Читать книгу Kiss or Kill - Lyn Stone - Страница 8

Chapter 1

Paris—Present Day

Mark felt pretty naked without his favorite sidearm, especially when everyone else he’d met was sporting fully automatics. He was seriously underdressed for the occasion.

“Sonny is making a few calls,” the woman at his side told him. “If you check out, we can use you, Alexander. If not…well, let us say you need not worry about future employment,” she added with a catlike smile.

His cover was solid thanks to Corbett Lazlo, Mark’s mentor and employer. He understood why the woman didn’t trust him. Hell, she had excellent reasons, better ones than she knew.

He had wormed his way into this nest of snakes with a few phone calls and by dropping the names of a couple of very recently deceased criminals who were probably well known to her and thought to still be alive. Identity theft in its highest form worked wonders, or so he hoped.

“Come along, darling. You might as well meet the rest of the merry band while we wait,” the woman said, ushering him up the steps ahead of her. She wore unrelieved black. Probably matched the loaded accessory she carried in her pocket with her finger on its trigger.

This infiltration seemed the best method of discovering the whereabouts of the man who had murdered Mark’s father sixteen years ago, an assassin called Trip. Mark’s job, as well as his lifelong ambition, was to capture Trip and determine who had hired him. The killer’s trail—an exhaustive list of murders stretching over almost two decades using the same MO—had led Mark to this woman’s address.

Something about Deborah Martine seemed familiar to Mark. Not so much her looks as her mannerisms, the way she moved, a fleeting expression. Something. Martine was not her real name, he was sure. But none of that mattered at the moment. This fortyish, unnatural blonde with bedroom eyes, a commanding attitude and an evil sense of humor, was his ticket in. Sooner or later, she would lead him to Trip.

She could use more hands and another gun, she had told him when he introduced himself earlier that afternoon. Apparently she was also looking for someone adept at bypassing the newer security systems on the market. He couldn’t believe his luck there. He assured her he’d been sent by a trusted mutual acquaintance. The woman was no fool. She had verified his identity. No problem. Lazlo had expected he would be checked out and had prepared for it.

At the top of the stairs, she reached past him, opened a door and entered, standing aside for him to follow. Mark glanced around the dimly lit room. They were in an office in the upstairs of a run-down warehouse south of Paris near the Seine. He could smell the river, feel its dampness, even inside the building. Two men were seated on the dusty chairs and a woman stood against the wall in the shadows.

She looked up as he approached the table. The dim glow of the lamp illuminated her face. Mark’s heart nearly stopped. There was not merely something familiar about this woman. He knew her! Worse than that, she knew him. One word from her about their former connection and he’d be dead in the water. Literally. His body adding to the river’s pollution.

He saw the flicker of apprehension in her eyes. And a question. Should she take him out? She was asking herself. She was armed and it wasn’t apparent that he was. But for some reason, she didn’t act.

He suddenly realized she was as vulnerable as he was. If she killed him, she would have to explain why. And if she declared who he was, the others would suspect her, too. Takes one to know one, he thought with an inner grimace.

Had she turned? Her looks had changed radically. Maybe her allegiance had, too. Or had she been a subversive even when he had known her during their training op in the States? She could be working undercover, of course. God, but he wanted to believe that. He had a soft spot for her, but he couldn’t let that distort his reasoning or affect his decisions.

He could kill her, right now during her hesitation. He still had his knife, which he could bury in her throat before anyone blinked. But then he would have to deal with the fallout. If he used the hidden blade, he would be weaponless except for hands-on. That would be patently ineffective against bullets.

Even in the unlikely event that he managed to kill everyone in the room and survive, his ultimate goal would be impossible. Deborah Martine was his only lead to John Trip, the assassin he had spent over half his life tracking, the man he meant to destroy no matter the cost. He might never get this close again. No, he couldn’t compromise that goal as long as there was the slightest chance to see it met.

And he had to acknowledge that the woman feigning nonchalance in the shadows might possibly be here for a legitimate reason, just as he was, and didn’t really deserve to die.

He had a feeling that fate had another of those unfunny life-altering jokes in store for him, like the sudden gut-twisting attraction that had driven him crazy when he had known her before. She had damn near caused him to lose control and break his steadfast rule concerning personal involvement. Even so, he had little choice now but to let fate rule in this instance. He would have to allow Renee Leblanc to live and see what happened.

Renee leaned against the rat-infested wall, one booted foot propped on an old crate. In her right hand, she held an unlit French cigarette. Her left rested on the unsnapped holster of her nine millimeter.

The man who entered the weak circle of light thrown by the antique gas lantern registered a barely discernible flicker of surprise, just as she suppressed one of her own. My God. It was Mark! What the hell was he doing here? Her heart rate doubled and her breath caught in her throat. Instant recognition promised instant death if he blew her cover.

