it out and nurture it. For a day, at least.
As Kim entered the luxury hotel on the Fort Lauderdale beach, she actually had two missions: get a decent pedicure (Floridians didn’t seem to believe in closed-toe shoes), and kill Jason Bergman, Lipstick’s special ops spy instructor.
Unlike her fellow day spies, Kim arrived alone, without the almost mandatory best friend, sidekick and cohort in crime. She had a designer overnight bag slung over her shoulder with her gear inside: athletic shoes, yoga pants, sports bra, makeup, lingerie, slinky dress, stiletto sandals and various weapons of choice. She was particularly handy with her Italian-made automatic Leverletto knife – a lethal, lady-sized piece that fitted well in her hand. But really, she could kill with practically anything.
The décor of the hotel lobby screamed modern, beachfront chic in a colour palette of white, deep blue and green. The chairs were boxy and square, the tables and bolsters perfectly round in every respect, and the lighting intimately dim with a touch of neon thrown in to promise some excellent nightlife once the sun went down. The message couldn’t be clearer – only affluent, fashionable clients need apply.
How very fantasy spy-like.
Kim spotted her Lipstick Spy School contact immediately. A blind woman couldn’t miss the curvaceous brunette in the tight, logoed Lipstick Spy School T-shirt.
The woman extended her hand as Kim approached her. “Babette Long. Welcome. And which spy would you be?” She spoke in warm, sultry tones, as if she were a Bond girl herself.
Kim shook her hand. “You can call me Tracy.”
“Ah, Tracy, a clever code name. Everyone wants to be Bond’s best babe.”
“His true love, his wife,” Kim corrected.
Babette looked her up and down, probably assessing her potential to party and spy with the best of them and wondering how hard it would be to drag her Bond-girl potential out. If only she knew . . .
“We’re meeting in the Millionaire’s Room. Third floor.” Babette pointed up a wide staircase in the middle of the lobby as she gave directions. “Report in and Vicki will get you squared away.”
The Millionaire’s Room looked like an exclusive executive boardroom with a nod towards nature. Cut-loop pile carpeting the colour of sand spread across the room like a beach. The far wall was nothing more than a row of windows with a view of the Atlantic Ocean, set at a perspective made to look as if you could open a window and step out on to the water.
A good place to toss a man from a window? Ah, but Jason could swim. Still, if he were unconscious . . .
Kim’s assassin tendencies never lay dormant.
A boardroom table sat in the middle of the room surrounded by tan chairs and punctuated at regular intervals with vases of magenta lilies. How very Lipstick.
Vicki greeted Kim at the door. She issued her a V-neck camp T-shirt with the distinctive smoking lipstick-gun logo and a hot-pink cosmetic bag embroidered with the name Tracy. The bag, filled with a high-end lipstick in a pouty pink shade and a compact mirror, came complete with a gold
chain shoulder strap. Perfect. Kim needed a place for her poison and the chain looked like it would hold up to a good strangling.
Six women were already sitting around the table, drinking lattes and tea. You could cut the nervous anticipation in the room with a nail file. Kim seated herself at the far end of the table, away from the other women. She had no need to fraternize. As the room filled, she smiled to herself at the oestrogen overload. Jason, testosterone-filled Green Beret that he was, was not going to love this. Poor baby, he had his work cut out for him.
Eventually, twelve women filled in around the table. Babette appeared and camp began with the official welcome.
“Welcome to the premier spy day experience for women. Today’s adventure will feature the fine seductive and survival arts of being a Bond girl. Hand-to-hand combat, for the girl who finds herself in a dangerous situation; master mixology, because a seductress should always know how to pour a drink; and a lesson on the ballroom world’s most sensual dance, the tango, because sometimes we want to put ourselves in a compromising situation.” She winked. “I’ll keep this short. In a moment, Vicki will take you to the fitness centre and the locker room where you can change into your camp shirt and exercise gear and prepare for combat.”
