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“Agent Fox has arrived.”
Sabrina winked at Benjamin Trainer as she dropped her briefcase near the door. He was the communications specialist attached to IT&PA, International Temps and Personal Assistants. He could do just about anything with a satellite link. She imagined there were a number of other things he could do quite well, but being coworkers precluded her investigation into the interesting possibility.
“Trainer, you’re looking smart this evening.” She surveyed his lean athletic frame as she pulled off her gloves and stuffed them into the pockets of her coat before shrugging out of the heavy outerwear.
Evidently the man had a date tonight. In seven years, she couldn’t recall seeing him dressed in snug jeans, a pullover sweater that looked exactly like one she’d seen in a Gap ad, and classy loafers. This man never wore anything to work that wasn’t a three-piece suit. His dark hair and green eyes were icing on the cake. But then, this was Friday evening. A handsome young guy like him would certainly have plans.
“Depends upon whether or not you wind this up in a timely manner,” he quipped, one eyebrow cocked in blatant skepticism.
“No pressure, right?” she teased.
Along with Trainer were two other support personnel on site. A control team would be close by, if not already in place.
“This is your uniform, Agent Fox.” Costumer and disguise technician Angie Russell waved her arm to indicate the maid’s uniform, shoes and other accessories displayed across the elegant comforter on the king-size bed.
“Thanks, Angie.” Sabrina was already stripping off her street clothes.
“Nice shoes.” This comment came from operation coordinator Hugo Clay, aka Big Hugh. He stood six-four and weighed about two-fifty. Not the sort of guy one wanted to run into in a dark alley. But Sabrina had figured him out long ago. He was just a big, cuddly teddy bear who could also drop a man in his tracks with nothing but his hands.
Sabrina toed off first one Nike sneaker, then the other. “I wore them just for you, Big Hugh.”
“Let’s move it, people,” Trainer reminded. “Time is of the essence.”
Sabrina’s suit jacket landed on the floor atop her coat. “Yes, sir, Specialist Trainer. We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”
“Fox is prepping now, sir,” Trainer said into the mouthpiece of his commo apparatus, ignoring Sabrina’s dig. The sir he reported to was Director Anderson Marx. Talking to the boss or not, Sabrina didn’t miss the way the corners of Trainer’s mouth quirked as he spoke. He liked it when she used that official tone with him, even if she were teasing.
As she wiggled out of her skirt, Big Hugh gently placed a listening device into her right ear. “This will provide you with a constant feed from Trainer and our esteemed Director Marx.”
Sabrina kicked aside her skirt and peeled off her black tights. “Give me the details,” she said to Hugh as she straightened and freed the buttons of her blouse.
“We have Namir Stavi on the 10th floor,” he began.
“Israeli?”
Big Hugh nodded. “He and his wife and two children are here for the Christmas holidays. The Agency picked up on reports that an attempt would be made on Stavi’s life while he was visiting our fair city. He and his family are to be executed, and the act is to be blamed on Muslim radicals who hold American visas.”
“Nice,” she mused. Some jerk was always trying to make someone else look bad on American soil. She could see how the press would be all over that kind of international incident, creating even more tension between the American and the Muslim communities, not to mention the Israelis. Recent events already had Israel a little sensitive where the U.S. was concerned.
“Our polite colleagues thought they had the situation under control,” Big Hugh explained, “but somehow the time line got moved up and the assassins hit twenty-four hours early. The agents doing preliminary surveillance couldn’t move into place swiftly enough to counter the attack, so here we are.”
By “polite colleagues,” Big Hugh meant the FBI. If he’d said our arrogant colleagues he would have meant the CIA. His reference to the Agency meant the National Security Agency, the branch of the government to which their organization was loosely attached.
Sabrina grabbed the maid’s uniform and plunged her arms into the appropriate holes before tugging the thing over her head.
“Pink must be your favorite color, Fox.” This remark came from Trainer. He glanced pointedly at her low-cut pink panties just as she poked her head through the neck of the uniform. “Every time I’ve seen you undress you’re wearing pink panties.”
“That constitutes sexual harassment,” Angie warned him with a glare as she thrust the uniform’s matching cap at Sabrina. From all appearances Angie was a stern woman, stoutly built, just shy of five feet, she had a menacing stare that could wither the staunchest male attitude. She was forty-five if she was a day and mothered the whole lot of them.
