“Were you in a relationship with your boss?” the other woman asked.
“Oh, no.” Ivy widened her eyes and did her best to look innocent. “We’d only met once before at a conference, and even then it was professional.”
“Any boyfriends or exes we should know about?” Skirt Suit asked her.
“No, ma’am.”
“What about your last wellness check?”
“Nothing to report there, either.”
The questions continued, covering her health, where her parents were, if they would be concerned about her new job. All of this was asked by the two women on the right without Jabir or the Shrew Squad chiming in.
“Alright.” Tweed glanced at Jabir.
He nodded.
That must be some sort of cue.
Jabir grinned at her.
Had she passed some sort of test?
“Strip,” the petite Asian woman sitting in the middle of the Shrew Squad ordered. She wore a blue dress with dramatic blue eyeshadow.
Ivy’s brows rose. “I’m sorry?”
“You heard me.” Blue Shrew’s tone was straight up bitchy.
They weren’t going to be friends.
Ivy had been told this might happen. She’d assumed it would be a more private interview, but clearly it wasn’t.
Ivy had survived basic training and lived in some of the roughest conditions on the planet. Modesty was something that had died out a long time ago. Yet with those four harpies glaring daggers at her, she couldn’t help but feel some apprehension.
How was it that she could kick the ass of a two-hundred pound man, but these bitches that couldn’t weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet had her nervous?
Screw that.
Ivy gave Jabir a wink, then tugged her shirt up over her head.
What the heck had Zora been thinking putting her in a jean skirt and cotton T-shirt?
The rest of these women were in shiny, expensive looking shit.
At least she had more fabric to work with.
Ivy let the top dangle from her finger before tossing it onto a coffee table that now seemed to be strategically placed.
Jabir was leaning well over the desk now, and the Shrew Squad was aware.
Interesting.
She ramped up her smile a bit more before popping the unnecessary button on her skirt and pushing it down.
Zora had asked her if she could do this and Ivy had thought long and hard about it before finally agreeing. There’d been a point after all the information was handed out where they’d spoken privately, and though Zora had said there was no going back, she had offered Ivy one last shot. None of this had been sugar coated. They hadn’t lied to her or glossed over the particulars.
This needed to be done.
A little skin wasn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things. Not when the end result would save lives.
She stripped out of her bra and panties, holding tight to the knowledge that the job was so much bigger than this moment. She mentally blocked out most of the audience, focusing on the four women who seemed to be her next panel of judges.
“Hm, you’re going to have to wax all that,” the statuesque black woman on the Shrew Squad said.
Huh.
All four women were color coded.
The Asian woman was in blue.
The blonde in hot pink.
The black woman in rich emerald.
And then there was the ever silent beige brunette.
Despite Ivy’s little pep talk, heat began to crawl up her neck.
She kept herself neat, but wax? Seriously?
Whatever the job required, she could do it.
“Okay, I can do that,” she said.
The blond in hot pink leaned on the arm of her chair and gave Ivy a sly smile. “How do you feel about anal?”
Ivy planted a hand on her hip. “It’s been a while, but why not?”
The Asian woman got up and walked a slow circle around Ivy. Her heels clicked with each step. She barely came up to Ivy’s shoulder.
“What about girl-on-girl action?” she asked.
“If that’s what Jabir likes, why not?”
“If you’re ordered to entertain other guests, will you?”
That was the one thing that made Ivy’s stomach knot up. “I do what I’m told.”
“Hair pulling?”
Ivy shrugged. “I’m not tender headed.”
“Bondage?”
“Sure, so long as I get a safe word.”
“Oral?”
“Isn’t that standard?”
The final member of the Shrew Squad sighed. She was a slender brunette in a nude dress with more beige and brown make-up. Beige seemed like the most appropriate word for her. Boring and beige.
“Enough,” Beige Shrew snapped.
Blue Shrew sighed dramatically, then made her slow, sultry walk back to her chair.
Beige locked eyes with Ivy. Here at least there was some intelligence. “Being part of a harem means being part of a sisterhood. Can you live and work with thirty women and not cause trouble?”
Thirty women?
Had Ivy heard her right?
Who the hell needed thirty women?
Ivy smiled sweetly. “I’m not a troublemaker. I’m a trouble-ender.”
“If ending that trouble means keeping your mouth shut, can you do it?”
“Whatever is good for my prince is good for me.”
Beige was not swayed. “Cute, but I need a real answer.”
“Yes, I can suck it up and deal with catty bitches if I need to. I’d rather make peace, but if that can’t happen, I can always go to my own corner.”
“I think we have what we need here.” Beige turned toward Jamir.
“Wonderful.” He was still grinning like a kid.
Tweed Handler rose. “Gather your things and come with me.”
Ivy bent and scooped up her things from the coffee table. Despite what she’d told herself about ignoring most of the people in the room she couldn’t help herself. She glanced at the far end of the room, where the other men and Killam sat.
