Hot as Hell

by Monette Michaels

  Henri, who’d flirted with her outrageously since she’d sat down, saluted her with his brandy. “Deal, milady. You have to lose now. The … how do they say it in America? … the elephant is no longer in the room.”

  Conn laughed. “Close enough. Deal, babe. I missed several hands.” He looked at his watch. “Maybe I can recoup some of my losses before our dinner reservation at an exclusive little restaurant on the beach I discovered.”

  “That sure of me, Conner?” She punched him lightly on the arm. “You made the reservation even before asking me. What if I’d said no?”

  “I’d have kept asking until you said yes.” Conn captured her hand and kissed the tips of her fingers. “I’m very persuasive when I see something I want.”

  Conn was definitely laying the lover act on thick. And Benrabi was buying it if his stiff body language was any indicator. The Yemeni uttered several curses during a lengthy diatribe. While her Arabic—and the Yemeni dialect in question—were rusty, roughly translated, he’d likened Conn to camel dung, called her a filthy whore, and ended his tirade by calling down the curses of Allah on the Earl of Oxenham for his perfidy in keeping her from the sheikh.

  MacLean smirked at his partner-in-crime’s harangue, but jerked when her father’s title was mentioned. He turned a piercing look on Dawn. For several seconds, his expression was almost analytical as if he were examining and rejecting hypotheses. Then his lips quirked in a crooked half smile that gave her a really bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  Her only conclusion? The arsehole knew her father and knew he was in British intelligence.

  MacLean leaned over and whispered something in Benrabi’s ear which caused the sheikh to nod. Then the bleeding traitor texted someone.

  Now, that didn’t bode well for Conn or her—or SSI’s mission.

  “Don’t worry about them, sweetheart,” Sam’s voice sounded a bit strained. He’d obviously picked up on the odd MacLean-Benrabi interchange. “Just stick close to Conn. We’ll have eyes on them and you at all times.”

  But that wouldn’t tell them to whom MacLean had sent a message or what it had contained. She had a sinking feeling they’d find the answer to both those concerns sooner or later.

  She tapped a finger on the table, acknowledging Sam’s communication. But she wouldn’t relax her guard until Benrabi and MacLean were locked away.

  “Bets, please,” the croupier called.

  Lost in thought, Dawn startled.

  Conn patted her hand as he leaned in to whisper, “You okay?”

  She nodded. “Sorry, just calculating how much more I need to win to buy the little island off the coast of the Bahamas that I’m interested in.”

  Several of the players laughed. The Ukrainian player said, “I’ll buy you an island. Ditch the American and fly away with me.”

  “Sorry, but I’ve already promised to dine with Conner.” She sent the other man a smoldering gaze. “Ask me again tomorrow evening, I might have changed my mind about the Yank by then.”

  “I’ll look for you.” The Ukrainian raised his glass of vodka and saluted her.

  Dawn turned to the croupier. “Let’s start out easy. Give the gents a chance to catch up. Banker bets ten thousand.”

  The next player didn’t have the funds to go bank so he matched her bet. The punters kicked in ten thousand a piece. Even MacLean—whose unnerving attention had kept returning to her since Benrabi mentioned her father—kicked in a bet.

  The traitor’s smile had turned decidedly cruel. But Benrabi’s expression was even scarier. Something told her if the sheikh got his hands on her, she’d fare no better than the young girls he planned to pimp to his radical allies. Rape would be the least of the horrors she’d face.

  Keeping her face pleasantly bland, Dawn took a deep breath and dealt the cards. She won again. And then again on the next deal.

  “Time to wind this up, sweetheart.” Sam’s voice over the com system was more than welcome.

  While most of her fellow players were exclaiming at her marvelous run of luck and that it had to end soon, MacLean and Benrabi were silent. They had about them the air of patient predators—and she was positive they weren’t planning to beat her at cards.

  “One more hand, gentlemen,” she aimed a bright smile at Conn, “then my new American friend is taking me to dinner.”

  “And maybe a walk along the beach?” Conn covered her ice-cold hand with his warm one. “I’d love to see how your skin looks in the moonlight.”

