Читать книгу Kiss or Kill - Lyn Stone - Страница 10

Chapter 3

“Deborah, you try to make me jealous? Is this why you hired Alexander? I do not trust him in spite of the glowing recommendations.”

“Do not try my patience, Sonny,” she warned. She watched him study her face and knew he wondered who she really was. If he knew, he would be more afraid than he already was. Cassandra DuMont held more power in her small, soft hands than this man could ever imagine. She toyed with the idea of telling him, but decided against it.

Sonnegut was a tool. The double entendre of a thought made her smile as she stroked his sweaty brow. She raked a beautifully manicured nail along his cheek, scraping the roughness of stubble that had caused a delicious burn moments earlier. In bed, he was unequaled, even by John Trip. Trip’s value lay in his inventiveness. Sonny’s size and boundless energy provided an interesting contrast.

He kissed her gently. “You are such a soft, cultured creature, Deborah. Not at all like the women I am used to.”

“Soft?” She laughed at that. “Only on the surface, darling.”

He sighed and lay back, one hand behind his head, the other toying with her breast. “Ah, yes, there are times when I glimpse the steel beneath your charms.”

At the moment, lying with him on silk sheets in her fancy rococo bed, she was soft and wearing nothing but a contented feline smile.

He exhausted her, helped her to sleep soundly, a feat for which she had amply rewarded him. This walk on the wild side had worked in that respect. She loved the edginess of it, operating in disguise, meeting in dark places, the risks of leaving behind the protection of who and what she was.

Becoming Deborah Martine allowed her a certain freedom and keen excitement that she lacked as Cassandra DuMont, doting mother to her son and the chief executive of her family business. Also, this little vacation afforded a perfect opportunity for another, even deadlier strike against Corbett Lazlo. She would give him his own mini version of nine-eleven and bury his people beneath tons of steel and stone.

Sonnegut stroked her tousled hair and inhaled the rich, heady scent of her perfume. He brushed the smooth curve of her lips with his, tickling them with his tongue. “Tell me that you are not attracted to this man, Alexander. You cannot trust him, you know.”

She tweaked his chin. “Ah, darling, I trust no one.”

“Not even me?” he demanded with a pretense of anger.

Cass rolled her eyes playfully. “Don’t be tiresome, please!”

He rolled away from her and sat up on the edge of the bed. “First you enlist that…girl. She is dangerous, that one. And much too young to be of any use.” Cass knew Sonny mistrusted youth. He probably recalled how he had misspent his own doing stupid things that had earned him time behind bars.

Cass sat up and trailed her nails down the center of his back. “We shall soon see what she can do. Alexander will keep an eye on her. As long as she does what’s required of her, that’s all that matters. Once we’ve accomplished our little task here in Paris, we’ll no longer need either of them.”

“Then I can kill them?” he asked, cracking his knuckles, obviously anticipating how he would do it.

Again she laughed, leaned her head against his shoulder and snaked her arm around his waist. “You are such a bloodthirsty savage.”

“You like me the way I am,” he said, reeking with confidence and manly sweat.

“At times like this, I admit I do,” she assured him. Actually there were only two reasons a woman like her, with her upper-class education and manners, would have use for a man of Sonnegut’s talents. He had just fulfilled one—messy, uninhibited sex. The other, he so far had failed. She would give him one chance to redeem himself. If not, then Trip would take care of him along with the others.

He got up and found the bottle of expensive Scotch they had abandoned earlier. Taking a slug directly from it and exhaling noisily, he looked down at her. “This plan of yours is too complex. Why not let me go directly to this man you want destroyed? Simple is better.”

“You will do as I tell you.”

“I will kill him for you. That will be the end of it.” He took another drink and handed her the bottle.

“But I don’t want it ended. Not just yet,” she insisted. She raised the bottle to her lips, daintily sipped the Scotch, then rested the bottle on the bed beside her, cradling its neck. “I’ve only just begun to punish him. He deserves to suffer, to lose everything he has built for himself and everyone who is faithful to him. And he will suffer.”

