Dangerous Assignment (Aegis Group Book 4) (3 page)

She’d saved that stupid couple for last!

Oh, it was so freakishly perfect he wanted to dance a jig.

Not only did he know more about the merchandise the so-called Smiths wanted to sell, he had the codes. And their client list. All Hassan had to do was finish this job and he’d be in business for himself.

“Hassan, here.” The bartender pushed two drinks across to him.

He nodded and transferred the drinks to their owners across the bar.

She hadn’t even noticed him. It was enough to make him giddy. Everything was going off without a hitch. She really was the perfect double-agent, and she didn’t even know it. Soon, he’d have the money, the files—everything. And she would take the fall after eliminating the last living threat to his plans.

It was beautiful.

Hassan forced himself to walk calmly, to speak softly, to act as though nothing were amiss. Soon, even this would be beneath him.

Hell, he might buy this hotel just to commemorate the glorious occasion that was about to transpire.

A few more days and he could stop being Hassan, Ali, and whatever other names he’d worn to keep the rouse going. Soon he’d take on a new name, one that would inspire respect and fear in those who knew it.

But first, she had to die.

Abigail fought the urge
to peer over her shoulder, to stare at the double doors. Luke and Ethan were harassing each other about the card game. She should be paying attention, playing her part, but the dread was getting to her.

She’d been with the Smiths for eight days.

Her time was almost up, and she wasn’t done.

This morning, Mrs. Smith had sent Abigail out alone on errands. What would have happened to Abigail’s plans, had the couple picked up and moved? If they’d left her? She was cutting it too close, but there hadn’t been an opportunity to take the couple out yet. At least not without significant casualties involved. Was she to the point where that no longer mattered?

Her gut said no, her heart said yes.

Hearts lied—they were fragile creatures, given to flight of fancy. Which was why she had to trust her head over the other two.

Casualties could not be permitted.

Only the execution of a flawless plan could be allowed. That was her method, and that was how it would go. There would be an opportunity, but it might only provide itself at the last second, which was why she couldn’t let her ruse slip. She had to be Abigail to the bone.

“How long have they been in there?” Luke’s cheerful tone was gone, and he was all business.

“About half an hour,” Ethan replied, after a glance at his watch.

“Their meeting is scheduled to go until noon.” She volunteered that bit.

“Let’s talk.” Luke folded the cards in his hand and set them on the coffee table they’d used for their game.

“You told her?” Ethan nodded toward her.

“Told me what?”

Luke nodded toward the doors.

Their employers.

Their identities.

“Yes,” she said.

“I talked to our guys earlier.” Luke rested his elbows on his knees, voice pitched low. “We have a contact at the airport, says they can get us a ride home. Might not be a fast trip out of Dodge, but it’d get us home in one piece if things go south and we need to get across the pond.”

“And if we need equipment, there’s a guy for that, too,” Ethan stared hard at his cards.

“You’ve thought of everything.” She kept her face relaxed.
Show nothing.
Nothing at all.

They’d made an escape plan—and included her.

That was…unexpected.

She was no one to them. And yet, their “No man left behind” motto included her as well.

Her heart twinged, a nearly-painful physical reaction. How long since she’d been able to trust someone to have her back? Even at the end, before her fake death, she hadn’t known if she could trust that the people tasked with her protection would not put a bullet between her eyes. And now these strangers, these men she didn’t know, meant to protect her. It was a strange turn of events.

The double doors swung open nearly twenty minutes too early. Mrs. Smith stepped out, resplendent in yet another body-hugging dress with a high neckline. In Jordan, cleavage was frowned upon, but not so much the tight clothing.

“I fold,” Luke announced.

“Abigail?” Ethan prompted.

“I’ll raise.” She tossed a chip blindly into the pot, breathing around her heart.

Someday she’d be able to trust again. But today was not that day.

“Abby? Be a dear and put in the order for lunch, will you?” Mrs. Smith asked.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Also, I need to speak with the hotel manager. Can you have him come up? And we’ll need to send at least one of you out to pick up a package.”

“I can do that,” Luke said.

Abigail bit her lip against her automatic protest.

He thought he knew who they were working for and what they were capable of, but he had no clue just how awful they could be. What could be in that package. If he was killed during the procurement, they wouldn’t be bothered or bat an eye. They’d just hire someone else.

“I’ll walk you down.” Luke stood and buttoned the top of his suit.

The man was made for well-tailored jackets. The width of his shoulders and the length of his arms—he was formed like a dream. She’d been tempted to invite him up last night, but she’d used the time to prepare things. Tonight though…all bets were off. If she didn’t kill the Smiths, well, she’d take the night for herself.