He wasn’t even looking at her.
The damn man was on his phone.
At least he hadn’t stared at her.
Small victories.
As Tweed led her through another door into a private room for her to dress, Ivy breathed a small sigh of relief.
The first step was over.
The rest was out of her hands, and she didn’t know what to hope for.
FRIDAY.
Skilton reviewed his notes.
There was quite a bit of work to be done. Things to arrange. They’d had setbacks lately, but nothing that couldn’t be handled.
Emergencies were his specialty. Though he preferred creating them rather than solving him. Which made today’s work that much more of a treat.
He reached over and pressed a button on the phone. “Get me Zak Samaan on the phone. Or his cousin.”
“Right away,” the disembodied voice of his assistant said.
Skilton opened the file and reviewed his notes.
Every action led to another. Ripples on water, so to speak. It was his job to figure out how and when to drop the stone to create the first splash. Only he could see how each event built toward the true goal.
The phone beeped. “Zak Samaan on the line for you, sir.”
Skilton picked up the phone and pressed the flashing button.
“Mr. Samaan. I wanted to check up on you. See how things are going...”
2.
Friday. Jamestown Apartments. New York City, New York.
It didn’t take much effort for Killam to get his hands on Ivy Ashley’s application from the scouting agency. Given how much Jabby paid the women, they were rather free with what they knew about the applicants. And considering how many people were involved in the selection process, there’d been no fewer than six tablets circulating with all the details. From bra size to home address, it was all there.
Zora Clark hadn’t seen fit to tell Killam anything about the agent he’d be supporting in an effort to protect her. No amount of arguing with the stubborn woman could dissuade her from believing she knew best.
That was the problem with these paper pushers. They just didn’t understand what it was like to be out there in deep cover. And that was for a fairly normal gig, like infiltrating a group. What they were asking this woman to do was beyond that. They couldn’t just drop her into the harem waiting line and tell her good luck.
Killam had been around the block enough times with Jabby to have seen the devastation this could cause on an unprepared woman. Hell, Killam had helped two return home after just a few days, with Jabby’s permission of course. The women weren’t prisoners. They could leave any time they wanted, but Jabby wouldn’t inconvenience himself to help the departure along. If a woman got to his home outside Riyadh and only then decided she wanted out, she was stuck.
And then there was the mental strain of having to perform the role.
Normally Killam didn’t let himself get worked up over this. The girls were screened well enough that they understood sex, in all its forms, was a requirement of the gig. Drug use was implied, but not outright stated. And alcohol was a given.
An agent coming into this wasn’t going to be as prepared.
Or was she?
He just didn’t know and he couldn’t head out tomorrow with a clear conscience unless he vetted this woman for himself. That was all he wanted to do. It had nothing to do with her mesmerizing eyes.
Which was why he’d spent an hour in this piece of shit car watching Ivy Ashely’s apartment. Or at least where she claimed to live.
The lights had been off and there was no movement. None at all.
He needed answers.
But what if she didn’t actually live there?
He drummed his fingers on the wheel.
It was a ground-floor apartment. He should have an easy enough time of looking around. It would put his mind at ease. He had to try.
Killam reached over and grabbed his leather gloves, then got out, barely taking his eyes off the apartment.
Down the street, a car alarm blared and someone yelled.
She’d sure picked one of the poorest areas of the Bronx, that was for sure.
The exterior lights of the complex were just about nonexistent. Good for him, bad for her security.
He flipped the hood of his sweatshirt up and shoved his hands in the pockets. There wasn’t anyone hanging around, either.
The apartment building was four stories. Technically Ivy lived in the basement unit, which provided exterior access to a sunken patio area through some sliding glass doors.
He walked past the apartment first, noting that her neighbor was watching TV with the lights off and appeared older. Likely hard of hearing. Again, good for him, bad for her.
The floor to ceiling blinds in her apartment were drawn over half the door and the interior was dark.
Killam glanced around one last time before vaulting over the wrought-iron fence into the sunken patio. Crouching in the shadows, he strained to hear voices, any sign that he’d been spotted, but nothing.
He flattened himself to the wall and crept toward the windows, looking in on what should be the dining area. A window unit provided enough cover for him to stand.
Thin curtains prevented him from seeing clearly, but there wasn’t a piece of furniture in the space he could see. And no people. Just some boxes.
He sidestepped to the patio doors and looked inside for a clearer view.
Still no furniture and maybe a dozen boxes all lined up neatly.
She had said she’d just moved in. But wouldn’t she have settled some?
He tried the door.
Locked.
Okay, he could work with that. There wasn’t a bar or any other security device, just a flimsy lock. A few moments using the lock picks on his keyring and he had access.
One quick look around and he’d leave.
That was it.
Killam could go about this job free of any responsibility. He’d tried and that was what mattered.
