Kate Donovan - Exit Strategy

So she slipped her arms around Combes’s neck and murmured, “I’m not feeling like much of a lady at the moment. Indulge me, won’t you? Let’s see the show.”

His gray eyes darkened with unmistakable arousal. “Whatever you wish, my dear. I’ll indulge you, and then perhaps, you’ll return the favor.”

“Great.” Another peel of laughter told her Gresley and his girlfriend were becoming more entertaining by the second, and she was determined to find out what was going on. If nothing else, it would help her know what to do when she hooked up with him the next night. So she darted across the room ahead of Combes and sidled through the doorway into the meeting room to find a group of boisterous males, drinks and cigars in hand, watching a man who was seated. In front of the man was a scantily clad young woman, kneeling in a position that left little doubt about the nature of the “show.”

Miranda didn’t even attempt to stifle her gasp of horror as she stared at the couple. She was only dimly aware of the other onlookers, and when Combes laid a hand on her arm, she shook it off as though he were the lowest form of pest.

She wanted to look away, but her gaze was trapped by the leering expression of the man staring down at his “girlfriend.”

Alexander Gresley, forty-one years of age, twice divorced, a billionaire financier with a ruthless reputation and a supposed fondness for women. The picture in the file had perfectly captured his round face, thinning black hair, and a precisely manicured moustache. But nothing in the file could have prepared Miranda for Gresley’s depravity.

“Miranda?” Combes whispered.

The sound of her name roused her, and she noticed that the other men in the room were now looking at her rather than the X-rated display. Outraged, she sent a disgusted glare in every direction, and was about to stomp out of the room when Gresley raised his eyes and noticed her for the first time.

She wanted to spit in his direction, but settled for raising her chin in a gesture of dismissal. Then she spun on her heels and stormed back into the card room, ignoring Combes’s pleas that she wait for him. Striding down the hall and through the alcove, she burst through the double doors, announcing to the tall guard who had admitted her, “I’m leaving. Please don’t give my name or number to any of those lowlifes.”

“What happened?” he demanded, trailing her as she sped down the stairs. “Did someone make an improper advance?”

“Improper? I doubt they know the meaning of the word.”

He caught her gently by the arm. “Do you want to speak to the manager? If Mr. O’Neill complains, we’ll need to know the facts-”

“Just call me a cab. I’ll be in the rest room, composing myself. If that fool Combes asks for me, tell him I’m gone.”

“Whatever you say, Miss Duncan. I’ll have Edward drive you personally. We’re terribly sorry-”

“Tell Edward I’ll meet him outside.” She hurried to the ladies room in the general casino, and after double-checking that she was alone, she dialed Kristie’s number.

“This is S-3. Please identify yourself.”

“Kristie? It’s me. I only have a minute, but I need you to get me a flight out of here. I can be packed and at the airport in two hours.”

“You don’t sound happy,” the spinner told her sympathetically.

“Long story short? We’re aborting this part of the op because Gresley is a depraved pig. Believe me, you don’t want to know more.”

“Oh, no! Miranda, I’m sorry. I mean, we knew he was sort of a pig, right? But depraved? As in kinky?”

“Depraved as in liking an audience when he gets his rocks off. No chance of me getting him alone and then charming the pants off him-the pants come off first! And as much as I want the identity of the Brigadier, I’m not getting it on my knees, if you get my drift.”

“Yuck! Where are you?”

“In the bathroom at the Fortuna,” Miranda said. “They’re bringing a car around for me because I made a scene. I’ll take a cab from my hotel to the airport.”

“Okay, good. In two hours, you’ll be on your way back home, safe and sound.”

“No. Not home. Geneva.” Miranda heard female voices and muttered, “I’ve got company. I’ll call again from the hotel. Bye.”

Leaving the stall, she saw two young women fixing their makeup and giggling in front of a mirror, crowing about their victories, both romantic and gambling. She was tempted to warn them-to insist they run screaming from the building before they fell into Gresley’s clutches-then she scolded herself for overreacting.

It was just a shock, that’s all. Get a grip. Start thinking about Jonathan Kell. He may be a strange guy, but he can’t possibly be as repulsive as Gresley!

Smiling grimly, she splashed some water on her face, but it didn’t help. She needed fresh air, so she hurried back into the casino and strode quickly toward the mirrored entryway.

“Miss Duncan!”

Miranda whirled toward the unfamiliar male voice, determined to take the speaker’s head off, especially if it was some obsequious manager pretending to be shocked that a group of distinguished English gentlemen had misbehaved. She wasn’t really ready to speak to any man just yet, with the possible exception of Edward. And even he wouldn’t be safe unless he had his car keys in his hand and a very submissive expression on his face.

But the face that greeted her was far from submissive. In fact, in its own way, it was chilling.

It was also disgustingly familiar.

It was Alexander Gresley.

Recovering quickly, Miranda gave her former target a disdainful stare. “You must have a death wish.”

Gresley surprised her by chuckling. “Apparently. But I couldn’t allow you to leave without apologizing. Believe me, Miss Duncan, that particular event was not intended for eyes as hauntingly beautiful as yours.”

“Puh-leese. Is that supposed to make you seem less slimy? Because FYI, it’s having the opposite effect.” She glanced toward the doorway. “My chariot awaits, so buzz off.”

He moved to block her retreat. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

“The Prince of Darkness?”

“In some circles, as Dante would say.” He flashed a self-impressed grin. “But I can also be generous and contrite. I’m hoping you’ll allow me to demonstrate one, if not both, qualities.”

Miranda licked her lips, carefully evaluating this development. Gresley possessed information she needed to resuscitate her career. And given his demeanor and interest, she had a feeling he’d behave himself, at least for a day or so, if only to redeem his image before launching any offensive attacks.

On the minus side, she could barely look at him without retching. That wasn’t a good sign. She hadn’t actually vomited over a man since that incident with Runyon a year earlier, but it was still fairly fresh in her mind.

But that was before you and Ortega made up. And before you started doing the breathing exercises. You’re calmer now. More balanced. Take a deep breath, then exploit this creep the way he exploited that poor girl in the meeting room. Call it karma. Call it justice. Or just call it serendipity, ’cause he’s standing right there, Miranda, and he’s your ticket outta escort duty.

“Don’t make me beg,” Gresley was saying, his voice soft with lust. “From the moment I first saw you, staring at me, judging me, I knew we were destined to become good friends. We just need to bypass this unfortunate introduction.”

Without giving Miranda a chance to respond, he pulled her business card out of his pocket and exhibited it to her as if to remind her he was a potential customer, and presumably a lucrative catch. Then he murmured, “Tell me what you want. I’ll give you anything.”