Trainer shrugged, his attention shamelessly riveted to Sabrina’s hips as she wiggled into the uniform that fit like a glove. “In my opinion, her taking off her clothes in front of me constitutes the same.”
Sabrina turned her back to Angie for her to take care of the zipping and suggested, “Next time, you strip, too, and we’ll be even.”
Big Hugh’s interest visibly heightened. “That sounds fair.”
Glee glittered in Trainer’s eyes. “Fine. Next time, we’ll all just get naked together.” He directed an amused look at Angie. “Fair is fair.”
“Like hell,” Angie muttered.
Sabrina smoothed a pair of nude hose over her legs, then slipped her feet into the white, rubber-soled shoes. “What kind of firepower do we have?”
Big Hugh pinned a button that declared her employee of the month on the crisply starched lapel of her uniform. “That’s so we can hear you.”
Angie slapped a thigh holster into Hugh’s broad hand and stated, “We’ve got a .32 here.” The weapon was dropped into Sabrina’s palm next.
Sabrina checked the .32, which was loaded.
“That good?” Hugh asked.
She glanced down at the thigh holster he’d just fastened into place. She sheathed the .32 there and let the skirt of her uniform slither back down over it. “Perfect.”
“I’m definitely in the wrong line of work,” Trainer commented dryly. “I don’t even get to touch the thigh holster, much less strap it on.”
Angie cleared her throat, drawing Sabrina’s attention back to her, and held up her hand. A lovely ring, gold with a small cluster of diamonds, sat on her palm. “Be careful with this.”
Sabrina gingerly picked up the piece of jewelry. “Poison?”
Angie nodded. “Stick your target good.” She pointed to what looked like an extra stone on the back of the band. “Depress this at the same time and the poison will be released.”
Cautiously sliding the piece of lethal jewelry onto her right ring finger, Sabrina asked, “How long does it take to work?”
“Ten seconds at most. Even a guy the size of Big Hugh will drop like a rock. But don’t miss. There’s only one dose.”
“I assume this means that the protocol for this op is kill first and ask questions later.”
Big Hugh nodded. “We know who set up the attack. We know the ultimate goal, leaving no reason to make this any more difficult than necessary. The enemy is totally expendable.”
“Do we know how many bogies I’ll encounter?”
He shook his head. “Surveillance spotted two, but there could be more we don’t know about. Control hasn’t been able to get a visual inside the room as of yet. Something about the way the duct work is set up.”
It was always good to go into an operation with as much knowledge as possible. But some situations just didn’t allow for as much advance information as others.
“I can’t risk arming you with anything heavier,” Angie interrupted. “They’ll most certainly pat you down.”
Sabrina nodded. “I understand.” She turned her attention to the cleaning cart waiting by the door. “We have a passkey?”
Angie joined Sabrina at the cart. “This is the same cart all the cleaning ladies on staff use. We’ve rigged it with enough tear gas to put down a herd of elephants, but we don’t want to go that route unless absolutely necessary. Protecting the lives of the hostages is top priority, as you know.”
Sabrina understood. The moment the bad guys noticed anything off-kilter, the killing would begin. If they killed even one of the hostages before the gas put them down, that was one too many, and the operation would be considered a failure. A SWAT team could go in and neutralize the situation, but that wasn’t the goal here. This operation was about rescue, not extermination.
“Room 1012.” Big Hugh provided the passkey. “We’ll be listening to every word. The cart’s rigged for sound, too. If you need us, you know what to do.”
“And if I don’t need you,” Sabrina countered, “I’ll let you know.” These ops could get tense. She didn’t need a control team moving in if there was any chance she could recover the situation.
“We won’t make a move without the code phrase,” he assured.
“Let’s do this thing, then.” Sabrina grasped the handle of the cart and pushed it through the door Trainer held open.
“Good luck, Fox,” he murmured as she passed.
She hesitated long enough to whisper back, “I don’t need luck, Trainer, I’m Sabrina Fox.”
He grinned. “That’s right. How could I forget?”
Sabrina pushed the cart into the corridor and the door closed behind her.
“I wish this night was over already,” she muttered.
“Sound check is good.” Trainer’s voice whispered in her ear, compliments of the commo link Big Hugh had tucked there.
“I need a long hot bath and a bottle of wine,” she added softly as she parked her cart in front of the elevators and pressed the call button.
A sound of deep, guttural agreement echoed in her ear.
