Hit Hard Page 15

  She did not sit. “Forgive me, I’ve failed you.”

  The loss of the woman, bait for the man with the stone, was unfortunate, yet nothing could be done about it now.

  “Zidane has people searching for the gray-haired man.”

  He glanced at her, again patting the cushion, and she hopped over the sofa back, sleek and slim, then sat erect.

  “Be patient, they will find them.”

  “If her man finds her first?”

  “Then we will change our plans. Now we wait.”

  Noor lifted her gaze to his, and he knew she was angry with herself. “I have forgiven, my sweet.”

  He slid his hand over her dark hair, marveling at her beauty. Having tasted her, he knew what to expect when her hand went to his belt, aptly flicking it open and sending the zipper down. Her small hand, a deadly weapon otherwise, worked inside and closed over his flesh. She stroked him a few times, then bent her head and took him into her mouth.

  “No biting,” he warned and settled back, watching his cock slide into her mouth. His gaze flicked to the screen, knowing he had only moments before his meeting with his next buyer. He moaned as her sucking grew stronger, tighter, and he pulled her from him.

  “You have done nothing that warrants this.”

  She neither confirmed nor denied her motives as she slid over his lap, pulling up her skirt. She wore nothing beneath, her body shaved clean, and she immediately guided him inside her. He knew he’d come, she would stop at nothing till she made certain of it. Sex to Noor was a weapon as lethal as her blowgun. His gaze lowered to the black leather pouch at her waist, yet he did not touch it. She was immune to the poison, having suffered injecting herself over a hundred times so she could easily handle the darts. He pulled her skirt higher, her trim hips thrusting harder and harder.

  “You are coming,” she said, her face expressionless. She gave nothing, almost robotic. He didn’t care. She was efficient and if she wanted to pleasure him, he’d take it.

  She gripped his shoulders and pumped harder, and he flicked his fingers over her clitoris. It was then her expression changed, shocked, offended, yet he kept at it, wanting to see her climax, to see her vulnerable. He didn’t succeed. She came, holding herself rigid, refusing to let herself succumb. The only difference was in her breathing. But he felt it, her grip of him, and he grabbed her hips and thrust, spilling into her. For an instant he thought of his wife, dead years before, and what she’d think of him, and disgust tried to work its way into the moment. He dismissed her image and fell back onto the sofa.

  Noor didn’t collapse on him, but instead stared at him for a moment, then crawled off and went to the bathroom. She tossed him a towel, then disappeared behind the door. He cleaned himself, zipped, then reached for his drink. His gaze went to the still dormant screen, and he glanced at the clock on the wall, then leaned, tapped, making the connection. The webcam blinked on and his brows rose when he realized what he was seeing.

  In time to see the woman grab the knife.

  No, he thought, do not! Yet when the man went stiff, he understood. He cursed, shot off the sofa, and cursed again. Then the screen went blank, and he kicked the table.

  The bathroom door opened and Noor stepped out, perfect in every way. She didn’t frown, nor do more than tip her head and say, “You are upset with me?”

  “She’s killed him!” He lashed a hand at the computer.

  Noor went to it. “The picture is gone.”

  He drew the computer forward and tried to bring up the image. The stream was still in the hard drive and he hit REPLAY. An image blinked on, and Noor leaned closer.

  “That is the woman.”

  “She just killed my biggest buyer!”

  The woman had cost him far too much and he would get it back. “Go to the Oriental, bring her to me, and his stones.”

  “His men will not allow me that close.”

  “Find a way! Kill them all if you must.”

  Noor simply smiled, feline beautiful as she touched his chest. He gathered no assurances from her confidence, yet he brushed his fingers under her chin and kissed her. “Tell Zidane his lack of results wears on our timetable. Protect the buyers.”

  Silently, she turned to the door and found it open. Zidane stood on the threshold, his gaze moving from the Pharaoh to her. He arched a brow, and she continued toward him.

  “You are out of favor,” she whispered, and he closed the door behind her.

  “And you have done nothing more than pleasure an old man.”

  She continued down the hall. “But it will give me more.”

