Читать книгу A Deadly Business - Desiree Holt - Страница 8

Chapter 1

London

“Thank you for dining with me, Miss Masters. It is always such a great pleasure.”

Valentin Desmet, the man who carried the trash for London billionaire Stefan Maes—her target—stepped out of the limousine and straightened the jacket of his suit. He smiled and gave a slight bow before holding out his hand to her. Others might consider him a sophisticated continental gentleman, but his elegant suit, his linen shirt, and silk tie couldn’t hide, to her, the slimy weasel he was.

Lauren Masters gritted her teeth as she put her hand in his, allowing him to help her from the vehicle, doing her best not to show her distaste.

God. She couldn’t wait to get away from him.

The streetlamp cast its light on his longish, slicked-back, dark brown hair and his tall, slender body. If vampires were real, she would have said he belonged to a family of them. Spending time with him creeped her out, a feeling that had stayed with her from the moment of that first accidental meeting.

The most distasteful part of her job had been establishing the relationship with Desmet. Polished and urbane on the surface, he had a cruelty in his eyes that nothing could hide. Pulling out all the stops before he’d finally referred her to Maes had often turned her stomach. But an assignment was an assignment, and she’d known when she accepted it the kind of people she’d be dealing with. So, she had dazzled him with her knowledge of the financial markets and how to squeeze every extra nickel out of investments, selling him on why he should recommend her to his boss.

Dining with him once a week had become silently mandatory since she’d snagged Maes’s account. She had told the CIA that yes, she’d do whatever was needed to bring down the man who funded terrorists and fomented revolutions in Third World countries. She just hadn’t expected it to include weekly dinners with a man who made her want to take a bath every time she left him.

Sometimes she wondered how she’d managed to do this for three years—playing a part, cozying up to Desmet, but in a very professional way. Dealing with Maes, who was evil personified. But now, at last, it was all paying off.

She gave Desmet her best fake smile. “The pleasure was mine, Mr. Desmet.”

She hoped she didn’t choke on her words. She should get an award for acting.

He continued to hold her hand even after she exited the vehicle.

“Come, come.” He shook his head. “Mr. Desmet? I keep telling you we’re past that. After all this time we should be on a first-name basis, no?”

No! She’d call him a slimy piece of shit if she could.

“I try to keep business and pleasure separated. You know that.”

He gave a soft laugh. “One of the many things I admire about you. All business, and exceptionally good at it. Mr. Maes is very pleased with your work. I still consider the day we met one of my most fortunate.”

“Thank you. I do my best.” She eased her hand from his as gracefully as possible.

“Well, enjoy your weekend.” He took a step back. “Plan on meeting for lunch next week. Mr. Maes has some additional assets he needs to deal with.”

More assets? This could be the last piece of the puzzle she was looking for. Among other things, they still had no information on the other men Maes had dealt with, men who colluded with hm. Maybe whatever Desmet had would lead her to them. Then maybe she could get the hell out of here before it all fell apart.

“I look forward to it. And again, thank you for dinner.”

She tamped down her need to hurry as she mounted the steps to her building, turned once to wave at him, then let herself in. And leaned against the door, drawing a breath, and exhaling slowly. A ribbon of excitement curled inside her at his last statement.

After three years of swimming in the high-energy financial waters of London’s Canary Wharf district, she had almost enough for the CIA to drop the net on Maes, but there was one piece of the pie she was still missing. She prayed that what Desmet had for her was that piece, because she needed to get the hell out of London. Lately she’d had the itchy feeling she was being watched. And was there a slight change in Desmet’s attitude at dinner, or had she just imagined it?

She checked her watch, realized she was running late for her meeting with Craig Joffrey, and raced up the flight of stairs to her flat. The man had been her handler from day one, and she both liked and respected him. Tonight, she had two things for him: a flash drive with more critical information on Maes’s accounts, and the tidbit Desmet had teased her with.