In the locker room, Kim changed quickly into her yoga pants and sports bra, mentally going over her battle plan. If she could take Jason out in the first session, that would be a cushy day’s work, wouldn’t it? She’d enjoy a little extra time around the city to shop, maybe take a water taxi, or hang out at the beach. And it would be so easy to get away with murder. Accidents do happen.
With her back to the others, she loaded her pink cosmetic bag with her knife, poison and assassin’s tools before stuffing her overnight bag into her locker. Then, as the other women pulled their hair into bouncy ponytails, Kim twisted her shoulder-length hair into a severe French twist and secured it with a comb. Let the amateurs make a fabulous handhold for an attacker. There was no way she’d give Jason a thing to grab on to. Bag dangling from her shoulder, she left the changing area and was the first woman into the fitness room.
The workout room had the same “walk on water” view as the Millionaire’s Room and smelled faintly of sweat. As her fellow campers filed in, it smelled more and more like the perfume counter at Nordstrom. The room quickly filled with a hum of feminine voices and the occasional nervous giggle.
Even before spotting him, she knew when Jason walked in. The room went dead silent for a moment, followed by a collective sigh of appreciation.
She turned to see Jason emerging from the men’s locker area with his fellow trainer, a man named Steve. Kim had only a faint sketch of who the other guy was. Since he wasn’t her target, she only cared enough to make sure he wouldn’t be a threat to her plans. Physically fit, but short and stocky with an off-centre nose that had been broken too many times, Steve certainly wasn’t the cause of the exhales of appreciation.
On the other hand, the sight of Jason sent an unexpected surge of desire through her. Evidently, wanting to kill him didn’t dim her animal reaction to him by even a milli-watt. It was a pity she’d have to waste such a fine male specimen. Six foot two, buff but lean, short dark hair, broad shoulders and a narrow waist, he was heaven dressed in a black T-shirt and black athletic pants. Unfortunately for him, even heaven sometimes got a little hell.
His gaze locked with hers and then travelled the length of her body. Appreciation and lust lit his eyes. Naughty boy. She shook her head at him ever so slightly.
Vicki shepherded the last camper from the locker room, went to the middle of the training mat, and introduced the instructors.
Kim knew all about them. Her mind wandered as Vicki droned on about Steve, but she perked up with pride as Vicki talked about Jason. Not every woman had a target like him.
“You women are so lucky, you don’t even know! We only get Jason when he’s home for one of his infrequent leaves. He’s our most popular instructor.” She winked at him.
Jason just smiled.
“Jason works for the US Army in Special Forces. Counter-terrorism, is it?”
Jason shrugged. “Maybe.”
The sound of his deep, sultry voice brought a look of rapture to the woman standing next to Kim. It was a good thing women no longer wore corsets or there would have been some good old-fashioned swooning going on.
Obviously charmed, Vicki giggled. “His work is so secret, I’m not sure he even knows what he does, but he’s an excellent trainer. Very experienced.”
So much innuendo in Vicki’s words. Kim didn’t appreciate it.
Jason grinned. “I’ve trained a few foreign armies in my day.”
Since the man looked no older than thirty, the boast was doubly impressive.
Introductions complete, Vicki stepped out of the way and the hand-to-hand combat training started. Steve and Jason took turns explaining and demonstrating various tactics while the lady spies watched and mimicked. Kim contemplated her first move.
Jason began by teaching about balance and demonstrating the on-guard stance. “Good balance is the key to winning a fight. Knees bent, rest on the balls of your feet, ready to move. Arms up, ready to attack. Body turned to the side. You want to present the smallest target possible.” He turned and stared into Kim’s eyes.
Her heart flipped and her pulse raced out of control, but like any trained killer, she held his gaze.
“Stare into the enemy’s eyes,” he continued.
Enemy? Oh my, he’d picked her out already.
“But remain aware of your surroundings.”
