Marisa closed her eyes and pretended she was at home, in the backyard, grilling with Stephen and listening to the quiet clicking of Savvy texting her friends. It was these images, the memories of her family that convinced Marisa to walk through the doors and into hotel lounge.
She went to the bar and asked for seltzer water with a twist of lemon. She’d spent almost the entire ride over memorizing that one. Peering over her glass as she sipped, she scanned the customers. Businessmen. Older couples. Families walking through to see Paris at night. None of the older men fit the description. As the minutes passed, she fidgeted. Had she missed him?
A man walked through the door.
It had to be him.
Older. Tall. Silver hair. And a five o’clock shadow.
He was moving toward her.
Marisa gulped down the rest of her drink as if she were a drunken sailor. The man sat next to her. The smell of aftershave floated off him. What luck. What were the chances he’d make this easy on her? He ordered a drink and sipped it casually, not even noticing the middle-aged mom next to him, which, of course, was part of the plan.
The two pills burned a hole in the tiny side pockets of her black dress pants, which she’d found on sale, and with her twenty percent off coupon had saved quite a bundle.
The man turned his back and chatted amiably with someone on his other side. This was her chance. With shaky fingers, she fumbled for the pills. She didn’t even know what pills they were. What if two was too much? Or what if two killed him? She pulled out one. That should be enough.
With it tucked in her fist, Marisa stretched our her arms and faked a bit of a yawn until her right hand was directly over the man’s glass.
All she had to do was let go. Should she? Was this going too far? Then she thought of Stephen and Savvy. Her fingers opened inch by inch. The man laughed and turned back to get his drink right as Marisa let go. After looking at her like she was a bit strange, the man went back to chatting.
The pill hit the counter, dropped to the floor and rolled under the stools.
Marisa’s throat tightened. Blood rushed in her ears. While fussing with the buttons on her grey silk shirt, she shot glances at the rest of the room to see if someone had noticed.
In the opposite corner, a couple entwined their arms and sipped each other’s wine. They wouldn’t notice a gunshot going off. An older guy, a bit on the sleazy side, seemed to be making his rounds with every single lady in the room.
Everyone else seemed absorbed in conversations and drinks.
Marisa let out a breath. She had one pill left.
She waited. And waited some more. She ordered a second round of seltzer but with lime this time. And she waited.
Finally, the man ordered a second drink, walked to a plush leather seat, and pulled out his phone. Desperate measures were needed. She’d have to upgrade from wallflower status to get this job done and get back on the plane.
She chugged the rest of her second drink and strode across the room. As a last thought, which she thought was quite ingenious, she pulled out her phone and pretended to chat with a friend.
“What? He asked you to marry him?” She screeched a bit and garnered the attention of the people around her. She jumped up and down and flailed her arms in excitement. “Aaagh! I’m so excited! Tell me. When is the wedding?”
While continuing to squeal and flap her arms, Marisa closed in and with one extreme and dramatic motion knocked into the man causing his drink to crash to the floor. He turned with the look of Zeus about to throw a lightning bolt.
In a flash, she shoved her phone into her purse. She mumbled out an apology and pulled out tissues to dab at the wet spots on his coat. He pushed her off.
“At least let me buy you another drink. I insist.”
A look of annoyed understanding crossed the man’s face. His look said, American. No wonder.
Marisa rushed back to the bar but the barkeeper already had a new drink mixed and ready. “Merci.” She slipped him a bunch of bills with no idea if she’d over or under paid.
It didn’t take long and was rather easy to slip the last pill into the drink. Everyone focused on the man who’d gotten his drink knocked from his hand by the obnoxious American and the maid cleaning up the glass.
Marisa extended her arm and offered the new drink to the man quite graciously, and for the first time looked more closely at his eyes. Had the instructions said bluish greenish? This man’s eyes were definitely brown. But brown was close to green, right? And everything else fit the bill. Tall. Silver hair.
He had to be the one.
But the unease that she’d made a mistake hovered by her, sitting on her shoulder, as she took her seat back by the bar to watch. When she lifted another seltzer to her lips, the glass shook quite visibly.
And yes, the man grew sleepy soon after finishing his drink. He started by sitting down, then shaking his head, then rubbing his eyes. Soon he begged off from his friends and weaved toward his room.
But he wasn’t heading to his room. He left through the front door. Wait! She wanted to scream.
She wanted to rush across the room and guide him back to the elevator. The instructions specifically said he’d go back up to his room. They’d clearly stated he was staying in the hotel, would come down for a drink, and when he felt woozy, would return to his room. And that was it.
That was all there was to her mission. Simple.
Or it should’ve been.
Now she found herself in quite the quandary. Marisa chewed on her fingernails, nearing a state of panic.
Then the man who’d been hitting on every single woman in the room, plunked down in the seat at the bar next to her. He spoke with a French accent.
“You are alone tonight?” he asked, his words laced with suggestion, his eyes wandering to her chest. Why she had no idea.
Marisa had a hard time answering. His silver hair was a bit mussed. His nose was a bit bulbous. He was a bit overweight, okay, a lot of overweight. But what she noticed was his eyes. Very blue but very green at the same time. She swallowed as prickles of fear ran up and down her limbs. She had most definitely drugged the wrong man.