One good thing about a small flat was you didn’t have to look a lot of places for things. In less than ten minutes her business look was gone, replaced by jeans, sweater, and battered boots. A worn jacket and a watch cap pulled down over her distinctive auburn hair, the flash drive slipped into a hidden pocket in her sleeve, and she was ready.

Downstairs again, Lauren pressed a hidden button that opened a panel at the back of the foyer. In seconds, she was racing through a tunnel connecting to the house behind hers. After exiting the other building, also CIA-owned, she hurried to the corner and turned right. She always used this method when meeting Craig. Anyone looking for her would be watching the front of her known address.

She loved the fact the Kensington area was convenient for transportation. The Tube was only two blocks from her flat, and with her Oyster card she could travel anywhere in London and be as anonymous as possible. Even if someone followed her, getting lost in the station and on the train was old hat to her by now.

But no one followed her on the street, and nothing tickled her senses at the station. On each new train, she changed cars to see if anyone followed. If only she could get rid of that damn itch between her shoulder blades. Nothing had happened to put it there, but she’d been at this for three years now. The shelf life of safety was about to expire, and she knew it. If she could just make it through next week.

She had no qualms about what would happen to her if Maes knew what she was doing. When Brian Gould had recruited her, he hadn’t pulled any punches describing the man.

“He’s a vicious bastard with no conscience and no soul. He destroys lives as easily as some people squash bugs. He kills as easily as some people brush their teeth. He’s not too particular, either. If someone gets in his way, they and anyone connected with them become his victims.”

“Nice guy,” she’d commented, and shivered.

“Not,” he’d snapped. “He’s the quintessential Croatian thug, growing up on the streets of Zagreb where the biggest requirement was a lack of conscience. He has a hit squad recruited from the gangs he ran with, and inflicting unbearable pain is only one of the weapons in their arsenal.”

“If you’re trying to scare me,” she’d told him, “you’re doing a good job.”

“I just want you to watch your step, but we’ll have your back all the way.”

It still amazed her that for three years she’d walked this tightrope without falling off.

Two Tube transfers later, she entered the Dirty Dog, a pub in a dingier part of Kensington whose dark interior provided the perfect environment for her meetings with Craig. She found him waiting in their usual booth, two beers sitting on the table. He always ordered to keep the waitress from pestering them, but they only pretended to drink, taking a sip for show now and then.

She slid in across from him and pulled off her cap.

“Safe for another week.” It was her standard greeting, only tonight it sounded hollow to her. More than at any other time since she’d stepped into the role of Lauren Masters, financial wizard, she felt uneasy.

Craig scowled. “Don’t joke about that, kiddo. Any op can turn sour in a minute. And you’ve been on this one for three years. That’s a long time in anyone’s book.”

“But it’s worked so far, right?” Joking was one way she dealt with the tension of her situation. She never forgot for one minute the dangerous game she’d agreed to play.

“So far.” He frowned. “I never did cotton to the idea of the CIA taking untrained people and putting them in dangerous jobs. I just wish I didn’t have this feeling we’re pushing our luck.”

Lauren tensed. So, he felt something, too? Should she forget about next week, and have him pull her out now? No. She didn’t want to leave feeling her job wasn’t finished. Surely, she’d be safe for one more week. Right?

“I was trained,” she reminded him.

He shook his head. “A degree from the London School of Economics isn’t much good in a firefight.”

“But it’s what you needed to put someone in place to handle Maes’s financial accounts. Besides, you’ve done this long enough. If you thought there was imminent danger, we’d flip the kill switch now. Right?”

“Right, I just…” He shook his head. “I haven’t because I think you’re the most focused agent I’ve ever worked with. And doing a damned good job.”

“I think that’s a compliment.”

“It can be good and bad. Never mind. Just be alert. How was your dinner with Desmet tonight? You watch your back with that slimy bastard. He’d cut your throat and not turn a hair.”

Lauren nodded. “I agree, but I’ve learned how to handle him over time.”