He held the door for her as they exited the suite.

“Who do you think they have in there?” he asked.

“I’ve learned not to ask questions I don’t want to know the answers to.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Try harder.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Yes, but it’s not my business. People who ask questions don’t get paid.”

“Slow down.” He shortened his stride and she matched his.

“They have reservations in the restaurant tonight, don’t they?”

“Yes”

“They aren’t leaving the hotel.”

“No, they aren’t.”

“Think there’s a reason for that?”

“Amman is known for its fine dining. This hotel has one of the most renowned chefs on staff. And why go to your clients when they can come to you?”

“When you can control the location. How much you want to bet they have a financial understanding with the head of security, if not the hotel manager?”

“I wouldn’t take that bet. I’d lose it.”

“You think they have an arrangement?”

“I know they do.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“The wife likes to talk on speaker phone, so she doesn’t smudge her make-up.”

“Damn.” Luke shook his head. “CIA?”

“No.” His persistence was cute, but not endearing.

She hadn’t developed this alias deep enough to undergo this much scrutiny. The alleged Smiths weren’t too concerned with more than a cursory background check and some work history. The fact was, they went through bodyguards fast enough that they couldn’t be too picky about them. They left that to those supplying the bodyguards. In her case, the person responsible for recommending her had a vested interest in the Smiths’ demise. A good arrangement, though now it left her sorely lacking in material for her alias. If Luke’s intelligence man turned that eye on her, she was done for.

Before, when she took on an alias, she would have a whole new life. Background. Pictures. Receipts. Everything. Last night, she’d given him the wrong history. Abigail wasn’t from Princeton. That was another name, another identity, but now she’d have to remember to alter her answers.

She needed to work some things out. Fast. Before she said “No” too many times and Luke became suspicious.

“I’m going to figure it out,” he said, as though he were reading her mind.

She hoped they didn’t know each other that long. For his sake. People around her had taken on a nasty habit of dying. Which meant the Smiths needed to be put out of her misery before much longer. Everyone would be safer without them in the world.

“Have dinner with me?” Luke asked.

Abigail glanced at him. He’d shoved his hands into his pockets and peered at her from the corners of his eyes.

“We are already having dinner together.”

“Are we?”

“Well, either you or Ethan is.”

“Guess I better win this next hand of poker then.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Come on, not you, too?”

“You seem to forget the goal of poker is to win and not bluff when you have no chance of putting off your opponents.”

“It’s the tapping, isn’t it?”

“It’s one tell.”

“There’s more?”

She smiled. This was an act, just as his horrible poker game was a way to put others at ease around him. Luke excelled at making people like him, underestimate him, and come to trust him. It was working with her, and she could identify the game he played—because she’d studied under experts. The difference was part of it was genuine. Luke wanted her to like him, and damn her if she didn’t want to like him back.

She was so accustomed to people wanting something from her. A job. Her skills. Luke wanted…her. It was different. And nice. She hadn’t played
this
cat and mouse game of attraction in a while. Long enough that she was actually flattered by his persistence.

“When are you going to stop pretending you can’t play poker?” she asked.

Luke continued walking, but the air shifted.

They took maybe half a dozen strides before he spoke again.

“When there’s something worth winning,” he replied.

3.

Luke pulled out the
chair and held it. He needed to check, but his tongue might still be on the floor.

Hot damn
.

That black dress was made of pure sin. Or at least the way it molded to Abigail’s curvy, toned body was. Though it lacked the beading and detail of their employer’s preferred clothing, it was in the way it fit, the elegant cut, that set his dinner date apart from every other woman here. Her make-up was light, barely there, which was for the best. Abigail’s face was a study in fine bones, sloping cheeks, large eyes full of secrets, and a mouth he was desperate to make smile.

She was, in a word, perfection.

If only they weren’t working and he could spend the entire night coaxing her secrets out of her.

“Thank you,” Abigail said. She set her clutch on the table and shifted her chair the right amount to have the perfect view of the client’s table. She flipped the catch and he glimpsed her holstered Glock. Nice.

“My pleasure.” He circled to his seat, casting a few glances toward the Smiths’ table where they’d been joined by four men Luke couldn’t identify on sight. Yet again, it grated. How could he protect their clients if he didn’t know who they were meeting? It was like they wanted to die.

“No smooth line?” she asked.

“Saving them for later.” Truth was, he couldn’t think of anything to say besides the obvious. “You look beautiful.”

“It’s just a dress.”

“The woman inside the dress is beautiful. The dress is okay.”

“Okay? For what I paid, it should be better than okay.”

“It can’t compare to you.”

She tilted her head to the side, a little sparkle in her eye.