Maybe the photo Will had left her was outdated? She made a mental note to reprimand him on sloppy work. How could he expect her to complete secret missions with outdated files and pixilated photos?
When she couldn’t find the words, he laughed a deep throaty chuckle. “I will catch you next time, sugar.”
Then he left for the elevator.
She’d failed.
Eight
Failure wasn’t an option. What would Will say or do when he learned she’d failed? Would that be the start of a long and slippery slope in which Stephen and Savvy would be placed in danger? Their protection gone? And, of course, it niggled at her pride that she couldn’t accomplish what appeared to be a rather simple mission, especially after rescuing a boy’s life in England.
Everything that happened next just came to her. She didn’t think. She didn’t doubt. She didn’t plan. Marisa slid off her stool and pretended to look for an earring under the stool next to her. With her knees to the floor and her butt in the air, she ran her hands over the floor. Just as she was panicking with the thought that she’d never find the lost pill, she spotted it. Three stools down. She crawled over, picked it up, and then with no apology, sprinted to the stairs.
With a grip on the black iron railing, she propelled herself up the stairs. The plush red carpeting squished beneath her feet. At each floor, she stopped and searched for the elevator to see if it had stopped and her man had exited.
Floor after floor went by with no evidence of the elevator stopping. Her legs burned like she was in a cardio workout from hell. Once, and once only, Savvy had dragged her to a Latin-dancing aerobic class and that didn’t end well. Marisa was experiencing the same side effects: strained breathing, light headedness, and muscle aches just about everywhere.
The stairs curved round and round. Finally at the top,
Marisa slumped to the ground to collect her wits and her breath. Even if she were to find him, what would she say? “Oh gee, I thought you looked like an old college friend. Sorry, guess I was wrong.”
Lame. As Savvy would say.
“What a pleasant surprise!”
Marisa didn’t have to look. He’d found her. So much for her smooth and invisible tracking attempts.
He spoke again. “Are you on this floor too?” He hooked his arm under hers and helped her to her feet.
The words flowed smooth and fast as if she were 007. “Down at the bar, I thought you looked so familiar just like my old college friend. We used to bowl every weekend. He had quite the hook shot but I was able to eek out some strikes too. Anyway, your…silver hair is just like his.”
Marisa tried not to grimace at the obvious shade of red her face must be turning. She most likely looked quite like a tomato plucked from Stephen’s garden.
The man glanced at the sweat on her brow and her red face. “The elevator does the trick too.” His eyes widened and his gaze traveled down to her chest where the top button had popped off her shirt.
Images flashed through Marisa’s head. Did he think that she wanted him? No, no, no. Regardless of a failed mission, she would not go there. She was a married woman. She covered her mouth and coughed violently, a heaving, racking kind of cough. She pointed to the elevator and then pantomimed the act of drinking water.
He immediately pulled her down the hall. “I have got just the thing in my room.”
Marisa kept coughing. She tried to pull from the man’s grasp but his grip just tightened. She stumbled along past the fancy red chairs and ornate mirrors on the wall, and under the hanging glass chandeliers and pillars. She looked for a weapon, anything that could be used to knock him out. But nothing.
He swiped the card, unlocked his door then pulled her into his lair. Or that’s what it felt like to Marisa. She entered with another fit of coughing, except it became real. Tears streamed down her face. She normally would have oohed and aahed over the extravagantly decorated room in shades of browns, the sweeping curtains, the table with a three-way mirror attached. But all she noticed was the bed. The humongous bed with a brown canopy over it. How did they fit such a big bed into this room? What about chairs or couches? Or a fancy air mattress?
The man returned with a glass of water from his bathroom and Marisa chugged it.
“You feel better?” the man asked, his question laced with suggestion. A grin spread across his face, the grin of a man thinking he’s going to get the girl.
Miraculously, her cough went away. “Thank you so much. I best be going now.” She headed to the door, but with her hand on the knob, she stopped. What was she doing? She had him in her sight. She didn’t need to feel like the hunted. No. She was the predator. And she still had a mission to finish.
With suave confident motions, Marisa let go of the doorknob and spun slowly on her heel. This was the point where the lies, the cover story, would slip from her lips like butter on a greased griddle. “Maybe a nightcap would be good. Just in case that tickle in my throat comes back.”
The man grinned and pulled out the mini bar. “What is your pleasure?”
“Gin and tonic.” Stephen often ordered that drink and it seemed a bit more tough and scary than a fruity daiquiri.
The man mixed the drinks like an expert, like he knew how this story would end, the climax being her in his bed. She had to keep him talking and his hands off her or she couldn’t be responsible for what would happen.
He placed the drink on the small nightstand he’d dragged in front of the bed. “You will actually have to enter the room to drink it.”
“Oh, right.” She giggled, and inched into the room.
“How about introductions.” He raised his glass. “I am Bernard.”
Awkward silence ensued while Marisa thought about how fake her cover name would sound. She nodded. “Beatrice DeWilflower.”
“You are not French, no?”