She hoped.

“Just be on your toes, please. You’ve done a great job for us and I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”

Lauren grinned. “Aw. You like me,” she teased. “You really like me.”

“Don’t joke, Lauren.” Craig’s tone was dead serious. “I told your boss we needed to wrap this up. Stefan Maes trusts no one, except maybe Desmet. He’s been known to set traps for people—both real and electronic—just to set his mind at ease that nothing wonky is happening. I want you out before he decides you’re next up.”

“I am being very, very careful,” she assured him. “Believe me, I don’t want to be the object of his wrath.”

She didn’t want to tell him she’d been feeling uneasy lately. That she looked constantly to be sure no one was following her or checking her computer work. If she did, he would pull her out right now. Maybe he should, but there was that little tidbit Desmet had dangled in front of her tonight. It could be the final nail in Maes’s coffin.

Still she couldn’t help sliding glances toward the door, checking people who entered.

“Just don’t forget where that asshole came from.” Craig growled. “He’s a soulless bastard.”

“We still have eyes on Adrian McCormack, you know.” Craig shook his head. “He’s a loose cannon and I don’t trust him.”

McCormack was the account specialist whose firm had previously handled everything for Maes. Until Lauren became the shiny new penny at Heath Financial, got close to Valentin Desmet, and swiped the account from under McCormack’s nose. He continued to badmouth her, even after all this time.

“He can’t still be on a tear over what happened.” She frowned. “I thought he got over the whole thing. As he loves to say, it’s just business.”

Craig shook his head. “You grabbed a major account from him. From his firm. You think they would ever forget something like this? Or let him forget it? He’s been doing his best to find out whatever he can about you. I worry that he’ll somehow manage to turn up something and take it to Maes to expose you.”

“Expose me how? He doesn’t know a damn thing about me.” She scowled. “Right? My cover is still in place? Isn’t it?”

God! Was he trying to tell her something?

“Of course. But you and I both know if someone pays enough money to the right people, no information is sacred.”

“Wait. Are you saying there’s a leak somewhere?” Butterflies began dancing the tarantella in her stomach. Damn! She’d been warned from the very first day there was always a remote possibility her cover might be blown, but she had been assured ten times over the percentage of that happening was very small.

Craig shook his head. “No. I’m not saying that. But I am telling you there’s always that possibility. If McCormack is bitter enough, if his life has been destroyed enough, there’s always the chance he’ll find a way to make this whole thing blow up.”

“The escape plan is still in place, right?”

He nodded. “We can activate with one phone call. I promise you that. Your safety is a primary goal.”

She blew out a breath. “Good. I know, but it helps to hear you say it.”

“We don’t want anything to happen to you,” he assured her. “Like I said, I just have a funny feeling.” He studied her face. “I expect you took the usual precautions getting here tonight?”

“I did. Just like always.”

“Good.” He leaned toward her. “Tell me about tonight’s dinner with Desmet.”

She told him about her dinner and what the man had said about next week.

“I’ve a feeling about this, Craig.” She couldn’t keep the edge of excitement from her voice. “This might be information that leads me to other men he did business with. He’s been scrupulous about not leaving any trail, even in his secret accounts.”

“If that’s so, you need to be doubly careful,” he cautioned. “Especially with McCormack out there.”

“I hear you.”

“And if we don’t get these men this time, Lauren, the CIA will keep trying. But Maes is the big fish they want.”

She nodded. “Let me just see what Desmet hands me next week and how I can use it. Then, if you still have this feeling, we can roll it up.”

She’d spent months in place establishing herself, to reach a point where people stopped checking everything she did. It had taken a while, but at last she felt comfortable using the program Craig had given her. It blocked her digital fingerprint on the mainframe at Heath Financial, so no one could track what she was doing. She might have an itchy feeling, but after all her hard work and living on the edge for three years, she didn’t want to quit before the end. She was determined to get every last scrap of information she could before leaving Lauren Masters behind.

