“Did you sleep well?” Desmond asked, his voice strangely cold and flat.
“Well enough,” I replied. “You ready for this?”
He shrugged. “It’s just another mission. One of dozens I’ve been on. Although this one will probably be more eventful than most.”
“Why is that?”
He stared down into the green depths of his smoothie, as if choosing his words carefully. “Because I’ll finally find out who I can really trust.”
Truth, my inner voice whispered. Still, something about him seemed slightly off, although I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was.
Instead of drinking his smoothie, Desmond dumped the untouched liquid in the trash can, rinsed out the glass, and set it by the sink to dry. “We should go. We still have a lot to do before we leave Section for the hotel gala tonight.”
He didn’t wait for a response before striding back into his bedroom, probably to grab his suit jacket and the rest of his things. I stared at the open door, and I finally realized what was bothering me.
Danger-danger-danger.
My inner voice was whispering again, but not because of my own worries about the upcoming mission.
No, my voice was whispering because of Desmond—and the strange, unexpected tension now simmering between us.
* * *
Despite my unease, Desmond and I left his apartment and made it to the Section building without incident. We both scanned our ID cards and headed toward the elevators.
Evelyn was sitting at the front desk as usual, and she waved at me. “Good luck,” she murmured, flashing me a smile.
I forced myself to smile back at her. “Thanks.”
Desmond and I got into an elevator and rode downstairs to the fifth floor. The normally quiet bullpen was teeming with activity, and the rest of the day passed by in a series of final meetings, strategy sessions, and more. The hours and minutes steadily ticked down until it was time to get ready for the mission.
Just after six o’clock, I stared at my reflection in the mirror that ran along a counter in the fifth-floor locker room. The Halstead Hotel gala was a formal event, so I was dressed in a long royal-blue gown with a scooped neckline and cap sleeves. A slit in the side showed off my legs, and my feet were encased in black stilettos, instead of my usual sneakers. Section 47 spared no expense when it came to outfitting its agents in glamorous clothes, and the gown was easily the most expensive and gorgeous thing I had ever worn.
I’d pulled my hair back into a low, loose chignon to better display the stunning choker that ringed my neck. To a casual observer, the necklace would look like the real deal, a wide band of silver crusted with tiny diamonds, with a large, teardrop-shaped sapphire glittering in the center. But it was costume jewelry, and the fake sapphire featured a camera, along with a two-way microphone that would let me hear and talk to Gia Chan, Trevor Donnelly, and the rest of the Section staff observing the mission.
Normally, Gia and Trevor would have been stationed here at Section headquarters, watching the hotel’s security feed and seeing the mission unfold on the monitors in one of the fifth-floor control rooms. But since Henrika Hyde was such a prominent, high-value target, Gia and Trevor were both going to the hotel, although they would be stationed in a van outside, along with the strike team and the rest of the support staff.
I let out a tense breath and planted my hands on the counter, letting the chilly tile cool my sweaty palms. Then I glanced over at the white satin clutch lying on the counter next to me. The clutch contained my fake driver’s license, a burner phone, some cash, and a gun, along with a deep red lipstick nestled in a silver tube and a small silver perfume spritzer.
Section 47 wasn’t as gadget-crazy as some of the other black-ops government agencies, but I had been outfitted with a few toys for the mission. A button on the side of the lipstick tube would release a needle on the bottom containing a powerful sedative that would knock out whomever I pricked with it, as would the liquid inside the perfume spritzer.
The official Section plan was for me to use either the lipstick needle or the spritzer liquid to incapacitate Henrika when Desmond and I had our private meeting with her. Once Henrika was unconscious and her bodyguards were neutralized, Desmond would hoist her over his shoulder and carry her to the extraction point while I watched our backs. Then the Section strike team would take over and remove Henrika from the hotel, leaving the rest of her security team none the wiser that she was gone.
Of course, Desmond had his own plans for Henrika, namely questioning—or torturing—her for information on Adrian Anatoly. I didn’t know how he thought he was going to get her to talk, especially since we would only have a few minutes alone with Henrika before the strike team moved in, but Desmond had assured me he would get the job done.
And then there was the real wild card—Henrika’s plans for us.
The mole had probably told Henrika about the Redburn mission from the very beginning, so she’d had just as much time to prepare as we had. Desmond and I had talked about various scenarios that might happen, but in the end, we wouldn’t know what Henrika’s trap was until she sprang it. Still, I trusted Desmond to keep me safe, and I was going to do everything in my power to watch his back in return.
Heels clattered on the tile floor, snapping me out of my thoughts, and Miriam sashayed out from behind a row of gray lockers, put her hand on her hip, and struck a pose.
“How do I look?” she asked.
“Stunning,” I replied.
Miriam was wearing a long, sequined, forest-green gown with spaghetti straps that showed off her flawless skin, impressive cleavage, and muscled arms and shoulders. Her long red hair had been curled into loose waves, and dark, smoky shadow made her hazel eyes glimmer like gold stars in her beautiful face. She was holding a small green clutch and wearing the same red lipstick that I had on, although it looked completely natural and much more glamorous on her.