Kim smiled to herself. With Jason in the room, it was hard to be aware of anything else. In that pose, with his thigh muscles and biceps bulging, he looked completely delectable, like she could just run into his arms for a squeeze as he fought off a foreign terrorist. Such fanciful thinking. What had gotten into her today?
Steve took a turn teaching the class the vulnerable parts of the body as well as how to properly ball a fist and use it as a weapon. Then the two took turns demonstrating different manoeuvres. They taught the rapt women the open-palm ear slap, the heel-of-the-hand chin jab, the knee-to-the-head bang, and the art of biting and kicking effectively.
When Jason cocked his elbow to demonstrate the well-connected elbow blow, his guns rippled.
“I’m having trouble with that one,” a spy named May Day, a plump, nearly menopausal woman said. “My cocked elbow doesn’t seem quite right.” She looked at her flabby arm and laughed. “Do you mind if I feel yours and see what I’ve got wrong.”
Jason walked over to her and held his arm out for her to feel. “Here. Give it a squeeze.”
May made grabbing motions with her hand before finally taking an actual feel of Jason’s arm. “Oh my, ladies! That muscle is real, and very hard.”
Kim restrained herself from rolling her eyes. Such blatant behaviour. She may have wanted to kill him, but show some respect. Jason wasn’t a male stripper they’d hired for a bachelorette party.
“Let me show you how it’s done.” Jason came behind May, put his arms around her, and bent her arm into the proper position. “Flex.” He gave her arm a feel. “Good. See how simple?”
Kim thought Jason shot a look at her. Hey, after hours at the gym, her muscles were rock hard and ready for action. Go ahead and show off, she thought. Enjoy your last remaining moments on this earth. When I show you my muscles, it will be all over.
Jason walked back to the front of the class. “All right, it’s time for battle,” he said. “You’ll each get a turn sparring with either Steve or me. Who’d like to be first?” His gaze bounced around the group.
As the women clustered around Jason, Kim held back. She may as well watch the entertainment for a bit, get her money’s worth from camp. Though she highly doubted it, one of the women might tire Jason out, which would only be to Kim’s advantage.
Two clumsy bouts with Jason playfully pulling ponytails were all Kim could stand to watch. As the other day-spies sat
on the sidelines and cheered and laughed, Kim had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. Jason hadn’t even broken a single bead of sweat.
As the round ended, Kim pushed her way to the front of the crowd and stared Jason down. “I’m next.”
She ignored the death glares the women who’d been waiting longest shot at her. Spies weren’t paragons of manners. The sooner they learned that lesson, the better. She wanted to get this over with and on to her other mission – that much needed pedicure. The thought of her feet in a warm, sudsy footbath spurred her on.
She wondered for just a second if Jason would chastise her and send her to the back of the line. Fortunately, he didn’t disappoint her. He was a soldier at heart. He didn’t give a rip about politeness. Instead, he liked bold women and relished a challenge. She could see it in his eyes.
He swung into the ready position. “You’re on, Tracy.”
Kim smiled and whipped off her T-shirt, revealing her low-cut black sport bra, a whole lot of cleavage, and the set of abs she’d worked so hard on. The other women gasped. Too bad none of them had been smart enough to think to use their assets to their advantage. Kim saw the sparkle of lust reignite in Jason’s eyes.
Kim snapped into position, calculating her moves.
Jason waved at her to come at him. “Your move. Give me a big kick.”
“I’ll kick your butt, all right. But I don’t take orders from anyone, let alone the enemy.” She swept up a fitness magazine that was sitting on a table nearby and rolled it into a baton in a single movement.
The group let out a collective gasp. Someone shouted, “Not fair! She’s got a weapon.”
Kim held the magazine baton like a spear and charged him, aiming it at his windpipe.
Jason ducked into a crouch at the last second, sending Kim tumbling over his back and flat on to hers. “All’s fair in love and war.” He sounded exuberant.
The sounds of the women on the sidelines, all cheering Jason on, faded away as Kim concentrated on her goal.
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