Her fingers slid around the grip of her H&K pistol, its coolness and texture her only comfort.

“This is Mark Alexander, everyone,” Deborah Martine announced as she took a seat at the head of the scarred table.

He was actually using the name she had known him by. Not a good sign that he was undercover. But then, she was using hers, too, though it was necessary in her case.

Deborah inclined her head at Renee. “Meet Renee, our explosives expert.”

Deborah’s lazy gaze swept on to the slender, shifty-eyed thug on her right. “Piers, provisions.” Then to the beefy Neanderthal at the far end of the table. “Etienne, muscle.” She offered a secret smile before turning her attention to the rest of the group. “Mark will handle the security systems for us.” Her left eyebrow rose as she addressed him. “That is, if your credentials are in order.”

Renee’s eyes again locked on the newcomer. Her first instinct had been to shoot him where he stood before he could say a word. Protect the mission was a mantra she lived by. Self-preservation was an even stronger motive. She figured he probably entertained similar thoughts of eliminating her as a threat, but had no weapon.

Either he had flipped at some time during the past two years, or he was working an op for SIS, the old MI-6. Problem was, she knew nothing about an ongoing operation in Paris involving the Brits. However, given the dearth of official information exchanged by intel agencies who worked for the same government, it was reasonable that she’d be in the dark about a foreign one. Why would the Brits inform the U.S. when infiltrating a terrorist cell in France?

Since Alexander hadn’t yet opened his mouth, she would give him the benefit of the doubt. If he revealed who she was, he would expose himself. Same with her. She raised a brow and offered him the ghost of a smile. He returned it, just a small quirk of his lips. Nice lips they were, too. She remembered them well. Their texture. Their taste. Their hunger that had fueled her own. A spike of warmth shot through her. Make that heat.

One kiss, mind-blowing as it had been, did not provide a basis for putting her life in the man’s hands. That killer body of his could be just that, the body of a killer. The memory of how her wayward mind had wandered directly to him the morning after that kiss, as she hovered between sleep and wakefulness, disturbed her even now. She had clearly visualized him, standing in the shower, soaping himself, his head thrown back, exposing his strong, corded neck as if he invited her to put her mouth there and feel his quickening pulse. Her own body had hummed.

Renee shook her head. The vision firmly engraved on her mind might have been buried, but hadn’t lost its clarity.

Renee straightened and pushed off the wall, taking a seat on one of the overturned boxes that served as extra chairs. “Where are the others?” she asked, ignoring Alexander as best she could.

“Checking the perimeter. Sonny and Beguin will be up in a few moments. Tonight’s the night we get down to business,” Deborah announced.

Finally. Renee kept her expression bland. She knew the job, in general anyway, and hoped to find out where the strike would occur so she could get people in place to prevent it. This was yet another planning session. Deborah seemed to get off on having rendezvous in secret locations, the seedier the better.

Sonny’s last job had been an attempt to abduct a

U.S. senator’s son. It had been foiled by the Secret Service and Renee’s team, COMPASS, one of the civilian special ops teams formed under Homeland Security. The giant, more commonly known as Sonnegut, had escaped capture and fled here to France, doing a bang-up job of covering his tracks. But Renee had located him.

Her stated mission was to identify Sonnegut’s affiliation, find out who was behind the kidnapping attempt and determine what they had been after. Indications were that the motive had been political. So far, she had tailed him until she could befriend one of his cohorts and work her way into this little gang.

It was a start. Deborah Martine was Sonnegut’s lover. Renee had begun to suspect she might also be the person in charge. The question was whether or not she reported to someone else, higher up. Unfortunately Renee thought she might have to abandon her primary mission in order to throw a monkey wrench into the strike the cell was planning. But first she needed to discover how the group was financed, and, most important, the target and timing of their strike.

Renee had struck up an association with Martine, gaining her trust in the guise of a French-Canadian expatriate whose father owned a demolitions business based in Calgary and who had taught his only child everything he knew about explosives, hoping she would carry on.

Her cover contained a great deal of truth, but there were no records available to prove or disprove it. She had told Deborah at the outset that her father had disowned her and she had intentionally “erased” herself. Martine had professed to admire her precautions and apparently accepted her story.

Demolition was a handy skill in the underworld, much in demand. Credentials weren’t required. The proof was in the execution, so to speak.

Renee glanced again at Mark and saw that he was assessing her, no doubt wondering if she had switched loyalties. Neither of them had any option but to play this out, at least until they could talk in private. And even then, would either dare admit why they were really here? As far as he knew, she could be exactly what she appeared to be. And so could he.