  He grabbed her by the arm, jerking her back. “You’ll never control him with that,” he said with a glance down her body. “He’s stronger than you, than both of us.”

  She wrenched free. “Jealous of my results, or scared?”

  At four in the morning, Bangkok did not sleep. Lights spilled from the restaurant on the first floor of the Mandarin Oriental and lit the terrace, more lampposts shining on the pier and docks. Sam avoided them, his attention was on the author’s wing: the original section, only a two-story Victorian with lavish suites named after James Michener, Joseph Conrad, Noel Coward, and Somerset Maugham.

  She’s got to be in there.

  Registration was under a John Smith–type name, and the area restricted to foot traffic. Guards strolled the edge of the grounds, the waiters searched before they were allowed to enter told him security was high. The question was, which suite? Whoever rented the wing had the entire building under his control.

  He touched his throat mike. “Any ideas?” They were going in blind again, no time to plan. Sebastian was between the old section and the new, Max near the terrace. Sam was close enough to the building to catch the aroma of food and cigarettes.

  “What makes you think she’s in there?”

  “Not a damn thing. But this guy is paranoid enough to have four guards, and rich enough to select this place for its 360 view, least accessible from the street. If anyone wanted to shoot in, they’d have to be on the water.” The second wing was behind him, running as normal and blocked by rows of tall, narrow trees. “And the guards haven’t done anything but walk, no one going beyond the lounge area.”

  “Good point.”

  “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

  “So what’s a good decoy?” Max said.

  “How about a drunken fistfight?” Sebastian suggested.

  “As long as I get to win this time,” Max groused.

  Sam watched the upper floors. A couple windows were blocked by trees, and he considered climbing one, but it wouldn’t give him enough time to get that far onto the grounds without being seen. He scanned the area and he picked a point of entry.

  “Going in the balcony, west side, keep them busy.”

  A guard passed beneath it, his cigarette tip flaring briefly, lighting his features. Not Asian, he thought. “Go.”

  Sam couldn’t see his friends, but heard them. They were singing, a moon doggie howl of old college fight songs.

  Move away, little commando, he thought, eyes on the guard. The man spoke on the radio, tossed his cigarette down, and with a long-suffering sigh of smoke headed toward the noise. Sam hurried across the terrace to the side of the building, unwound his bullwhip, aimed and lashed it softly. The end curled around the rail. He climbed, tall banana trees shielding him from the lights.

  He hoisted over the rail and flattened to the wall, peering into the room. Curtains closed, he couldn’t see anything. He knelt, drawing a thin pair of wires from inside his jacket. It was the best they could do on short notice. Makeshift lock picks. He tried the knob first, then got to cracking. It sprang and he was glad this place was historically correct. Everything else opened with magnetic cards. He gripped the knob, turning slowly.

  The air-conditioning hit him first, and he waited a few moments, then pushed back the drape. He slipped inside and shut the glass door. “I’m in.” He heard grunts and shouts from his fri
ends. He looked around and knew he was wrong. The room was empty.

  From the living room, he could see into the bedroom, the four-poster bed untouched. Sam searched anyway, then went to the outer door, opening it a fraction. Great, a guard outside it and another one near the service staircase. Taking them out was not an option.

  He fell back against the wall, thinking. He was traveling light, a load-bearing vest and a pistol. No Kevlar, and his backup was downstairs beating each other up for the show. A sudden blast of icy air swept around him, and he turned. An AC vent was above him. He grabbed a chair, stood on it and pried the vent off, then hoisted himself inside the shaft. He headed in the direction of the suite with the guards.

  He crawled, using his elbows to propel himself forward. Slow going, and it was hot inside the steel tunnel. To his right vent shafts parted off to other sections. He paused to catch his breath, feeling like a spud in the oven. The pop of the metal vent corridor would give up his position. It was several minutes before he reached the vent he hoped was in the next suite. Sam curved his body, and looked down into the darkened room. The living room. Empty. Gourmet food covered a glass table, settings for two, and just as he noticed the laptop computer with a web camera, it went into sleep mode.

