Sweet Seduction Secrets (Sweet Seduction, Book 8): A Love At First Sight Romantic Suspense Series Page 3

  “I bet you do, sunshine,” Eric quipped.

  My eyes strayed to Nick’s. If anyone was going to bust my balls for ogling the new girl, it would be him. Not that he’d ever hear one peep out of us if we commented on his occasionally eyeing Amber’s more than ample cleavage. Nick would slit the throat of any soul who made that bad judgement call. Either that, or have to face Eva’s wrath when she heard the rumours.

  And no man could do that without a few war wounds to show for it. Nick wasn’t stupid. Just a dude who appreciated a fine rack. His wife’s especially and any other that happened to be in the vicinity.

  Douche.

  My gaze snagged on the frozen image up on the screen of the new girl’s arse on the back of her bike. Eric had stilled the footage precisely there for one reason and one reason only. I met his green gaze and shook my head.

  And OK, maybe I was a bit of a douche too, for that matter. But fuck, what a fine arse the new girl had.

  “What’s her name again?” I said, to fill the silence.

  “Charlie Downes,” Nick offered, voice steady.

  “Lieutenant Downes to you, sunshine,” Eric added.

  “Sir, for when you’re ogling her butt,” Amber chimed in.

  Funny. Real funny. Laugh a minute, this lot.

  “I’m assigning you as her trainer,” Nick announced, in effect ending the hilarity.

  “Me?” I said as Eric asked, “Him?”

  “Don’t be so surprised,” Nick offered, to me or Eric, I couldn’t tell. “She’s been in the defence force for the last eight years. Six of them teaching. She’ll need an adjustment period. Someone to bring her up to scratch.”

  “And you’ve decided Adam’s the one to do this?” Eric pushed.

  Nick turned ice blue eyes on him. We’d all gotten used to the Anscombe chilling stare, but that didn’t mean we enjoyed receiving it. Eric held his own, but then Amber diffused the situation by stretching lazily in her chair, making her tight fitting t-shirt ride up her belly, drawing every eye in the room to the potential for more. The woman had immaculate timing.

  “You’ll get your chance,” Nick said, a second or so later than necessary. “She’ll need to be made aware of modern electronic equipment used in our line of work. A lieutenant teaching languages at Philomel would hardly be up on some of these gadgets.” Nick waved a hand over Eric and Amber’s stash of goodies off to the side.

  “So, what am I doing with her?” I asked, and all manner of images came to mind, which required desperate effort to ignore.

  “Why don’t you take her on this hunt?” Nick offered.

  “The hunt’s a bust, I thought we’d established that when I walked in here.”

  “No, we established your butt fetish,” Amber helpfully offered. “Not whether the hunt was a bust. And, incidentally, it’s not. I’ve found reference to your man on radar. Got a couple of spots for you to try here.” She indicated a map on the screen in front of her, showing Papatoetoe and some not so well known locations for purchasing drugs.

  “He wasn’t there yesterday,” I said, leaning forward in my seat, fully engaged. This was what I lived for. This was what made the blood pump furiously through my veins. The chase. The hunt. Stalking. “I checked,” I added. “Been checking it every other day. Meth-heads love that strip.”

  “True,” Amber said, bringing up another screen with a picture of a guy I’d seen in Papatoetoe on more than one occasion. Why the cops didn’t pick him up, I had no idea. But everyone on the street knew he was good for some fast crystal meth, or as it was more commonly known; P. “But Davey Parata just got arrested and if our intel is right, your man will likely take his place tomorrow night.”

  Friday night. The prime time for shifting methamphetamine.

  “The cops are surveying the area this afternoon, according to their chatter,” Amber added. “The mall will be abandoned this evening, but business as usual tomorrow night, once the boys in blue have all gone.”

  “Excellent, Amber,” Nick said with meaning.

  “That’s my girl,” Eric added, pride filling his tone.

  “And you’re sure this Davey Parata won’t be released before then?” I asked, playing devil’s advocate, but someone had to. Nick and Eric were both besotted with Amber. Rightly so, but someone had to keep his head.

