“Dammit, Emma, you’re doing this just to spite me. Do you have to be such a bitch?”
“That’s Agent Bitch to you. Stop squirming.”
“This sucks.”
“You’re getting paid. Deal with it.”
More foundation? More color in the cheeks? No, a bag lady would appear more washed out, not glowing with health.
“Not nearly enough,” he grumbled. Soulful brown eyes glared at her in reproach. “I’m asking Michael for a raise.”
“Good luck with that.”
Michael Ross, fearless leader of the Secret Homeland Defense Organization, or SHADO, was generous to a fault. But he’d only recently returned to the helm after being in seclusion, grieving for his dead wife, Maggie. For the past few days, he’d been dealing with something big. Whispers of a traitor in their midst were spreading like wildfire, but only a select few agents knew exactly what was going on. One of those agents being her ex-lover, Blaze Kelly. The bastard.
The sexy, slightly crazy, unrepentant glorious bastard.
Emma backed up and surveyed Ozzie’s scraggly wig with a critical eye, determined to put Blaze out of her thoughts. She had too much work to do to spend precious time thinking about that horny, self-centered jerk. Yeah, her heart had been broken into about a zillion pieces, and guess what, folks? The earth hadn’t fallen off its axis as a result. She still had to get up and face each day. One more day without Blaze in her life.
Her work was all that gave her joy anymore.
“Am I set?”
She smiled at the note of hope in his voice. “Almost. I’m going to fix you up with a cool new toy.”
His eyebrows rose and he gave her a suggestive grin, apparently forgetting about his fake rotten teeth. “Oh, goody.”
“Not that kind of toy, Romeo.”
“Drat.”
“Something even better.” Digging around on her table, she found the item she was searching for and held it up with a flourish. “You’re going to wear this!”
He looked less than enthused. “A cheap stickpin with a fake daisy glued to it? And this trinket of granny bling is exciting… why?”
“Because, moron, in the black center of the flower, undetectable to the naked eye, is one of our new pinhole cameras.” The agent’s bored resignation morphed to real awe, and she felt a surge of pride.
“No shit? Let me see!”
She handed over the device, grinning as he examined it from every angle like a little kid. If anything could get a jaded agent pumped, it was a new gadget.
“Cool, huh?”
“Sweet.” He squinted into the flower’s center as though it held an intriguing secret — which it did. “You can hide these cameras just about anywhere, right?”
“Yep. In clothing or almost any object you can think of. These puppies have a broad scope, so they’ll see whatever you do if placed correctly. I’m not an expert on the technical aspects of the devices, though,” she reminded him, “so I’ll send you down the hall to those guys if you have any questions.”
“Right. You’re the Master of Illusion,” he intoned, wiggling his fingers as though casting a spell. “Sort of like our personal Criss Angel.
Emma rolled her eyes. “Get outta here, slacker. Go catch a criminal.”
Secretly, she was pleased by his praise. She was an artist first and foremost, one who spent hours on each agent to create the perfect illusion. To turn her subjects into someone completely different and unexpected, yet blend them seamlessly into their surroundings. Which also required hours of prep and research. If Michael said, “Agent Jones is being sent to Afghanistan in twelve hours. Make him blend into the fucking sand,” that agent’s survival began, literally, in her hands. Lives often depended on the believability of her disguise as much as the agent’s ability to carry off his cover. Ozzie was one of the few agents who remembered to appreciate that fact.
Ozzie pushed up from his chair, sticking out his pendulous bosom. “I believe I will. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a small matter of espionage to attend to.”
“Pull down your dress. Your hairy legs are showing.”
“James Bond never has to put up with this kind of shit.”
“Move to the U.K. and buy an Aston Martin.”
“You’d miss me.”
“I’ll front your plane ticket.”
“Bull. You’d be crying in your beer the minute I left.”
With that, he flipped the stringy hair over his shoulder and sailed from the room. She snickered and turned to put away the discarded clothing, makeup, sponges, and brushes. But her amusement fled as she contemplated Ozzie’s parting words.
Okay, so it wasn’t just the job but the people she worked with that made her happy. Or as close to content as she could be lately. Without friends like Ozzie, she’d be lost and floundering.
A sudden commotion in the hallway snared her attention. Urgent voices and running footsteps shattered the normally quiet atmosphere. SHADO’s compound, while not entirely peaceful, usually thrummed with vibrant energy as agents hurried about to this assignment or that meeting. This new disruption was something different. Ominous.
Crossing to the door, she stuck her head out just in time to see a gurney wheeled around the corner at the far end of the corridor, closely followed by Michael Ross, Dr. Taylor McKay, and a handful of agents dressed in fatigues and carrying M16s.
Emma grabbed an agent’s arm. “What’s going on?”
“Rescue op gone bad,” he said curtly. “Got two agents down who might not make it.”
“Who are—”
“Sorry, gotta go.”
A shiver of apprehension went down her spine as she watched the man jog to catch up with the others, the group likely heading for the elevator that would take them to the fourth-floor on-site hospital. An agent down. Everyone’s worst fear, but not uncommon. Not in this business.
SHADO employed several hundred men and women, and many of those were in the field. Could be anyone.
Anyone except Blaze, because that SOB possessed either nine lives or the devil’s own luck. Probably both, since he did everything one way — balls out.
Now there was an image she didn’t need. Why the hell couldn’t she stop thinking about him? About that woman’s lips wrapped around his cock, his sexy face a study in bliss as the three of them writhed together?
And why, even now, did the memory stir something besides anger and hurt? Something very much like…
No. No way.
The warmth between her thighs and the hardening of her nipples were nothing more than a visceral reaction. After all, she wasn’t frigid. Contrary to popular speculation.
She enjoyed sex as much as the next person. She just didn’t understand Blaze’s world or what made those people tick. What was it about dominating someone else or being dominated that satisfied a person’s needs? And how could those partners engage in sexual acts with a third person? Why would they?
For the life of her, she wished she got it. These questions were at the heart of her break from the man she loved, and they’d tormented her relentlessly in the past few months. But it wasn’t easy to shove aside a rigid upbringing by strict parents who viewed things as black or white, right or wrong, with no shades of gray in between. The good are rewarded and the bad get punished. The good certainly don’t have masters and
The truth was, the recollections of what went on in that club made her pussy wet, made her breath catch in