“That’s what you’ve been saving?” she asked.

“Not good enough?” He grinned and didn’t even mind she seemed to take joy out of busting his balls. Being around her just underscored the fact that he needed a new type. A type that was looking more and more like her.

“I expected better.” She tsked and laid her napkin over her lap.

“I’ll try not to disappoint.”

“I find it hard to believe you disappoint often.” One corner of her mouth lifted up.

“Are you flirting with me,
Abby
?”

She rolled her eyes, and he chuckled.

“That woman can’t get anyone’s name right,” Abigail muttered.

“I think she’s just jealous she’s not the most beautiful woman in the room.” Luke sipped his water.

“That line was better.” She mimicked him, taking a quick drink, and then glancing at the table next to theirs. “Who are they, do you think?”

“No clue.”

“What? Your man couldn’t predict the future?”

“I wish. I’d be in a different line of business if he could.” Something that didn’t make his mother worry about him quite so much.

“The one with the blue tie—I bet he is in oil.”

“No, no, he’s the head of the clown mafia.” Luke leaned forward, pitching his voice lower.

“Clown. Mafia.” Abigail nodded, her face a perfect, stoic mask. “The other three?”

“The little one? He’s his second, over the car division. They can pack a lot in. The other two? They’re trying to work out a deal with the pie-making gang so they can wage a war on coffee.”

“Is this what you do in your spare time?”

“Helps pass the more tedious moments.” He shrugged and loosened the buttons on his jacket.

“Thanks.” She shot him a glare.

“A moment with you isn’t tedious at all.”

Abigail’s lips parted. He seemed to have caught her off-guard. He waited for her to call him on the line, but she shook whatever moment they were having off and glanced across at their clients again.

“Oil, you say?” he asked to get her talking again. Her voice alone was worth sinning for.

“He’s Saudi. That ring on his left pinky? Chances are, it was a gift from Al-Naimi. He’s known to give them out to people who please him. Needless to say, those who bring in the money make him the happiest.”

“Good catch.” Luke would have never connected the prince of Saudi Arabia to the man at the next table based off a ring, of all things. Abigail had to be former intelligence of some kind. It was the only thing that made sense anymore. “Who do you think the other three are?”

“Hm. Not sure.”

The waiter arrived and while Luke tried and failed to communicate his caveman taste in food. Abigail did slightly better thanks to using her phone and a translation app.

“What about you?” she asked.

“What about me?”

“You’re always asking me questions, makes me curious what you have to hide.” She shifted, giving him her full attention. Or at least ninety percent of it. They both sat with the clients in their peripheral vision. For what they were being paid, discretion was expected.

“Not much to tell.” Luke shrugged.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I’m a nobody.” He slid his gaze to hers, holding it. He wouldn’t deny who he was or where he’d come from. “Poor kid, grew up, enlisted, served his country, got out, and now I serve myself. Boring, really.”

“It takes a strong man to make something from nothing.” She leaned forward, propping her forearms against the table. “You like to downplay yourself.”

Luke shifted, suddenly unsettled by her scrutiny. Most people were uncomfortable enough with those details, choosing instead to believe the picket fence lie, which was fine by him. He’d survived his childhood by blending in, smoothing things over, and keeping his uncle’s feathers unruffled. Living through that hell hole had taught him a lot about what it took to make it in the hard world outside the bedroom he’d shared with his mother growing up.

“Family?” Abigail asked, as though she sensed his unease.

“Just my mamma.” And his good-for-nothing uncle, but the man didn’t bear mention.

Abigail nodded.

“You?” he asked when she didn’t have a follow-up question.

“I was an only child. My parents passed away.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“I’m not. They had a long and happy life.”

“That’s all you can ask for, really.”

“Where is your mother now?”

“Florida.”

“What’s that smile for?”

“Nothing, just…I promised my mom when I could support us that I’d move her anywhere she wanted. She picked Florida.”

“And does she like it?”

“She hates it, but I swear telling me how much she hates it there is her favorite past time. Whenever I offer to help her move somewhere else she tells me no, she can’t leave her friends.”

“Where were you before that?”

“The LA area.”

“She moved across the country?”

“Yeah.” Some people you just had to get away from.

“Who did you leave behind in LA?” Abigail’s voice was soft, almost drowned out by the conversations around them.

Luke watched the condensation roll down his glass, like tears.

Megan.

Her tears.

He hadn’t been old enough to help her. Not after his uncle broke his arm. After that night, Luke had vowed to never again let anyone down. And now, he couldn’t stop trying to save people who were either too stupid to let him do his job or didn’t want to be saved.