“Just visiting this beautiful country. I love the history in the streets and the small shops.” The truth was she hadn’t even a foot on a single cobblestone.
“Are you traveling with someone?”
Marisa stalled and sipped her drink. In the past three months, why hadn’t she created a complete file on Beatrice DeWilflower? Just a name wasn’t enough. She needed family details, favorite ice cream, lovers, a history, a past. What if she said she was traveling alone? He could kill her in this room and get away with it.
“Will.” What? Why did she say his name? “My son Will is traveling with me. In fact, he’s back in our room, waiting up for me.”
“What? A young boy not out on the town? Surely you jest.”
“No, no.” She raced for a plausible story. “We’re exhausted after all the sightseeing we did today. Oh, yes, that’s right.”
He poured another drink. Marisa eyed his glass. She had to distract him so she could slip in the pill but this stubborn man seemed bent on finding out every last detail about her. She might have to make a move on him instead of sitting in fear that he would her. Something. Anything!
“What did you see today?”
“You know, the typical places. The Eiffel Tower, the Louvre,” and then her mind blanked. Surely there must be other famous places? She couldn’t think of one. She eased herself onto the bed and the only words running through her mind were oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. “The Eiffel Tower was…extremely tall. And the Louvre filled with…paintings.”
He didn’t respond and Marisa debated on how to go about this, the best way to slip the last pill into his drink and leave the room without being scarred for life. He slid back against the headboard and patted the bed next to him.
Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap.
She hid the tremor in her voice with another cough, shocked at the plan forming in her mind. The heroine in her last romance novel had pulled this move off with ease.
“How about a little romantic lighting?” She stumbled across the room except there was no slider control to dim the lights. She certainly didn’t want to follow through with her plan in the bright lights, especially since she didn’t have the heaving bosom and curvy hips of the heroine. What was her name? Lenore?
The lights dimmed and cast a soft glow to the room. She hadn’t done a thing.
Bernard held up the control.
“Right.” She laughed.
In the few seconds she had, she debated the plan. So many choices. What she didn’t want was a long and lingering conversation with this man. She pretended to be Lenore about to steal the important papers from the man’s briefcase, but first, she had to take care of the man.
Slowly, her hands moved to the buttons on her blouse and as she undid each one, she died a bit on the inside. She swayed her hips back and forth and moved to imaginary music. At the last button, she inched closer to the bed and blocked the view of the bedside table upon which sat his drink. On reaching the side, her black lace bra exposed, along with a few rolls, she reached around behind her and while Bernard ogled her breasts, she held the pill over his drink.
But before she could drop it in, Bernard wrapped his arms around her waist and drew her close. Her chest pressed against his and she fell forward with a flail of her arms. She felt the heat rise from his body, his breath on her face and she panicked. In a flurry of arms and legs, Marisa extracted herself.
“Playing the tease, are we?” Bernard asked in a bedroom voice, low and sultry.
She rested her hands on the button of her pants. “Isn’t that how men like it?” Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. Now she sounded like a whore. “In my limited experience.” Then the thought crossed her mind that just possibly he thought she was a whore, a call girl. Why else would she be stripping in his bedroom after barely having a drink together?
He nodded for her to continue. Then after he clicked the control, soft music played in the background, violins and flutes.
She froze, wanting to dash from the room, run
away, and tell Will to go to hell, but no. She turned her back to him as if on cue and swayed a bit again, praying the darkness hid the rolls at her sides. This whole charade didn’t make her feel even a bit sexy, not with a strange disgusting perverted man in the room, on the bed behind her, watching her ass jiggle.
She could do this.
With each dip in the music, she ran her hands up and down her sides, tracing each curve and roll. She unbuttoned her pants and as they slipped to the floor, or as she forced them over her hips and then they slipped to the floor, exposing the matching black lace thong, she died a thousand deaths and finally plopped the pill into his drink.
Bernard didn’t respond and Marisa feared he was wondering why the hell a woman her age was wearing panties with lace up her ass. But no. Instead, his fingers traced the outline of her hips. The strong and sudden urge to puke churned in her stomach.
She grabbed his glass and whipped around. “Here,” she said in a sultry voice that cracked a bit with every word. “Don’t want to waste a good drink.”
Bernard didn’t seem very interested. Marisa sighed. Men. What would Lenore do? She moved forward and made it part of her act. The glass touched his lips and his eyes turned stormy with lust. Marisa cringed inside as she straddled him and poured the drink down his throat, some of it dripping off his chin.
Done. Finished. How long until it took effect? With a shaky hand, she returned the glass to the bedside table. Then she could leave the report in the file folder, get the hell out of there, take an extremely long and hot shower and call Stephen and talk dirty. Anything to erase this memory.
In one suave movement, he reached his hand around her and spun her so she was underneath him and he was on top. His body, big and overbearing, ready to crush hers. He smashed his mouth to hers and his roaming hands left nothing to the imagination.
She sucked at this. Beatrice DeWilflower would have dropped the pill in the drink downstairs and never gotten herself into this position. The thought and feel of a man other than Stephen on top of her brought on waves of repulsion.
Vanishing Point (Circle of Spies Novella) Page 5