She had to smile. Maybe she’d give Trainer a little tit for tat given that he’d made that smart-ass remark about her panties. She did prefer pink lingerie, that was true. She owned pink panties in every imaginable style. French cut, lacy thong, extreme low-rise.
The elevator doors slid open and she pushed the cart inside and selected the tenth floor. Since she was alone in the car, she leaned against the wall and sighed dramatically.
“Lots and lots of frothy bubbles. Neck-deep hot water. Oh yeah, that’s exactly what I’m going to do when I get home.” She closed her eyes and made one of those throaty, wistful sounds that made her think of hot, sweaty sex. “I’ll probably start taking my clothes off before I even get through the door to my apartment. Light every candle in the place and take the bottle of wine and two stemmed glasses to the tub with me.”
“Is that an invitation, Agent Fox? You did say two glasses.”
Director Anderson Marx.
Her gaze snapped open, her face flushed with embarrassment. “Negative, sir, I was…just getting into character with a relaxation technique.”
Damn, she’d forgotten Marx was tied in already. Damn Trainer. He should have said something.
She could imagine him, with his mike muted, laughing his ass off.
“Standing by,” Big Hugh said, reminding her that he was there as well.
“Ten-four, Big Hugh.” She didn’t worry about the big guy; she wasn’t his type.
The car glided to a stop with a soft ding. She pushed the cart into the alcove outside the bank of elevators. A floor-to-ceiling window was on the right, the corridor running parallel to the front of the building on the left. She took the left and headed for Room 1012.
A few steps later, she arrived at the door. She inhaled a deep, fortifying breath, then let it out slowly. She touched her uniform where the holstered weapon lay snugly against her inner thigh, then knocked loudly on the door. “Housekeeping,” she announced.
The room was quiet beyond the door.
Anticipation released another round of adrenaline that ignited a fire in her veins.
She knocked again. “Housekeeping!”
After waiting the perfunctory ten seconds, she slid her passkey through the reader and watched for the green light. Braced for whatever she might find, she pushed down on the lever and backed into the door, ushering it inward as she went.
With her back fully to the room, she pulled her cart through the door. Her pulse edged into that alert zone that reminded her that she’d just turned her back on the enemy. But she needed whoever was in the room to believe she expected to find it empty.
When her cart cleared the open doorway, the door closed with a heavy thud.
“Don’t move.”
The undeniable feel of a muzzle pressed against the back of her skull.
She caught her breath, adopted an expression of terror, making her eyes go wide and leaving her lips slightly parted.
A hand moved over her torso. She tensed, as much from the need to ensure whoever it was didn’t find the weapon fastened against her inner left thigh as from the need to appear frightened.
She twisted slightly away from his touch. “What’re you doing?” She was proud of the fear infused in her voice, as well as a second harsh intake of breath that sounded completely credible. “What’s going on here?”
Harsh fingers curled around her arm and jerked her around to face the owner of the gun that had left an impression on her scalp. “Shut up,” he growled.
She made a small shrieking sound, just loud enough to be convincing without alarming him. Things could go downhill fast if he or one of his friends grew suspicious of her and panicked.
“You have very bad timing, lady.” He leered at her, his gaze raking down to her breasts. “You should have skipped this room.”
Making her body tremble wasn’t difficult considering the guy jammed the silenced muzzle of a Glock 9mm under her chin. Not exactly comfortable—and she didn’t trust him not to accidentally fire off a round. Glocks weren’t designed for amateurs or idiots. He looked exactly like the latter, a little too excited and gung ho. Considering the uniform she wore, she doubted her breasts had caused the effect.
“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “Please…please…don’t hurt me.”
He laughed, nice and loud as goons would do. “Please, please don’t hurt me,” he mimicked in a high-pitched, squeaky voice.
“What do we do with her?”
The new male voice came from behind the goon currently manhandling her.
Well, now she knew for sure there were at least two of them.
The goon with the 9mm still rammed against her glanced menacingly over his shoulder. “What the hell are you doing? Get back in there!”
Sabrina knew this room was a two-bedroom suite. Though she couldn’t see anything beyond the large man blocking her view, obviously some or all of the family were being held in one of the bedrooms.
When the goon’s attention turned back to her, she dropped back into character. “Please,” she pleaded, “I’m just a housekeeper.” She shook her head frantically. “I don’t—”
“Shut up!” He backhanded her.
She saw at least one star on the heels of the pain that shattered in her jaw. She didn’t have to taste the blood to know he’d busted her lip. Nothing major, just a tiny crack.