“I could bring him to you, let you inflict what you wish.”

“As you brought the senator’s son here?” she said angrily, taunting him with his failure. “That was supposed to draw Lazlo out and make him available for a strike!”

Then she relented, placating her lover. “I know, I know. That was not your fault, darling. How could we have known of the boy’s interest in the president’s daughter and that the Secret Service had him under surveillance? That was a fluke. If they had not already been in place and mucked it up, you would have been successful and the senator would have called in his old friend, Lazlo, to find his son. At least you got away and left no trail.”

She sighed heavily and leaned back against the pillows, stretching out her arms to welcome him back into bed. “Come, let me show you how happy I am about that.”

“Again?” he asked with a proud smirk. He lowered himself onto her body and she allowed him the momentary feeling of domination.

Yes, she would sleep well tonight. And she would dream of Corbett Lazlo’s absolute destruction.

“Turn around slowly,” Renee ordered. She slid her finger to the outer curve of the trigger guard, afraid to touch the hair trigger on her borrowed weapon. Mark couldn’t see her do it since his back was now to her. It wouldn’t do to kill him accidentally.

She walked him for several blocks, ordered him down a deserted side street and backed him to the edge of an alleyway. “Turn around so I can see your face.” She needed to be sure. The streetlights were marginally dimmed by the fog and there were no lighted storefronts, but she could see.

As she looked into his eyes, she saw his gaze fly to one side and his features freeze. What?

Before she knew it, he had her pistol in his hand and turned on her. “Now walk calmly forward until we reach your little café,” he ordered. “Then we’ll have our conversation.”

Furious that he had disarmed her so casually, Renee stamped on his foot. He didn’t flinch.

“Temper, temper,” he warned, grasping her upper arm in his free hand and duck marching her along the narrow sidewalk. “Is there a café at all or did you intend to leave me lying in the gutter, a poor homeless corpse?”

“Go left up ahead there,” she gasped, belatedly wondering how she had lucked out and not gotten shot. What a stupid thing to do, reacting to the oldest trick in the book. Look behind you. She felt like an idiot.

When they entered the café, she realized he was no longer holding her at gunpoint. In fact, with his arm around her and her hand clutching the back of his, they must give the appearance of a couple unable to keep their hands off each other. He released her when they reached a table near the window and sat down across from her.

“What do you recommend?” he asked politely.

Renee took a few seconds to calm her breathing and gather her thoughts. “Coq au vin’s good here.”

“Too late for that, I expect. What of the cheese omelette?” She nodded, noting the waiter already approaching the table. She remained silent while Mark ordered for them. She had noticed earlier that his French was perfect, not a trace of an English accent.

When they were alone again, he touched her knee under the table. “Here’s your weapon. Safety’s on.”

“Thank you,” she huffed, taking it from him while trying not to touch his hand. “That was so rude.”

For the first time, he grinned at her and his face transformed. “Please, accept my apology. And I’ll accept yours while I’m at it.”

“Dream on.”

The boyish expression and twinkle in his eyes fascinated her as did the lock of dark hair falling across his brow. She would never have guessed he had a devil-may-care side to him. It only enhanced the attraction she felt in spite of herself. And made her madder than hell.

“Disarming you was necessary to establish my sincerity,” he told her. “A confession under duress is difficult to credit.”

She acknowledged the truth of that with a brief incline of her head. Now, at least, she could believe what he told her. If he told her anything at all.

His expression grew serious and he seemed to arrive at some decision, even as she watched. “You could have killed me and you didn’t, so I suppose I must trust you.”

“I suppose you must,” she said, holding a wide-eyed nonexpression. “So? What are you doing here?”

The pause lasted a full two minutes. “I’m trying to locate a man called John Trip. Have you heard that name since you became involved with this lot?”

Renee shook her head. “Nope, never heard of him. Why are you after him?”

“Why are you here?”

Renee sighed. “Sonnegut tried to abduct a senator’s son in Virginia. We prevented that, but he got away. My job is to find out who ordered the abduction and why, then take them down.”