  Yeah, not going there.

  “As sure as I am that you’ve got a thing for Charlie’s butt,” she casually replied.

  “Would you fucking leave her butt outta this!”

  “Hey!” Eric growled. “Don’t swear at Amber.”

  “I’ll stop swearing at Amber when she stops harping on about my butt fetish.”

  “Your words,” Amber mumbled. “And I’m not a harpie.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” I muttered, and then found myself pressed up against the wall of control, Eric’s fist wrapped up in my t-shirt collar.

  “Apologise,” he growled.

  “Eat shit!” I grinned back.

  “Boys,” Amber tried, while Nick stood up from his semi-recline on the equipment table and took his time straightening his clothes as though readying for battle.

  Both Eric and I stepped away from each other, rolling our shoulders and cracking our necks.

  “Chill, brother,” I offered, eyes locked on Eric, but somehow keeping the bossman in my peripheral. Never turn your back on Nick Anscombe when he’s about to kick arse. “Amber knows me.”

  She snorted, Eric just shook his head, muttering something indecipherable, but I could have sworn it related to getting laid.

  And Nick stood with his hands on his hips and a disgruntled look in his frosty blue gaze.

  “Charlie’s got assessment tomorrow,” he announced. “By five she’ll be approved for the field. After which, she’s all yours.”

  “If you can keep your eyes off her butt, that is,” Amber mocked.

  Eric started laughing. Nick’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

  And just like that the air was sweet again in control.

  And I had a new assignment. One that strangely scared the shit out of me while it also bizarrely excited.

  Keep my eyes off her butt?

  Easy.

  After all, I’m a professional.

  Chapter 3

  Simply Non-Existent In The Real World

  Charlie

  I sat on my bike watching kids playing in a nearby park, distractedly following the flight of seagulls swooping and cawing above a crystalline ocean, and amusedly observing the strained efforts of mid afternoon joggers running along Tamaki Drive. It wasn’t that I needed time to gather my thoughts or a moment to recover from whatever the hell that was in the underground garage of ASI’s building. It was simply because I had nowhere else to be.

  Mal would be expecting an update, new intel entered into the system keeping him appraised of what I’d found out to date. Day one on an assignment was always the most critical. Establishing an alias and a routine essential. But this wasn’t my first rodeo and Auckland, although for some time now foreign to me, home soil. This wasn’t Paris or London or Moscow or Berlin. And it was so far from Tehran it wasn’t funny.

  It was Auckland, my birth place, a city I’d called home for the first four years of my life. Not fourteen as Anscombe’s file on me had suggested. Strange as it was, even though I have no memory of my early childhood here, Auckland still feels like home, though.

  But I had no contacts. No infrastructure to pull on should I require a solid background story and an alibi or two. If anyone at ASI chose to look too closely into my “history” here, they’d find the holes, they’d see through the gaps. Nothing unusual. It takes time to set up a base. But I had a feeling my rushed recall to New Zealand and the limited timeframe I’d been given to get this done was an indication of the importance of this assignment to my employers.

  I needed to establish myself fully within ASI. Avoid too much attention. Distract with something else.

  The challenge, of course, would be convin
cing them looking deeper was not necessary.

  Usually a pretty easy task, but nothing about the people who worked at ASI was easy.

  From what I’d seen, so far, they were a naturally curious lot. No denying that Eric and Amber Shaw were obsessive information gatherers. And Nicholas Anscombe could never be called a pushover. That left the rest of the team to use as a distraction.

  Brook and Koki were easily sidetracked; possibilities definitely lay there. But their roles in the firm were not as crucial as others. I’d leave them as options to explore. Ben and Abi, on the other hand, were a close unit, if their banter in the lunchroom was any indication. I dismissed them as possible sub-targets immediately. Jason Cain was too much like me, trained as I had been. Avoiding him at all costs until I’d established a routine was essential.

