Samurai Game

CHAPTER 17

Sheila Benet smiled at the maître d’ and murmured her name, resisting the urge to glance around the popular restaurant. She was dressed impeccably, as always. Her red power suit had always given her confidence and she needed it more than ever tonight. She clutched her Gucci bag tightly as she followed him to the small table in a very private corner, just as she’d requested. Melanie Freesha waited with that amused superior look on her face she’d worn since they’d first met in kindergarten. Sheila always enjoyed watching her when Melanie wasn’t aware she was being observed.

The moment Melanie spotted Sheila, her face lit up. “There you are.” She leaned in and brushed a kiss on Sheila’s cheek. “It’s been far too long. We need to find a way to get together more often.”

Melanie was one of the few people Sheila really enjoyed. They’d been friends for a long time, long before Sheila had become Sheila Benet, back when she was merely hungry and afraid all the time. Melanie knew everything there was to know about her.

“I wish we could too,” Sheila said, genuinely meaning it. “I miss you, but Dr. Whitney thinks spending too much time together is risky.”

Melanie rolled her eyes and poured Sheila her favorite red wine. Melanie always remembered small details. “He likes to dictate to everyone. How are you?” She frowned, observing her friend in the flickering candlelight. “You look tired, Sheila. Is he running you ragged?”

Some of the terrible tension eased. It was nice to have a real friend. Melanie had “saved” her so many years ago, introducing her to Whitney and giving her a purpose and essentially a life. She’d been smart but had no chances, not with her drunken prostitute mother who was willing to sell her to any man for a drink. Melanie always left her window open at night, giving Sheila a place to hide when things got too bad. It was Melanie who came up with her new name and Whitney who provided her identity.

“It’s a difficult time right now,” Sheila admitted. She allowed herself a slow sweep of the restaurant. She recognized the look of three of Whitney’s private soldiers scattered throughout the room. She knew there were more. Her heart began to pound and her mouth went dry. She took another sip of wine. “We’re losing people and Whitney thinks someone may come after you.”

Melanie blinked. Very slowly she put down her wineglass. “That’s impossible. No one can connect me to Whitney. We took pains to make certain there was no link back to him. I’ve worked my way up to a great position to help him, and my reputation is spotless.”

“Still, this is a bad idea, meeting like this. I tried to tell you, but you were so insistent.”

Melanie nodded and lowered her voice, glancing warily around. “General Ranier was furious over the orders and he flew out to the GhostWalker compound to talk with them personally. He only brought his pilot with him. I’ve made it my business to be very close friends with his pilot, and Hank told me the general ordered him to stay with the helicopter. He went in alone and was gone for some time. He didn’t say a word to Hank and was obviously upset. I think he believes the orders are a setup of some kind.”

Her eyes met Sheila’s directly. Sheila tried hard not to flinch. Her nod was nearly imperceptible.

Melanie frowned at her, took another slow sip of wine before putting the glass down. Her fingers toyed restlessly with the wine stem. “Who is the sacrifice?”

Sheila shook her head. “Sam Johnson, the general’s foster son.”

Melanie choked. “Are you kidding me? The general will go ballistic. That’s crazy. Did you try to talk Whitney out of it?”

“There’s no talking to him right now. He’s got an entire agenda and he’s determined to carry it out. He’s in tight with Violet Freeman again, and they’ve got some new plan that he hasn’t discussed with me. He’s very focused and driven right now.” Sheila took another look around the room.

This was Melanie’s favorite restaurant. The lights were low, the food exquisite, and the waiters handsome. Sheila couldn’t fault it, but she couldn’t quite relax as she normally did when she managed the rare outing with her best and only true friend. These were dangerous times, whether Melanie recognized it or not.

“I wish he hadn’t chosen the general’s foster son. General Ranier is a good man, a patriot, and he’ll be very upset.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess it isn’t as if Sam Johnson is his real son.”

“No, he was just some punk kid the general rescued from the streets and gave a life he didn’t even deserve,” Sheila added to the argument.

Melanie sighed. “Well, Whitney made these soldiers. I guess he has the right to sacrifice one or two if it helps our country to be stronger. Nobody gives a damn about them because they don’t know about them. And honestly”-she leaned in close-“if people did know, they’d be creeped out. Seriously, they aren’t really human anymore. Peter once told me, they’re like animals and it’s up to their keepers to watch over them and decide when to euthanize them.”

