Kristin Gabriel - Seduced In Seattle

“What?”

“A skirt.”

Brock waited for the punchline, but Dooley just kept grinning at him. “A skirt?”

“That’s right. And get this…I received another inquiry about obtaining the same skirt. Only this customer was too skittish to give his name and quickly backed off when I quoted him our usual fee.”

Brock held up one hand. “Wait just a minute. What the hell are you talking about? What skirt?”

“A woman’s black skirt. Made out of some weird kind of black fabric with a zipper in the back and a slit up the left side. I’ve tracked the skirt from New York City to Houston and now my sources tell me it’s reached Seattle. Your mission is to secure this skirt and turn it over to our client in Calabra as soon as possible.”

Brock stared at him for a long moment, then laughed “Sully put you up to this, didn’t he? He’s still peeved because I found that old Egyptian papyrus after he’d been searching for it for eight months.”

“This is legit, Brock.”

“Come on, Dooley. Give me a break. A skirt? Now, if I was supposed to find a woman in a skirt, that might be a different story. I do have certain skills in that area.”

“And you might need them for this job. I told you it was bizarre.”

Brock stared at him over the rim of his mug. “You’re serious.”

“Damn serious. Apparently, there is a rare thread that the natives of Calabra believe has special powers. This thread is woven throughout the fabric of the skirt. It was never supposed to leave the island.”

Brock still wasn’t buying it. “Special powers? Are we talking about voodoo?”

Dooley shook his head. “More like a love charm or some such nonsense. According to this client, whenever a man sees a woman wearing this skirt, he’s entranced forever. The client’s afraid of the havoc the skirt could wreak on an unsuspecting public. Or at least, that’s the story she’s telling.”

Brock grimaced. “A skirt that binds a man to a woman forever. Sounds like my worst nightmare.”

Dooley chuckled. “It’s all a bunch of superstition. I’m still amazed at what people will spend their money on. But apparently this client has tried other avenues to secure the skirt and failed. I promised her that you could get the job done.”

“I’ll admit I’ve been called a skirt chaser a time or two, but never quite this literally.”

“It gets better. Or worse, depending on how you look at it.”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess. I have to find matching shoes for the skirt?”

“No, but you do know the woman who has it. Kate Talavera.”

Brock stilled. “Now you have to be joking.”

“Afraid not, Brock.”

He leaned forward. “Are you telling me Kate stole the skirt?”

Dooley shook his head. “No, nothing like that. It’s been passed through several people since it was smuggled into the country.”

Brock breathed a silent sigh of relief. He didn’t want to think of Kate, or any of the Talaveras, involved in something ugly. Their warmth and friendship was one of the few memories he had that was untarnished.

Brock pushed his beer away. “Why didn’t you tell me the Talaveras were involved right from the start?”

“Because I was afraid you wouldn’t hear me out.”

“You were right.” He stood up. “You’ll have to find somebody else to do this job.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?” Dooley asked as Brock headed toward the door.

He slowly turned around and moved back to the table, his jaw clenched. “I’m not going to steal from the Talaveras. I’m not going to lie to them, either. And you know I’d have to do both to do this job.”

“I know it,” Dooley said bluntly. “And I know they’re important to you. Hell, that’s why I came to you first. You know better than anybody that I don’t tell my people how to do their job. If someone else goes out on this assignment, then it’s completely out of my control. They’ll use whatever methods are necessary to get the skirt. And you know what that means.”

Dooley didn’t have to spell it out. Brock knew all too well that Kate or any of the Talaveras could possibly be hurt in the process. Kate’s home could be ransacked. Or worse.

“Hell, Dooley.” Brock raked one hand through his hair. “I don’t want to do this.”

“That invitation to the anniversary party is the perfect opening. Make a vacation of it. Catch up with some old friends.”

Brock shook his head. “No way. I’m going to find the skirt and get out of Seattle. If I’m lucky, none of the Talaveras will even know I was there.”

“Does this mean you’re taking the mission?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Dooley squinted up at him, his head cocked to one side. “You always have a choice. You can just walk away. Pretend I never even brought it up.”

But Brock knew that would be impossible now. “Do I have any competition to worry about? Did the second caller go looking for a better deal?”

“It’s possible,” Dooley said slowly. “Did you know the Weasel is going solo now?”

Brock nodded. “I heard something about it.” The Weasel was a mercenary who had worked for a top agency in London. But he was too volatile, so they’d let him go. Now he was working out of the U.S., making cut-rate deals to drum up business. The Weasel didn’t care who he hurt to accomplish a mission. Brock didn’t even want to think about what would happen if Kate Talavera got in the Weasel’s way.

All his old memories about the Talaveras came flooding back. Part of him wanted to see them again, although he knew Tony was in Brazil now, working for an export company and recently married. How would Tony feel if he knew Kate was in possible danger? And that Brock had turned his back on her?

Brock picked up his mug off the table and drained it. “I’ll take the mission.”

“Good.” Dooley held up his beer. “To success.”

Brock had never failed at a mission yet. The key was proper planning and keeping a cool head. Tomorrow, he’d catch a plane to Seattle. Then he’d scope out the territory. The first item on his agenda was locating Kate’s residence. Hopefully, she’d be in the telephone directory, making his job a little easier. If not, well he still had a few contacts in Seattle. He’d find her place one way or the other.

After that, his job would be simple. He’d wait until the house was empty, then search the place until he found the skirt. If he was lucky, and he’d depended on luck more than once in this job, he’d be on an airplane to Calabra by tomorrow night.

So why did Brock have a sinking sensation that his luck had just run out?

KATE STOOD in front of a long mirror in her old bedroom, staring at the new secret weapon in her fashion arsenal. The skirt she’d caught at Gwen’s wedding fit perfectly. She turned to the side, thrilled that the mended seam was invisible, thanks to her mother. The thread she’d used was almost an identical match. Almost.

The question was, did the skirt still work?

Her stomach grumbled, reminding her that it was her lunch hour. A meeting planner for one of the biggest hotels in Seattle, she normally munched on leftovers from business brunches. But the hotel was full of prospective models today, interviewing for a local talent agency, so the catering menu had been limited to baby carrots, assorted dried fruits, and bottled spring water.

A diet she’d endured herself during her college years, trying to shed all those unwanted pounds she’d carried around as a teenager. A combination of low self-esteem and an Italian mother who loved to cook had led Kate to balloon up to almost two hundred pounds by the time she was fifteen years old.

Now she was a perfect size ten, the same size, ironically, as her petite mother, who never gained an ounce from the high calorie meals she made. Kate smiled to herself, remembering how Rose had entreated her to move home again after Kate’s apartment building had been sold to a condominium developer. She’d gained five pounds just thinking about it. So instead, she’d chosen to stay in a suite the hotel made available to its employees.