Lyn Stone - Kiss or Kill

It wasn’t entirely her looks that fascinated him, but more the way she carried herself, handled herself and met every challenge. She woke something in him that had lain dormant all his adult life. Not that he wasn’t interested in women, just that he had never before craved anything more than a very temporary hookup.

He wanted her. There was also this odd, almost compelling urge to befriend her. He couldn’t thank her for that. Hell, he didn’t make friends. He didn’t need them. But there was something about her that he knew he couldn’t leave alone. Not this time.

She had this bit of vulnerability that he figured no one saw but him, hidden as it was in those whiskey-colored eyes that would make a man as drunk as the real stuff if he drank too deeply.

Her hair had been longer and silky two years ago. Now it was chopped in a chin-length spiky hairdo he found rather silly. What man would want to run his hands through gelled spikes? Still, even that anomaly flattered her features.

Yes, she was a beauty, especially with the added fire of her attitude. Alert, interested and therefore wildly interesting. He couldn’t ignore that heavenly body, toned to slender perfection. He remembered her in the gym, slick with sweat and wearing only a sports bra and shorts. The memory threatened to activate his own sweat glands.

He had to exercise strict discipline and keep this under control. He was older now, more committed than ever to the mission he had sworn to complete and no woman was going to get in his way. Not even this one who affected him more than any other ever had. The fact that she had that effect made him slightly angry with her. Or perhaps with himself.

Mark climbed the stairs and gave the knock as she’d instructed, fully aware that she might try to kill him the instant he entered the room. It would be interesting to see which of them had benefited most by their Langley training. He was fairly sure he could take her, but not absolutely certain of it. That only added to the mystique.

She opened the door and stepped aside, gesturing him to come in. “You’re a real piece of work, Alexander. Have been for a very long time. Must have made a distinct impression on Sonny when he made those calls. Sit down,” she said, indicating the two chairs placed near the room’s one window. She remained standing. “Why was your name deleted from the course records? There is no mention of your training, training I know you had.”

“What training would that be?” He glanced meaningfully at the window, reminding her that anyone with a parabolic microphone could be listening to every word.

“Don’t worry, this place has been screened to hell and back, as well as those buildings across the street. No ears. No cameras. I’m very thorough.”

“And quite mysterious,” he commented. “Apparently you don’t even exist other than in my feverish imagination.”

Her full lips quirked at his sarcasm. “Feverish? Why, Mark, I’m so flattered.”

He smiled back. “No birth, no schooling, no employment, not even a driving license.” He recalled the ride here. “But that last bit I can well understand.”

“You might have found something under my maiden name had you bothered to ask what it is.”

Mark was already shaking his head. “You weren’t married, either. Not officially anyway.”

She strolled to the window and raked back the sheer curtain to look down at the street below. “What’s your real agenda here?”

He stood and headed for the door. “Food, bath, sleep, in that order.”

She dropped the curtain and headed his way. “There’s a café several doors down that’s open late. Food’s cheap but edible.”

He was a bit surprised at how easily she acquiesced but held the door for her to exit first. “So long as we won’t need to drive there.”

They took the stairs at a fast clip, Mark preceding her as she insisted.

He found himself actually looking forward to spending time with Renee, an unusual turn for him to take when he knew very well he ought to be working this alone. He always worked alone. He didn’t like having to worry about anyone else’s safety. Or their potential for making mistakes.

She would only get in his way, distract him, maybe even get one or both of them killed if Trip was around and in his usual form.

He thought about how ironic it was that the very lack of available information about their previous occupations in intel had virtually verified their loyalties.

What a strange world it had become. At any rate, Mark felt like celebrating the fact that he didn’t have to kill her.

They exited the building and she turned left. Mark walked beside her, confident they had a sort of truce going on.

“If the wine proves drinkable, perhaps we could have a little toast,” he suggested. “Something along the lines of good health and long life.”

“Or world peace,” she said with an inelegant snort that made him laugh.

“Ah, but then we’d both be out of work, love.”

She stopped, halting him with a hand on his arm. “Did you cross over, Alexander?”

“Did you, Leblanc?”

For a long moment, she stared into his eyes, then threw her trust at him like a fast ball. “No, I didn’t. I’m working.”

He almost groaned. Was she mad? She must be to grant him that much information without even knowing him. “So I suppose this is where I declare undying love for my country and promise to fight evil to the death?”

She inclined her head and pursed her lips. “Yeah, Mark, this is the place where you do that. Only you had better make me believe you.”

“Or you’ll do what?”

She smiled and managed to look downright evil. “Or I will kill you. Right where you stand.”

It was only then that Mark felt the gun barrel prod his belly.

Chapter 3

“Deborah, you try to make me jealous? Is this why you hired Alexander? I do not trust him in spite of the glowing recommendations.”

“Do not try my patience, Sonny,” she warned. She watched him study her face and knew he wondered who she really was. If he knew, he would be more afraid than he already was. Cassandra DuMont held more power in her small, soft hands than this man could ever imagine. She toyed with the idea of telling him, but decided against it.

Sonnegut was a tool. The double entendre of a thought made her smile as she stroked his sweaty brow. She raked a beautifully manicured nail along his cheek, scraping the roughness of stubble that had caused a delicious burn moments earlier. In bed, he was unequaled, even by John Trip. Trip’s value lay in his inventiveness. Sonny’s size and boundless energy provided an interesting contrast.

He kissed her gently. “You are such a soft, cultured creature, Deborah. Not at all like the women I am used to.”

“Soft?” She laughed at that. “Only on the surface, darling.”

He sighed and lay back, one hand behind his head, the other toying with her breast. “Ah, yes, there are times when I glimpse the steel beneath your charms.”

At the moment, lying with him on silk sheets in her fancy rococo bed, she was soft and wearing nothing but a contented feline smile.

He exhausted her, helped her to sleep soundly, a feat for which she had amply rewarded him. This walk on the wild side had worked in that respect. She loved the edginess of it, operating in disguise, meeting in dark places, the risks of leaving behind the protection of who and what she was.

Becoming Deborah Martine allowed her a certain freedom and keen excitement that she lacked as Cassandra DuMont, doting mother to her son and the chief executive of her family business. Also, this little vacation afforded a perfect opportunity for another, even deadlier strike against Corbett Lazlo. She would give him his own mini version of nine-eleven and bury his people beneath tons of steel and stone.