Elite Metal-ARE-epub (52 page)

“Coyle’s the primary target, but Danvers isn’t off the hook yet. We’ll maintain the electronic surveillance on him. Plat, you stick with him, too.”

Platinum spared her a look, then nodded. “Got it.” The bare minimum of words needed to acknowledge an order.

“Merc, you keep up with Cobalt and Copper. Copper, you take Cobalt with you into the conference.” Was that a note of worry or a vote of no confidence after the clusterfuck that had been her interaction with Gabriel?

She didn’t like it. Cobalt was too damn pretty and big. He’d stick out in a place like that. Of course, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. If he had everyone’s attention, they’d ignore her. “Yes, sir.” They could make it work.

“Bring this home.” Chrome disconnected on the order. They hadn’t been in the guest cabin long enough to do more than sleep and interrogate Gabriel. Breaking down their equipment, they worked with silent efficiency. They’d have the van packed and leave it with Plat.

Separate tickets and flights would take them to Vegas. Airport security had more cameras than most locations, so she’d need a different look for the flight. Her gear would go with Merc. Weapons could be procured on the ground. Plat would take care of the rest of the equipment.

In the room she’d occupied, she studied her wigs, makeup and kit. A business conference required a different kind of persona than a hot club, a classroom or a fundraiser. Depending on her goal, she could change her features enough that Gabriel wouldn’t recognize her again.

A pang struck her at the thought. He’d suffered enough abuse already for having had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of their investigation. The door thumped open quietly and closed gently.

“You should tell Chrome to let you back off this assignment.”

She’d expected the advice. Expected a lot sooner—from the moment he’d shown up and clocked Gabriel. The quiet thrust of his fury had been a tangible thing. Only her stepping between them had kept Merc from killing the man. She should have recognized he would follow her when she’d taken off to meet Gabriel. She should have recognized Merc wouldn’t involve himself until he thought she was in trouble. He hadn’t, not when Gabriel pinned her or when he’d let her go. Merc even kept his distance when she had her gun in Gabriel’s face—it was when she’d let him go.

“You’re compromised, Copper.”

“I can do the job.” Their investigation pointed them away from Gabriel, granting relief she refused to acknowledge. Black hair—if she darkened her hair, she could take advantage of her skin tone and use cosmetics to enhance the faint tilt to her eyes. Asian blended well into an international conference on commerce. Racial stereotyping might be grounded in bigotry and racism on some levels, but it also proved beneficial when she didn’t want anyone to know who she was.

She could keep the Kiki persona in her back pocket if necessary to get close to Coyle again. It would work.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t, but you don’t fucking have to eviscerate yourself to do it.” If any other member of their team suggested she needed to step back, she’d beat the shit out of them. Merc saying it hurt, but she knew why he broached the subject.

She’d scared him.

“I’ve got this,” she said. The key to blending and to lying was the same—believing the lie. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t put Gabriel in his place and shut the damn door. If she could make a twenty-mile hike through hostile territory with a broken bone and her gear and get the mission done, she could do this. “Trust me, John.”

“Don’t hide from me.” Anger soaked his words. “Don’t play games. You want to fuck him, and it compromises you.”

Not responding, she continued setting out the items she’d need. If she got into character now, she could leave Copper’s detritus behind. Damaged, tarnished Copper. Her ravaged heart was too fucking soft—
Who am I kidding?
Copper could get the job done. It hadn’t been Copper who fucked up.

It was Sachi.

Merc’s sigh said volumes. He didn’t sigh. He didn’t show disappointment. Hell, he expected disappointment like most people expected to breathe. “You already did.”

“It’s done.” She used a brush to smooth her hair then began to braid it tight to her skull. Once she tamed the wild mass, she’d slip the black wig into place. “Done and buried.”

“Sachi…” He put a hand on her shoulder. “What do you want me to do about him?”

Clearing her throat, she ignored the surge of emotion. The part she had to play didn’t feel all these crazy things. “Nothing.”

“You realize he’s got training. Nothing we did broke him in there. The only times I saw real emotion were when he asked about you.” No, she didn’t want to hear this, but Merc continued anyway. “He’s a spook. Spooks are trained to turn assets. You play people, but you can
be
played.”

