herself of the scene at the Fortuna, and the way he had treated that other girl, so she didn’t let her guard down.
When he finally left her alone, explaining that he wanted to instruct the servants not to disturb them, Miranda scooted over to his desk and began to snoop, but found nothing. Then a nearby briefcase caught her eye. There was no lock on the clasp, so she opened it and found a pad of lined paper covered with handwritten notes and labeled “Manifesto.” Thrilled, she dug through her purse, located the barrette-camera, and snapped shots of the notes.
She had barely returned to her seat on the lavender silk sofa when her host reappeared, carrying a tray containing a bottle and two cut-crystal glasses. “You won’t find anything this smooth at the Fortuna,” he assured her.
Miranda gave him a smile, then took a sip of the Scotch, swishing it in her mouth as though treating her injured tooth. “I think it’s infected. This has been going on for almost two weeks. If your remedy doesn’t work, I might have to break down and go to the dentist.” She shuddered. “I hate those needles. And the drill. The very thought of a dentist terrifies me.”
Gresley edged over so that his thigh was pressed against hers. “I have an associate who could help you with that little problem. His research in the area is phenomenal.”
Miranda licked her lips. “He does research about people who are afraid of the dentist?”
“All phobias, actually.” Gresley nuzzled her neck, then trailed his lips up to her mouth.
“Ow! Oh, sorry.” She pulled away, grimacing. “Maybe we should just call it a night. It’s late, and my mouth is getting worse instead of better.”
Gresley scowled, and seemed about to complain, when a doorbell sounded from the ground floor. “Ah, help has arrived. I took the liberty of sending for someone to assist you. You’ll be feeling better in no time at all. Excuse me for just a moment.”
Miranda stared after him as he left the room. Was he actually telling her that Jonathan Kell was at the door? Here in London? What fantastic luck! And to think she had almost flown to Geneva that night!
Think, Miranda, think, she pleaded with herself. You’ve got to completely change your approach to Kell. You don’t need to refer to Ortega, or lure him with the vial of HeetSeek. Gresley is giving you the perfect entree-a dental phobia! Kell will see you as an instant kindred spirit.
All she needed now was a way to dump Gresley and pick up Kell. The phobia angle was nice, but she had a feeling the copper dress would be at least as effective a tool, so she crossed her legs, allowing maximum skin to be exposed by the slit.
When the door opened, she licked her lips and prepared to smile, but her coquettish expression faded before it began when she saw that Gresley was accompanied by two men, neither of whom were Jonathan Kell.
The first was the burly driver who had transported them from the Fortuna. The second was a slightly built gray-haired fellow carrying a black leather case.
“Miranda Duncan? May I present Phillip Make-peace, my personal physician. He’s here to take care of that toothache.”
Miranda stood and backed away, annoyed. “I told you, I don’t like needles. Or anyone touching my mouth, dentist or doctor. Send him away.”
Gresley shot his driver a curt glance. “Take hold of her.”
“No!” She held up her hand in warning. “The escort service trained us for this, you know. And they have excellent lawyers, or barristers, or whatever the hell you call them over here. So just back off before you buy yourself a shitload of trouble.” Her eyes narrowed. “I can guarantee you, I’m not worth it.”
“I’d prefer to be the judge of that,” Gresley said with a sneer. “Settle down. You’ll get double your standard fee.” Turning back toward his driver, he barked. “Do as you’re told! Now.”
When the physician pulled a syringe from the bag, Miranda pretended to whimper. “No. Please let me go.”
Her behavior had the desired effect, making the driver less wary as he rushed her, his huge hands outstretched.
Using the same technique that had worked so well at Ortega’s cabin, she grabbed his forearm and used his own momentum to propel him past her, sending him crashing into a curio cabinet that shattered upon impact, raining glass and splinters down on him.
He was dazed, but she knew he wouldn’t stay down for long. She could possibly sprint past the other two men and out the door without further engagement, but her adrenaline-charged system wanted Gresley, who was frozen in disbelief. So she strode up to him and smashed her fist into his face. And while she yelled from the pain that shot through her knuckles, she knew from the sound of his jaw shattering that his agony was far worse than hers.
But just to be on the safe side, she also kneed him brutally in the groin, then watched in satisfaction as he crumbled to the floor and curled into a ball.
“Better have a dentist look at that mouth,” she advised him with a tart smile. Then she spun on the doctor, who was backing toward the doorway, the needle still in his hand.
“Drop it and run,” she warned. “Now.”
But he was looking at something behind her, and she knew the driver was back on his feet, so she turned to him, arching an eyebrow as she spied the pistol in his bloodied hand.
“Do you guys really want another round of this?” she demanded.
“Give her the injection,” the driver said to the doctor, ignoring her completely. “Then care for Gresley.”
“Be serious,” Miranda protested. “We both know you won’t shoot me. Dr. Feel-Good here signed on for some good old fashioned date rape, not a full-blown murder.”
The physician nodded. “We should just let her go. If she complains to the authorities, we’ll say she tried to rob Gresley. It will be her word against ours, and she’s a whore. An American whore.”
“Professional escort,” she corrected him with a wink. “And I will indeed walk right out of here. And we’ll all pretend this never happened, right? I won’t even send you a bill for ruining my favorite dress.”
The driver scowled but nodded. “Go on then. Be quick about it.”
“Put the gun on the floor and kick it under the sideboard first,” she told him.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? So you can get it and shoot us.”
“The last thing I want is my fingerprints anywhere, let alone on a gun. Which reminds me…” She walked over to the coffee table and upended the tray so that both of the glasses, along with the bottle of expensive Scotch, flew to the ground and shattered. “There. That’s better.” She sighed and suggested, “Give the gun to the doctor then. I’m pretty sure he won’t shoot me.”
The driver grimaced, then handed the weapon to the physician. “There. He has it. Now get out of here.”
Had the doctor seemed even the least bit comfortable with the gun, Miranda would have cut her losses and left, despite knowing Gresley would send the driver to hunt her down the instant he regained consciousness.
But the poor physician’s hand shook visibly as he pleaded with her, “Do as he says. And quickly!”
So she flashed a triumphant smile, and before the driver could reassess the situation, she had grabbed the doctor and wrenched the gun from his hand, then jumped back so that she had both men in her line of fire. “Okay, doc. Inject your buddy here, and be quick about it.”
“Pardon?”
“Either you shoot him with the needle or I shoot him with the gun. Your choice.” To the driver she added sweetly, “It won’t hurt a bit. It’ll just make you sleepy and cooperative. Right, doc?” Waving the pistol she added in a deadly serious tone, “Do it.”
The physician and driver exchanged glances, then the latter rolled up his sleeve, muttering, “Bitch.”
Miranda watched in amusement as his eyelids began to close within seconds of receiving the injection. As he slumped to the floor, she wished him, “Sweet dreams, a-hole.” Then she asked the doctor, “Do you have another dose in that bag for yourself?”
He nodded, completely cowed, and sat down on the floor next to his bag. “May I use a clean needle?”
“Be quick about it.”
A groan sounded from Gresley’s direction and she saw that he was struggling to sit up. “Hey! Get back in your fetal position,” she ordered him, and to her delight, he immediately complied.
Meanwhile, the doctor had prepared a second injection and was looking up at her as if awaiting instructions. She nodded, and he immediately plunged the needle into his arm.
“Nighty-night,” she said cheerfully as he slumped over in a heap.