Sheila laughed. “Mel, you’re so terrible.”

“Not really, just practical. I’m all about our soldiers, you know that. The GhostWalkers are weapons created to aid our country and human soldiers in any way possible. If the destruction of one of them is necessary…” She trailed off shrugging as the waiter came over with a slight bow and a sexy, flirtatious smile to take their order.

Sheila took another look around the room, assuring herself everyone was in place while Melanie flirted. She spotted two more of Whitney’s men. Directly across from her table was a small Asian woman, obviously a very high priced call girl with a man who was clearly one of Whitney’s soldiers stuffed uncomfortably into a suit. The call girl wore a clingy dress that covered her too large breasts and clung to her tiny waist. Her hair was in a short, sexy bob, and she gave her companion her full attention, staring into his eyes.

Two tables over a man with graying hair sat between two larger men. Satisfaction helped take the edge from her tension. Everyone was in place, like the pieces on a chessboard. Whitney was a master player and a master manipulator. If anyone was targeting Melanie and had followed her, they would soon know.

Sheila breathed a sigh of relief and took another drink of her wine, settling back in her chair. Of course Whitney had everything well in hand. She’d argued with him when Melanie had indicated she wanted a meeting, terrified of putting her friend in danger, but she should have trusted him. They’d rented out the restaurant, and just about everyone dining there was connected to Whitney. No substitutes had been made in waiters, bartenders, or kitchen staff. She’d made certain of that herself. And Whitney had provided a much better target than Melanie. He protected his assets and without a doubt, Melanie Freesha was one of his best.

Azami smiled up at the man who had hired an escort for the evening. Twice his hand had slid up her thigh, making her stomach lurch. The tiny receiver in her ear allowed her to pick up the conversation at Sheila Benet’s table. She’d managed to plant the microphone when her “date” led her to their table. It was just good luck that he was assigned as a frontline guard to the two women and had chosen the table closest to theirs and even better luck that she’d gotten that tiny dot in place as Melanie was being seated, so she wasn’t noticed near the table.

Her date obviously thought he would get very lucky after their dinner, his hands straying often and his gaze drifting to the bulging front of her dress. It never failed to surprise her how men could barely see beyond breasts. Her poor date, Frankie, he’d said, would be shocked to know the things he was drooling over weren’t real. She giggled in all the right places and batted eyelashes, keeping his attention on her by touching him occasionally when he appeared to be looking around the room.

She had trained for this, but it wasn’t a role she relished. She used broken English and a Japanese accent, playing her part, but it was annoying. She turned her head and everything in her went absolutely still. The breath rushed from her lungs. Whitney. He was seated a few tables away, back in the shadows, with two obvious bodyguards on either side of him. For a moment she was totally paralyzed. She couldn’t even lower her gaze, she could only stare in shock and a kind of horror.

She’d been eight when he’d thrown her away, but she wouldn’t forget that face. How could she? He’d stood over her trembling body a million times, a scalpel in his hand and annoyance on his face. Her body actually hurt. She wanted to press her hand over her heart, but she forced air into her lungs and smiled vacuously up at her “date.”

Her target had changed. The deck was stacked against her. Whitney had the place nailed down with his army, but she was fast and she could take him out and maybe make it out alive. In any case, this was the opportunity of a lifetime and one she thought she’d never get. The most she’d hoped for was to cut his pipeline to legitimacy, but this… this was a miracle and she had no choice but to grab the chance with both hands.

The waiter put a delicate salad in front of her, giving her another opportunity to let her gaze wander around the room. The three tables flanking Whitney’s were definitely bodyguards. Behind him was a tall divider with plants on top of it. There were tables on the other side of it, no doubt more of his enhanced army. Killers. Not real GhostWalkers, but men who failed their psych tests and traded honor for money-just as Melanie had done.

Success was always determined by careful preparation. She couldn’t let her emotions dictate panic or rushing what had to be a certain kill. She nibbled at her salad, giggled and flirted with Frankie, and planned each move carefully. She would only get one chance. Everyone was armed and shots would be fired, but she had the advantage in that she would be weaving in and out of the soldiers at blurring speed, and if they fired, they’d be killing their own companions. That would help create chaos.