“All right. What else?”

She fished a thumb drive from a hidden pocket in her jacket sleeve. Craig’s hand covered hers on the table, and that quick, he had it and stashed it away.

“Not much, but every little bit helps, right? I hope whatever I find out next week closes the books on Maes.”

“And good riddance,” Craig said. “The man’s a blight on the world.”

“Amen to that.”

They sipped a bit from their drinks, always scanning the pub to see who might be suspect. Lauren had learned by now what signs to look for.

Craig checked his watch. “We need to wrap this up. You have the other phone I gave you?”

“I do.” She patted her pocket. “Always carry it with me.”

“Good.”

At their first meeting, he’d given her two burner phones. One was used to set up their meetings as well as for any conversation they needed to have between those meetings. The other only had one number programmed into it. His. If she ever had a real emergency, if her work was discovered and a trap set, all she had to do was press one button. Conversely, if he ever called her on that phone it meant the operation was shut down, and she was to get the hell out of Dodge to the prearranged meeting place for extraction.

“Okay.” He leaned back in the booth. “Call me next week after you find out what this latest with Maes is about and we’ll set up a time to meet. Be prepared to be pulled out right after that.”

“I will.” She tugged her hat down on her head and was sliding from the booth when Craig reached out and grabbed her wrist.

“I can’t stress this enough. Be careful, Lauren. My Spidey senses are tingling.”

“I will. I promise.” She had no wish to get crosswise with Stefan Maes.

As she exited the Dirty Dog, she pulled her jacket tighter around her body and turned up the collar. The temperature had dipped again while she was inside and there was a sharp nip in the air. Craig’s words echoed in her brain and she felt as if she had a target painted on her back. She walked with rapid steps to the closest Tube station. A mob still crowded the sidewalks despite the temperature, and she had to fight her way through it, all her senses on high alert.

Even when she reached the station she scanned every area the way she’d been trained. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Just the usual Friday night late crowd, everything from singles and couples heading home after a night out to the usual lowlifes who seemed to spend their lives in the Tube stations.

She was smart and savvy enough, however, to know that didn’t mean anything. At each station she was careful to choose where she stood to wait. She changed trains twice, and damn it, why did it seem as if all the cars on the three trains she rode were full past capacity? She had that familiar twitchy feeling between her shoulder blades, as if someone was watching her. Or worse yet, aiming a gun at her.

Her eyes never stopped moving. Did that guy in the black jacket look at her strangely? Was that a gun in his pocket? Maybe it was the woman watching her from the corner of her eye. At one station she boarded a train then just before it took off, leaped out, and waited for the next one. But that twitchy feeling was still there.

She hadn’t tripped any wires. She knew she hadn’t. And Craig was just being his usual old lady self. That was what he got paid for. So why had she been feeling this way all week?

From the beginning, she’d been able to play her part because she knew her handler had her back. She just hoped that neither of them was overreacting.

She was exhausted by the time she exited the final stop of the night. Again, she searched the streets as she hiked from the train to the building where she entered the tunnel. Were those footsteps she heard behind her? A man was out walking his dog, and she closed her hand over the gun in her pocket, just in case.

Tap, tap, tap.

When she looked over her shoulder she saw an old man walking with a cane. What on earth was he doing out so late at night? She walked faster, hurrying down the familiar street. Maybe she should have stayed at an all-night place until it was light before heading home.

She raced up the stairs of the building behind hers, let herself in, and hurried to the tunnel, following it to her building. At last she climbed the inside stairway to her flat with weary steps. She had just pulled her key out to unlock her door when the special phone buzzed in her pocket. Her stomach knotted, knowing this meant something serious. She pulled it out and pressed the button to answer.

“Craig?”

“Get the hell out of there. Don’t pack, don’t do anything. You know where to meet me, and I’ll have everything you need. Just get going. This minute.”

Then he said the three words no covert CIA agent ever wanted to hear.

“Your cover’s blown.”