Soldier's Last Stand

by Cindy Dees

  “Now and then. I’ll rest when Annika does.” He asked reluctantly, “How long do you have to pack?”

  She shrugged. “As long as it takes. But Pierre’s not a guy I want to make mad. Of the three men in the group, he seems to dislike me the least.”

  “Would you consider him an ally?” Brady asked with interest.

  “I wouldn’t go that far. He’s not an active enemy, and that’s more than I can say for Curly. That guy really seems to hate me.”

  With a sigh, she stepped out of his arms and laid her empty suitcase on the bed. She started opening drawers and lifting their contents into the luggage.

  Brady commented, “Curly probably resents your beauty. He knows he doesn’t stand a chance with you, and it pisses him off to see something so desirable yet so unattainable.”

  She looked up at him and grinned. “Or maybe he just despises women.”

  “He wouldn’t work for Annika if he truly did.”

  “Not unless he likes killing people more than he hates girls.”

  Brady sighed. He seemed unhappy at the reminder of how violent the people were with whom she was working. “She’s going to want to establish her authority over you. Don’t pick any fights with her for now, okay? Just go along with the program and try not to make waves.”

  “Got it,” she said in a muffled voice from inside the closet.

  He continued urgently, “They’re all going to be trying to figure out where you fit on the team. Your best bet is to convince them you’re happy to hang out at the bottom of the pecking order.”

  He sounded so concerned it kind of made a girl feel special. She smiled at him as she dumped her clothes in the suitcase. “All right. I won’t make trouble.”

  He nodded, looking relieved. “H.O.T. Watch has a Basque translator on his way to the facility. By tomorrow, we’ll be able to understand everything Annika says. Does she speak any other languages we should be aware of?”

  “We grew up close to the Spanish border. Annika and I both speak a fair bit of Spanish. I expect the men do, too.”

  “We have plenty of Spanish translators working this part of the world. But we’ll make sure to have one on call at all times, just in case.”

  She went into the bathroom to push her toiletries off the counter and into her overnight bag. When she returned, Brady was fidgeting in front of the window.

  He turned abruptly. “How are you holding up? Really. Be honest with me.”

  She stopped, considering. “I’m relieved, mostly. I was scared to death when she put her gun to my head. I hope she never does anything like that again. I guess I’m still a little shaky after that. But I’ll be okay.”

  He studied her closely as she spoke. Was he seeing all the things she wasn’t telling him? That the reasonable side of her was screaming at her to run as far and as fast as she could from this mission? That the main reason she was sticking it out was so she could be close to him? That she knew good and well she was a fool for staying in this for a man?

  Her cell phone rang, startling her badly. She dug it out and frowned at the caller ID. “Pierre,” she announced.

  Brady nodded, abruptly all business, the moment of connection between them severed. “He’s wondering where you are. Tell him you’re just leaving the room and will be down in a second.”

  She did so while Brady zipped up her suitcase for her and set it on the floor. She disconnected the call and stuffed the phone in her pocket.

  “I’ll say goodbye here,” he murmured. “We wouldn’t want to make Pierre suspicious.”

  She nodded and, on impulse, stepped in front of him. “Kiss me, Brady. For luck.”

  He made a sound of protest under his breath, but he still stepped forward. Still wrapped her in his arms the way she loved for him to do. Still bent his head down to hers. And thankfully, this time he didn’t try to lecture her about how wrong this was and how they shouldn’t do it.

  His lips touched hers, and the special magic between them took over. The more she kissed this man, the more she liked kissing this man. She doubted the phenomenon extended to all men, however. There was something about him—maybe the fact that he tried so hard to resist her, or that he respected her intelligence, or simply that he made her feel safe—that set him apart from other men. But she responded to him from the deepest part of her being.

  He murmured against her mouth, “Everything will be fine. I promise.”

  “I believe you. Now kiss me some more.”

  He laughed quietly and ran his hands beneath her hair, cupping her head and drawing her to him. “I don’t think it’s legal for a woman to be as beautiful as you are.”