Melanie and Sheila continued to chatter about their lives and the men they took home and got rid of just as fast, comparing notes on lovers and laughing together. Their laughter offended Azami, when they had just dismissed Sam’s death-and any of the other GhostWalkers-as if he were no more than a tool to be disposed of. That kind of thinking was Whitney’s fault. The men and women in his employ took on his attitude toward the one’s he experimented on. They were disposable lab rats. He believed that premise and he taught it to those he surrounded himself with. Since their true motivation was money, it was easy enough to persuade them those he experimented on weren’t human and didn’t deserve to be treated as if they were.

She drew another deep breath to calm the building rage. Her temper had always been a major drawback, and she couldn’t allow it to explode here. This couldn’t be personal. She had a mission to complete. A job. She had to do it to the best of her ability. Whether she lived or died didn’t matter. Only the job. It couldn’t be revenge. She couldn’t operate out of anger. She was samurai and she had been trained for this very moment.

She needed to get close to Whitney without alerting his soldiers he was in danger. That meant she had to make it clear to everyone present that it wasn’t her idea to get up and move around the restaurant. She planned out each move carefully, judging the amount of steps necessary to get in close enough to the table to use her speed to cut down Whitney’s guards and kill him. She went over and over the moves in her mind until she was certain she could execute each one perfectly and complete the mission.

She palmed the drug she’d brought and, keeping it in her hand, slid her other one up along Frankie’s thigh, fingers teasing and dancing their way higher and higher while she leaned toward him, her eyes smoldering with lust, her lips parted, tongue darting out to deliberately moisten her lower lip and give him ideas.

“Frankie. You’re so… big. I like big.” She batted her lashes, waiting for the inevitable. The moment his gaze dropped to the close proximity of her hand to his groin, she released the small vial of powder into his wine, using her body to jiggle the table. Fast acting, the powder dissolved with that small movement of the table.

“You have no idea, baby,” he murmured, leaning closer to her.

Her hand brushed his lap while the other picked up his drink and held it to his lips. Watching her, he took a drink and licked the rim suggestively. She managed another giggle. “Too bad the table doesn’t have long tablecloth. I could take care of this monster.” She petted him and continued to hold the wineglass for him.

He drank another healthy swallow, and she lowered the glass to pick up a piece of nearly bloody steak with her fingers, holding that up to his mouth, breathing heavily, her lashes at half-mast as she gave him a sultry look.

He ate the piece of steak and drew her fingers into his mouth. She laughed and handed him his wineglass while she picked up hers, holding it up so they could touch glasses. “To later. I will make you feel so good, Frankie.” She let her tongue tease her lip again. “Do you want to leave?” She knew he couldn’t, but the drug was going to take effect very soon and he’d be on fire for her.

He grabbed her hand and placed it over his hard crotch, grinding it against him. “Damn it, baby, we have to stay for a few more minutes.” He glanced toward Whitney and then over to Sheila and Melanie. All three were enjoying the great food. He leaned toward her, putting his lips against her ear. “Come with me to the men’s room.” He sounded a little desperate.

She let her eyes widen. She hastily shook her head. “Not there. The back parking lot has a little alley.” She was taking a chance arguing with him, but she couldn’t seem eager to go to the men’s room with him. After all, she was a high priced escort, not a woman on a street corner.

His hand tightened over hers. She was definitely going to have a bruise. The drug was working. Right now, it was roaring through his body, settling in his groin until he couldn’t think about anything but wanting her.

He jerked her closer. “You little bitch. You’ve been cock-teasing me all night. Get up and come with me to the men’s room.”

She drew back, pouting, shaking her head, a tiny figure next to his large, muscular body. She made certain she was on the inside so that when they passed Whitney’s table she would be close to him. She struggled a little, interspersing her pitiful resistance with hysterical giggling. There had to be a delicate balance, where anyone watching would see she didn’t want to go with Frankie. She kept breaking away and allowed herself to be recaptured as he dragged her toward the men’s room.

She counted the steps. One step. Two. She was so close. Her blood thundered in her ears. This was it. Do or die.

“Frankie, no,” she whined. “I’m not that kind of date.” She managed to stop just a few steps from Whitney’s table.

“Shut the hell up,” Frankie snapped, “and do what I say.”

Whitney looked up at her with no recognition whatsoever, but of course he wouldn’t know who she was. For a moment she wanted him to know who was going to kill him, but then discipline took over. That wasn’t important. Only getting the job done. Now she was close, close enough in another step to make her move. She took a deep breath and inhaled.

