Dirty Deals: Olesia Anderson Thriller #1 Free Epub Edition by D. D. Marks
Book: Dirty Deals: Olesia Anderson Thriller #1 Free Epub Edition by D. D. Marks
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Authors: D. D. Marks
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Chapter 1
Olesia Anderson woke to the beeping of her phone. The hotel room was dark - she guessed four am, an hour reserved for cats, prostitutes and assassins. The boy snored beside her, naked in the light of the bedside lamp, sandy hair falling across his eyes. He didn't seem half so cute now that she'd finished grinding out her frustrations. She watched his chest rise and fall and thought about the politest way to get him out of her hotel room. A poke in the shoulder? Glass of water in the face?
The phone was still beeping, and Olesia scrambled to dig it out from the tangle of clothes at the foot of the bed. It was the low tone that meant a call from headquarters, and she scurried into the ensuite bathroom before tapping ACCEPT.
On the other end of the line was a low hiss, followed by a man's voice: "Alleycats and private eyes."
"Waking wires," she replied.
"Agent Eight-Oh-Six?"
"Speaking."
"You have a job in Maryland. Sensitive data loss from a rather large client. A taxi will arrive in ten minutes to take you to the airport."
"You couldn't give me half an hour to wash up?" She dared a look in the bathroom mirror; her wheat-blonde hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat, and she stank of sex from head to toe. "I'm in the middle of a situation-"
"Mess around on your own time, Eight-Oh-Six. Sparks will be your tech handler, and agent Two-Thirteen will supply any necessary equipment. More details on the way."
The call clicked off. Olesia dropped the phone with a sigh. Typical of Blackrock - curt, to the point, and they always knew to phone right in the middle of afterglow.
Out in the bedroom, the boy was still snoring. He'd pulled the sheets across his shoulders, but not high enough to hide the deep scratches she'd left down his back. He'd be smarting come dawn, much more so than she would. Typical, how they never put any muscle into it. God, what she'd give for a quick screw who wasn't afraid to bite back...
"Hey." The boy didn't stir. What was his name? Tommy, Timmy? No matter. "Hey!" she said again, and planted a foot in his back.
The boy grunted as he rolled off the bed, but it wasn't until he hit the carpet that he squawked and jumped to his feet. He rubbed the back of his head, scowling. "What'd you do that for?"
Skinny little thing, she thought, aside from what he was carrying in his pants. She'd noticed the bulge from halfway across the hotel casino, and it was hard keeping her eyes off it now, but the call had been made. She was on Blackrock time. "I'm going, which means you're going. Get out."
The boy grinned. "Baby, hey, we only just met. I don't start the morning shift for an hour, we could still fool around-"
It was the way he stared at her breasts that annoyed her the most. She stalked across the room and the boy skittered backwards, eyes wide. She raised one fist and he cowered, saying, "Hey, hey, don't hit me, don't-"
Olesia yanked the door open and kicked the boy through in one swift motion, and he fell ass-first into the corridor. He looked around, frantic, covering himself with his hands. "What the fuck? At least give me my pants!"
She slammed the door and pushed the lock. On the other side, Timmy - yes, she was sure it was Timmy - howled and banged on the wood. After a while, he quieted, and she listened to his furtive footsteps as he scampered down the hall in search of a towel.
Finally, she was alone. She checked her watch - seven minutes until the taxi arrived. She could stretch that to fifteen. Time enough for a shower and a protein bar, but first...
She pulled an aluminium suitcase from under the bed and clicked the locks. Inside, nestled in foam, was her SP-01 tactical - a 9mm pistol, rubber-gripped, heavy and smooth in her hands. Beside it were three empty magazines and two boxes of .40 Smith&Wesson cartridges. She loaded the first two magazines with practised, automatic movements, twelve cartridges per mag. The first magazine slid into place with a solid click that made
Olesia Anderson woke to the beeping of her phone. The hotel room was dark - she guessed four am, an hour reserved for cats, prostitutes and assassins. The boy snored beside her, naked in the light of the bedside lamp, sandy hair falling across his eyes. He didn't seem half so cute now that she'd finished grinding out her frustrations. She watched his chest rise and fall and thought about the politest way to get him out of her hotel room. A poke in the shoulder? Glass of water in the face?
The phone was still beeping, and Olesia scrambled to dig it out from the tangle of clothes at the foot of the bed. It was the low tone that meant a call from headquarters, and she scurried into the ensuite bathroom before tapping ACCEPT.
On the other end of the line was a low hiss, followed by a man's voice: "Alleycats and private eyes."
"Waking wires," she replied.
"Agent Eight-Oh-Six?"
"Speaking."
"You have a job in Maryland. Sensitive data loss from a rather large client. A taxi will arrive in ten minutes to take you to the airport."
"You couldn't give me half an hour to wash up?" She dared a look in the bathroom mirror; her wheat-blonde hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat, and she stank of sex from head to toe. "I'm in the middle of a situation-"
"Mess around on your own time, Eight-Oh-Six. Sparks will be your tech handler, and agent Two-Thirteen will supply any necessary equipment. More details on the way."
The call clicked off. Olesia dropped the phone with a sigh. Typical of Blackrock - curt, to the point, and they always knew to phone right in the middle of afterglow.
Out in the bedroom, the boy was still snoring. He'd pulled the sheets across his shoulders, but not high enough to hide the deep scratches she'd left down his back. He'd be smarting come dawn, much more so than she would. Typical, how they never put any muscle into it. God, what she'd give for a quick screw who wasn't afraid to bite back...
"Hey." The boy didn't stir. What was his name? Tommy, Timmy? No matter. "Hey!" she said again, and planted a foot in his back.
The boy grunted as he rolled off the bed, but it wasn't until he hit the carpet that he squawked and jumped to his feet. He rubbed the back of his head, scowling. "What'd you do that for?"
Skinny little thing, she thought, aside from what he was carrying in his pants. She'd noticed the bulge from halfway across the hotel casino, and it was hard keeping her eyes off it now, but the call had been made. She was on Blackrock time. "I'm going, which means you're going. Get out."
The boy grinned. "Baby, hey, we only just met. I don't start the morning shift for an hour, we could still fool around-"
It was the way he stared at her breasts that annoyed her the most. She stalked across the room and the boy skittered backwards, eyes wide. She raised one fist and he cowered, saying, "Hey, hey, don't hit me, don't-"
Olesia yanked the door open and kicked the boy through in one swift motion, and he fell ass-first into the corridor. He looked around, frantic, covering himself with his hands. "What the fuck? At least give me my pants!"
She slammed the door and pushed the lock. On the other side, Timmy - yes, she was sure it was Timmy - howled and banged on the wood. After a while, he quieted, and she listened to his furtive footsteps as he scampered down the hall in search of a towel.
Finally, she was alone. She checked her watch - seven minutes until the taxi arrived. She could stretch that to fifteen. Time enough for a shower and a protein bar, but first...
She pulled an aluminium suitcase from under the bed and clicked the locks. Inside, nestled in foam, was her SP-01 tactical - a 9mm pistol, rubber-gripped, heavy and smooth in her hands. Beside it were three empty magazines and two boxes of .40 Smith&Wesson cartridges. She loaded the first two magazines with practised, automatic movements, twelve cartridges per mag. The first magazine slid into place with a solid click that made
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