  “So arrest me,” she mumbled. “Just don’t stop kissing me.”

  “I don’t think it’s legal for you to be so sexy, either,” he grumbled between kisses across her cheeks and jaw. He returned to her mouth as exultation burst wide open in her heart. He was willing to admit she was sexy now? My, my. The man was making progress, indeed.

  Her body undulated of its own free will against his, seeking satisfaction from his and not finding it. Impatience pricked at her. Her hands roamed down his shoulders and across his chest. She wanted skin, naked and hot, against hers. She slipped her palms under his cotton shirt and groaned when his hard, muscular back came into contact with her hands.

  He returned the favor, his hands roaming across her body, seeking and finding openings in her clothing and zeroing in on her soft skin. She moaned into his mouth and he inhaled the sound, breathing her desire into himself. It did something funny to her insides when he made a similar sound of frustration in the back of his throat.

  “We’ve got no time for this,” he mumbled against her lips.

  “We’ve never got time for it,” she grumbled back. “When are we going to get that?”

  He pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes closed in what looked like heavy frustration. “I don’t know, honey.”

  “Do me a favor and figure it out, okay?”

  He laughed painfully and didn’t answer. Disappointment ruined her mood as he took a step back. “Pierre’s waiting for you.”

  “Right. The mission.”

  He sighed. “Good luck, Eve. Call me if you need anything. And if you can’t make a phone call, use the phrase ‘white horse’ in conversation, and I’ll know you need to talk.”

  “How will you know I said ‘white horse’?”

  “I’ll be listening to every word you say.”

  The warmth that had unfolded inside her at the hotel with Brady lingered as Eve moved into the bungalow. There were no extra bedrooms—Annika had one and the three men took the other—so she was relegated to a hard, narrow army cot in the corner of the living room. She had no privacy whatsoever and had to go into the tiny, grungy bathroom and lock the door if she wanted to be alone at all. Heeding Brady’s advice, though, she didn’t complain about the situation.

  Interestingly enough, it was Annika who first expressed hating the setup. Apparently, she was incensed that her team found watching Eve sleeping more interesting than a South American soccer game on television.

  Over supper the following evening, Annika announced, “Eve, it’s time to put you to work. Put on your sexiest dress and go over to the resort. You need to start establishing your cover.”

  The implication was clear. Eve was to pose as a hooker. Although Eve didn’t think Annika had posing in mind as much as being one. Eve reflected behind her meek nod of agreement that Annika really was a bitch.

  She rummaged through her suitcase for the naughty little sundress she’d worn the first night she’d arrived on the island with Brady. The night he’d kissed her the first time and blown her away with that sizzling embrace.

  She emerged from the bathroom, and Annika scowled darkly, announcing, “That’s not slutty enough.”

  Eve rolled her eyes. “The Three Palms is a classy place. They won’t let working girls stroll around looking like cheap whores. And besides, men like their women young and g
irlish. Am I right, gentlemen?”

  Curly grunted, “Hell, yeah. The younger the better.”

  André said something crude about liking them fresh, and Pierre just nodded, looking her up and down thoroughly enough to make her skin crawl.

  Annika harrumphed. “Don’t screw this up.”

  Remembering Brady’s caution not to challenge the woman, Eve bit back a sarcastic comment about Annika dressing up and playing hooker if she thought she could do it better. Instead she asked, “And who am I looking for, again?”

  “I told you. You’ll know him when you see him.” Then Annika ordered, “Saddle up, boys.”

  Eve frowned. “You’re going with me?”

  “Wouldn’t want to leave our helpless little kitten all by herself, now, would we?”

  Eve swore under her breath. Annika was going to make her go through with playing the slut in public. And the bitch was going to enjoy every minute of watching her abase herself for a bunch of men. It wasn’t like the woman had left her any choice in the matter.

