With a bit of glue and a lot of time, Viv attached hairs to Lucky’s upper lip and chin, a light mustache and goatee, in a similar shade to his hair. He’d gone undercover many times, but he’d never changed his appearance to this extent. Nor had he ever seen a disguise look so real.
The jar of stuff and tiny brushes were going too far.
“No makeup!” Lucky barked.
Viv scowled. “How many people have you transformed for undercover work?”
Lucky didn’t dignify her question with an answer.
“Thought so. Now, shut up and let me work.” The defiant tilt of her chin reminded him so much of Charlotte—and Bo.
He wanted to be home.
She didn’t coat his face in goop, but simply ran a brush over his cheek—repeatedly, and a few other areas, but not his whole face. Cruz blocked his view of the mirror. Viv exchanged one jar of goop for another. “I’m giving you a scar. Nothing too graphic, but noticeable.”
He wanted to see, damn it!
The woman paying entirely too much attention to Lucky’s face stepped back with a grin. “Pretty awesome, if I do say so myself. What do you think?” she asked Cruz.
Cruz climbed off the bed and posed, hand on his chin. He leaned right and left, raised a brow, circled, and otherwise got on Lucky’s last nerve. “He’ll do. He definitely doesn’t look like Simon Harrison.”
Viv opened the closet. “Now for the clothes.”
Black slacks, black turtleneck of some super-soft material, which appeared expensive, but not new. Yup, they had to look like he’d worn them before. All-new clothes could tip off suspects. “Take off your shirt.”
Of the two people in the room with him, Lucky feared Viv more than Cruz. Some of the things she’d spread out on the bed could probably kill a man. He removed his shirt.
“Give me a hand with this?” she asked, dragging something out of a black canvas bag.
Lucky almost got a peek in the mirror as Cruz helped Viv pull a padded garment over his head. Next came the turtleneck, stretched at the neck to avoid ruining the cosmetics. Lucky hated the things, felt like they were choking him. Viv patted his chest, the thick undergarment dulling the sensation. “This adds a few pounds, but it’s also got Kevlar, so works as a tactical vest too. It won’t hold up to large caliber at point blank, but it should do the trick for most situations you find yourself in.”
He went into the bathroom to change his pants—a man had to retain some pride.
“No peeking!” Viv called through the door.
Lucky looked up, to find the mirror covered with brown paper duct taped to the surface.
When he emerged, Cruz handed him a zippered plastic bag. “Put this in your mouth.”
“Excuse me?” Lucky tried to figure out the piece of plastic. What the hell was that thing?
“Stick that into the roof of your mouth.” Cruz pantomimed shoving something to the top of his pallet.
Ow! On the third try Lucky managed to wriggle the plastic into a somewhat comfortable position. “What’s this for?” The lightbulb came on the moment Lucky tried to talk. The appliance changed his speech. Not garbled enough to be misunderstood, but enough to make him sound totally different.
“You might not have to speak at all, but if you do, you won’t sound like yourself,” Viv explained.
“Shoes.” Cruz eyed Lucky with enough scrutiny to kick Lucky’s paranoia up a notch.
Lucky slipped the offered shoes on and nearly fell over. He stood a good two inches taller than normal.
Cruz handed him a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. “Now for these.”
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with my eyes.” Not that he’d admit to, at any rate.
“Didn’t say there was. These are clear, tinted glass.”
Lucky put the glasses on.