Shaking off his hand, she finished the last braid and slipped a pin in to hold it. Fixing her wig, she met John’s gaze in the mirror. The scarred half of his face a testament to the hell he’d been through, the hell he continued to use to isolate himself. She could lash out, try to push him away. He’d done the same to her over the years. But John, like her, wasn’t going anywhere.

“He didn’t play me.” Saying it didn’t make it so. “But he did recognize me.”

Merc’s mouth tightened.

“He saw me in Miami.” Clearing her throat, she adjusted the wig and checked her appearance. “And he saw us in Nigeria.”

“Yet, he
didn’t
play you?” The healthy dose of skepticism in his voice splashed her like ice water. “Weren’t you the one who told me that a lie built on the truth was the best con? He showed you some of his cards, and you dropped your clothes.”

Bullshit.
He didn’t play her.

“Let me ask you this—what did he tell you after you fucked him?” The question burned. “If he didn’t play you, what did you get out of it?”

Clenching her fist, she glared at him. “Not a goddamned thing. Are you happy now?”

“No,” Merc said, meeting her glare without flinching. “Did you give him anything?”

“No. Do I look stupid? You know what? Don’t answer that. I fucked him. Maybe he did try to play me, but I didn’t give him anything.” Thanks to the drug cocktail they’d given him, he wouldn’t remember their interrogation.

Shaking his head, Merc looked disappointed. Again.

“What?”

“You gave him your name.”

No, she’d given him Copper’s name…then Sachi stopped. Sachi had protected herself, Copper had nearly fucked it all up. Pissed, she pivoted to face the mirror. Sachi needed to get her ass in the box along with Brad and Gabriel, then they could all get shut away.

Fucking box was crowded and wouldn’t close. Closing her eyes, she walked her emotions back one at a time until they fit. “I’ve got this,” she said with anger-fueled confidence. “I’ve got this.”

Six hours later, Copper followed Cobalt through the lobby of the Sunset Royale. Sandwiched on the strip between the Bellagio, Excalibur and MGM Grand, the Sunset Royale most often got overlooked by the movies and television shows. Frankly, the casinos all looked the same to Copper. Muted, even lighting over bright, shiny machines and zero windows—why offer windows? No one needed to know about the passage of time or temperature outside.

Throughout the flight, she and Cobalt studied the layout of the casino using both the online maps and the blueprints Ant emailed them. Designed to be a maze, casinos wanted people in, not out. Dressed in what had to be a three thousand dollar suit, Cobalt exuded an air of wealth and privilege so at odds with his normal personality, he had her half-convinced.

She stayed two steps and to his left behind him. Dressed in a blend of oriental silk blouse and a simple black skirt, she was his secretary slash assistant slash hot arm candy. The maneuver allowed her to keep her head angled down slightly, and she faded behind him. They checked into their rooms then made their way to the conference level. Ant had set up a beautiful cover. Cobalt was Miles Henderson, a businessman from a Japanese Consortium. Since the Japanese prided themselves on secrecy and honor in business, a gaijin working for them made perfect sense. If someone decided to dig, they wouldn’t find much.

Snapping his ID into place, Cobalt made a point of clipping hers on for her. Meeting her gaze over the rim of his unneeded glasses, he murmured, “Business or pleasure first?”

She still had the lead. Neither Cobalt nor Plat had said a word to her about what went on between her and Merc. They also hadn’t asked her any personal questions about the professor, either. “Make new friends.”

Brendan Coyle had already checked into the hotel. The conference didn’t officially begin until the next day, but an early arrivals mixer was already in full swing. Cobalt trailed his fingers along her collarbone after he made sure her ID badge was straight then touched a single finger to her cheek. Anyone watching them would have seen intimacy, not the faint tapping of a single message in Morse code.

Got your back.

Catching his hand, she returned the message against his palm. Nodding, he took her elbow and led her through the throng to the escalators. On the second floor, they entered a ballroom. Drinks flowed freely, and a decadent buffet occupied a full stretch of one wall. Tables filled the center with room for guests to mingle—and were they ever mingling.