  Once Eve had some poor guy alone in a hotel room, she could always change her mind and leave. It was a nasty trick to play on a man, but a girl had to do what a girl had to do. And right now, she had to keep Annika happy. Darn Brady for telling her that, anyway. He was right, of course, but it didn’t sit well with Eve to let Annika exploit her like this.

  They piled in the van parked out back and Curly drove them to the Three Palms. They were one seat short, and Eve was irritated that nobody offered to let her have a seat in her skimpy dress. She sat on the ribbed metal floor in the back and did her best to keep her panties from showing as they bumped down the road.

  The van stopped and Eve climbed gratefully out of the back, her legs stiff and her rear end sore.

  “You can walk the rest of the way,” Annika said with a note of sadistic pleasure as she noted Eve’s high heels. “It’s just ahead. We’ll be waiting for you.”

  And with that, the van pulled away into the dark, leaving her alone by the side of the road under the stars. Eve just shook her head as she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Brady.

  “Hi, Eve.” Relief washed over her at the sound of his voice. “We’ll be in place at the resort by the time you get there. The Three Palms chief of security knows who you are. He’ll make sure you don’t have any trouble with the staff.”

  “Thanks,” she replied gratefully.

  “You’re doing great. Just keep it up,” he encouraged her.

  That special warmth he provoked enfolded her. She craved praise from him nearly as much as she craved his touch. “I’m off, then, to pick up some men.” She added casually, “By the way, what should I charge for sex? What’s the going rate for a girl like me?”

  She thought she heard Brady choke briefly, but she wasn’t sure. “I have no idea. Stand by. Let me get H.O.T. Watch to research that.”

  She kicked off her strappy stilettos and started to walk barefoot along the sandy berm toward the resort. She’d been strolling along for several minutes when Brady came back on the line. “They suggest you charge a thousand an hour or ten grand for an entire night.”

  Eve made a shocked sound. “A thousand dollars? An hour? Good grief. I may have to go into the business for real. I had no idea I could pull down that much.”

  Brady replied dryly, “Have you not looked in a mirror in the last few years? You’re an exceptionally good looking woman, Eve. Men would pay a fortune to have you.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad you find me so attractive.” She thought maybe she heard laughter in the background at Brady’s end of the call.

  He answered in chagrin, “Anyone would find you attractive.”

  “I’m just glad you do,” she replied archly. Yes, that was definitely laughter from someone standing close to Brady.

  “I’ve got to go if I’m going to be in place by the time you get to the resort. When you get there, head for the nightclub. It’s called the Monte Carlo Room.”

  Brady got off the phone with undue enough haste that she was still grinning when she turned into the main driveway of the resort. It turned out she had a ways to walk to reach the actual hotel, though. The grounds of this place were extensive and lushly foliaged. Plenty of privacy to be had around here. It looked like the kind of place people came to get away from prying eyes and be safely anonymous. Who on earth was Annika targeting? A celebrity? A major politician? Eve could see either type of person coming here to relax unmolested by the press or public.

  Just inside a carefully casual lobby dripping in elegant island charm, a man in a well-tailored suit stepped forward to greet her. “Good evening, miss. May I help you?”

  She glanced down at his name badge and was relieved to see that he was the resort’s chief of security. “Hi, Leo Hawkins. My name’s Eve. Could you tell me where the Monte Carlo Room is? I’m supposed to meet a friend there.”

  He nodded slightly as he smiled at her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Eve. The Monte Carlo Room is this way. If you’ll come with me…”

  As she followed him through the lobby, Eve glimpsed André lurking behind a pillar, looking displeased. He probably was annoyed that she was making this whole infiltrating the resort thing look so easy. Of course, it didn’t hurt that she had Brady and the United States government greasing the skids for her. She smiled a little to herself.

  Leo murmured as he left her at the door of the club, “Your party is waiting for you.”

  She jolted. Surely Leo wasn’t talking about the anonymous target. Who then? Annika? She nodded her thanks and stepped inside.

