A Sense of Danger

by Jennifer Estep

  “And that’s exactly what we’re going to do. That’s what the Redburn mission is all about. A mission you are still a very important part of,” I said, trying to reassure her.

  “Part of the mission?” Joan huffed, the sound full of derision. “Please. I get to sit in the van and watch the monitors while you do the real work of cornering Henrika Hyde.”

  I shrugged. Nothing I could say would convince her otherwise, especially when we both knew she was right.

  “Why her?” Joan asked. “What can Charlotte Locke do that I can’t?”

  “You saw the reports, and you heard what Gia said. Charlotte has been tracking Henrika for months. She knows everything there is to know about Henrika, and she’s the best person to help me capture her.”

  The words slipped easily off my tongue. They were mostly true, but of course I couldn’t tell Joan the real, absolute truth—that I was going to torture Henrika until she told me everything she knew about Anatoly. The less Joan knew about what I was really up to, the more plausible deniability she would have if things went wrong.

  “But I wanted to help you,” Joan said in a much softer, quieter voice. “It’s the least I can do for Graham after everything we…went through together.”

  Joan had been Graham’s liaison on a number of missions, both here in the States and abroad, and the two of them had been… Well, I didn’t know exactly what they had been. Definitely lovers, according to some hints Graham had accidentally dropped, which wasn’t unusual. Liaisons and cleaners worked together in intense, high-pressure, life-and-death situations. Sex was a natural release in that sort of environment.

  I’d suspected that Joan and Graham had a much deeper connection than just post-mission stress relief, something Graham had confirmed when he’d been dying on the beach. Graham had truly cared about Joan, and he’d begged me not to involve her in my hunt for Anatoly. I hadn’t been able to save my best friend, but I would be damned if I wasn’t going to honor one of his last requests. And that meant keeping Joan as far away from the action as possible.

  “I appreciate that you want to help, and I know Graham would appreciate it too,” I said. “But the best way for you to do that is by sitting in the van. Like you said before, Charlotte hates me, so I need someone on this mission whom I can trust. Someone who will be watching my back, watching out for me. And that person is you, Joan. Okay?”

  Her face softened, and the icy blue aura shimmering around her heart dimmed.

  “Fine. Whatever. I’ll sit in the stupid van.” She stabbed her finger at me. “But when you and Charlotte Locke screw this up, I’m definitely going to say I told you so.”

  I flashed her a grin. “You can say it to your heart’s content.”

  Joan nodded, moved over to her desk, and started shuffling papers around. I let out a quiet sigh of relief that she had backed off. For now.

  So you didn’t want to drag Joan into this, but you’re okay with me taking part in it? Charlotte’s earlier accusation floated through my mind, along with something else she had asked me: Exactly how dangerous is this mission of yours going to be?

  That, unfortunately, was the million-dollar question—and one that I couldn’t answer.

  * * *

  I sat down at my desk and started reviewing the hotel blueprints for the Redburn mission. I expected Charlotte to return to the bullpen with her laptop and perhaps some files, but she didn’t reappear. She must have been far more pissed than I’d realized because the minutes ticked by and turned into hours. I checked my phone, but the tracker pen I’d slipped into her purse indicated that she—or at least it—was still inside the building. Finally, at the end of the day, I gave in, packed up my things, and went looking for her.

  I headed up to the third floor, but Charlotte wasn’t at her old desk. At least, I assumed it was her desk, although no framed photos adorned the space, just a crystal bird figurine that matched the one I’d seen in her kitchen. A hard fist of worry punched into my gut. Had she decided to renege on our deal?

  “Hello, handsome,” a soft, feminine voice drawled. “Where have you been all my life?”

  A gorgeous redhead stood up at the next desk and leaned her elbows on the cubicle wall. Tall and lithe, with a body that had plenty of generous curves in all the right places, she was dressed in a pair of dark, skintight jeans, and a clingy, pink silk blouse that she’d unbuttoned just low enough to offer a tantalizing glimpse of her impressive cleavage.