“Luke?” Abigail touched his wrist, a gentle brush of skin on skin.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry I asked.”

“Don’t be.” He glanced up and smiled, though the gesture was forced.

They’d gone from playful and fun to serious so fast he nearly had whiplash.

A line was on the tip of his tongue. Words to deflect, entertain, and yet what came out was anything but those carefully prepared platitudes.

“My mother had a brother we lived with for a long time after my dad died. What with how expensive that area can be, we all had to live in the same house. We were the stereotypical black family. Poor. Uncle was hooked on booze and drugs. Beat anything around him that moved.”

Why was he still talking? He needed to shut up, and yet his mouth kept working, spilling out the whole painful history.

“I was seventeen, a lanky kid, and he comes home one night high as fuck. Starts hitting his wife. He was a piece of trash. Is a piece of trash. I got it in my head to get involved because I was a man. He broke my arm in two places and started hitting his baby girl. Megan. He beat her so bad when CPS came the next day they didn’t bother asking questions. They just took her. Never saw her after that, not even after they stuck his ass in jail. A week later, I went down to the Navy office, because it was the closest, and enlisted with my cast still on.”

He stared at the white tablecloth, one foot in each world—then and now.

“I don’t know why I just told you all of that. I don’t usually talk about it,” he said after a few moments.

“You’d be surprised the things people tell me.” Her thumb swiped over his fingers.

Abigail was holding his hand. He wasn’t sure when that had happened, but her long, delicate fingers were wrapped around his, grounding him.

Never again would he be that boy and stand back while someone else was hurt.

The waiter delivered their dinner in a flourish. The fancy food, the wine, hell, even the linen napkins were all things the kid he’d been would have thought were for someone else—never him. But he’d learned. He’d found his way into a better life, and damn it if he was going to let someone like the Smiths screw him over.

“What happened to your aunt?” Abigail asked after several minutes.

“She divorced my uncle, finally. I helped her fill out the paperwork and file it. She always deserved better than him.”

“Do you keep in touch?”

“Yeah, she got remarried to a good guy. Things are working out for her.” He’d even gone to her wedding and gave her away in place of the father she hadn’t known. She’d always be family.

“You’re a good man.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin. “I don’t think they’re finishing dinner.”

Luke glanced up, and she was correct. The Smiths were pushing untouched plates back, standing and shaking hands, the food forgotten.

“I’ll see about getting the food delivered to their rooms—”

“I’ll see about them.” Luke stood and crossed to the clients, waiting a good four feet away until Mr. Smith flicked his fingers at Luke.

“Dinner?” he said.

“Abigail’s on it.” Luke had to hand it to the lady, she’d picked up on the Smith’s habits fast. “Are you going out or—”

“We’re retiring for the evening.”

Luke glanced to where Abigail had her head together with the
maître d’
. He caught her eye, jerked his head up, and she gave him a short nod. That taken care of, he texted Ethan to let him know they were on their way up. All the bases covered, he hung back, content to follow his clients at a snail’s pace out of the restaurant and through the lobby. Abigail swept up from behind before they got within ten feet of the elevator.

While the Smiths bid their guests goodbye, Luke surveyed the lobby and snapped a few pictures.

Their hotel had obvious security posted at each entrance and he had yet to see a single staff person with a hair out of place. He was willing to bet the casual person had to pass a bank check to even gain entry. All in all, it was one of the nicer places he’d stayed. What was even better, was that the staff like him were so very out of place, which would make a threat easy to spot.

If all went well, the rest of this gig would be smooth sailing.

They rode to the top floor in silence, save for Mrs. Smith inquiring about their dinner delivery.

Luke glanced at Abigail, catching her eye.

Could he interest her in a round two? This time without losing his head and talking about all the family junk better left unsaid.

Ethan was waiting by the doors to let them into the suite. The Smiths lost no time retreating to the master and closing them out.

“I take it dinner went well?” Ethan asked.

“I don’t know, man.” Luke peered at Ethan, who slowly lifted his chin.

Ah, so they were on track then.

Thanks to a few gigs over the last year that had brought Aegis into situations that ran parallel to both FBI and CIA operations, they’d made friends. Friends who would want to know the Smiths movements, who they were talking to, and where they went. Luke might want out of here, but he wasn’t going to pass up a chance at doing the right thing.

“I’ve got a Skype date with the wife. Enjoy dinner.” Ethan turned and headed into their room, closing the door behind him.

Luke knew he was better off giving the man an hour or more alone.

He turned to face Abigail, who was staring at the wooden double doors of the Smith’s suite.

“Got any plans for dinner?” he asked.

Abigail turned her face toward him.

There was…a look in her eye. A look that said she had plans.