Confusion burst through her. Azami gripped Frankie tightly, fisting his belt, as shock poured through her. The man wore Whitney’s face, but no way was that him. She’d recognize his scent and would recognize the energy surrounding him anywhere. The real Whitney felt “mad” to her. Insane. This man had to be a patsy, a double, someone placed here to draw her out, and she’d nearly fallen for it. She continued to stumble along with Frankie, bile in her throat as she realized she’d nearly blown everything in her eagerness to kill Whitney.

The men’s room was looming close. Now she had to get back to her table and recover her purse and get the original job done. Furious with herself, she flicked a slight kick to the back of Frankie’s knee as he took a step forward. He stumbled and both of them went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Azami cried out, a pitiful sob, and rolled away from Frankie. She was going to have to incapacitate him without appearing to do so, return to the table, collect her purse, and ensure Melanie’s death without drawing any suspicion to her.

She glanced toward Whitney’s table. He was talking to the bodyguard on his left. Her heart jumped again. Could she be wrong? She hadn’t seen him in years, not since the trauma of her childhood. In profile this man looked exactly like Whitney, even to the curious reptilian way he moved his head. She couldn’t make a mistake and kill an innocent man. He might be duped into posing as Whitney without knowing just what Whitney was like. Most people didn’t know.

Several waiters rushed toward the couple on the floor. Frankie moaned and started to sit up, the effects of the drug making his mind slow and fuzzy. He looked very drunk. She sat, trying to look dignified and offended. The bodyguard Whitney had spoken with loomed over her, offering his hand.

“Frank, on your feet, now.” His voice was filled with authority. “And start drinking coffee.” He pulled Azami to her feet and dusted her off before the waiters got to her. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Are you all right?”

“She’s a fuckin’ escort,” Frankie hissed, slurring his words.

“Most of the women in here right now are,” the man snapped. “Go back to your table and we’ll deal with this later.”

Whitney would never have sent someone to rescue a woman, especially one he would consider a whore. She tugged her dress down and smoothed back her hair, trying to look as if she was affronted.

“I’m leaving. I just need to get my purse,” she said, loud enough for the waiter to hear. “I’ve never been treated like this before.” She pushed through the little knot of men and stormed past Whitney’s table without glancing at him. She was certain the man was nothing more than a double.

“You’d better handle this, Frank,” the bodyguard commanded.

Frank stumbled after her, apologizing as he caught up with her. “I don’t know what got into me, Lila,” he said, but his eyes burned with anger. “Stay and finish your dinner at least.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” she said, loud enough for Melanie and Sheila to overhear. “And I want to leave.”

Frank caught her wrist and twisted hard. “You little bitch,” he hissed. “I paid for you. You’re going to sit in that chair and eat your food and smile at me and when we leave here, I’m going to teach you a lesson you’re never going to forget.”

She knew Melanie and Sheila overheard him. Both of them giggled like schoolgirls. Azami teetered back toward their table, stumbling when Frank yanked her, knocking into Melanie as she did so.

Melanie shoved her hard back toward Frank. “You’re not much of a man if you can’t handle that,” she taunted, deliberately fanning Frank’s anger.

Azami moved with blurring speed, sliding one hand over Melanie’s arm as she stumbled back into Frank, her hands so fast, neither Melanie nor Sheila saw her.

Melanie scowled and rubbed her forearm. “Women like that give me the creeps.”

“She’s just making a living, Mel,” Sheila pointed out. “Just like us. If you hadn’t helped me, that could have been me.”

Melanie nudged her with a little grin. “But you like sex. You would have gone into the men’s room with him.”

Both women burst out laughing. “Bitch,” Sheila said.

Azami settled into her seat and brushed back her hair with a shaking hand, looking up at Frank imploringly through long lashes. “I just wish to go home.”

“Well, you’re not going home. You’re going to do what I tell you to do.” He pulled out his cell phone and, staring into her eyes, spoke into the phone. “Yeah, buddy. It’s me. You feel like partying with a little china doll tonight?”

Azami thought it was a miracle she managed not to roll her eyes. She was Japanese, not Chinese.

“Yeah, I got one that needs a little lesson in manners. I want her fucked up and begging to do anything I tell her by the time we’re through. Are you in?”