“Maybe you should be the one posing as Desmond’s mistress,” I said, only half joking.
Miriam preened at her reflection in the mirror and fluffed out her hair. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind doing that, both tonight and in real life.”
She winked at me. A bit of anger sizzled in my chest, and I had to remind myself that Miriam didn’t know how I felt about Desmond…and neither did I.
Besides, if things went the way I thought they would, then Desmond would never trust me again after this mission. Oh, he might understand about my spying on him for Trevor, since that had been a direct order, but I doubted he would approve of all the other sneaky things I’d done. That made me sadder than I’d thought possible, but I shoved the emotion away. Tonight was about a lot of things, but my feelings were not my main concern—staying alive was.
Miriam’s phone chirped, and she pulled it out of her green clutch. “Oh, I gotta take this.”
“Another text from your mystery man?”
We had been so busy prepping for the mission these past few days that we hadn’t had a chance to grab lunch, so Miriam hadn’t been able to regale me with any tales of her latest fling.
A mischievous grin played across her face. “Something like that. I’ll see you in the garage.”
Miriam strode away, texting on her phone. She disappeared from my line of sight, although I heard her open the locker room door and step outside.
I turned back to the mirror, staring at my reflection again. I thought everyone else had already left, but another set of footsteps sounded, and Desmond rounded the row of lockers. I immediately turned to face him, like the proverbial moth drawn to a candle flame.
Desmond was wearing a classic black tuxedo with a twist—his usual vest, of course, done in the same black as his suit jacket and bow tie. I couldn’t see his pocket watch, but I knew it was hooked to his vest. He never went anywhere without it, and he would want to have a weapon handy tonight. His blond hair gleamed under the lights, and his eyes sparked a bright silvery-blue that reminded me of the electricity he c
ould wield.
I let out a low wolf whistle of appreciation. “You clean up good. James Bond has nothing on you tonight, Dundee.”
He smiled a little at that, but the expression quickly dropped from his face, and he looked me up and down the same way that I had him. In an instant, my palms grew sweaty again, and I had to resist the urge to smooth them down the front of the gown.
“You look good too, Numbers.”
His voice came out as a low, husky murmur that sent a shiver skittering down my spine, but his features seemed dark and troubled as he stared at me, as if he didn’t quite believe—or like—what he was seeing. Once again, I got the sense that something had changed between us. Whatever it was, I didn’t like this sudden, odd distance.
Desmond hesitated, then held out his arm. “Shall we go?”
I grabbed my clutch off the counter, then threaded my arm through his. We stared at each other, both of us seemingly trying to read the secrets in each other’s eyes, then left the locker room together.
Chapter Nineteen
Desmond
I couldn’t stop sneaking glances at Charlotte.
I’d lied to her before, although she hadn’t called me out on it as usual. She looked more than merely good—she looked amazing. The dress’s soft fabric perfectly hugged her curvy body, while the royal-blue color bought out her eyes and her aura. That pesky part of my anatomy started acting up again, and it was all I could do not to draw her into the shadows, kiss her red, red lips, and see if she felt and tasted as good as I imagined she would—soft and strong, and sweet and tart, like sugar mixed with limes.
Even more than her looks, Charlotte herself intoxicated me. She seemed cool, calm, and utterly confident, and her aura burned a bright, steady blue. Whatever she was plotting, she was determined to go through with it. I just wished I knew what it was—and whose side she was truly on.
Charlotte hadn’t mentioned her clandestine meeting with Gabriel, and I couldn’t ask about it without revealing I had spied on her. Which would probably cause even more problems between us.
The reminder that she had fooled me, that I couldn’t trust her, was like a bucket of cold water dousing me from head to toe, but I welcomed the chilly sensation. I had come too far and lost too much to let myself be captivated by the intriguing, duplicitous Charlotte Locke. Tonight was about cornering Henrika Hyde and moving a step closer to tracking down Adrian Anatoly and finally avenging Graham.
Charlotte and I left the locker room, got into an elevator, and rode down to the seventh and bottom level. A parking garage housing a fleet of Section vehicles dominated most of this floor, and people were scurrying back and forth across the dull gray concrete, the way they always did during an active mission.
Gia was here, along with Joan, Diego, the rest of the support staff, and the members of the strike team. Trevor was also in the garage, standing next to a column, his arms crossed over his chest, surveying everyone moving through the area. Miriam, Charlotte’s charmer friend, was standing a few feet away from him, texting on her phone.
Gia clapped her hands together, getting everyone’s attention, and we all fell silent and faced her. “All right, people,” she called out. “The Redburn mission is a go. Is everyone clear on their assignments?”
Everyone nodded to her.
“Good. Let’s mount up.”
Gia strode over to a waiting white van, opened the door, and climbed into the front passenger’s seat. Diego got into the back of the van, clutching a laptop, along with the rest of the strike team members, who were wearing black tactical gear and multiple weapons. Joan was holding a tablet, and she gave me a pointed look before she too climbed into the van.
