Slate clears his throat and shoots his eyes to the mastermind thief. “Your call.”
“No. He is not involving her.” I love my dad, but he takes risks I’m not willing to tolerate when it comes to the woman I love.
Suds butts in and cuts to the chase. “Was Egonov bluffing about more bombs, and if not, how close are we to finding them?”
Caleb grimaces. “It could take a few days before we know for sure.”
“Time we don’t have.” Even though Smith states the obvious, I shoot him my bugger-off face.
“Well, does anyone have a better plan?” My old man puts it to a vote and after, I’m so bloody furious, I can’t speak. For fuck’s sake, she was a Marine pilot. She’s not an undercover agent.
Chapter 16
Landy
Wobbling on spiky heels, I tug on the hem of my red spandex dress to prevent it from riding up my ass. Before I departed the villa, I tried to say goodbye to Dash, but he hasn’t spoken a word to me since I volunteered for this mission. I must be strong and ignore his sulking. If Alexei Balabanov doesn’t choose me as a sex partner, a lot of people could die.
To make my role more believable, Oliver drops me off at a brothel and collects money from a greasy blond-haired Italian with a crooked nose and chipped front teeth.
“Don’t fuck up.” Pretending to be my pimp, the MI6 agent pats my ass and I shoot him the bird.
As he walks away, I resurrect the accent I learned during my Texas summer breaks. “I’ll be good to him. Don’t you worry none. You jes’ make sure I get my fair share.”
Hands on my hips, I glare at the dude in dire need of dental work. “Sorry sweetheart, I’d give you a quickie, but it’d ruin my makeup.”
Leaning against the crumbling medieval building, I extract a mirror from my purse and reapply bright red lipstick. Under my heavily mascaraed lashes, I glance at the working girls, snap the compact shut, and curse quietly. Beneath their thick makeup, some are barely teenagers. My stomach acids churn. However long it takes, I will shut this damn place down. No one, in any country, has the right to sell children.
Seething, I feign boredom and climb in a newly arrived rusty white van. After five minutes of near head-on collisions, we’re let out on a cement walkway by the water’s edge and lifted into a sputtering motorboat. As it speeds to the sea, the port falls behind, and my mouth drops open. The town’s colorful lights reflect on the water. Beyond, soaring impossibly high to the night sky, Mount Aetna blocks the stars.
For over an hour, the salty wind attempts to undo hours of FBI makeup artistry. Then, one of the youngest girls bounces up, points at the horizon, and shouts. Soon, our tiny craft bobs up and down next to a private yacht the size of a small cruise ship.
They lower a ladder, the others climb with enthusiasm, and the last to go, I lift my Mach open-toed designer heels to the rope. When the taxi-boat driver tries to grab my behind, I pull back on his finger. Hard.
“Hands off.”Jerk. If I wasn’t undercover, he would’ve lost the use of his pinkie.
On deck, a guard pats us down. He too, gets handsy, so I snatch his wand detector, rap his knuckles, and wave it over my body. “Nyet.”
Face red, he takes me in his arms and as he tries to kiss me, I thrust my knee to his cock. Howling, he grabs his groin, and before he can slap me, I elbow him in the mouth.
He wipes away blood, staggers forward, and as he raises a fist, I point to my chest. “Balabanov. Capice?”
Suddenly, the rock music stops, and people stop partying. An authoritative Russian voice sounds from the speaker, and the asshole drops his hand. Cursing at me, he spits overboard, and leaves.
Fuck. I screwed up. My pulse thrumming, I speed walk to the nearest exit. Right when I’m opening the door, a thick arm from behind clamps around my waist.
I’m rotated until I face a sixtyish man’s piercing gray eyes. “I’m sorry. My men can be overprotective.”
As Balabanov undresses me with his eyes, I try to remain calm.Holy shit. Everyone is not in place. This can’t happen yet. Dammit. I need to stall.
Suddenly, a rescuer appears out of nowhere. Dash points down the hall and says something in Russian to the general.
“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” The old man squeezes my butt and as he walks away, I let go the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
I swivel my head both ways and upon seeing no visible threat, my heart slows enough to ask, “What did you say to him?”
“I told him his security was looking for him. Quick. Put this in. If anything goes wrong, I want to know instantly.” My grim-faced fiancé places a comm unit in my shaking palm and I stick it in my ear.
“Are we still on?” At Alistair’s steady voice in our headset, Dash glances at me, and after I nod, he dips his chin to his chest.
