by Misty Evans
“Where are you going?”
“I’m putting the device in a little plastic buoy that will take it out to sea. That will give us time to get you ready to travel.”
His phone went off and he checked the screen. “It’s Shinedown. He’ll be coming through the side door.”
“Shinedown?”
“He’s going to fix you up with a new passport.”
“Codenames, huh? I knew Emit Petit ran a tight ship.”
“It’s a safety precaution. Most of us who work for him prefer our true identities stay as private as possible.” He headed for the door once more. “There are wigs, glasses, colored contacts, and other accessories upstairs in the bathroom to change your appearance. Help yourself.”
Change her appearance. How many times had she done that already in her lifetime? Would she ever get to be herself again?
Did she even know who that was anymore?
Tightening the sash on the robe, she headed for the stairs.
CHARLOTTE STOPPED UNDER the lovely blown-glass chandelier at the top of the curved staircase. Was she really going through with this? Letting Miles come with her?
Age-old fear crawled under her skin. It never seemed to leave her these days. She remembered when she was a young operative, excited at the prospect of the next mission, the next covert op, the next interaction with a criminal, a traitor, another spy turned double agent. The lure of the dark side had always intrigued her more than the bright, shiny heroic side of life. Yet, she had too many morals, too many scruples, to be anything but loyal, honorable, and out to see justice done.
After five years in the field, those morals and scruples had been tested beyond her limits. She’d been forced to make choices—choices that looked like the opposite of what she stood for. Now, she was the criminal, the traitor, the double agent.
At least that’s what her employer believed.
Fear sucked, but she couldn’t let it cripple her. Couldn’t let her fear stop her from doing what needed to be done.
Her mission hadn’t changed. Stop Nico. Prove my innocence. Rescue Madeena.
Straight forward, easy.
Except, of course, for Miles. He complicated everything.
Giving him the necklace had seemed like the perfect solution at the time. If only she hadn’t. If only she’d gone back to her hiding place, grabbed the video she had and escaped without going back to Nico’s compound.
But without the proof of who the real traitor inside MI6 was, she faced a trial and certain imprisonment since the evidence pointed to her. She’d believed if she went back to Nico, she could figure it out. Someone working with him had betrayed her, but who?
In hindsight, she wondered if being convicted of high treason and life imprisonment by Her Majesty’s Prison Service would have been preferable to the torture and brutality of Nicolae Bourean.
Didn’t matter now. Regrets about what might have been different if she’d left Romania with Miles were pointless. She didn’t have time for fantasies about how her life might have been better.
Time was running out. She had to consider her options.
She could disable Miles—it wouldn’t be easy, but she could do it—and take the necklace by force, leaving him behind so he wouldn’t be in danger. She’d have a rough time getting a new passport and securing transportation, but she’d done it before. With the tracker gone, she’d have an easier time staying ahead of Bourean’s goons.
Or she could change her appearance, get the fake passport from Shinedown, and let Miles go with her. A much easier solution, but more dangerous for the only man she’d ever truly loved.
Was it love? Or another fantasy? Six weeks wasn’t really enough time to know someone before deciding that, was it?
A memory from their last night in the cabin flashed through her mind. Miles was back to normal, except for a slight limp. He’d been working out, hundreds of push-ups, sit-ups, jumping jacks. He’d stuffed an old jute bag full of straw, weighted the bottom with stones, and used it as a punching bag. In the small cabin, there was little room to get out of each other’s ways, so Charlotte had sat in the rocking chair near the fire, watching him go through his workout while pretending to read her favorite Harry Potter book. Her eyes wouldn’t stay on the page, and kept traveling to look at his naked back and chest, glistening with sweat as he attacked the bag with a series of kicks and punches.
“How’s the book?” he’d asked her, never breaking his rhythm.
She’d been so focused on the movement of his taut abs and muscled thighs as he bounced on the balls of his feet, she startled. “What?”
“The book.” He half glanced at her with a grin. “What’s it about?”
“Oh, it’s an old copy of Russian erotica stories,” she lied.
His rhythm slowed by a fraction. “Seriously?”
He couldn’t see the cover and she’d removed the dust jacket months ago. She was probably safe lying. “Yes, would you like me to read one out loud to you?”
The footwork stopped. His fists lowered. He was already breathing heavy, his beautiful gray eyes picking up the dancing flames in the fireplace.
Those eyes skimmed over her face, down her neck and lower. Everywhere his gaze touched her through the sheer nightgown—her cleavage, her breasts, her thighs—felt a tingle of anticipation. “I have a better idea,” he’d said.
He was healed. The winter snows were melting. Time to say goodbye. Her heart had clenched at the thought. But it was the right thing to do. “And what is that?”
He moved forward, drawing her out of the chair and bringing her close. Deft fingers untied the bow at her cleavage, slipped one strap off of her shoulder. “How about I clean up and you act one of them out for me?”
He smelled of sweat and male. Hungry male.
She let the other strap fall off her shoulder, the loose gown sliding down over the swell of her breasts. Miles ran his fingers over the hem, helping it down, down, down, slowly, ravaging her with his eyes. Charlotte shimmied and the gown fell to the floor, baring everything to him. “How about we act out one of them in the tub together?”
