by Misty Evans
She sat back in her chair and raised one beautifully arched eyebrow at him. He wondered how many times she had practiced that in the mirror. “Excusez-moi.” Her gaze flickered over the bar. “I was trying to be of assistance."
Lawson twirled the longneck again. Why was he suddenly so blessed with female help? Tapping his thumb on the bottle, he gave Yvette a charming smile. “Finish your smoke. Then we'll go back to your flat."
* * * *
Zara glanced down the alley at the BMW motorcycle and its rider hidden in the shadows. Lawson had been inside the Café Toulouse for ten minutes for his meeting with his informant. She couldn't go in without showing herself to him, even if she snuck in the back door. The place was too small and too open.
She had what she wanted anyway. She'd seen his source through the window as Yvette greeted him like a lover. No wonder he hadn't wanted Zara with him. Yvette was a welcome rendezvous. How had he met her? What had the two of them worked on together before? It was obvious they shared a past.
Leaving the café's shadow, she made her way to the adjacent alley and the motorcycle rider. There were few people she trusted more than Lucie. Still, she was trying to be discreet. “I need another favor, sis."
Straight blonde hair fell in a cascade to the woman's shoulders. “Mais oui! Avenue Montaigne?"
"How did you know?"
Lucie laughed. “Always there is the shopping with you."
"It's not for fun. It's for work. I need dress pants and a jacket."
Lucie ran a hand through her hair and slid a helmet over it. “You know I will do anything for you, little sister."
Eight months was all that separated them. Zara climbed on the back of the bike and embraced Lucie in a strong hug. Love for the half-sister her parents chose to ignore rose in her heart.
"You are here to look for Dmitri, yes?” Lucie glanced at Zara in her small round rearview mirror. “You are okay with that? Not scared?"
Dmitri's release had made international headlines, so Zara wasn't surprised her sister knew the monster was out. Yet Lucie's question caught Zara off guard. Of the few people who knew what had happened with Dmitri, most, like her mother and father, chose to act like nothing had happened. Zara knew it was because they loved her that they couldn't stand to think about the dangers she encountered in her job, especially specific confrontations like the farmhouse.
With Lucie it was different. Lucie understood betrayal and its effects as well as Zara did. As young girls, they had secretly shared their fears, their loves, their mutual need to embrace all of life in long, handwritten letters. In her teens when Zara had fought with her parents over being a ballet star, Lucie had supported her with endless emails. As an adult, she had never shied away from talking about the dangers of Zara's job. She was the only person Zara had discussed the fear she'd felt when Dmitri had forced the gun to point at Tim. The fear when he'd turned the gun on her. Lucie was the only person to see her cry after it was over.
Registering the concern in her sister's eyes, Zara felt the sharp sting of tears behind her own. She forced a smile and threw her arms around her sister again. “I'm okay,” she said into Lucie's hair. “And I'll be even better with a new pair of shoes on my feet."
Lucie laughed and handed her a helmet. “Entendu! Avenue Montaigne, here we come."
* * * *
Lawson walked beside Yvette as they headed south on Rue Marbeuf. His eyes shifted constantly behind his sunglasses, taking in the parked cars along the street, the bicycles zinging by and the other pedestrians sharing the sidewalk. Appearing to listen to Yvette's nonstop chatter as they crossed the street, he checked second-story windows and rooftops and picked out landmarks to help him remember his way back. What he'd told Zara at the hotel was true. He never got lost. Like a human version of a Global Positioning System, he had the natural ability to figure out the lay of the land and know his position in relationship to it at all times. His military training had honed the skill, giving him a definite advantage tracking and retrieving people in the field.
Yvette laughed at some joke she had made and leaned into him, putting her arm around his waist as a lover would do. Lawson rested his arm around her shoulders. He hated playing stupid games, pretending to be someone he wasn't, but it was necessary all the same in case someone was watching.