Every tenet of her training demanded that she erase any threat to her mission. So would his. They had trained together in the life-or-death black ops field, after all.

Two years ago, the FBI had hosted an international working seminar on nontraditional methods of dealing with terrorists. Fifty elite agents from as many organizations had attended. No operative had been identified other than by name, no countries or organizations revealed.

At the time, Renee had figured Mark represented the U.K. because of his accent and surname. And that polite reserve of his had seemed distinctly British to her. Maybe her assumption had been wrong. Ordinarily she knew better than to assume anything, but it hadn’t really mattered back then.

Even at first glance, just as it did now, her heart had raced with both fear and fascination. Aside from the wide shoulders set on a body that wouldn’t quit and a face that boasted intriguing features, her attraction to him surpassed the physical. There was something dark about Alexander that went deeper than the fathomless eyes that seemed to peer right into the very soul of her. He made her feel exposed…vulnerable…hot. What’s more, he made her like it. Dangerous, indeed.

When she’d known him then, just as now, she had needed her entire focus to remain on the job. Renee had staunchly kept her distance. But she’d sensed a definite reciprocal interest, proved beyond doubt when he had impulsively acted on it. And kissed her. Afterward, they had avoided each other and only spoken in passing when paired off in a shooting match.

Even so, she’d hardly been able to concentrate whenever he was in the vicinity. And the vision of him naked that she hadn’t consciously sought, yet couldn’t seem to dismiss hadn’t helped. Renee had vowed early on that until her career was well established and she had proved her worth, a personal life would be out of the question. Apparently Mark’s goal hadn’t been any different.

Avoidance had become a game until their schooling was over and they parted company with merely a couple of satisfied nods, wordlessly acknowledging their shared battle and mutual success.

In retrospect, maybe she shouldn’t have been so hell-bent to deny any interaction. At least then she might be able to guess something about his mindset now.

Sonnegut slammed into the room, his great height and boisterous energy almost comical considering the secretive nature of the meeting. He was a good-looking fellow of German extraction, cocky as hell, larger than life, auburn-haired, blue-eyed, built like a monster truck. There was simply too much of him to be believed.

Beguin followed him, a pale shadow in Sonnegut’s wake. Thin, dirty blond hair hung like fringe over his craggy features. Darting close-set eyes peered from behind the sparse strands. He moved like a wraith and always gave Renee the creeps. She prided herself on her uncanny recognition of accents, but she hadn’t figured yet where Beguin had hatched. He never had a word to say.

Deborah Martine’s eyes lit up and a smile curved her generous lips whenever Sonnegut appeared. “Everything as it should be, Sonny?” she asked, her voice rife with authority. Her attitude had become increasingly bossy lately, Renee had noticed.

The big man nodded and shot her a merry grin. “I had to get rid of a vagrant. He was getting too curious.”

Martine’s smile slipped at that. She probably worried about the eventual discovery of an errant body mucking up this new meeting place, but she said nothing more about it. “I meant the phone calls you were to make regarding Alexander. Results?”

Sonnegut brushed his hands together and nodded vigorously. “He’s solid. Brugel said he does good work, so did Hamish. Best they know of for providing surreptitious entry. Both vouched.”

Martine reached inside her pocket and retrieved a cell phone that must have been set on vibrate. She clicked it on, listened, nodded and answered briefly and affirmatively in Italian. It was the third language Renee had heard her speak fluently.

They all conversed in French, of course, except when Martine encouraged her to use English. That was Martine’s native tongue, though she was as proficient in French as anyone born to it. Apparently she was pretty good in Italian as well. She was speaking with the man called Brugel, whom Sonnegut had just mentioned.

After she put the phone away, Martine promptly handed over a nine-millimeter pistol to Mark. “Here’s your toy back, darling. You’re hired. Same rate as Brugel gave you, agreed?”

He nodded, pulled a wry face as if disappointed that he wasn’t offered more and stuck the weapon beneath his black leather jacket. His intense gaze captured Renee’s again. His dark eyes told her nothing regarding his true affiliation. But they did reveal his continued interest in her as a woman. Not helpful at all.

Then Deborah turned to Renee. “Tonight we firm up some of the details. Also, if you have any doubt about your ability to do what we need done, you must tell me now. Failure is not an option.”

Renee shrugged one shoulder and tried to look nonchalant. “I can handle anything but boredom,” she declared lazily, leaning backward as Mark pulled a lighter from his pocket and offered to light the cigarette she held.

She lowered her lashes, then raised them in shameless flirtation. Had to keep up the act. “Thank you for the thought, but I don’t smoke anymore. This,” she said, wiggling the cigarette between her fingers playfully, “reassures me of my ability to resist temptation.”