  Her hazel gaze slowly slid down and then back up my body in a frank, assessing way, and she raised her eyes to mine and smiled. Her aura pulsed a bright gold, letting me know she liked what she saw. Most women did. Some men too.

  People might have thought me arrogant, but looks are just another weapon spies use to get whatever advantage we can over our enemies, and I wasn’t above deploying mine on occasion. So I grinned, as though I was as interested in her as she was in me. “And who might you be?”

  She toyed with one of the buttons on her blouse, moving it to the side and giving me a slightly better view of her cleavage. “Miriam. And you are?”

  “Desmond.”

  She held out her hand, which I shook. I started to let go, but she squeezed her fingers around mine. “Charmed.”

  Her gold aura pulsed again, even brighter than before, and her hand grew pleasantly tingly against my own. A faint crackle of magic swirled in the air, heating the space between our bodies, and subtly inviting me to step closer to her tantalizing warmth. I recognized the sensations. Of course she would be a charmer, with those good looks and that stunning body.

  “Yes, charmed,” I murmured, then dropped her hand to break our connection and lessen the hypnotic feel of her warm charisma. “Do you know where Charlotte is?”

  Miriam shrugged. “I think she left for the day.” She toyed with her blouse again, showing me even more of her cleavage. “I was just about to leave myself and grab a drink. Care to join me?”

  She gave me another winsome smile, then leveled her gaze on mine again. Her gold aura pulsed even brighter than before, and that crackle of magic around her intensified, making my fingers tingle even though I was no longer touching her. She was really giving me the full-court press, using her charisma to try to get me to say yes.

  Normally, magical beguilement or not, I might have taken her up on her offer, which would probably lead all the way to her bed. Section’s main branch was here in Washington, D.C., but it had offices all around the world. London, Paris, Berlin, Moscow, Tokyo, Beijing, Sydney. Some cleaners were notorious for having a woman or a man (or both) in every station, while some agents were equally notorious for hooking up with as many cleaners as they could. Dust bunnies, those agents were rather derogatorily called.

  I enjoyed the pleasures of female companionship as much as the next man, and Miriam looked like she would be very good company indeed, but I was here to avenge Graham’s death, not hook up with a random charmer. “Unfortunately, I have a meeting tonight, but maybe some other time. Will you do me a favor, though?”

  “Anything for you, handsome,” she purred.

  “If you see Charlotte, please tell her that Desmond stopped by looking for her.”

  Something flickered across Miriam’s face, and her aura sputtered like a lit match in a strong wind. In an instant, all the tingly warmth of her charisma vanished, replaced by a still, noticeable chill. She seemed annoyed, although she gave me another smooth, sexy smile.

  “Sure thing, handsome. And if you get tired of waiting for Charlotte, well, maybe I can help you with whatever you need.” Miriam winked at me, then dropped her hand from her blouse, sat down in her chair, and started texting on her phone.

  I left Miriam to her electronic conversation, got in an elevator, and rode up to the ground floor. The doors dinged open, and I stepped out into the lobby.

  A familiar Southern drawl drifted through the air. “…don’t know why my keycard isn’t working…”

  I stopped and looked to my right. A cool pulse of b
lue caught my eye, a flicker of soft, soothing color among the crush of auras and Section agents waiting to exit through the turnstile and leave the building.

  Charlotte was standing at the front of the line, waving her keycard back and forth over the reader, which kept emitting loud, angry beep-beep-beeps. Evelyn, the front desk manager, was standing beside her, fiddling with the reader.

  “Try it again,” Evelyn said.

  Charlotte did as instructed, and the light on the reader flashed green. Charlotte must have sensed my gaze because she glanced over her shoulder. I hoped that she would wait for me, but her mouth pinched into an angry frown, and she whipped back around, shoved through the turnstile, and marched out of the building.