Yvette was more at ease playing the game than he was, and since she was his blue-chip asset at the moment, he would take her lead. Once he had the information on Dmitri and Vos Loo, he and Zara could sort through it and put the next stage of the op plan into play. Yvette could go back to spying for the CIA or French Intelligence or whoever the hell was paying her, and Lawson could wash the smell of her oppressive perfume from his clothes.
Halfway down the next block, Lawson heard the rumble of a bike coming up behind them. BMW Sport. Another skill of his, deciphering the sounds of different cycles. This one more personally satisfying. Tuning into the hum of a bike was like tuning into the hum of a woman's body when it was rocking against his own. Pure heaven on earth.
He couldn't stop his head from turning to find the bike. The black and grey machine shot past him on the street, two riders weaving around a Renault. Laughter drifted back to him. The passenger turned her head and looked over her shoulder in his direction, the ends of her blonde hair lifting and falling under her helmet.
All of Lawson's senses went on high alert. She was familiar, and even though he couldn't see her eyes because of her helmet's visor, he was sure she was staring straight at him.
Two seconds later, she and the bike were out of sight, and Yvette tugged on his arm like a child. “Ici, Isaac.” She motioned for him to follow her down an alley.
Lawson stared at the street where the bike had disappeared and let his mind replay the bike and passenger. The sound of her laughter ... the easy grace with which she turned and looked at him...
"Holy hell,” he muttered.
His partner was on the loose again.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Ten
L'Ambassador
Zara held the door as a bellhop brought in a set of boxes and bags containing purchases from hers and Lucie's shopping trip. Thank goodness the stores they'd visited provided free delivery. There was no way she could have gotten everything strapped on to the motorcycle.
"Oh, oui.” Lucie grabbed a bag from the bellhop's hand. “The skirts."
Her sister pulled two denim skirts from the bag and dropped the tissue paper they were wrapped in on the floor. She threw Zara's at her, holding the other one up to her face and kissing it. “C'est superbe."
Laughing, she dug in Lucie's Louis Vuitton handbag and found several euros to tip the bellhop. He thanked her and backed out of the room.
The past hour with Lucie had made Zara lighthearted. She had bought a few items using Lucie's credit card since she couldn't use her own, promising to repay her sister before the bill arrived in the mail. She also offered to buy Lucie several items to make up for the favor, and it looked to Zara, as she scanned the pile of clothes and accessories on the bed, that Lucie had gotten the better end of the deal.
Lucie had guessed Zara was after Dmitri and had quizzed her relentlessly about the mission. After several lies failed to pass the Lucie bullshit meter, Zara had finally broken down and explained she was on assignment with Lawson, but left off the specifics. Lucie had crowed in delight—Zara had told her about the Pegasus team leader in one of the novel-sized emails they exchanged every week. When Lucie wove extravagant fantasies about Lawson, Zara dropped the subject.
Now she wondered where Lawson was as she watched Lucie shimmy into her skirt. She'd been sure he'd beat them back to the hotel, but she and Lucie had been back for fifteen minutes and he had yet to show up. She glanced at the clock. He'd been gone over three hours. She remembered the way he'd been walking down the street arm in arm with that woman.
Source, my sweet fanny. Lawson was having an afternoon in Paris to remember. How dare he accuse he
r of not understanding what covert meant.
"Zara?” Lucie said. "Qu'est-ce qu'il y a?" What's the matter?
She shook her head. It was time to kick Lucie out and get back to business. She wanted to talk to Annette and see what she'd found out about Vos Loo's past lab facilities. “Nothing. Look, I hate to cut this short, but I have to get back to work."
Lucie looked crestfallen. “Five more minutes? We haven't seen each other in months."
Five minutes. What would it hurt? Zara checked her watch and sighed. “All right. We have to sort out my pants and jackets anyway."
Lucie made a shooshing sound. “Forget the business attire.” When she said the it sounded like zee. “Put on your skirt and pair it with"—she reached forward and grabbed a crocheted halter-top off the bed and threw it at Zara—"this.” Zees.