“On whose behalf?”

“My government’s.”

“American, not Canadian.”

“Yes. And you?”

When he neglected to answer, she prodded him. “Come on. Information is power here. Are you working for SIS?”

He shook his head. “A private organization that deals with threats, mainly against dignitaries, celebrities, politicians and the like.”

She gave a single nod. “Must be Lazlo.”

From his fleeting expression of surprise, she knew she had scored a direct hit with the first round, but he didn’t admit it. He simply pursed his lips and narrowed those sexy eyes at her. Lord, there was that fluttery feeling in her stomach again. She tried to ignore it.

“The Lazlo group’s not exactly low profile any longer,” she informed him. “At least not within the intel community. They’ve lost a number of operatives lately. It’s no secret someone’s out to wreck the organization. We’ve been aware of it for some time.”

“We?”

She simply smiled. She had the feeling he didn’t engage in much conversation, even for his line of work. He struck her as a loner. A shadow.

The food arrived, so by tacit agreement they postponed the discussion. After they’d been served and the waiter had disappeared, eating became the priority as each retreated into private thoughts.

Renee’s were bouncing around like crazy, her personal interest all tangled up with professional. Not good, she quickly realized and went about separating her intense curiosity from her critical need to know.

And to think, she had been ready to plead for this assignment if it hadn’t been given to her. Her dearth of experience had been against her. Her youth, too, since she had just turned twenty-five. Only the facts that she could recognize Sonnegut and that she was the one who had determined his present location had put her at the head of the line. She was not about to let an inconvenient attraction interfere with her mission or cloud her judgment.

When they finished eating, Mark watched Renee plunk down enough Euros to cover the meal and the tip. He didn’t object. To be honest, he wasn’t certain of the proper etiquette. He expected to pay when he was out with a woman and always insisted, but this was no date. “The next meal’s on me,” he said.

He got up in time to pull back her chair and help her into the jacket she had slung over the back of it. She gave him a long-suffering look that poked fun at his manners and reaffirmed this definitely was no date.

She walked ahead and opened the door for him when they left the café, daring him with those whiskey-colored eyes to object. He didn’t. He walked right past her with a nod of thanks.

They strolled side by side down the deserted street, hands in their pockets. Neither spoke until they had both made sure they weren’t followed or watched. On some level, Mark enjoyed the shared duty. On another, he felt wary of it. She must be green as new grass or she’d be a lot more careful. Now he’d have to be responsible for her and that infuriated him. Precisely why he preferred solitary assignments.

“All right, let’s have an understanding,” she said in that take-charge voice of hers. “I have a job to do. You have a job to do. I don’t like sharing any better than you do, but it’s need to know time. If we don’t lay all our cards on the table, we could each jeopardize what the other is doing.”

“So deal.”

“I did,” she declared. “I admitted I’m undercover, you know why I’m here and that I’m not really working for these people.”

“And I’ve told you that I’m after John Trip.” He sighed and cocked his head to one side, waiting for her to continue.

“As I said, I’m following up on a political kidnapping attempt that resulted in the death of U.S. Secret Service agents. Sonnegut was there. I traced him here, discovered who he was working with and arranged to meet Deborah Martine.”

“Why not Sonnegut directly?”

“Because I want to know as much about the man as I can and he isn’t likely to admit things about himself that his lover might.”

That made perfect sense to Mark. “Have you learned anything helpful?”

“Sonnegut’s gang of four is apparently for hire, the men you met tonight. Now Deborah either hired them for this particular job, or Sonnegut hooked up with her and she’s appointed herself captain.”

“For what it’s worth, I think she’s the one running him,” Mark told her honestly. It felt strange, collaborating. He worked alone. Lazlo usually just provided him with information or specific orders.

He watched Renee process the opinion he had offered. “Probably, but Sonnegut steps up and takes over just often enough to make me question that. If Martine is the boss, she’s letting him think he has more power than he actually does for some reason. She is the one who offered me work.”

“Setting explosives.”

