turn of the wrist. She ripped a handgun from a man’s hand, turned it on him first and then shot two of his colleagues in the blink of an eye. She caught a knife a hair’s breadth from her throat, having allowed it time to get that close to dispatch another enemy, and then wrenched it away from its owner.
“Here, have it back ,” she muttered, burying it through his sternum.
He was the last.
Smyth stayed on one knee, eyes sweeping the bloody mess for survivors. “Jeez, lady,” he breathed. “If I didn’t have a crush on you before I sure as shit do now. That was—”
A booming gunshot drowned out his words. The bullet nicked his ear. Smyth whipped round calmly and fired. The guard collapsed noisily.
“Grab some weapons ,” Mai said without stopping. “And light these bastards up. There’s more outside.”
*****
Drake allowed the current to take him closer to the big, steel-hulled ship. They had been waiting for the distraction of Mai’s fire to use the ropes they had salvaged from one of the Zodiacs. A rough plan to be sure, but then a man from the north of England prided himself on being rough around the edges.
Now it was a bigger gamble. The warship ’s own dinghies were already back in place and the great anchor was rising with a savage clanking sound, as if all the ghosts of purgatory had risen at the same time. Drake heard shouts from up top. Even the Naval Officers were sounding shocked. Mai and Smyth had set something alight alright.
“Now or never.” Romero pushed him. “Do it.”
Drake set his jaw. Mai could still make it. He set his sights to the back of the ship where several taut lines had still to be cast off and above that, where the depth charge rails were. Hand over hand he climbed up, facing the skies, listening only to the sounds of Romero aping him on a nearby line and the tramping of feet above. Once, when the sound of voices became too clear, Drake froze, hanging in mid-air, praying for a stroke of luck. Then more cries struck the air. Drake scurried up the last few feet like a rabid monkey.
The Korean staring over the ship’s rail got the shock of his life, but before his eyes had widened to more than a saucer ’s diameter, Drake snapped his neck and hurled him into the waters below. Romero nodded as he alighted to his left.
“Good work.”
Drake made to skulk over to the starboard side, but Romero grabbed his heavy jacket. “We should get below. Our mission can’t fail now, bud. She’s on her own.”
Drake angrily shook the marine’ s hand off and moved stealthily onward, but then stopped. “Balls,” he whispered.
Romero was right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Lauren Fox didn’t like to think too hard about what her next client might enjoy or fantasize about. Like any girl, she had her hang-ups, but they weren’t overly plentiful. The way her clients looked or dressed didn’t matter. They had been vetted by the agency. They weren’t serial killers or cops or wives or private investigators. Actually, one of her best clients was a private investigator, but he was an old friend and harmless, in all aspects. All things said, she was an easygoing girl—which was just as well in her profession. But some requests were just plain wrong.
Lauren climbed out of the shower, dabbed herself dry with a luxurious towel and crossed over to her vanity. Expensive perfumes and after shaves lined up like willing suitors, eager to play. She checked the discreet carriage clock. Her next client was due in twenty minutes. Still time to tidy and prep, and turn herself into the high-class, two-thousand-dollar-an-hour call girl he was expecting.
She dabbed on a little Notorious, dressed quickly in sexy underwear and styled her hair. If a client ever saw her getting dressed, they wouldn’t believe it was the same woman who controlled them so easily when she stripped. But they never would see her. Even with the overnighters and the weekenders, she retained a measure of
“Here, have it back ,” she muttered, burying it through his sternum.
He was the last.
Smyth stayed on one knee, eyes sweeping the bloody mess for survivors. “Jeez, lady,” he breathed. “If I didn’t have a crush on you before I sure as shit do now. That was—”
A booming gunshot drowned out his words. The bullet nicked his ear. Smyth whipped round calmly and fired. The guard collapsed noisily.
“Grab some weapons ,” Mai said without stopping. “And light these bastards up. There’s more outside.”
*****
Drake allowed the current to take him closer to the big, steel-hulled ship. They had been waiting for the distraction of Mai’s fire to use the ropes they had salvaged from one of the Zodiacs. A rough plan to be sure, but then a man from the north of England prided himself on being rough around the edges.
Now it was a bigger gamble. The warship ’s own dinghies were already back in place and the great anchor was rising with a savage clanking sound, as if all the ghosts of purgatory had risen at the same time. Drake heard shouts from up top. Even the Naval Officers were sounding shocked. Mai and Smyth had set something alight alright.
“Now or never.” Romero pushed him. “Do it.”
Drake set his jaw. Mai could still make it. He set his sights to the back of the ship where several taut lines had still to be cast off and above that, where the depth charge rails were. Hand over hand he climbed up, facing the skies, listening only to the sounds of Romero aping him on a nearby line and the tramping of feet above. Once, when the sound of voices became too clear, Drake froze, hanging in mid-air, praying for a stroke of luck. Then more cries struck the air. Drake scurried up the last few feet like a rabid monkey.
The Korean staring over the ship’s rail got the shock of his life, but before his eyes had widened to more than a saucer ’s diameter, Drake snapped his neck and hurled him into the waters below. Romero nodded as he alighted to his left.
“Good work.”
Drake made to skulk over to the starboard side, but Romero grabbed his heavy jacket. “We should get below. Our mission can’t fail now, bud. She’s on her own.”
Drake angrily shook the marine’ s hand off and moved stealthily onward, but then stopped. “Balls,” he whispered.
Romero was right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Lauren Fox didn’t like to think too hard about what her next client might enjoy or fantasize about. Like any girl, she had her hang-ups, but they weren’t overly plentiful. The way her clients looked or dressed didn’t matter. They had been vetted by the agency. They weren’t serial killers or cops or wives or private investigators. Actually, one of her best clients was a private investigator, but he was an old friend and harmless, in all aspects. All things said, she was an easygoing girl—which was just as well in her profession. But some requests were just plain wrong.
Lauren climbed out of the shower, dabbed herself dry with a luxurious towel and crossed over to her vanity. Expensive perfumes and after shaves lined up like willing suitors, eager to play. She checked the discreet carriage clock. Her next client was due in twenty minutes. Still time to tidy and prep, and turn herself into the high-class, two-thousand-dollar-an-hour call girl he was expecting.
She dabbed on a little Notorious, dressed quickly in sexy underwear and styled her hair. If a client ever saw her getting dressed, they wouldn’t believe it was the same woman who controlled them so easily when she stripped. But they never would see her. Even with the overnighters and the weekenders, she retained a measure of
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