  Dawn pulled her hand out from under Conn’s and organized her new winnings into stacks. “We’ll see how dinner goes first, shall we?”

  Conn nodded. “Of course.”

  The croupier called for bets. Dawn raised her bet to twenty thousand this round, and the player, Benrabi this time, matched it. Several others dropped out, but MacLean stayed in with a matching bet. She dealt the cards. She had an eight and had to turn it over.

  “Another card, Sheikh?” She arched an eyebrow.

  He scowled and looked at his cards again as if they’d changed since he’d looked at them a second or so ago. “Card.”

  Dawn dealt him a five face up. Benrabi swore and turned over his cards, both face cards worth zero. “You win again, Lady Dawn.” He stared at her as if he could see into her brain. “I would like a chance to regain some of my money. Maybe you would join me and my friend on my yacht for a private game?”

  “I’d be happy to give you and”—she looked toward MacLean—“Senor Lazaro a chance to win back some of your funds… but it would have to be here in the casino. I’m afraid I get horribly seasick.”

  Benrabi shrugged. “Tomorrow, then. Here. Eight o’clock?” He stood quickly while MacLean got up more slowly.

  She’d bet her winnings that Benrabi planned on seeing her long before tomorrow. Little did he know, he’d be in custody when he did.

  “That would be marvelous. See you then.” She turned toward Conn. “Conner, do we have time to cash in my chips?”

  Conn shook his head. “Our reservation is soon.”

  Theo came to their side. “Lady Wilson, if you wish, I will cash your chips in for you and have them put the amount on your account. Allow me to give you a receipt for them.”

  “Thank you. That would be lovely.” She counted the chips. “My math says I have two million four hundred thousand.”

  “That agrees with my count.” Theo handed her his tablet and she signed the screen. He printed out a receipt for her. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  MacLean and Benrabi left the Baccarat area just as Theo moved away from her and Conn.

  Conn pulled out her chair and assisted her in standing. They exchanged goodbyes with the other players.

  “The targets are taking the hall toward the parking garage,” Sam reported. “Get Dawn out of there, Conn, and then come round to the parking garage exit to join us.”

  Conn took her arm by the elbow and assisted her down the stairs, then steered her toward the main lobby of the resort.

  “Guys,” Dawn said. “Something else is going on with MacLean and Benrabi, something aside from completing their slave-trafficking business this evening. Benrabi calmed down far too quickly after Conn’s Don Juan routine.” She looked over her shoulder and didn’t see anything out of the norm, but still her neck itched like crazy. “Are you sure they’re on their way to their car, Sam?”

  “They’re in the garage now,” Sam said. “When they drive out, they’ll be stopped and arrested. Ren and I are on our way to assist on that take-down now.”

  “What changed?” Dawn asked as Conn maneuvered them through the crowds. “Why arrest them now?”

  “We have positive proof that Oraio the sex trafficker is MacLean, U.S. traitor,” Sam said. “Keely matched voice prints on MacLean. The local authorities are comfortable holding him for the United States on that evidence alone. Ren advised the Dutch navy to go ahead and seize the container ship and rescue the girls. The Dutch marines have seized computers and f
iles from MacLean’s estate and Benrabi’s yacht tying them to the slave trading.”

  “So, no reason to wait,” Dawn said. “That’s bloody marvelous.”

  “Damn straight,” Sam replied.

  “Get the arseholes,” Dawn said. “I’ll just go sit with the other helpless little woman as we wait for our men to come home from the wars.”

  Okay, so she was a little bit pissed at not being there when bloody Benrabi was taken into custody. She’d live.

  Conn laughed as he smoothly and swiftly moved her through the throng in the lobby.

  “Dawn”—Ren’s voice—“MacLean recognized your father’s name. I’m not taking any chances with your safety. So, you’ll go to the estate and keep Keely company. We’ve got this covered.”

  “Um, got the message, mate.” Dawn’s response was terse. Her skin prickled as if dozens of spiders crawled over her. Something wasn’t right. She surveyed her surroundings, but saw nothing that indicated she and Conn were under observation. But still—her fingers clenched and unclenched and she wished her gun was more easily accessible. She was sure pulling her dress up in public to draw her gun from her thigh holster wasn’t a good move at the moment. But as soon as she got outside, she’d risk the exposure and retrieve her weapon.