Renee nodded. “That was my ticket in. We met over a bomb, so to speak, and I think that incident inspired the idea of using explosives. I don’t yet know why she wants to blow that building, but I’m working on it. Now who is this Trip guy you’re after and how does he figure into this?” she asked, reverting to his mission.

“He killed someone, years ago. A man who meant a great deal to me. And to Corbett Lazlo,” he added reluctantly, granting her more trust than he was comfortable with.

Mark had had to relinquish his former investigation into the threats against Lazlo and the recent assassinations of a number of Lazlo’s agents. Others would continue that probe in earnest, of course. Lazlo knew finding Trip was Mark’s primary goal in life.

“So it’s personal?” She leaned toward him a little, revealing her eagerness. That she would let him see that gave Mark a bit of reassurance.

“A vendetta, you mean? No, it’s business. He’s already murdered at least two Lazlo operatives in addition to the man I mentioned. He might be responsible for others that we don’t yet know about if he employed other methods. But we’re certain of these three. He left proof. Trip’s a paid assassin.”

“Which means that someone hired him to do the killing. You need that name,” she guessed correctly.

“Obviously. How close are you to finding out what you need to know?”

“Not close enough. Sonnegut runs the boys and Deborah runs him. But who they report to, if there is a higher authority, is anyone’s guess at this point. So far none of them has provided any hint of motive. But even given Sonnegut’s attempted kidnapping of a senator’s son, I sense this current operation is not political and certainly not ideological. It has to do with either greed or revenge.”

Mark wondered how good her instincts were and whether he could rely on them. As a hard and fast rule, he relied on no one but himself. And Lazlo, when necessary.

The last time he had actually known anyone well enough to trust them, other than Lazlo, was when he was thirteen. He had relied on and trusted his dad, above all. And there had been Tom and Hugh, his best friends, his trusty mates since early childhood. He still kept up with their lives because he cared about them, though for their safety, he’d had no actual contact with them since his disappearance the night of his father’s death.

Trust and reliance he granted only to true friends, not chance acquaintances like this woman. And at present, he realized, he had no real friendships. None whatsoever.

She went on, oblivious to his thoughts that excluded her. “Sonnegut doesn’t seem enthusiastic about any of it. It’s almost as if he’s along for the ride. But Deborah gets this crafty look. Did you notice?”

“She can’t wait to see it happen,” he agreed, nodding. “Seems a bit psychotic if you want my opinion.” He wasn’t used to giving out his thoughts, but she was damned easy to talk to. She smiled in response.

“I wish I had more time to find out what’s behind this, but I can’t very well plan the implosion of a building while I’m filling in the gaps. If this is to go down soon, my people will have to take whoever I’ve been able to identify and just hope somebody will sing.” She grinned at him then and bumped him playfully with her elbow. “You Brits say that, too? Or do your perps peach on each other?”

“Sing, squeal, rat out. Yes, we have that in common.” And very little else, he reminded himself. Renee defined the term extrovert and he might as well wear a recluse sign around his neck. Colloquialisms would probably prove the least of their differences.

He had mastered what he could of American slang, but his time in the States had been brief, he had always disliked American films and television, and he’d never had the opportunity to make any Yankee friends.

Again he thought, no friends at all. Corbett Lazlo was the closest thing to it, but even their interaction was based on a mutual goal. And technically, Corbett was his boss.

He admitted there were disadvantages to working completely alone, but he reminded himself sternly that he still preferred it. Even during his required military service he had remained a loner. It was difficult for him, sharing information, but necessary in this instance. Renee was right about that. He would have to make the effort.

Mark ran a hand through his hair and rested it on the back of his neck for a minute. “Martine is my only lead to Trip. Depending on how quickly this job goes, there might not be enough time.”

“Deborah’s not likely to tell you anything about John Trip,” Renee said, “and he’s obviously not one of the gang. Maybe I could help. What if I told her that I’m looking for someone to do a little wet work to cover my tracks on another job?”