Azami took a sip of her wine. She thought about making another scene, throwing the wine in his face, and stalking out. She knew she could get away with it, and it was what she should do. The poison absorbing into Melanie’s skin right now would take time to work. She’d be long gone when Melanie died, and no one would connect her to the woman’s death, but now Frankie boy had just managed to bring her nasty little temper out.

There were several women in the room from the escort service she’d used for her cover. Any one of them could have drawn Frank as their customer for the evening. She knew it was a hazard of their business, but still, the man was in serious need of a lesson in manners.

“We’ll meet you out in the alley behind the restaurant. It will be fun.” Frank snapped his phone closed and grinned at her. “Won’t it, little china doll? We’ll have a fun time partying. You’ll like my buddy, Ross. He’s has a thing for women like you.”

Sheila nudged Melanie. “They’re going to hurt that girl,” she whispered.

“So what?” Melanie shrugged. “She’s probably used to it. She wouldn’t be in that business if she didn’t like it a little rough. You just told me Sam Johnson is coming home in a coffin and yet you’re all sad about a little ho. Are you going soft on me or what?”

Sheila shrugged. “I guess it reminds me of my childhood.”

“Well, stop. You’re so far above that little whore,” Melanie stated. “Do you want coffee and dessert or shall we call it a night? They have that chocolate volcano thing I love.”

“Dessert is fine,” Sheila agreed. She signaled the waiter who was hovering just to make certain Frank and Azami didn’t cause another scene. “It’s important what you do, Melanie, you know that, don’t you?”

Melanie smiled at her. “I know. Don’t worry, I’m not thinking about getting out. The money’s too good. I get paid a good salary and Whitney has my retirement set for life. One thing about working for him, he pays better than anyone I know.”

“You really have to be careful,” Sheila reiterated, afraid Melanie wasn’t listening to the warning. “We’ve lost a few people recently. I don’t want anything to happen to you. Maybe you should lie low for a while, not contact us.”

“I’m not in any danger,” Melanie said. “I work in a secure building and live in one. I don’t go out that often, and when I do, it’s usually to meet you. We’re friends. That has nothing to do with Whitney.”

“I just think it would be a good idea for you to take a few precautions,” Sheila warned. “It’s not like I have a lot of friends and now that Violet’s back in the fold, things aren’t going to go well for me. She doesn’t like women and she’s absolutely fawning over Whitney these days, like she’s mad crazy in love with him.”

“There’s always been something off about her,” Melanie said. “And you’re right to watch your back. She has a way of making people she doesn’t like disappear. Don’t get on her bad side. She’s all kitten cute to men, but pure ice and nasty with women, even in Washington, but people love her.”

“It’s her voice,” Sheila said. “I think that’s part of her enhancement. She’s one of them, you know, and for some reason, Whitney treats her differently than the others.”

“He can use her ambition,” Melanie pointed out. “But she’s dangerous, Sheila. More dangerous than Whitney. He skates around the law for the sake of advancing science for humanity and his country. Violet simply wants power. She won’t tolerate any woman around Whitney if she’s set her sights on him. Seriously, Sheila, she’s poison.”

Sheila ducked her head. “She killed the senator. She had him living like a vegetable all those months in the hopes of saving him and then she just went into his room and yanked all the equipment off of him herself. I used to feel sorry for her. I thought she really loved that man.”

“I thought so too,” Melanie said with a small frown. “I used to watch her with him and she was totally into him. She never looked at other men unless he told her to flirt with them, which, just for the record, he did. I heard him once at a party. He said to ‘go make nice’ with another senator. He wanted her to make certain the other senator sided with him on some issue. She trotted off all smiling and had the other senator eating out of her hand.”

Melanie clearly was the dominant in the relationship. Azami had studied Sheila Benet and had rarely seen her so animated with anyone. As a rule she was cool and aloof, rarely engaging even in small talk. She was Whitney’s main go-between, and Azami had hacked her computer and phone, had been in her posh apartment numerous times-even stood over her while she slept in the middle of the night.

The woman had money, but she spent little of it on anything. She wanted to belong desperately, and she’d found that belonging and sense of purpose working for Whitney. But she clearly wasn’t working for Whitney solely for the money. She wanted to keep and solidify her connection to Melanie.