  Part of me wanted to call her name and ask her to slow down, but I’d be damned if I would chase after her like a schoolboy with a first crush. So I waited my turn in line, scanned my own keycard, and picked up her trail on the sidewalk outside. Which, in all honesty, made me feel like the worst sort of stalker, but she was the one who’d left the fifth-floor bullpen in a snit. I’d give her a few more minutes to cool off. She would come around eventually.

  Except that she didn’t.

  Charlotte didn’t glance over her shoulder, not once, and she marched all the way to her apartment building with stiff shoulders and a ramrod-straight spine that would have made any drill sergeant proud. She even marched up the three flights of stairs, although I noted with a bit of smug satisfaction that she was huffing and puffing by the time she reached the top.

  I caught up with her just as she was getting ready to slide her key into the apartment door. I started to grab her hand, but then I remembered my earlier promise not to touch her, so I settled for reaching out and blocking the lock instead. “What are you doing?”

  Charlotte finally deigned to glare at me. “Heading into my apartment, changing clothes, and going to work my shift at the diner.”

  I shook my head. “Did it ever occur to you that more cleaners might be waiting inside to finish what the others started last night?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Of course it occurred to me. I’m not an idiot. But no one is inside my apartment. Trust me. I would know.”

  I reached out with my power, scanning the empty space behind the door. No buzzing phones, no crackling earbuds, no electrical heartbeats. Charlotte was right. No one was waiting inside, although I didn’t understand how she could know that with such certainty.

  “You should have come back to the bullpen this afternoon so we could get started on mission prep,” I said, dropping my hand from the lock. “And you definitely should have waited for me to leave the building with you.”

  She rolled her eyes again. “I am not a child who needs you to hold my hand while I cross the street. I am thirty-five years old and more than capable of taking care of myself.”

  “Really? Like you took care of those cleaners last night?”

  Her eyes narrowed, and her aura flared with anger. “Are you going to keep throwing that in my face? Because you playing that card has already gotten old. Yes, you saved my life. What do you want? A thank-you? Well, thank you, Desmond Percy, for showing me what a badass cleaner and sleek, beautiful, killing machine you are.”

  I grinned, strangely pleased by her words. “You think that I’m sleek and beautiful?”

  Her right eye twitched, and her fingers tightened around her keys as though she were thinking about stabbing me with them. She shot me another angry glare, then shoved a key into the lock and opened the door. I half expected her to whirl around and slam the door in my face, but instead, she threw it wide open and strode inside. I followed her and closed the door behind me.

  Charlotte entered her alarm code, then dumped her purse onto the island counter, crossed the depressingly empty space, and disappeared into the back of the apartment. I leaned against the counter, crossed my arms over my chest and my feet at the ankles, and waited.

  She returned ten minutes later wearing a waitress uniform. Even though I’d seen it through the diner windows last night, I hadn’t gotten the full effect. A short-sleeve, light-blue shirt with a wide white collar and oversize buttons marching down the front. A matching light-blue pleated skirt that stopped at her knees. White tights and sneakers.

  It was truly awful, like something out of a cheesy, old-fashioned movie. But the longer I looked at the outfit, the more I started to appreciate it, especially how the skirt and white tights showed off her toned, muscled legs. I suddenly found myself wondering what the rest of her body was like under that awful fabric—

  “Stop looking at me like that,” Charlotte snapped.

  “Like what?”

  She flapped her hand at me. “Like that. Believe me, I know exactly how hideous the uniform is, but I have to wear it.”

  “I didn’t say anything about the uniform.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  She glared at me again, then marched over, grabbed her purse, and slung it onto her shoulder. Then she headed for the door. I stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

  “Are you seriously going to work?” I asked.

  Charlotte gestured at her uniform. “I’m not wearing this for fun.”

  “You’re a sitting duck in that diner. Whoever wants you dead obviously knows you work there, and if you go back tonight, then they can send more cleaners after you.”