Mark was already shaking his head. “Not feasible unless you’re wallowing in wealth, in which case you wouldn’t need to be doing what you’re doing.”

“Ah, so this Trip is outstanding in his field, huh?”

“One of the best. A legend in his own time. Charges a fortune.”

“What’s his connection to Deborah? I wonder…”

Mark held the door for her as they reached the apartment building. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t need to be doing what I’m doing.” He paused in the doorway, frowning down at her. The dim lighting threw shadows across her features and he could see nothing soft in them. “I have to locate this man, Renee. You’ll have to find a way to stall the demolition until then.”

“How close are you?” she asked, starting up the stairs ahead of him.

He tried not to notice the sway of her hips right in front of him. She wasn’t trying to be provocative, but his eyes were not cooperating with his brain. He wrenched his thoughts back to the subject at hand.

“Until a week ago, Trip was in Liverpool. He disappeared before I could get him, but I found a discarded cell phone with his prints on it. It was crushed, but I managed to retrieve phone records. Five calls were to Deborah Martine here in Paris. There were two incoming from her.”

“Aha, sounds like a real relationship,” Renee quipped. “So you’re pretty sure he’s here in Paris?”

“Possibly. If not, I mean to find out where he’s gone.”

“I’ll help you,” Renee offered, “if you’ll help me. Try to find out who Sonny answers to.” She smiled up at him. “And if I can manage to get chummy enough, I’ll ask ol’ Debbie if she’s got a squeeze ol’ Sonny’s not wise to.”

A squeeze. He liked the term. Rather crass and usually reserved for females, but probably descriptive of the power-mad Martine’s lovers.

He thought about squeezing Renee and couldn’t seem to dismiss the idea. Main squeeze stuck in his brain like a song fragment that played over and over.

Why was she so open with him, so trusting? What sort of agent took chances such as that? He admired her courage but wondered about her sanity.

But then, who was he to judge? He was well aware that he had not had the usual experiences of someone who’d led a regular life. Since the age of thirteen, and probably even before that, he had been trained not to trust.

But he had trusted Renee tonight more than he had anyone else in a very long time. She had that effect. Alarm bells were ringing in his head. This woman was dangerous on so many levels.

Renee watched as Mark opened the door to her apartment and entered first, his weapon in his hand.

She resented that. It was her place to clear her own quarters. He would bully her if she allowed it, but she decided to choose her battles. If she didn’t, they’d be at each other’s throats the entire time.

He rejoined her in the small sitting room. “Looks okay.”

“Thanks. Excuse me for a minute.” Renee immediately went into the bathroom, turned on the water and made a phone call to see if there were any further results to her earlier inquiry. Nothing had changed, but she hadn’t really expected it to and was glad it hadn’t.

She believed Mark. He’d never have gotten into the course they had attended together without a bona fide and rather remarkable association with one of the elite forces battling terrorism. Lazlo had an excellent rep. They hired the best and got results.

“Where do I sleep?” he asked when she returned.

She pointed to the antique recamier, a one-armed lounge that wasn’t even comfortable for sitting, much less sleeping. “I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket.”

He sat on it, bounced once and frowned. “And perhaps a back brace for the morning?”

Renee turned away from him as she suppressed a laugh at his expense.

He had a dry sense of humor, but his having one at all surprised her. He almost never smiled without qualifying it with a lift of that left eyebrow. “For a homeless person, you’re not very appreciative.”

“I was hoping you might want to keep me under closer surveillance for the night, in the event I’m not really who I say I am.”

“Share my bed?” She chuckled. “And here I thought Brits had no sense of humor. You’re a riot.”

He grinned. “And I was under the impression Americans were…unreserved.”

“Profiling at its worst, I guess. I’ll get you that pillow.”

Renee left the room in a hurry, hoping he hadn’t noticed that split second of consideration she’d given his suggestion.

They were unwilling partners now and would be pretending an intimate relationship during the coming days. The idea of establishing a real closeness with him to insure his help and full cooperation was so unprofessional it was laughable. And tempting, she had to admit.

Really, really tempting.