  Then he heard one voice, deep and definitely male. The response, if there was any, was too soft to hear. Sam strained. If it’s you, baby, call out.

  Suddenly, the vent filled with air again, pulling hot air from the suite, and drowning out the voices. Now was the time, the AC covering any noise he’d make as he pushed on the grate, easing it out and carefully letting it slide to the carpet. Then he grabbed the lower portion of the cover, judged the distance and did a forward roll onto the floor. His landing soundless, he drew his weapon. Sam scanned the room, noting exits, then edged around tall pedestal planters dividing the bedroom from the living room. He looked into the bedroom.

  Oh, sweet Jesus.

  A man was on top of her, between her legs. With one arm and her knee, she held him back, trying to shove him off. Sam rushed to the side of the bed.

  “Sam! Sam? Oh God, help me, please.”

  Sam put a gun to the man’s head, and violently yanked him back. Lifeless eyes stared back, and his gaze dropped to the knife in his chest. Oh hell.

  He looked at Viva, but she was frantic, twisting and yanking, trying to reach the rope at her throat. “Untie me, oh God, untie me!”

  He grabbed her hands, staring into her wild eyes. “Baby, it’s over. You have to calm down and be quiet.” Sam swiftly cut the bonds, then severed the one at her throat. She launched off the bed and into his arms, gripping him so tight Sam felt it to his bones. He crushed her to him, pressing his lips to her temple and for a brief moment, closed his eyes.

  “Oh, thank you, thank you! I know this looks bad, but I swear, he was—”

  “I know what he was doing, honey.” He stroked her hair, held her tighter. “Shh, shh.” Over her head, Sam looked at the dead man and wanted to kill him again for touching her.

  “Outlaw, Outlaw!” sounded in his ear.

  “I found her, she’s alive. Give us two minutes.” He eased her back and when she kept looking at the dead man, he cupped her face. “Focus on me, okay?” She nodded and he noticed the marks on her throat turning purple. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

  She nodded through her tears. He kissed her greedily, then got a look at her clothes. Whoa, he thought, yet his gaze went to the splatters of blood on the blouse and her throat.

  Viva grabbed at the half-falling garment. “Some fantasy, huh? Give me a hand here.” She tried to secure the slacks at her hip, but her hands shook and Sam took over as she buttoned up the blouse. “Oh forget it, let’s go, please.”

  Quickly, Sam urged her to the vent shaft. “This is our exit.” He pulled a chair near to give her a leg up, then disengaged the laptop and camera, shoving it in the shaft before he reached for her. She wasn’t there. Viva rushed to the dining table.

  “Viva, we’re out of time.” She grabbed something off the bedside table, stuffing it down the back of her pants as she hurried back to him. She slapped her hand in his and Sam pulled. “I swear, woman.”

  “I know, I’m irritating.”

  Sam moved faster this time, pushing the laptop ahead and Viva right behind him. He slid into the empty room and when he turned, she rolled down and fell into his arms.

  “What was so damn important?”

  “I don’t know, but it was important to the sheik wannabe.”

  Sam moved to the balcony doors, pushed them open, pulling her outside.

  “You’re always making me jump from high places,” she whispered hoarsely, looking down.

  Sam lashed his whip to the rail and wrapped her hands around it. “Crawl over and down. I’m right behind you.”

  “What about that?” She gestured to the laptop. He looked for a way to secure it and Viva reached inside the room, yanked the silk drapery panel, wrapped it around the laptop and made a sling. Sam slipped it on. “Now you’re stylin’.”

  Sam cupped the back of her head and kissed her hard. She responded wildly, the slip of lips and tongue primal and greedy. He drew back, and she stared up at him, a feline smile on her lips.

  “Bad guys, your three o’clock,” he said, pointing right.

  Viva eased over the balcony, gripped the whip, then slid down. She dropped the last couple feet. A moment later, Sam landed nearby in a crouch beside her.

  He touched his throat. “We’re out, break it up.” He looked at her, so damn glad she was alive. “Stay low and right behind me.”

  “If you insist.”