He raised one dark brow, his expression deadpan as he drawled. “All temptation?”

Renee smiled, trying for coy. She caressed his well-honed body with a slumberous appraisal, fully aware of everyone’s eyes now riveted on them. “Well, only what I have sworn off of as not being good for me.”

Deborah cleared her throat. “Not to interfere with your charming little tête-à-tête, my dears, but I believe I have the floor. And we are on a tight schedule with this lovely conference room.”

The men, except for Mark, laughed at Martine’s sarcasm, nudging one another playfully like naughty little boys. Their deadlier forms of naughtiness, especially Sonnegut’s, made her sick. The memory of the bullet-riddled bodies of two Secret Service agents reared its ugly head.

She could wind up exactly like them if she put a foot wrong. That was another reason she never allowed personal relationships to develop. The more people you worried about leaving behind, the less effective you were when faced with a deadly situation. And loved ones could be at constant risk just by association.

Renee carefully concealed her thoughts and smiled along with the thugs. “Please, continue,” she said to Deborah with another casual lift of her shoulder.

Martine looked from one to the other of the group, then concentrated her full attention on Renee. “You have examined the blueprints I gave you?”

“I have.”

“Good. I will identify the target now.”

She pulled a wrinkled map from her coat pocket. “Here. It is marked and the address is written along the margin. It is to be totally demolished, as if clearing the area for future construction. Spare all surrounding structures. The destruction must be isolated.”

“Implosion.” Renee took the folded map and tucked it inside her jacket. “So you want the adjacent buildings undamaged. Why?”

“It is to be very clear what our target was when it is finished.” Her smile grew hard. “That’s enough information. Yours is not to question why.”

“Ah, mine is but to do or die,” Renee said lightly. “I got it.” She squinted at Deborah. “How critical is it that the target collapse directly into its own footprint? It could take months and a very large crew to give you any sort of guarantee on that. And even then…”

The woman huffed and rolled her eyes. “Just do the best you can with the time you have, girl. You said you were the expert. And if you need a crew—” she gestured around the table “—here they are.”

“The hour’s late,” Sonnegut said with an impatient gesture. “I have other things to do. Could we get on with this?” He shot Deborah a heated look that indicated these things had little to do with the business at hand.

“Of course, darling. You’re right as usual.” Deborah gifted Sonnegut with a salacious look.

Renee listened as Martine instructed the others in their respective tasks, each of which was to assist Renee in her assignment in a particular way. Apparently Mark was to circumvent any security systems and get them inside the building to wire it.

“You will be notified of the next meeting,” Deborah said, indicating the meeting was over. She glanced at the newcomer. “Take Mark in hand, will you, Renee?”

Renee bit back a protest. “I suppose he will provide good cover during our planning foray. We can be lovers discovering Paris in the cold November rain. What do you think of that, Mark?” she asked, drawing out his name suggestively.

“I’ll try to be of more use than the cigarette,” he replied with a sardonic smile before getting up to follow the others out of the room.

Renee was the last to leave and Deborah stopped her at the door. “A word before you go.” She leaned out onto the landing. “Sonny, give Mark his instructions, won’t you? Tell him what to watch for? I’ll be along in a moment.” Apparently satisfied by the answering nod, she closed the door on the men.

“Now then, Renee, you have everything you need?”

“For now. I’ll give you a list of the matériel I require once I have it?” Renee said. “Do you think you’ll have any problems acquiring it? Dynamite’s easy enough, but RDX might prove difficult.”

Deborah patted her shoulder, an almost motherly gesture. “Send me a complete list. The supplies will be available when we are ready to put things in place. Anything you require. I’ll have the elevations delivered to you as soon as I have them so that you and Mark can study the exterior.”

She held up a finger, shaking it like a school-teacher admonishing a pupil. “Keep a close eye on Alexander,” she ordered, then added with a leer, “I’m sure you know exactly how to insure his loyalty. He is well vetted, but we both know how tenuous a man’s fealty can be, don’t we?”

Renee laughed, injecting a scoff. “I’ve had more experience learning that than I have time to tell you. Any man can be bought, but you and I know the currency they favor most, eh?”

“I sensed you were savvy in that regard. You remind me of me,” Deborah said with a satisfied bob of her head. “Let me know immediately if you have any problem with him and I’ll find you a replacement.”

Renee promised and said good-night, knowing full well what Sonnegut had been instructing Mark to do while Deborah gave her orders. He would be set to watch her even as she watched him. That was probably another of the reasons he had been hired.

The irony of their keeping tabs on each other struck her as funny, especially if Mark was still an operative for his government.

However, if he had turned she might just die laughing.