The apartment had a rectangular living room and a galley kitchen with access to the hall that likely led to a bathroom and bedroom. He flattened his back to the dividing wall in the living room and crept toward the hall.
A quick look and he’d go.
He paused and listened to the silence. Or more accurately, of the distant noises of life from other apartments.
No one was here. She’d given them a bogus address.
But he’d look once, quickly, and be gone.
Killam took a step, and the shadows moved.
In that split second he realized his mistake and accepted it. Not that he was given much of a choice. His attacker had the advantage.
His attacker was so fast he could only lunge forward in an attempt to avoid getting hit. He almost face planted into the far wall, but caught himself with one hand. The other he lifted to fend off his attacker. His shadow was quick, shifting to move with him. Hands grabbed the back of his jacket before he could get a word out. A knee drove into his thigh inches from his groin, sending a sharp stab of pain up and down his leg. A hand grabbed his hair and before he could brace himself, drove his face into the wall. His teeth knocked together and pain radiated through his skull. Stars swam in his vision.
“Stop. Enough,” he managed to get out. Holy hell. “It’s me.”
Fuck, his damn foot was numb.
“Piers?” an exasperated woman said.
“Yeah.” He groaned, but held still.
Yup, he deserved that.
“What the hell?” She shoved him sideways and he took a painful step away from her.
He peered out of the corner of his eye at the woman, half afraid she’d deck him again. He couldn’t in good conscience fight back. He had broken in.
Unlike earlier, she wore baggy black sweatpants and a black T-shirt. Her hair was up and she was looking at him like she was trying to decide which part to cut off first.
“I guess you didn’t lie about where you lived,” he said.
“Why are you here?” she demanded in a seething whisper.
“To check on you, Christ.” He rubbed his thigh.
Ivy made an exasperated sound and stalked across to the patio door. She glanced out, then pulled the door and locked it. This time she also yanked the blinds over, blocking anyone’s view of the apartment interior.
He didn’t need the lights on to feel her glare as she stomped toward him.
“In here,” she snapped.
If he hadn’t seen her work the charm earlier, he’d wonder if she could sweet-talk Jabby. Now he had to wonder if she could sustain the act.
How was this the same woman from earlier?
Two lamps cast a comfortable glow in the bedroom. A futon was made down into a bed and she’d created a sort of pillow nest with a few blankets.
Was that...?
Why did she have a bag of frozen peas in bed?
He didn’t want to know.
He was better off not knowing.
A TV tray was set up with a laptop and some show was paused on the screen. A pizza box sat on the floor along with an empty bottle of soda. There were a few more boxes, but it was evident that she’d lived here at least a few days from the clothes hanging in the closet and the hamper of dirty things.
Ivy crossed her arms over her chest and leveled a flat stare at him. “What are you doing here? I thought we weren’t supposed to interact.”
He tugged his gloves off. “Yeah, well, I didn’t even know you were you until now.”
“You—what?” She gaped at him with wide eyes and her mouth hanging open.
“Zora never told me your name. I take it from that look you got something on me at least.”
“Yes. Not much, but—shit. How are you supposed to sup
port me if you don’t know who I am?” she asked slowly.
Killam snorted. “Yeah, this is about what I thought. Can I sit?”
Her gaze narrowed and he could practically hear her say, No.
“Fine,” she spat instead.
“I really made a bad impression,” he mumbled.
“You think, Piers?”
“No one calls me Piers,” he said.
“Maybe I will?” She sat with her back to the wall, one leg curled under her. She grabbed the peas and...
Killam found somewhere else to look as he eased down, ignoring the way his thigh screamed at him. He did not want to know why she had frozen peas there.
Though he’d made sure to keep his eyes averted during the interview, he’d seen quite a lot of her today even with her clothes on. He’d known she was athletic and likely capable, but she’d manhandled him, proving that she had the strength and know how when it came to combat situations. But could she play the spy? Did she have that skillset?
“What were you?” he asked.
“Excuse me?” She arched a brow at him.
“Army? Police?”
She nodded. “Army. Combat Engineer.”
Killer whistled. “I wasn’t aware women could be Combat Engineers.”
“Yeah, well, they can now.”
He’d have to look that up. Chances were, it was fairly recent, which meant she wasn’t long out of the service. Good since her skills would be sharp, but bad if she over-reacted.
“Well, at least I know you’ll be cool under pressure,” he said.
It might have been his imagination, but she seemed to relax a bit.
“What are you here for?” she asked.
He leveled a look at her. “Are you sure you can do this?”
Her gaze narrowed. “It’s a little late to tag someone else in.”
Killam sighed. His damn conscience. It would never learn. “What if I did it?”
She regarded him for a moment. “I was specifically told your position with Jabir couldn’t be compromised unless it was life or death.”
“Screw what you were told. Do you honestly think you’re up to doing this?” He couldn’t bring himself to be more specific. Even the vague idea of her entertaining Jabby pissed Killam off.
Necessary Risk Page 3