Azami wondered idly how Sheila would react if she told her Melanie was already dead. There was no saving her now. Whitney and Sheila would have to recruit someone new to help murder an elite team of soldiers.

She enjoyed the salad, ignoring Frankie’s threats. The man’s head was definitely spinning now. Most of the time he just propped it up with his hands and moaned. His groin was on fire, a relentless ache that wasn’t going away any time soon and would definitely slow him down when he tried to make his move on her. She considered kicking him hard under the table and walking off, but she needed to play the entire evening out. There were a dozen escorts in the room. She might be remembered, but no one would connect her with Melanie’s death. Most likely, no one would connect the evening with Melanie’s death.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Sheila asked, her tone a little wistful.

“Not regularly. I’m looking for the right man to hook up with, someone that will be of some use to Whitney, at least whatever information I can get from him, and he’s got to be damned good in bed.” Melanie laughed. “I’m selfish, Sheila. I don’t want to have to share my apartment and time with a man. I don’t want someone permanent, so if I invest more than a night or two, he’d better have something special to offer.”

Sheila shook her head, spooning more chocolate. “Only you would say that out loud.” There was admiration in her voice.

“Well, really, I don’t need anyone. Do you want someone telling you what you can and can’t do and always questioning you on where you’re going? You call and I don’t want to bring some man along to our dinners, but he’d want to horn in.” Melanie took the spoon from Sheila and licked the chocolate off it. “That’s just not going to happen.”

“Aren’t you afraid of growing old alone?” Sheila asked.

Melanie laughed again. “I’ve got you, silly. We’ll be old ladies together, maybe get a ton of cats and rocking chairs. When we feel like it, we’ll go on those cruises and eat ourselves silly and ogle all the young men.”

Sheila nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

Melanie held up her wineglass. “To our future as little old ladies.” She smirked as she clinked her glass against Sheila’s. “Rich old ladies. Stinking rich old ladies. Maybe we’ll get a few Italian boy toys and they can feed our little pussycats for us.” She laughed merrily at her innuendo.

Azami kept the disgust from her face, sitting there with Frankie squeezing her thigh and the two women who had sent a team of soldiers to their death, toasting their own futures. She didn’t understand, especially Melanie, who saw the work the teams did all over the world, the lives they saved, how it was possible not to admire them and want to keep them safe.

And Whitney. She could barely look at his double without her stomach lurching. She found it hell sitting in that room with all of them. Whitney’s supposed soldiers, men like Frankie, with no honor. Women like Melanie and Sheila, who took money and sent men to their death while they drank wine and ate chocolate. The realization came slowly to her: Thorn didn’t belong here. She was useless to Whitney. She needed to rejoice in that. She needed to be proud of herself that she wasn’t like those two women, or these men willing to do a monster’s bidding for his money and approval.

What had she been thinking all these years? She had a father who had shown her the way to live with honor, two wonderful brothers who loved her, and Sam. Her Sam. She had a narrow escape when so many others suffered for years at Whitney’s hands. Why had she made him so big? So omnipotent? She’d allowed Whitney to color her judgment of herself for years. These people were those he considered worthy and she despised them.

Melanie and Sheila rose to leave. Melanie looked right at Azami and pursed her lips to send her a kiss. Sheila laughed. “That’s so mean, Mel.” There was a slight nervous giggle in her voice, as if she really didn’t like what her friend had done but was afraid to call her on it.

In all the time Azami had been following Sheila, no one had ever made her nervous. She’d seemed cold, without feelings and very little nerves, yet Melanie brought out her submissive nature.

Melanie deliberately winked at Frank. “You really enjoy yourself now,” she told him.

Azami realized Melanie knew she was making Sheila uncomfortable and wanted to prove she could do it. They had an interesting relationship. Sheila seemed dependent on Melanie. Once she was gone, what would happen?

Frank tightened his hold on Azami’s wrist and stumbled to his feet, jerking her close. “I do intend to have a good time, little China girl. And you’d better make me very happy. You embarrassed me tonight and no one does that to me and gets away with it.”

Azami let him yank her out of her seat. She caught up the small glittering bag, shoving it onto her wrist, allowing her hand free. Teetering on her heels, she took small, mincing steps as Frank dragged her toward him. The moment she was near the table where Melanie and Sheila had been seated, her fingers swept beneath the tabletop to acquire the tiny bug she’d planted earlier. Deftly she palmed it, allowing her purse to slide down her arm so she could shove it inside with a poke of her finger.