  She sighed, the sound full of weary resignation. “I know that, but I need the money. Zeeta is already itching to fire me, and I can’t afford to lose this job. The tips are surprisingly good. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

  Charlotte started to move around me, but I stepped in front of her, blocking her path again.

  “You stubborn fool,” I hissed. “You’re going to get yourself killed. And for what? Just to thumb your nose at me?”

  Her eyes narrowed, and her aura flared with anger again. “Well, I have to do something to entertain myself, Dundee. Isn’t that what mistresses do? Twiddle their thumbs while their menfolk are off conducting more important business?”

  So she was still pissed about the briefing and especially her cover. I scrubbed my hand through my hair. “Look, I admit that I should have told you exactly what the mission would entail.”

  “But?”

  “But it doesn’t change anything. Someone wants you dead, and you going to that diner by yourself is not a good idea.” I gestured at her empty apartment. “And neither is coming back here tonight.”

  “Where else am I going to stay? I don’t have the money for a hotel room.” She grimaced and glanced away, as if the admission pained her, even though I already knew she was in financial trouble.

  “You can stay with me.”

  The words slipped out before I had a chance to think about them. Then again, I had been so focused on getting Charlotte to agree to my scheme, I hadn’t really thought about what would happen if she said yes. About the logistics of watching her back and hopefully convincing her to do the same for me. Graham had always taken care of such things. He got us close to our targets, and then I killed them. That had been one of the things that made us such a great team.

  “Stay with you?” Charlotte laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I’m not kidding. I have a place nearby, and there’s plenty of room. Besides, I’m not staying here.”

  Her face hardened. “Why? Is my apartment not good enough for you?”

  I held up my hands in surrender. “I’m not trying to insult you. Believe me, I’ve stayed in far worse, but those cleaners were waiting outside your building. Whoever wants you dead knows exactly where you live. You should at least make it difficult for someone to find and kill you.”

  Reluctant agreement flickered across her face.

  “Then there is the simple fact that you don’t have any furniture. Care to tell me why that is?”

  Her jaw clenched. She didn’t respond, but I was willing to bet that she’d sold the furniture to help pay down her debts, whatever they were.

 
; “I’m not sleeping on your yoga mat, and that mattress only looks wide enough for one of us. Unless you want to be bunk buddies, Numbers.”

  Once again, the words slipped out before I thought about them, and they hung in the air between us. Charlotte’s blue gaze snapped to mine, and her aura pulsed with…something. It might have been annoyance, or perhaps even interest, but her face smoothed over, and I couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

  I cleared my throat, trying to push away the sudden, unwanted image of Charlotte Locke lounging on that mattress and slowly peeling those white tights off her toned legs. “There’s plenty of room at my place, which is off the books. No one at Section knows where I’m staying, so it should be a secure location. Besides, it makes sense for you to stay with me until the mission is over.”

  Plus, that way I can keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t derail my plans. I didn’t dare voice the thought. She already knew far more than I wanted her to.

  “Fine,” she muttered through gritted teeth. “We’ll have a sleepover at your place, Dundee. After I go to work.”

  I opened my mouth to once again argue that she should skip her shift, but she stabbed her finger at me in warning, and I shut my mouth. I had a feeling that was the best course of action around Charlotte Locke.

  Chapter Ten

  Desmond

  Charlotte disappeared into the back of the apartment again and returned a few minutes later with a couple of canvas bags bulging with clothes, sneakers, and toiletries. I offered to carry the bags, but she gave me another disgusted look and stomped out of the apartment. I shut the door behind us and followed her.

  She once again did that stiff-as-a-board, drill-sergeant walk all the way over to the Moondust Diner. “I work from seven until midnight,” she muttered as we approached the parking lot. “So I hope you like burgers, fries, coffee, and pie.”

  “Surely there are some healthier options on the menu. Perhaps some sort of fruit smoothie?”