  It was like any one of a hundred other nightclubs she’d been in over the years. Dark, loud and crowded with insecure men and women on the prowl, desperate to make a hookup and unsure of how to go about it. In her experience, not many people were actually expert lounge lizards. Oh, sure, lots of guys thought they were suave and irresistible after a half-dozen drinks. In general, she found these sorts of places depressing.

  No surprise, after getting a look at her legs in the skimpy sundress, the bouncer waived the cover fee and held the door for her. She knew not to stand in the doorway, looking around like she didn’t know what to do, or the single men would move in on her en masse. Instead, she headed for the bar and immediately struck up a conversation with the bartender.

  Once she’d sent out plentiful stay-away-from-me vibes she finally turned around to survey the room. The dance floor was sunken, which conveniently allowed her to look over the heads of the sweating mob of dancers and see most of the faces in the place.

  “What the hell are you doing?” a female voice growled from her left elbow.

  Annika. Without bothering to look at her, Eve replied, “I’m scoping out the joint for likely johns.”

  “You’re acting like an ice bitch. Go mingle and flirt. You’re supposed to be here to pick up men.”

  Eve turned then to look Annika directly in the eye. “I happen to have a great deal more experience at picking up men than you do. I know exactly what I’m doing. And right now, I need you to move away from me. You’re killing my mojo. Talk about putting off I-hate-men vibes—everything about you screams it.” The terrorist was wearing a men’s tank top with wide cut armholes that barely covered her small breasts. The chain-link belt and black leather pants were typical Annika. “That whole S&M look you’re going for doesn’t play in a vanilla place like this.”

  Annika’s jaw dropped.

  “Shoo,” Eve urged. “If you want me to find the richest guy in the joint and sleep with him, then I’ve got to have some room to work.”

  “Don’t mess this up,” Annika ground out.

  “Only person messing anything up right now is you,” she snapped. And that was when Eve spotted him. Leaning against a wall across the room, with a pair of half-drunk coeds prancing around in front of him trying to get his attention. Brady shook his head at her, a tiny movement warning her to back off and not provoke Annika.

  Eve took a calming breath. “If you’ll
get out of here, Anni, I’ll split what I make with you tonight. Please. Just let me do this my own way. I really do know what I’m doing. I practically live in places like this.”

  Annika slid off the tall barstool, a thoughtful gleam in her eye. Oh, Lord. Eve had just given her the bright idea of branching out into pimping female terrorist cell members. She supposed cash flow would be a major problem for someone like Annika who lived completely off the grid.

  Eve picked up her drink and strolled the length of the bar. A couple of men were brave enough to toss a “Hey, baby” at her. She brushed them off, but politely enough not to put off all the men in the room, many of whom were watching her closely. As she moved slowly toward her target, she used every inch of her long legs and modeling training to full advantage. She’d likely have made it big on the fashion runways of Paris if Viktor hadn’t made the entire Dupont family persona non grata in France.

  Normally, she would skirt around the dance floor, but if Annika wanted a show, she’d give one. Still carrying her drink, Eve sashayed out onto the dance floor. Gyrating guys closed in on her like magnets to steel. She smiled and made a few moves sexy enough to whet their appetites, but not so much as to give anyone the impression she would be either easy or free.

  The DJ shouted something incomprehensible into his microphone and cranked up the already blaring music even more. A few minutes out here and she was going to be completely deaf. It took her nearly the rest of the song to make her way across the dance floor, however, as the sharks closed in around her.

  Of course, she knew better than to go straight for Brady. Instead, she placed herself conveniently near a large group of young people, about equally split between guys and girls. The male coeds wasted no time coming over to introduce themselves. She mentioned casually that she was in the Caymans for a photo shoot.

  In under ten minutes, everyone in the nightclub would know she was some kind of cover model. And that would bring out the big money players. For some reason, men seemed to equate their annual income with the caliber of women they could reasonably expect to pick up. The college kids did, indeed, back off as a pair of men in their early thirties moved in on her.