That left me standing in the garage with Charlotte. Miriam sashayed over to us, along with Trevor.
Trevor clapped me on the shoulder. “Good luck, Dez, Charlotte.”
I returned the gesture. “Thanks, buddy. I’m glad you’re here for this.”
He grinned. “Me too. I’ll see you on the other side.”
Trevor nodded at Charlotte, who nodded back. Then he climbed into another waiting van.
Miriam grinned at the two of us. “Let’s party.”
She too walked away, heading toward the black luxury sedan that the three of us would be taking to the gala. Charlotte watched her friend go, a thoughtful look on her face.
“Well, I guess this is it,” Charlotte murmured.
I got the sense she was talking about a lot more than just the mission, but I didn’t ask for an explanation. I didn’t want to watch her lie to me.
“Miriam’s right,” I said. “It’s time to go.”
Charlotte nodded again, and together we walked over to the sedan.
Miriam slipped into the back, while Charlotte slid into the front passenger’s seat, and I drove. I’d memorized the route earlier in the week, and it didn’t take me long to navigate through the city traffic and over to the Halstead Hotel. I steered the car into a long line of vehicles heading toward the hotel’s front entrance.
“All right, guys.” Joan’s voice sounded in my ear. “Comm check.”
My communication device and camera were hidden in my bow tie. “Check.”
Charlotte and Miriam also murmured back to her, indicating that we could all hear and talk to one another.
“Diego has hacked into the hotel’s security system, so we will be able to see and track you guys,” Joan said. “Several Section vans are already parked on the side streets, and we’re all in position. The strike team will move in to transport Henrika on your mark.”
“Roger that,” I replied. “We are a go on this end.”
I pulled the sedan up to the front of the receiving line, and a valet rushed forward to hand me a ticket and jump inside the vehicle. I went around to the opposite side, opened the door, and held my hand out to Charlotte. The gesture clearly surprised her, but she put her hand in mine, and I pulled her up and out of the car. Another valet hurried to help Miriam. Then together, Charlotte, Miriam, and I headed into the hotel.
Located on the outskirts of the city, the Halstead Hotel was a massive gray-stone building with two attached wings that gave it a giant U shape. The hotel’s interior featured glossy, light gray marble floors and walls, while crystal chandeliers dangled down from the high vaulted ceilings, each one blazing with light to show off the paintings, sculptures, and other objets d’art that filled the common spaces. Tall windows were set into many of the walls, offering sweeping views of the wide, crushed-shell paths that wound through the landscaped lawns and gardens surrounding the historic building.
I had been to the Halstead Hotel many times, usually attending some fund-raising dinner or another with the General and my mother. Being dragged to such tedious events was one of the things that had sparked my interest in art. I’d always found the hotel’s paintings and sculptures much more interesting and far more palatable than the predatory people who moved in the General’s circle.
Charlotte, Miriam, and I wound our way through the crowd of people in the lobby. Bellmen taking coats and bags, waiters hustling back and forth with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres, men in tuxedos and women in glittering gowns trying to let everyone else know exactly how rich, important, and powerful they were. This event could have been any one from my childhood.
We reached the main ballroom where the gala was taking place. Art, people, egos. It was more of the same in here, although several people lurked around the edges of the room, scanning everything and everyone around them.
“Lots of security on site,” I murmured.
“We see them.” Gia’s voice sounded in my ear. “Looks like every dignitary, politician, and businessperson brought a bodyguard or two. Diego is running the faces against the list of guests and known associates to see if anyone unexpected is here.”
“Roger that,” I replied.
“All right, guys,” Miriam said, surveying the room. “Time for me to do my thing. Good luck.”
“Good luck
,” Charlotte echoed, although her voice sounded a bit flat.
Miriam grinned at both of us, then grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and dove straight into the center of the closest group of people. The charmer hadn’t gone three feet before she squealed and called out to someone she knew. Miriam engaged that woman in conversation, although her head kept moving back and forth as she scanned everyone in sight.
Charlotte’s hand tightened on my arm. “There’s Henrika.”
This was the first time I had ever set eyes on Henrika Hyde in person, and she looked exactly like the photos in her Section file—a tall, forty-something woman with bright green eyes and a lithe body that was poured into a green velvet cocktail dress. Her light brown hair was swept up in a high bun, all the better to show off the gold choker studded with emeralds that ringed her throat, along with her matching emerald earrings. Still more emeralds glittered on her wrists and fingers, and a thin gold anklet—also set with tiny emeralds—flashed around her right foot.
“You weren’t kidding about her love of jewelry,” I murmured. “I’m surprised she’s not wearing a tiara too.”
Charlotte shrugged. “She could have. She has plenty to choose from. She must have thought that a million dollars’ worth of emeralds was a grand enough statement to make.”
I wasn’t the only one who’d noticed her jewelry, and several guests shot envious glances at her. To most people, Henrika Hyde probably looked like the very epitome of elegant sophistication, but her aura burned a dark, sickly green, with black flecks swimming in the soupy miasma. She was not someone you wanted to fuck with.
A Sense of Danger Page 21