  “Sweetheart…” An apologetic tone had entered Sam’s voice. “…Old Syd would love to get a twist on someone in MI6 since he’s lost all his NSA connections. He’d take you and use you as leverage in New York minute.”

  She huffed out an exasperated breath. “Luv, I know that. Plus, after the come-on Conn gave me and my acceptance of the same, Benrabi would torture and rape me and then turn me over to his men to do the same. Do you all think I was born yesterday?”

  “Sam and I know you’re not stupid or inexperienced in the field,” Ren said. “And I never meant to imply that. It’s just—”

  “It’s just that you’re a controlling, dominant male and my skill sets are not needed now,” Dawn finished.

  “That about sums it up,” Ren agreed.

  She shook her head and pinched Conn’s arm when he had the audacity to laugh again. As she was new to SSI and her boss had not seen in her action before, she would cut Ren some slack.

  Dawn and Conn exited the hotel. Theo had beat them outside and now spoke with a man in a Dutch marine uniform, leaning against the driver’s side door. An argument ensued.

  “Bloody hell, my neck’s never wrong.” Dawn pulled Conn to a halt. “Something’s wrong.” She bent down, jerked her dress up—which was a battle since it fit like a second skin—and then drew her weapon. She tugged the skirt back over her arse one-handed just as Theo and the man began to fight.

  She brought her gun up and aimed it at the man attacking Theo. She didn’t have a clear shot and Theo definitely was getting the worse end of the fight.

  “Conn, the arsehole has a knife,” Dawn shouted.

  Theo didn’t.

  “Fuck.” Conn ran toward the fighting men. “Ren… Sam, Dawn’s ride was compromised. Need some backup here.”

  “I’m your bloody backup,” Dawn snarled.

  “Dawn, get the fuck out of there,” Sam said. “Ren and I are on our way.”

  “Fuck that, luv. I’m not leaving my partner.” Dawn covered Conn’s ass while he attempted to help Theo. Her gaze swept the valet parking area; her gun arm tracked her visual scan.

  No response from her Marine, just the sounds of his breathing and his pounding footsteps echoing in the background.

  “Dawn. Conn—” Ren’s calm voice came over the com. “Heads up, we lost visual on MacLean and Benrabi. They’re in the wind. They could be heading your way.”

  “Roger that,” muttered Dawn. She backed toward Conn and the two fighting men, counting on Conn to have that direction covered. She figured any new attack would come from the hotel or the parking garage set off to the side of the valet parking area. Those were the areas she now watched like a hawk.

  Over her ear bud, she heard Ren issuing orders in a clipped, urgent tone and the sounds of multiple pounding feet. Help was coming, but would it arrive soon enough?

  Her neck said not.

  Conn shouted, “Theo, watch out,” and a shot rang out.

  Male groans of pain sent chills down her spine. Had Conn been shot?

  She looked over her shoulder. Theo was on the ground, a knife in his chest and far too much blood already pooling on the ground. His assailant was also down—gut shot and lying in his own pool of blood.

  “Ren…Theo’s hurt… we need paramedics.” Dawn ran toward Conn who after checking the downed thug for weapons and restraining him had then moved to kneel by Theo’s side.

  When she reached Conn and Theo, she placed her body between them and the almost palpable danger still lurking in the shadows. She felt the renewed threat clawing at her throat, making it harder for her to breathe. Her finger tightened on the trigger of her weapon, but she had no target. She couldn’t get a positive direction for whatever was triggering her fight-or-flight reaction. “Come on, you bloody arses, show yourselves.”

  “Dawn, get the fuck inside,” Conn ordered. “I got this… shit… shit—Ren, we need a medic now.”

  “I’m staying, mate.” She looked over her shoulder and found Conn had taken off his sport coat and was using it to apply pressure around the chest wound. The fact Conn had left the knife in Theo’s chest and the blood was already soaking the thick fabric weren’t good signs.

  Dawn surveilled the area. “You’re the only thing keeping Theo alive. I plan on keeping you alive until help gets here.”