Zara held the two pieces up to her body and looked down at the combination. Definitely not Sara Lerner material, but definitely Zara Morgan. “What about shoes?"
Lucie dug through a pile of boxes on the floor. “Shoes? Non.” She gave Zara a wicked smile. “Boots, ma petite. Boots!” In her hands she held up long doeskin boots in shocking hot pink.
Feeling her fingers itch in anticipation, Zara studied the wicked things. “Those are yours, Lucie."
Her sister crossed the room and held them out. “Try them on. If you like them, we will buy another pair, d'accord?"
Zara slid a hand over the soft suede. A grin tugged at her lips. “Peut-êtra."
Perhaps.
Lawson heard muffled female laughter coming from Zara's suite when he entered his room. The same laughter that had drifted to him on the streets of Paris and continued to echo in his ears an hour later. Locking the door behind him, he ignored his partner's giggles and headed for the desk in the corner. First things first. He threw down a thick bundle of newspapers and booted up his laptop.
While he waited for the welcome screen to appear, he removed the watch from his wrist. A little tool from Hoffman, the watch had 128MB of memory and could store data, music and photo files. Pulling a slender USB cable from the rubber wristband, Lawson attached it to the USB port on the notebook. In less than a minute, the files he'd copied from Yvette's personal computer were now on his.
Next he removed a sleek black pen from his jacket pocket. He turned the digital camera on and listened to the voice function tell him the camera was out of memory. He'd used the pen to photograph pictures and copies of the prison blueprints Yvette had refused to part with. The pen held only 32MB of memory, but contained a real built-in stylus so it could be used in every situation without suspicion.
A strange woman's voice emanated from the other room, rattling off something in French. She followed with a catcall and Zara admonished her. Both women giggled.
She won't be laughing when Flynn finds out his little soldier is compromising this mission.
Lawson shed his jacket as the camera downloaded images to his notebook. While he had what he wanted and was done dealing with Yvette, the rest of the task was still daunting. He had to begin checking out Dmitri's old haunts and find Vos Loo's past labs and suppliers, but even that seemed easier at the moment than reining in his partner.
He stared blindly at the notebook's screen. Who was the woman in Zara's room and what had Zara told her? Christ Almighty, how many freakin’ ways do I have to explain covert missions?
Was this yet another test?
A multitude of things could go wrong during any operation. That was a given. Some were controllable. They could be avoided, or at least planned for in advance. Other problems came out of nowhere and blindsided you. Depending on how serious they were, you could devise a new plan, or you could roll over and play dead, aborting the mission.
Lawson had never aborted a mission.
But he had also never encountered a partner like the one next door. She kept blindsiding him with her boldness. It was like they were working two entirely different missions. He wasn't ready to give up yet though. He would never give up.
Zara was impulsive and had a streak of defiance in her, but so did he. Like a headstrong three-year-old, she just needed a strong hand to guide her and set limits. He could do that. His four younger siblings and quite a few younger non-coms could testify to Lawson's ability to teach common sense and mold a person's character. Even the four other members of Team Pegasus would admit their success in and out of the field had been largely due to Lawson's leadership skills.
Sitting forward, he skimmed the files he'd downloaded making sure everything he needed had transferred. Satisfied with the results, he made a copy, removed it and secured the tiny flash drive in a secret compartment in his travel suitcase. Then he shut down the notebook computer, checked the gun at the small of his back and strode across the room to the Zara's door. Raising his hand to knock, he stilled when he heard the strange woman's voice on the other side say, “Ooh, la, la, ma cheri. You are the bomb!"
She's a bomb, all right.
Lawson took a step back and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. And somehow I have to find a way to defuse her before she goes off.
"Sara.” He rapped the door with his knuckles. “Open up."
He heard her whisper on the other side, “Oh no. Help me, Lucie. Pick up this stuff."
Shuffling sounds and more whispers filtered through before he heard the chain slide free of its lock. At least she'd followed that order.