  They edged the building, and Sam pulled mini NVG’s and sighted. “They’re getting the shit kicked out of them, dammit.”

  “Get—her—out,” he heard Sebastian say with each punch.

  Viva grabbed his shirt and yanked him back. But it was too late. A voice called out, and Sam looked to the front upper-window.

  “Intruders!” the man shouted, pointing.

  Sam pulled her toward the street side, but men came around the side. He heard it seconds before they appeared and backed her up against the wall, his body shielding hers as he aimed.

  “This isn’t working out like I planned.” He leaned out and fired, then instantly ducked back as shots came. “Okay, not an option.” He flashed her a smile in the dark.

  “No argument here.”

  “That way.” He urged her with him to the water.

  “God, I really don’t want to swim in that again,” she said.

  “We aren’t.” He held tight to her hand, and moved northward along the riverfront, yet stopped short when he saw a wedding party spilled onto the terrace of the next hotel. “Well, dammit.”

  “Gorgeous bride, though.” She turned on her bare feet. “I don’t suppose—ouch—you have a chopper coming again.”

  “I wish. Get down.” They dropped behind some benches, and Viva winced when a bullet hit wood. Sam shot out the light hanging over them, then aimed, but didn’t fire. “Too many civilians. “

  “Don’t these people know to run when they hear gunfire?” Viva looked around for an escape. No ferry, no small boats, only a thirty-foot cruiser floating at the end of the lit pier. She took off toward the cruiser.

  Sam whipped around as she ran to the end of the yacht to the pair of jet skis floating in a tow rack. “Oh, smart girl. Coonass, get cooking!”

  Sam darted low as she unwound the ropes and straddled a jet ski. She released the lock and the jet ski floated back from the tow with the current.

  “You can drive it?” Sam jumped on behind her.

  “Like a motorcycle on water.” She turned the key and the engine roared. “Then again, I’ve never actually ridden a motorcycle.”

  Men rushed toward them and Sam fired, knocking one off his feet. They opened up with a hail of bullets as Sebastian’s charges went off. Screams and debris flew into the night with orange fire as bullets hit the pier, the water, one st
riking the nose of the jet ski. “Go, go!”

  Viva gunned it, the front tipping up for a few yards like a bucking bronco. “Sam!”

  Reaching around, he pressed the trim button, and the machine leveled out as it shot across the water. Sam twisted, aiming, but she was going too fast for a clean shot.

  “Don’t stop.”

  “Oh yeah, I wanna meet those guys real bad.”

  Watching behind him, Sam saw a figure move to the edge of the pier, and aim something. “Faster, baby.”

  Viva pushed the throttle to the max, wind and water blistering her face.

  And all she thought was, spared from rape only to be shot?

  On the dock, Noor stepped from the shadows, her gaze following the jet ski with her blowgun. Yet she did not fire.

  For that man to find her before Noor said he knew where to look. She turned, her gaze following the men as some rushed to the explosion while others ran to the edge of the dock and fired blindly. Stupid. It was too dark and they were long gone—as were the two men who were fighting. She circled the hotel and with surprising ease was inside.

  The men were still trying to figure out what happened, she thought, staring at the buyer sprawled on the bed, his expression frozen. She searched the room, tearing it apart for the stones, and found nothing. Then she saw the web camera on the table. Alone.

  He will not be pleased, she thought, moving into a vacant room and out the balcony doors. She was over the side and on the ground before his men entered the suite. She dialed her cell, walking in the opposite direction, north up the riverfront.

  “He has his laptop.” A string of curses filled her ear, and she waited till he was done ranting.

  “Let us hope he was wise enough not to put anything leading on it.”

  Noor did not comment. The buyer stole an American from her bed. His actions so far were driven by his arrogance and his need for sex. Wisdom had no part in either.

  Whatever was on the laptop would lead them to her master. It was time for him to leave the country, she thought, and briefly glanced back at the water. The wake of the jet ski had faded, and Noor knew she could have easily killed the woman. She was exposed, in her sights. She deserved the chance to redeem herself, and while her master was angered over the buyer’s death, Noor was pleased the woman had the strength to kill him.