Frank was going to learn a little lesson in how to treat a lady when they reached the back parking lot. She hoped they’d get there before his friend, so she would be long gone and his friend could escort him to the hospital.

“Stop struggling or it will be worse for you,” Frank hissed, giving her a little shake as they approached the table where the Whitney double was standing to leave.

“A little anticlimactic,” the Whitney double said to his bodyguard. “I don’t know what I expected, but the meal was good.” He gave a little laugh.

She noted that the bodyguard ignored him. Whoever the man was, he was considered disposable. He’d been nothing but bait and no way were the bodyguards there to protect him. He would have been sacrificed in a heartbeat. Had she made her move on the Whitney double, the “bodyguards’” sole purpose would have been to kill her, not save him.

Out in the night air, Frank’s head cleared enough that he realized if anything happened to her, the waiters had seen his face. He didn’t care much if they identified him, the records would show he had died in South America two years prior, but still… He pulled Azami in close to him and walked her quickly toward the back parking lot.

She went willingly across the asphalt, weaving through the few cars there toward the narrowing alley. A broken wooden fence partially hid the alley behind the parking lot. The gate, hanging by one bracket, was long gone, splintered and broken like much of the fence. Frank thrust her through it and paused to lean against the rickety wood, sweat breaking out on his face. Every step had to be painful with his groin so full and heat rushing through his body, elevating his temperature.

Azami took the opportunity to step away from him, kicking off her heels as her heart sank. Not one but two men were already waiting, wearing evil grins. She was really growing tired of the entire mess. Frank would present no problem to her. He could barely stand, but these two men were a different story.

He grinned at the two men. “Ross, I see you brought a friend. The more the merrier.”

Ross laughed. “Damn right.”

Her phone buzzed in her purse. She pulled it out and looked down at the text.

Team Two called out of the country.

She sighed. There was no way that was a coincidence. If most of Team Two was away as Daiki indicated, that left both compounds vulnerable-and that left the babies at risk.

“Gentlemen, I’m going to give you a chance here and just say, let’s call this a misunderstanding. Frank is in no shape to party and I’m not really up for it, so let’s just all go home while you still can.”

The grins faded. She wasn’t running, screaming, or in the least bit scared. Frank made a grab for her and she slapped his hand away and slammed her foot into his groin. He shrieked and went down hard, the breath exploding out of him along with a sound much like an animal in pain. He lay writhing on the ground, holding his groin, the scream fading to moans.

The two men separated, Ross pulling a gun, the other a knife.

“You bitch. I’m going to fuck you up so bad no one will ever want to look at you again,” the one with the knife said.

“Like I haven’t heard that before,” Azami said.

“Don’t you move,” Ross warned. “I’ll gut shoot you and we’ll still fuck your brains out before you die. You’ll just die hard.”

Frank staggered to his feet behind her. She could hear his continual cursing directly behind her. She took three steps toward the gunmen and then put on a burst of speed, angling toward the man with the knife just as the gun went off.

Frank folded in half, screaming, a crimson stain spreading across his groin. She slapped the knife hand away as she went in, the tiny one-inch blade a ridiculous contrast to his ten-inch blade, but razor sharp, it went into the side of his neck easily. She turned the blade as she withdrew it, twisting behind the man as the gunman fired again at her. His second shot hit his buddy in the chest.

Azami kept moving, coming up behind Ross while he was still firing shots at the spot behind his falling buddy.

“Oh, no, oh, no,” he chanted over and over, but continued firing as if his finger was stuck on the trigger.

She took him from behind, slicing his throat and stepping back quickly, moving out of his sight so that the shots wouldn’t have a chance of hitting her.

She waited until the last shot had been fired and all three men lay still on the ground before she collected her heels and went over the fence to walk calmly away. She walked several blocks until she found a dark doorway. Quickly she shimmied out of the dress and pulled off the wig, sweeping her hair back in a ponytail. She wore a spaghetti tank under the dress. From her small bag she took out a pair of trousers rolled tight. The dress was rolled and put in her bag, the wig shoved in it as deeply as possibly. Scrubbing her face clean with the wipes, she pulled out her phone to text her brother.

On my way.

She came out of the doorway looking like any teenager out to meet friends.