  That left one. Of course it did. I shook my head, flicked my helmet over in my hands and donned it, then started the bike.

  There were reasons why female operatives were highly sought after. We were outnumbered by our male counterparts in this profession five to one, and often overlooked for assignments simply because of the environments we had to infiltrate. But my employers had specifically requested me for this job.

  Why?

  Because they knew the only way to fool a team like ASI was to use skills not available, in this circumstance, to a male specialist.

  It had never bothered me before. It didn’t now.

  I pulled around the back of the warehouse conversion I'd commandeered as my base a few minutes later. Having taken several backtracks and a winding route the closer to my address I got.

  The automatic door rose on silent well-oiled chains, the clink of metal ringing in the alleyway where I sat mixed in with the soft, throaty purr of my bike as it idled. I glanced left and right, confirming I was still alone, and then rolled the Ducati in under the garage door as it began to fall again.

  Silence followed; both motorbike and sectional door quiet. I pulled my helmet off and dismounted, walking directly toward the control panel to my alarm system. Within seconds I’d confirmed my base was secure and the camera feeds outside showed all clear.

  My booted feet echoed on the ancient, pitted wooden floors, the sound bouncing off the whitewashed walls and reverberating inside the empty space. I’d kept this property for several years now, but never found the desire to decorate it. Currently it possessed a large, wall mounted, flat screen TV and single couch in the lounge, nothing in the dining area off the kitchen, and a mattress on the floor in the only bedroom.

  I had linen in the cupboards and food in the pantry, but furnishings were sparse. Hell, they were practically non-existent. It didn’t overly concern me; the barren decorations seemed to soothe my mind, which more often than not never stopped whirring.

  I stripped out of my leather jacket and sat down on the sofa, picking my laptop up off the floor where it had resided. On the outside it looked like any other Dell or HP out there. But once you lifted the lid and tried to power it on, it became obvious that this little device was anything but. I ran my finger over the touch-pad, a laser light flared as it read my fingerprint, then leaning forward I stared at the camera portal - for all intents and purposes like any other camera lens on any other laptop - and waited for my retina scan to be approved.

  The screen flashed to life, the laptop making barely a sound as the processor worked in lightning quick speed, and then I entered my ten digit access code. The logo and emblem for the Department came up on the monitor, but I barely saw it; the flashing message notification at the bottom right stole all my attention. I clicked on the icon and waited for the email to appear.

  I had expected it to be an update from Mal, but it wasn’t.

  In town on business. We should meet. Caleb.

  I sat back on the sofa and let out a long breath of air. Caleb Hart was a specialist like me. Trained in the varied acts of espionage like me. Employed by the same people as me. And if asked this morning whether I knew where he was currently assigned, I wouldn’t have had a clue. I hadn’t seen him in close to nine months. And like me, he shouldn’t have been aware of where I was, unless he needed back-up and his handler approached Mal for assistance.

  I pulled out my cellphone and put it to my ear. “Mal,” I said, knowing the voice activation would connect me.

  I tried to keep my contact with Mal down to the bare essentials, but this was an exception and needed immediate clarification. Of course, Caleb could be contacting me off-grid, which in and of itself raised interesting questions. Caleb was not the sort of agent I could see going rogue. Too controlled. Too dedicated. Too deep into this world to ever consider getting out.

  Like me.

  “Talk to me,” Mal’s voice ordered over the line.

  “Secured?” I asked.

  “Standby.” A lengthy pause then, “You’re good. What have you got?”

  Instinct had me saying, “Blueprints match on layout, but I’ll be adding more detail regarding surveillance.” Rather than the questions regarding Caleb that clamoured for attention inside my mind.

  “To be expected.”

  “Eight targets identified,” I continued.

  “Names?”

  “Anscombe, Tanaka, Osborne, Tamati, Monaghan, Savill and both Shaws.”

  Silence. Then, “Any concerns?”

  “No.” At such an early stage into an assignment, I would never admit to concerns. Whether they existed or not.