He’d swept her up in his arms, crushing his lips to hers. At the time, she’d known she would never feel the same way about any man. He was all wrong for her—her job required secrets and deception and he would never tolerate that. He consumed her, inside and out, and still wanted more. Wanted to explore every inch of her mind as well as her body. During their time at the cabin, he’d asked her thoughts on everything from Chinese politics to whether nuts belonged in chocolate chip cookies.
She longed to give in to him now as much as she had then.
But she couldn’t.
A noise downstairs signified the arrival of Shinedown. Brushing aside the memories, Charlotte went into the bathroom and inventoried her choices for a new look.
The closet inside the master bath held a collection of hair dyes. Red? She’d loved being a redhead in her early twenties. Her brown eyes and pale skin looked good with that color.
Red hair stood out, garnered a lot of attention. Not what she wanted on this mission.
Sadly, she moved that box of hair color aside.
The names of the colors gave her pause. Toasted Walnut, Sun-Kissed Brown, Chocolate Copper. All pretty shades, but most were too dark or would clash with her skin and make her look like she belonged in a zombie movie.
She couldn’t help it, even undercover, her hair color needed to be something she could live with.
Next.
Warm Butterscotch. Hmm.
It would darken her blond hair without completely washing her out, and from the guide on the back, it would give her a very subtle hint of red with the yellow tones.
Warm Butterscotch it is.
She worked the color into her hair, wrapped it in plastic and found the colored contact selection.
Brown eyes were the most common, so she decided to go with blue.
Downstairs, she heard voices. Miles and Shinedown talking in l
ow murmurs. She ventured into the giant, walk-in master closet. A chest of drawers was labeled with her size and inside she found brand new foundation garments. She slipped them on under the robe and surveyed the selection of clothes.
She went with jeans a half size too big, a long-sleeved purple T-shirt and a sweatshirt with the Southern California University emblem on it. She eyed a pair of boots she liked, but chose a pair of blue and white trainers instead. Better for running.
At the last minute, she went back for the boots. They would be heading into rough terrain and possibly bad weather. It was the beginning of winter season in Romania. She needed to be prepared.
An assortment of luggage lined one end of the closet. She found a duffel and filled it with a couple days’ worth of clothing changes, including some long underwear.
Back in the bathroom, she rinsed the dye from her hair, combed it out and used the blow dryer on it.
The color came out darker than she’d anticipated, but the guides on the side of the box were rarely accurate. With the new blue of her eyes, the light brown with red highlights worked well.
Her face devoid of makeup, and the So. Cal sweatshirt providing context, she appeared younger than her twenty-nine years. She could easily pass for an undergrad. She grabbed a pair of fake designer glasses with heavy frames and added them for good measure.
A knock sounded from the bedroom door. “Charlotte?” Miles said.
“Yes?”
“You ready? We need to get your picture for the passport.”
Smoothing down the sweatshirt, she took a deep breath, giving herself one more glance in the mirror. Ridiculous as it was, she hoped Miles still found her attractive in her disguise.
Stop acting like a schoolgirl and get on with it.
Slowly, she walked out of the bathroom and saw Miles standing in the doorway of the suite. His eyes did a double take but she couldn’t tell if it was because her appearance was so different or because he liked it.
“That’ll do,” was all he said, before turning on his heel and walking out.
Irritation burned in her stomach. Passing his inspection should have made her happy. Instead his casual remark made her feel as if something was lacking.
So he prefers blondes. Get over it. This is a deadly mission, not a lovers’ reunion.
Snatching up the overnight bag, she followed him, reconsidering leaving him behind out of spite.
Chapter Six
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CHARLOTTE WAS AS striking as a blue-eyed brunette as she was a brown-eyed blonde. Miles couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
You’re horny. That’s all.
He hadn’t wanted a single other woman since he’d left Romania. Not even a twitch when he saw a sexy woman on the street or when one handed him her phone number in a restaurant or bar. Not one fantasy that didn’t have Charlotte and only Charlotte starring in it.
All the lonely nights, missing her and wondering if she were even real. Like a starving man in need of comfort food, he couldn’t stop flicking his gaze over to her where she sat for her passport picture in front of a generic, off-white background.
Shinedown, a former SEAL who’s real name was Colton Bells, adjusted the lighting, then touched her chin. “A little more to the right.” He lowered his face close to hers, scooted her fake glasses a bit higher on her nose. “Perfect.”
She smiled up at him and he smiled back and Miles’ blood pressure went up twenty points.
His phone rang, the readout telling him it was the last person on Earth he wanted to talk to.
“Take the damn picture,” he growled at Colt, and then barked, “What?” into the phone.
“Rory tells me we have a new client,” Beatrice Reese, out in Washington D.C., said without preamble. “Tell me why I have no paperwork for her in my inbox.”
Word traveled fast. Colt still leaned over Charlotte, saying something too soft for Miles to hear and making her chuckle. Her eyes met his across the room but then skittered away.