Two hundred people had to be packed into the room. The noise level blotted out the sounds of whatever music they had piped in. She caught a hint of it here or there. Accents—the sheer multitude vied with the number of languages being spoken.

Pausing in the entryway, Cobalt settled into his role. He surveyed the room as though deciding which group to join the way others picked out what outfit to wear. Checking her watch, she angled it so it could snap pictures and turned on the recorder. They would stream a series of still frames over the next ten minutes. Ant and the others could sort through the faces and the names.

A man hurried over to them, hand extended in greeting. “Mr. Henderson, we’re so glad you could join us.”

With a dash of southern charm, Cobalt did the grip and grin well. Their erstwhile host did his job and drew them through the throng, introducing them to one group then another. Some of the names and faces tickled her memory, but she couldn’t place them. Two hours in, her feet hurt from the heels she’d been forced to wear for the function and she nursed frustration.

Coyle was nowhere to be found.

Leaning against the bar, Cobalt kept an arm around her. The sexual byplay enhanced her cover and discouraged others from interrupting them. “How do you want to deal with it?”

“I’ll check his room.” She resisted the urge to drum her nails. The asshole was probably in bed with a woman. Not everyone came to the mixers. Tomorrow would be telling, but she had zero interest in listening to a lot of debate on the value or devalue of the dollar. She fought to protect the freedoms of people who loved this shit. Fighting for them was a hell of a lot preferable to talking with them.

“My nine o’clock.” Cobalt made a show of swirling his drink, melting the ice more. They’d both had to imbibe, but they’d watered it down as much as possible. “Where do I know him from?”

Leaning into him, she pressed a hand to his chest and angled her head so she could take a look without being obvious. A dusky man with dark brown hair and an ill-fitting suit sat arguing with an older man. “Brown or gray?” Though, arguably, both looked familiar.

“Brown,” Cobalt said, tossing back the drink and setting the empty glass on the bar. “I know him. Can’t place him. Yet.” He kept his arm loose, but spread his fingers against her back and made a show of nuzzling her ear. “I’m thinking Ukraine.”

They’d had a couple of missions in the Ukraine, but the only people she’d seen were all six foot under. She should know, as she’d put them there. Cobalt had been on Steele’s team, so maybe he’d seen him elsewhere.

“Do you want to go make friends with them while I check on our weasel?”

“Do I have to, Mom?” The half-grin in his words gave rise to the playful retort. Funny, she’d never thought of the guys as having a sense of humor. They didn’t play with her that often, not even Merc.

Brad had always played with her. “Keep it up, and I’ll send you to bed without supper.”

Cobalt snorted. “If you came with me to bed, that wouldn’t be punishment.”

“If you hit on me again, you might learn otherwise.” But they were playing at lovers and smiling felt a whole lot better than scowling.

“You know, I’d almost want to take you up on that tonight.” He tapped a question against her spine.
Going after Coyle now or later?

“Now,” she said, then gave it a pause. He nodded once, and she added, “Why don’t I go up first and you can follow?”

“Sounds like a plan.” He gave her ass a pat as she claimed her clutch bag or what amounted to a joke of a purse. Leaving him to check on the face he recognized, she headed out of the mixer. They’d given them enough time to get photos of everyone in the room, so she shut the watch off and stripped the cool metal from her wrist. Shoving it into the clutch purse, she made her way to the escalator and down to the first floor.

Whoever designed these places really wanted folks to stay inside. The elevators were accessible, but only if one passed through a portion of the casino. The narrow path between the reception desk and the slot machines guaranteed customers would have a chance to be tempted.

Merc wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in the hotel. His scars made him stand out, so he had become an expert at blending in. The cell phone buzzed as she reached the elevator. Hitting the up arrow, she tugged the phone out.

Plat’s message had her stomach bottoming out.

Danvers slipped his leash.

The second sent a chill up her spine.

Ant spotted him on a commuter flight roster to Vegas.

The time stamp on the messages irked her. They’d come in more than two hours before, right around the time she and Cobalt had entered the mixer. What the hell good was a phone if it didn’t deliver the messages?