Zara popped the door open a crack and smiled up at him. “Hi. I didn't realize you were back."
He peered over her head into the room beyond and saw a lithe blonde snatch a pair of bright green underwear off the desk and hide them behind her back. She caught him watching her and offered a coy smile and a tiny wave. Lawson dropped his gaze back to Zara's. “Explain."
The gears in her head turned before she answered. “I did a little shopping while you were gone. I needed clothes to wear on this trip and you told me not to use chauffeured cars, so I called Lucie to take me. We were just trying on some of our purchases."
He shoved the door open, grabbed Zara's arm and pulled her into his room. “Do you remember the conversation we had—” He stopped short, looking her over from head to toe. “Jesus, what the hell are you wearing?"
She jerked her arm out of his grasp, took a step back and followed his gaze down her body. “I splurged on the skirt. They were having a great sale at MaxMara's and, well, I couldn't resist."
The skirt? Lawson dragged his eyes up from the pink stiletto boots, taking in the amount of thigh between them and the miniskirt, and forced himself to look at the article of clothing in question. The skirt's frayed hemline stopped two inches short of being decent, as his mother would have said, and did a fine job showing off Zara's incredible thighs. The waistband rode low on her hips and Lawson's eyes were immediately drawn to a small diamond navel ring in her bellybutton.
He clenched his jaw and tried to control his very male reaction. “Where exactly do you think you're going to wear that?"
Zara crossed her arms underneath her breasts. “Wherever I darn well please."
"Not on this operation."
She tapped one foot on the floor. “Well, of course not on the operation. I bought clothes for our stay here and I bought the skirt for later, when I get back to the States. The boots and tank top belong to Lucie."
Lawson ran a hand over his face and rubbed his eyes, trying to keep them off the boots. He had to admit he was disappointed the boots weren't going back to the States with the skirt. This had to be another damn Red Dress test. “And who exactly is Lucie?"
"If you'd stop being such an ass,” Zara said, strutting toward the door, “I'd introduce you to her."
He reached out and caught her hand, pulling her back to him. “Did you just call me an ass?"
Zara turned to face him and the stilettos brought her face four inches closer to his. She raised her chin and looked him in the eye. “Yes.” No further explanation offered.
He couldn't believe she'd used a cuss word
. “Here I thought you were too prim and proper to swear."
Zara blinked as confusion creased her brow. “Are you teasing me?"
"No.” He rubbed his thumb over her wrist where he still held on to her. Her pulse jumped under his fingers. Another crack in the veneer? “I've never heard anything stronger than ‘darn’ and ‘baloney’ pass your lips."
Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “I can out-cuss you anytime, anyplace."
Was she challenging him to a swearing match? Obviously, she'd forgotten he was ex-Navy and a Special Forces commando to boot.
And, quite honestly, just being a man gave him the upper hand in the swearing department. “Is that so?” he egged her on. “Shall we test your theory?"
Her breath hitched and determination pinched her lips into a thin line. “I know at least a hundred swear words in six different languages,” she bragged. “Top that."
Up to that moment, Lawson hadn't been worried about winning a swearing contest against anyone, especially not a girl. His vast repertoire of swear words was a thing of beauty. But when Zara's challenge registered, he mentally used a few of his favorite four-letter words on himself. English and Spanish were his only fluent languages which meant he'd just lost this bet.
To a girl no less.
To a freakin’ girly-girl standing there in freakin’ hot pink knee-high stiletto boots.
Jesus, what was his world coming to?
He let go of her wrist. “Why am I not surprised?"
A triumphant smile lit her face. “Is that a concession?"
It was, but damned if he'd admit it. He took a step back and set his hands on his hips. “Let's get back to why you were out riding around town on a motorcycle and going shopping when I specifically told you not to do anything but find us a different hotel."
Her smile faded a bit but not her bravado. “All the cheaper hotels in town are booked solid for some convention or something. We have to stay here at the Ambassador for now and I had to shop. Besides, you never said I couldn't go shopping."