roomful of dangerous men that you live to serve me?”
A thrill shot through her at the image, but she rolled her eyes to cover the sudden, confusing reaction. “Get over yourself, hotshot. I can act with the best of ’em. How hard can it be to go through the motions?”
He laughed, the deep, smooth sound stroking her nerve endings like a lover. “Oh, honey. After the way you responded to me last night, I don’t think acting is going to come into play. And I’ll prove it.”
“How?”
“At the end of this assignment, if you can look me in the eye and honestly say you didn’t love every single part of your role—minus the bad guys, of course—then I’ll be your sub for as long as you want.”
She stared at him, incredulous. A man like him would never make a bet like that if he thought there was a chance in hell he’d lose. “You’re on,” she heard herself say, the lure of the wager too much to resist.
What? You idiot! You played right into his hands!
“Great! Dig around in that costume box and get your leathers polished, baby,” he said in a low voice, raking her from head to toe with a heated look. “We have some . . . research to conduct in the name of national security. See you when you get off work.”
He spun and jogged off, and she spent a few moments watching his fine ass disappear down the corridor before the clearing of a throat snared her attention. She turned to see that Ozzie and Willis had joined her and were grinning like Cheshire cats. How much had they heard? Her face flushed.
“Shut up,” she said, pointing her finger at Ozzie, before he could even open his mouth.
She marched away, heading for the sanctuary of her office, their snorts of laughter at her back.
Jerks. Must be part of the male DNA.
No wonder most of the world was at war; men were in charge. And she, a strong, competent professional woman, was about to abase herself at the feet of one of their nutty population.
You had to love irony.
Robert Dietz sat quietly on the metal bench in his barren white cell, legs crossed and hands clasped in his lap, the picture of the perfect gentleman.
Why shouldn’t he be calm and polite toward his guards? It wasn’t as if he’d be here much longer. No, this was and always had been strictly business. He harbored no real animosity toward anyone at SHADO.
Except for Michael Ross. Him, he’d gladly consign to hell.
If only poor Maggie’s untimely death had kept Ross from the helm a while longer, SHADO would’ve been firmly under Robert’s control by now. A near-invincible force of surveillance experts, combat veterans, and assassins—his to direct to his causes at will.
For that loss alone, he’d triple Ross’s suffering.
A pained grunt and the sound of footsteps running toward him along the corridor broke into his thoughts. He stood and moved to the cell door, the anticipation of probable danger singing in his blood. He hadn’t been behind a desk so long that he’d forgotten how to fight when necessary. He’d require all of that experience now, and then some.
Avery Hanson appeared at his cell door, shouldering an Uzi submachine gun and fumbling with a ring of keys. “Shift change. Took out the new guards and the security camera just like you told me,” he panted, young face pinched in anxiety.
“Well done. We have perhaps forty-five seconds to a minute before someone comes to check on the glitch. Surprise is our best advantage on the way out, so we have to move.”
“Yes, sir.” With a twist of the key, Hanson unlocked the door, and the wall of bars slid sideways automatically. Reaching into the back of his fatigues, he removed a Glock and slapped it into Dietz’s waiting palm.
“Tio?” Dietz barked at the younger man.
“On the roof. He slipped onto the compound with the fake ID I made for him and commandeered the helicopter, just like you ordered.”
“Excellent. Let’s go.”
Ross would shit brass monkeys when he got wind of this, in mere moments.
A thrill shot through her at the image, but she rolled her eyes to cover the sudden, confusing reaction. “Get over yourself, hotshot. I can act with the best of ’em. How hard can it be to go through the motions?”
He laughed, the deep, smooth sound stroking her nerve endings like a lover. “Oh, honey. After the way you responded to me last night, I don’t think acting is going to come into play. And I’ll prove it.”
“How?”
“At the end of this assignment, if you can look me in the eye and honestly say you didn’t love every single part of your role—minus the bad guys, of course—then I’ll be your sub for as long as you want.”
She stared at him, incredulous. A man like him would never make a bet like that if he thought there was a chance in hell he’d lose. “You’re on,” she heard herself say, the lure of the wager too much to resist.
What? You idiot! You played right into his hands!
“Great! Dig around in that costume box and get your leathers polished, baby,” he said in a low voice, raking her from head to toe with a heated look. “We have some . . . research to conduct in the name of national security. See you when you get off work.”
He spun and jogged off, and she spent a few moments watching his fine ass disappear down the corridor before the clearing of a throat snared her attention. She turned to see that Ozzie and Willis had joined her and were grinning like Cheshire cats. How much had they heard? Her face flushed.
“Shut up,” she said, pointing her finger at Ozzie, before he could even open his mouth.
She marched away, heading for the sanctuary of her office, their snorts of laughter at her back.
Jerks. Must be part of the male DNA.
No wonder most of the world was at war; men were in charge. And she, a strong, competent professional woman, was about to abase herself at the feet of one of their nutty population.
You had to love irony.
Robert Dietz sat quietly on the metal bench in his barren white cell, legs crossed and hands clasped in his lap, the picture of the perfect gentleman.
Why shouldn’t he be calm and polite toward his guards? It wasn’t as if he’d be here much longer. No, this was and always had been strictly business. He harbored no real animosity toward anyone at SHADO.
Except for Michael Ross. Him, he’d gladly consign to hell.
If only poor Maggie’s untimely death had kept Ross from the helm a while longer, SHADO would’ve been firmly under Robert’s control by now. A near-invincible force of surveillance experts, combat veterans, and assassins—his to direct to his causes at will.
For that loss alone, he’d triple Ross’s suffering.
A pained grunt and the sound of footsteps running toward him along the corridor broke into his thoughts. He stood and moved to the cell door, the anticipation of probable danger singing in his blood. He hadn’t been behind a desk so long that he’d forgotten how to fight when necessary. He’d require all of that experience now, and then some.
Avery Hanson appeared at his cell door, shouldering an Uzi submachine gun and fumbling with a ring of keys. “Shift change. Took out the new guards and the security camera just like you told me,” he panted, young face pinched in anxiety.
“Well done. We have perhaps forty-five seconds to a minute before someone comes to check on the glitch. Surprise is our best advantage on the way out, so we have to move.”
“Yes, sir.” With a twist of the key, Hanson unlocked the door, and the wall of bars slid sideways automatically. Reaching into the back of his fatigues, he removed a Glock and slapped it into Dietz’s waiting palm.
“Tio?” Dietz barked at the younger man.
“On the roof. He slipped onto the compound with the fake ID I made for him and commandeered the helicopter, just like you ordered.”
“Excellent. Let’s go.”
Ross would shit brass monkeys when he got wind of this, in mere moments.
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