Gripping the phone, Miles gave it a squeeze, knowing he needed to get control of his sudden jealousy as well as his ongoing obsession with the woman in the chair. He wanted to run his fingers through her newly dyed hair and make her blue eyes go hazy with lust. “I’m working on it.”
“Who are you assigning her to?”
Colt finished primping Charlotte and moved behind the camera. Miles could finally take a decent breath. “I’m handling this one on my own.”
“You’re now head of the West Coast division of Rock Star Security. You no longer work assignments, you assess clients and assign other team members to their cases.”
“This one is…different. Special.”
Charlotte must have realized he was talking about her. Her eyes met his, an intensity in them that nearly sucked Miles’ breath away again. At that same moment, Colt snapped her picture.
Beatrice’s voice cut through the white noise in his head. “Is this the woman Rory said was stalking you?”
Breaking eye contact, Miles had to step away. Carrying on a coherent conversation with Beatrice while Charlotte stared at him like she wanted to hug him was impossible.
Colt moved to the office computer-printer setup and fiddled with both.
Miles cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “She needs help. I’m going to give it to her.”
“Not until she signs our contract and I’ve cleared her.”
Beatrice was no stranger to traitors and spies. Not only had she worked for NSA, she’d been handpicked for a secret intelligence group called Command & Control and knew her way around the political landscape as well as anyone. Betrayal and honor were two sides of the same coin she understood well. She’d been labeled a rogue agent at one point and escaped execution by an assassin who now worked for her.
Second chances. That’s what Shadow Force International was all about.
But there was a fine line between helping those in need who deserved it, and helping those who’d betrayed their country for real and didn’t.
Miles still wasn’t sure which category Charlotte fell into.
“She’s filling out the paperwork right now,” he lied, motioning Charlotte to a chair next to the desk. He dug a computer tablet out of the drawer, brought up the client contract and handed it to her. “You’ll have the contract in a few minutes.”
“Good. I’ll run the background check once I receive the papers.”
“You already have. She’s the agent you helped me look into.”
There was the squeak of a chair in the background. In his mind, Miles saw Beatrice rocking in her leather office chair, thinking, calculating.
Beatrice was labeled a genius. Her intellect and cunning were off the map; hence, her past career with the NSA and now running Emit Petit’s dual organizations. “I assumed as much. Should I be expecting a call from the Queen, then?”
“Not if I can keep this on the down low.”
“How is our new client paying for services rendered?”
Miles shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “I’ll cover it.”
“How?”
Sarcasm wasn’t part of Beatrice’s repertoire. Neither was incredulousness. She was logical to a fault and knew she had him on this one. The men in SFI were paid handsomely, but fees for Rock Star Security were astronomical. Which was why only the very rich and very famous hired them. “I’ll work pro bono, and you can dock my future pay until the bill is paid in full.”
Charlotte was staring at him, a frown knitting her forehead. Miles turned away.
“What I’m wondering,” Beatrice said, “is why you would put your life and career on the line for her?”
“Been wondering the same thing,” he muttered.
“If MI6 catches up to her and you’re with her…”
“I know. Aiding and abetting. Prison. I’ve got the picture.”
“Do you?” Another squeak of her chair.
“Because if you get caught with her, I may not be able to get you out of jail. MI6 and the Queen may bury you so deep, I can’t even find you. You’ll be rotting in some South African prison or working the coal mines in Wales.”
Miles turned back, watched as Colt stamped the passport with some foreign country’s stamp and blew on it. Charlotte used the stylus on the tablet to sign her name. She looked up at Miles and gave him a hesitant smile.
She’d never been hesitant about anything during their time in the mountains. She’d been wanton and direct, doing what she felt like when she felt like it. Bourean had done more than leave scars on her back. He’d beaten some of the spirit out of her as well.
“She’s worth it,” Miles found himself saying into the phone.
A beat of silence went by. “I’ll find someone else to take charge of the West Coast Rock Stars while you’re gone. Now, get me that paperwork.”
Beatrice was tough, but she had his back. Every one of the men working for SFI, whether they did security details for the rich and famous, or ran covert ops in foreign countries, took their cues from her. They were all a team. “Thank you.”
“I assume you’re heading back to Romania. I have contacts there. Let me know what you need and I’ll find someone to help.”
He sent up a second, mental thank you to her. “I need a plane.”
“I’ll make sure one is fueled and ready at Greenbow.”
Greenbow was a small, private wing of the Van Nuys airport that Rock Stars and SFI used for clients. “Shinedown can handle things until I get back.”
“Hmm.” Her pause suggested she had serious doubts about that. Colt, however, looked thrilled. “Have him call me.”
She disconnected.
Colt held up the passport and showed it to Miles. “All done.”
“You’re sure it will pass inspection?”
A hurt look passed over the former SEAL’s face. “Homeland taught me well. I’m the best at this and you know it.”
Colton had unique skills and had worked for a brief time for DHS before the SEALs, tracking the often fake passports of terrorists. “Thanks, man.”
Miles took the tablet from Charlotte, closed out the form, and emailed it to Beatrice. Colt locked a Rock Star bracelet on Charlotte’s arm, giving her the rundown about the high-tech piece of jewelry. “GPS, the tiniest wire saw in the world, a pick for locks.”