  “Their control room…” Mal started. The big blank in the Department’s reconnaissance to date.

  “State of the art, no expense spared,” I replied. “Also physically secured behind a two tier entry system; camera and internal locks. It would take C-4 to bust it down.”

  “The question is, do they leave it untended and if so, how do they re-enter?”

  “Or do they let an operative who shows aptitude towards video surveillance in when the Shaws are off duty?” I countered.

  “Good,” Mal said approvingly. “That could be your angle.”

  “I’ll need to test the waters first,” I pointed out.

  “Your target window is seven days, you know this.”

  “Seven days is cutting it fine for a simple snatch and grab, for this it’s suicidal.”

  “God created the heavens and earth in seven days,” Mal declared in his steady, empty voice.

  “I never claimed to be God,” I countered.

  “You’re a specialist,” he said, deadpan. “You’re much more capable than a deity.”

  I shook my head, but didn’t argue. “Seven days then,” I said, careful to keep my voice devoid of any emotion.

  “You’ll have this wrapped up in three.”

  “I appreciate your confidence in my abilities,” I quipped. “But what assets do I have to call on if need be?”

  His answer was too long in coming. Only a second more than necessary, but enough to let me know he’d seen through my ruse. A ruse I’d painstakingly set up over the course of the past few minutes of conversation.

  Mal had been my handler since the beginning. I’d never met him. I didn’t know what he looked like, how tall he was, or even if the voice I heard over the phone was naturally his. I assumed his name was false. But in actuality I didn’t know for sure. He was arrogant enough to use his given name, even when everything else about him was a mystery.

  “You’ve asked for assistance exactly three times before,” he said evenly. “What makes you think you’ll need it on this assignment?”

  “Covering my bases,” I replied, just as evenly.

  Silence. He didn’t believe me. I’d screwed up and for the first time since I’d joined the Department, I wondered if a screw-up would cost me my life. Oh, I’d been in situations that were a matter of life and death before, and had those situations result in life and death. My life. Their death. But none of them compared to the eerie feeling I had when my handler went silent on the other end of the line just after I’d admitted to the potential need of assistance.
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  It wasn’t why I had asked. I didn’t need assistance.

  It wasn’t an unusual request, anyway, despite having only asked for aid three times before, as Mal had said.

  It was because of Caleb’s unusual contact. And now my handler’s reaction had me wondering.

  Was this a test? Had I been chosen for this assignment for more reasons than my sex? Did the Department suspect I was going rogue?

  “So?” I said, bluffing. My heart rate was steady, no sweat beaded my brow.

  My mind was whirling like a dancing dervish.

  “All assets are assigned to other locations,” Mal said, making me close my eyes and clench my hand around the cellphone at my ear. “You’re on your own. If you have concerns about your ability…”

  “I don’t.”

  “… then we’ll pull you out for debrief.”

  Debrief. Not likely.

  “But assistance is unavailable at this time,” he concluded.

  “Then I have the city to myself,” I said steadily.

  “Yes. Just how you normally like it.” I didn’t miss the word choice; normally.

  “I’ll be in touch when I have more,” I advised, wanting this conversation over with.

  “Seven days, Charisse,” he said, using my real name, not my code name, not an alias. But me. It made the whole conversation that much more visceral.

  The line went dead and so did any hopes of further assistance from my handler. I was on my own. Not just because supposedly no other agent was in Auckland City, but because trusting Mal with anything other than the basics was now out.

  I placed the cellphone down on the sofa beside me and started to make a mental list of what I needed. Caleb was in town, either unknown to our superiors or on a classified assignment that I was not approved for. His message was on the Department’s system, encoded but still there for anyone who cared to look. The first thing I did was delete it. Thoroughly.

  Then I closed the laptop down, grabbed my jacket and cellphone, and headed towards the garage, swiping up a leather satchel from beside the door as I stormed out. I took one look at the Panigale and slung my leg over the Diavel. I needed to blend in for more reasons than ASI. Black suited my mood. Black suited this assignment.