  “Dawn… Benrabi and MacLean know their original business is fucked. It’s you they’ll want now. You’re leverage.” Ren’s voice. “Get to the registration desk and stay there. Sam’s coming through the casino now. He can back up Conn. I’ll be there soon after.”

  Her gut told her to stay with Conn and Theo, but her boss had ordered her to leave. Fuck it. She went with her gut and stayed where she was, continuing a visual sweep of the area.

  Movement caught her eye. Black flowing over black in the shadows of the valet lot. In the next instant, a man stepped out from behind a parked SUV and took a shooter’s stance. His target was Conn.

  The armed man ignored her as if she weren’t even there. His mistake.

  No hesitation. No second thoughts. Dawn took her shot which hit the shooter in the upper left chest. He emitted no sound, merely jerked at the impact. His shot had gone wide and hit the vehicle next to Conn and Theo. The wounded man coolly reacquired his target.

  Bloody buggering hell. What was he? A cyborg or something? She shot again. This time it was a kill shot. He’d pulled the trigger just as her shot hit him. His shot missed, again hitting the vehicle. The shooter fell to the ground, his weapon falling from his hand. He had to be dead. She hadn’t missed. But training—and experience—had her run to check him, leading with her gun, just in case he was playing dead or someone else popped out from between the parked cars.

  “Shit, fuck, shit.” Conn’s curses followed her. “Got you covered, Dawn. Make sure he’s out of it.”

  “Dawn, what the fuck?” Sam roared.

  “The guy’s dead, luv. Conn, keep the pressure on Theo,” she said. “I’ll cover my own arse.”

  If someone else were out there, he hadn’t made a move yet.

  Her skin still crawled and her gut screamed danger, so she kept searching the shadows.

  She stooped and picked up the dead man’s weapon with her free hand and then hurried back to cover Conn and Theo.

  “Good job, Dawn.” Conn’s voice was as steady and firm as the pressure he put on Theo’s wound. The Dutchman’s skin was so white as to be translucent. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine. Not my first kill.” While she schooled her expression to reflect a calm she didn’t feel, her insides were fluttering and her primitive brain was debating as to whether she’d live to be an old lady or not. She’d had this argument with her brain each and every time she’d
been in a position to use her weapon. Some day her brain would win and she’d hang up her weapons, stay home, and start collecting cats.

  Or live with Sam and have his babies… and collect cats.

  That would work also. But today, her primitive self would win. She stroked her forefinger along the side of her gun, centering herself.

  “Yeah, sure you are. I’m shaky, too,” Conn said. “Sam, Ren, where the fuck are you and our backup? Theo’s a few pints low and still bleeding. Jesus, I haven’t seen this much blood since Iraq.”

  Worry for Theo lodged at the back of Dawn’s mind as time moved in slow motion. The multitudinous shadows created by the landscape lighting as it filtered around trees, shrubs, and parked cars played tricks on her eyes. Then the crawling sensation elevated to fire ants swarming and stinging her senses.

  “Sam? Where are you?” Dawn muttered. “Something’s coming. We’re sitting ducks here.”

  “I see you,” Sam finally said.

  She looked up and found him running out of the valet entrance off the lobby. He looked so big, so strong and furious… worried.

  “Be there in a—”

  Movement in her peripheral vision. Then she spotted a red dot sweep over Sam’s chest.

  “Sam, get down!”

  Taking aim along the trajectory of the laser targeting scope, Dawn took a shot into the darkness at the same time as Sam took his.

  The attacker fell forward into the lighted area of the valet driveway. Both shots had hit, but the downed shooter’s curses and jerky motions indicated he was still alive. Still dangerous.

  Dawn moved to cover Sam who ran toward the man. The wounded fucker had somehow managed to bring his assault rifle up and around. His target was once again Sam.

  Like hell. She took the bloody arsehole out.

  Sam shot her a fierce glance. “Good shot, sweetheart.” Then he bent over and made sure the man was dead and took his rifle. He slung the weapon over his shoulder and began a car-by-car search of the parked cars for more attackers.

  Dawn was tempted to join him, but Conn and Theo still needed her, so she took up her position covering them the best she could.