right mind would refuse a night at the Ambassador?
The rooms were stylishly decorated, comfortable and conveniently connected. She and Lawson could come and go from each other's rooms without anyone seeing them and it made sense Isaac and Sara Lerner, the owners of a successful security consulting business, would stay in an upscale hotel.
Yes, she was sure once Lawson had a chance to rest up, he would realize the Ambassador was the perfect place for them to stay while they figured out what Dmitri was up to. Along with that, she hoped he would also realize what an asset she was to the Agency. Not that she cared what Lawson thought, but the desire to prove to him she wasn't going to let Director Flynn down sat like a rock in her chest. She knew this world as well as any and could take care of the behind-the-scenes details like accommodations and transportation and help Lawson track down Dmitri.
Zara smiled and closed her eyes. Once Lawson saw her in action, this partner thing was going to work out just fine.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Seven
This partner thing was not going to work out.
Lawson paced the pale gray carpet of his suite—she'd reserved freakin’ suites —and cursed himself for being such an idiot. Flynn could spout Farm skill and achievements all he wanted, but Zara didn't understand the first thing about clandestine operations. From the moment he saw her jump the ditch at the farmhouse on her Ducati, he'd known she was an in-your-face type, not a smooth undercover operative. You didn't sashay into town, throw a bunch of money around and call dubious attention to yourself, unless that was the intended cover. Which it never was, because, contrary to Hollywood's propaganda, playing James Bond wasn't cool, it was deadly.
Running a hand over his face and through his buzzed hair, he looked around the suite again. The Ambassador was a nice place. Way too nice for someone like him. Everything from the funky wallpaper to the oddly shaped blond furniture made him squirm. He wouldn't know Retro from Victorian when it came to decorating, unless it was something straight out of the eighties. Even then, if it didn't look like it belonged in a college dormitory or his mother's house where everything had country geese on it, he was screwed.
Pacing into the kitchen area of the suite, he pulled a bottled water out of the tiny refrigerator. Good God there was even a miniature two-burner stove along with everything else. A microwave, coffee maker and some contraption that looked like a juice machine.
He tipped his head back and drank half the bottle in a couple of gulps. All this ... stuff . It was enough to give him a headache.
Over the past ten years, he'd practically existed on MREs, meal-ready-to-eat hash, and slept more often than not on the ground. Which was pretty much the way he liked it. None of this pansy-assed stuff for him. He was a soldier through and through. The tougher the conditions, the more uncomfortable the surroundings, the better he liked it. Got him in touch with his inner self in a way nothing else could, and he was proud of that. Jimmy and the rest of Pegasus would piss their pants laughing if they saw him drinking Evian water and lounging in any hotel, much less the Am freaking bassador in Paris.
Lawson finished the water and threw the empty bottle in the sink. Enough with Zara's silly tests and hotshot attitude. He had to get her straightened out. Even with their cover identities, they had to leave this place and find something more suitable. He had to make her understand their success depended on her following his instructions, not going off on her own.
First he needed to arm himself. In his line of work, walking around without his gun was like walking around with an arm missing.
He grabbed his bag and retrieved a Nintendo DS, a hairdryer and an electric razor. Within a minute, he had recovered all the parts to his Beretta from their secret hiding places. Another minute and the gun
The rooms were stylishly decorated, comfortable and conveniently connected. She and Lawson could come and go from each other's rooms without anyone seeing them and it made sense Isaac and Sara Lerner, the owners of a successful security consulting business, would stay in an upscale hotel.
Yes, she was sure once Lawson had a chance to rest up, he would realize the Ambassador was the perfect place for them to stay while they figured out what Dmitri was up to. Along with that, she hoped he would also realize what an asset she was to the Agency. Not that she cared what Lawson thought, but the desire to prove to him she wasn't going to let Director Flynn down sat like a rock in her chest. She knew this world as well as any and could take care of the behind-the-scenes details like accommodations and transportation and help Lawson track down Dmitri.
Zara smiled and closed her eyes. Once Lawson saw her in action, this partner thing was going to work out just fine.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Seven
This partner thing was not going to work out.
Lawson paced the pale gray carpet of his suite—she'd reserved freakin’ suites —and cursed himself for being such an idiot. Flynn could spout Farm skill and achievements all he wanted, but Zara didn't understand the first thing about clandestine operations. From the moment he saw her jump the ditch at the farmhouse on her Ducati, he'd known she was an in-your-face type, not a smooth undercover operative. You didn't sashay into town, throw a bunch of money around and call dubious attention to yourself, unless that was the intended cover. Which it never was, because, contrary to Hollywood's propaganda, playing James Bond wasn't cool, it was deadly.
Running a hand over his face and through his buzzed hair, he looked around the suite again. The Ambassador was a nice place. Way too nice for someone like him. Everything from the funky wallpaper to the oddly shaped blond furniture made him squirm. He wouldn't know Retro from Victorian when it came to decorating, unless it was something straight out of the eighties. Even then, if it didn't look like it belonged in a college dormitory or his mother's house where everything had country geese on it, he was screwed.
Pacing into the kitchen area of the suite, he pulled a bottled water out of the tiny refrigerator. Good God there was even a miniature two-burner stove along with everything else. A microwave, coffee maker and some contraption that looked like a juice machine.
He tipped his head back and drank half the bottle in a couple of gulps. All this ... stuff . It was enough to give him a headache.
Over the past ten years, he'd practically existed on MREs, meal-ready-to-eat hash, and slept more often than not on the ground. Which was pretty much the way he liked it. None of this pansy-assed stuff for him. He was a soldier through and through. The tougher the conditions, the more uncomfortable the surroundings, the better he liked it. Got him in touch with his inner self in a way nothing else could, and he was proud of that. Jimmy and the rest of Pegasus would piss their pants laughing if they saw him drinking Evian water and lounging in any hotel, much less the Am freaking bassador in Paris.
Lawson finished the water and threw the empty bottle in the sink. Enough with Zara's silly tests and hotshot attitude. He had to get her straightened out. Even with their cover identities, they had to leave this place and find something more suitable. He had to make her understand their success depended on her following his instructions, not going off on her own.
First he needed to arm himself. In his line of work, walking around without his gun was like walking around with an arm missing.
He grabbed his bag and retrieved a Nintendo DS, a hairdryer and an electric razor. Within a minute, he had recovered all the parts to his Beretta from their secret hiding places. Another minute and the gun
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