conversation, I know a great little five-star place thatâll give me a table on, like, zero notice.â
âIâll consider it,â she said, waving him away. What was worse was that she really felt like she might. His young insouciant charm had left her with more of a tingle than she wanted to admit.
She walked out of the event hall and into the elevator, pressing the floor for Baxterâs room. In the ride down, she got herself into character. When she emerged into the hallway, she was Lily Harper, femme fatale .
She inserted the keycard into the slot on the door to the Diplomatic Suite. It flashed green, and she pushed the door open.
The light poured into the dark chamber, getting lost in its extensive square footage. Its windows opened to the Central Park view, stunning from an unlit space. Her high heels clicked on the hardwood floor.
Baxter was sitting on a red upholstered armchair, still in his suit, deep shadows cast on his face and body. He puffed on a thick cigar, which lit up red as he drew in. The sweet and acrid smell tickled her nose as she approached him. Lily set her clutch down on a credenza as the door behind her clicked shut and darkness enveloped the suite, letting the cityscape shine through in all its glory.
âTake off your dress,â he said, commanding.
She slinked toward him, hips swaying, shoulders thrown back. âLet me make you feel good.â She sat on the armrest of his chair, setting a caressing hand on his chest.
âDress off. Now.â
She raised her chin in defiance. âI think thatâs something youâre going to have to earn.â
He grabbed a handful of her hair near her skull in his left hand. Her scalp burned. He brought her face within inches of his, smoky from the cigar. âDress. Off.â he growled.
She knew this game. âYes, sir.â He released her hair. She reached back to undo the clasp on her dress. After that, a gentle shake of her shoulders was all that was needed for the sheer fabric to crumple at her feet. He devoured her body with his eyes.
And then his hands were on her, running over her body. They were rough to the touch, grabbing at her skin hard enough to bring her to the threshold of pain. She gasped as he pinched the flesh at her hips.
âI hope youâre not squeamish.â His breath was hot in her ear.
âDo what you want with me,â she whispered, breathless.
He did.
Chapter 9
M organ parked his Oldsmobile two blocks away from Dominic Watsonâs Cambridge apartment complex. The time on the dashboard read 11:49. On the night before a Monday, the snowy streets were deserted.
He checked his stainless-finish Walther PPK .380 ACP, made sure that the safety was clicked on, and set it in his shoulder holster, close to his heart. He shouldnât need it, but in his line of work, it was a fine line between shouldnât and did . He then tucked his lock-picking kit and the leather case Shepard had given him into his coatâs inner pockets.
Morgan wrapped a scarf around his neck, high so it covered most of his face, and pulled a beanie down over his head so that only his eyes were exposed. One of the benefits of winterâyou could hide your face without drawing any undue attention. He pulled on thin leather gloves and got out of the car into the cold Boston night.
âIâm on the move,â he said, boots crushing the fine powder on the concrete sidewalk.
âRemember to approach the building from the south,â said Shepard. The technical stuff all fell under his purview, so he was his point man for this mission rather than Bloch. âSkirt the edge of the sidewalk against the fence here to avoid the traffic camera.â
âWhat about the one on the next block?â
âIâll provide a well-timed glitch. Just leave it to me.â
Morganâs breath condensed against his scarf as he walked, the still frigid air nipping at his exposed eyes. He passed a
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