“All right. I’ll be there soon, ’kay?”
“Take your time, sweets. I have a few business chores to finish up first, anyway. It’s almost closing time.” Amber quietly closed the door. Llallana would confide in her when the time was right.
She turned off the main light, leaving only the twin ones over the oven and kitchen sink, then took a stairway through a side door that led down to her office. The luxury of living upstairs from where one worked was that she didn’t need to worry about taking late bus rides or driving a car at night.
She collected the cash box from Katia, one of her wait staff, as she peeked into the kitchen. “Any guests left?”
“Someone walked in really late and I told him the ovens were off already. He went off.”
Usually The Last Resort accommodated late customers, but Katia knew that Amber didn’t like to be disturbed when the CIVPOL chief was here. On other nights, Amber would take over and let her help go home.
“Thanks, Katia. You and Dru can go now. I’ll finish up. See you tomorrow.”
“Goodnight.”
Amber locked up after they left, turning off lights here and there. She had structured her café hours to suit her needs, keeping it open from ten to two during the day for customers who wanted to buy her cookies and have a quick coffee or tea break from their work. In the evenings she served the ever-popular American dinners that made her café a regular haunt for soldiers and diplomats. Usually she mingled with them, especially those who had been working in the area for a while. She learned a lot of useful information that way. Everyone who was around long enough knew that The Last Resort was the place to buy, sell, or pass on information. And sometimes get some free chocolate cookies, she added with mockery.
It took a while for the setup to work. An American-like café in Velesta was a good front. The CIA had told her that the soldiers were getting restless with their peacekeeping duties and needed something to distract them other than carousing at the girlie bars. It also attracted the locals who were curious about anything foreign. Then there were thekafenaowners, who came here to make friends with the soldiers, giving them cards for “free” massages and other favors from “their” girls. The CIA liked the idea.
It was in this setting that information flowed like the beer she served. Some she bought, some she passed on to gain favors, and others…she gave to Dilaver as a gesture to show she was not one to take sides. By making the café a popular drinking hole for the soldiers, she avoided many of the dangers of running a business in a town owned by various other mercenary gangs. She didn’t have to deal with giving protection money as long as she provided all sides with what they needed.
And no one questioned an American woman doing shady business while running a café. This was Velesta. Everyone had a shady background and ran something illegal. It would be suspicious if she had been a regular businesswoman, choosing, of all places, to settle here in this crime city. No, Amber Hutchens fitted right in, and everyone respected her very quiet ways of running an information ring.
CIA-approved information ring, Amber corrected, as she put away the cash in the safe. She looked at the stack of fake passports in there. And non-CIA approved human smuggling ring. She punched in the security codes, turned, and froze at the sight of a fully clothed Hawk McMillan before her.
“How did…mmmmph!” A cold cloth covered her mouth and nose.
Hawk was prepared this time. He knew the most likely first reaction was to grab the hand against her mouth, and when Amber did that, he effectively countered it by knocking her off balance with a quick sweep of his foot. Then he lifted her off her feet and trapped her body against the wall with his weight. She jerked up, struggling to loosen her hands, trying to use her legs for leverage.
Hawk pushed in between them, lifting her higher against the wall and pressing down on Amber. Her eyes glared at him, even as he felt her strength leaving her body. She wrapped her legs around his waist.
“I believe we’ve done this position before,” he told her softly as he watched her eyes lose focus and slowly close. He kept the cloth on her mouth for a few more seconds, just in case she was pretending. Her legs slid off him. He loosened his hold and her head rolled forward, resting under his chin.
Sliding his hand down to hold her so he could lower her to the floor, Hawk made contact with bare skin. He suddenly realized that the skirt she had on had ridden up to her waist when she had lifted her legs. He moved his hand down the side of her thigh, felt silky skin and a strap. Following it to the front, he encountered a holster holding a small weapon.
Note to self. The woman was always armed when her legs were open. Hawk’s lips quirked. Since the holster was strapped to her left thigh, he supposed she was right-handed. Unless she was ambidextrous. He followed his instincts and checked the other thigh.
“I’ll be damned,” he murmured. The lady had a small knife holster there. Not a good idea to piss her off. His grin grew wider. Too damn late. He removed the weapons one at a time, looping the knife into the back of his black tool belt and slipping the gun into a side pocket.
He let her down then and pulled the skirt back into place before lifting her over his shoulder. He turned, looking for the door to his left. He had watched her enter the room from there, so it must be a stairway to the upstairs. The waitress had told him the owner lived upstairs and would be down shortly if he cared to wait.
Oh, he was going to wait, but his way. It was easy enough to pretend to go out and then slip down a small corridor when the young woman’s attention returned to vacuuming. He was in what looked like an office, and as luck would have it, it was where Amber Hutchens had appeared through the door. Jackpot. That was the access to upstairs.
There was enough lighting from the upper landing for him to climb up without looking for a light switch. It was a narrow space to maneuver a large man carrying an unconscious woman, though, and he had to be careful several times not to bump against the wall and hurt his prisoner. He reached the top, hesitated, then turned to the right. He had barely taken half a dozen steps when the light suddenly switched on. He blinked, and found himself staring at another woman pointing a weapon at him.
She was tall, with short dark hair, and her dark eyes held a cool look in them, telling him that she could use the weapon trained on him if she wanted to. She studied him for a moment.
“Well, if it isn’t Hawk McMillan,” she finally drawled.
“I gather you know me,” he said.
“We have…met…” she acknowledged with a small smile.
“I see.”
“Getting a little revenge?” she asked.
“Sort of. Mind introducing yourself? I kind of like knowing the names of women who have touched me.”
