Debra Webb - Striking Distance

For just a second it kind of annoyed her that she found not a glimmer of approval in his eyes. She was standing there naked but for the robe, and he didn’t even notice. God knew that she’d absorbed every damned detail about him. Black T-shirt beneath a pale blue cotton button-up shirt. The telltale bulge of the weapon he wore, well-fitting jeans and those made-for-traction ankle boots. If she hadn’t enjoyed the perusal so much she could have chalked it up to merely being part of her job. But the heat funneling beneath her belly button made a liar out of her. She pushed the disturbing sensation away.

“What kind of job?”

“You need money, right?” He said this as he surveyed what he could see of her apartment. It was a nice enough place and wasn’t the reason he asked the question. She remembered telling him that she didn’t have a job yet and was pretty much broke from coughing up her share of the rent.

“Yeah, I need money,” she said bluntly. “But not badly enough to do anything illegal.” She looked him up and down, pausing briefly at his crotch. She looked away just as quickly. Either the guy stayed aroused all the time or he was extremely well endowed. Why she would notice and why it would have such an effect was beyond her. What the hell was wrong with her?

“There’s nothing to worry about.” He offered her the shopping bag he carried. “Put this on.”

Still trying to read his expression, which was impossible, she accepted the bag that turned out to be a good deal heavier than it looked. Inside was a brown uniform. “What’s this?” Her senses moved to a higher state of alert. Even folded up as it was she recognized the delivery-service getup.

“I’d like you to make a delivery for me. It’s very simple.”

“What kind of delivery?”

When he looked at her this time, there was no way to miss his impatience. That he allowed her to see the emotion surprised her and served as a warning at the same time.

“Don’t ask so many questions.”

She shrugged and headed to the bedroom with the bag in hand. For a second or two she allowed the elation of his return to bolster the nagging worry over where this might be headed. For the moment he was back, and that was all that mattered.

Moving quickly, she dragged on a pair of panties and a bra. Surprisingly the uniform was a good fit. Maybe he’d noticed more than he’d let on. The weight in the bag was the shoes. He’d thought of everything.

She brushed her hair and pulled it up with a claw clip, grabbed her purse and sunglasses and readied for whatever the hell he had in mind.

He waited right where she’d left him. Maverick and Ramon would know whether he’d looked around. She would find out later.

Seth scrutinized her from head to toe. “Perfect.”

“Why not just have the package delivered in the usual manner?” she asked as they exited her apartment.

“I have my reasons.”

She locked her door and followed him to the stairs. Fourteen floors, either the guy had a phobia where elevators were concerned or he didn’t want to get trapped in one in case he had to make a run for it.

He didn’t speak again even after they were in his SUV and headed into city traffic, which was no big surprise. He only spoke when he had something to say or she forced a response out of him. She occupied herself with attempting to determine their destination.

A few minutes later he parked in the lot of a large office building right off the Magnificent Mile, Chicago’s main street of shops, restaurants and ritzy office buildings.

He reached into the back seat and picked up a package. Eight-by-ten, she estimated. Wrapped in a plain brown paper. Addressed to... She leaned toward him slightly to read the name and address.

The name slammed into her with all the force of a runaway train.

Victoria Colby.

She was his mark.

“You know...” Calm, stay calm. She forced her heart rate back to a normal pace and focused on slowing her respiration. She couldn’t let him see that she recognized the name. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

He nodded toward the building. “Fourth floor. The elevator opens right into the Colby Agency lobby,” he went on as if she’d said nothing. “Ask for Victoria Colby. Don’t let anyone else sign for the package except her. Do you understand?”

She moistened her suddenly dry lips. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that he’d just said more to her at one time than any other time since they’d met. “What’s in the package? You’re sure—”

“Go.” He pushed the package and an electronic clipboard toward her and pressed her with a gaze that warned her not to argue. “Now.”

She took the package and the clipboard and climbed out of the SUV. She walked slowly across the parking lot, praying that Maverick had her location. She forced her mind to consider what could be in the package. It felt a little light for any kind of elaborate explosive. A detonator would be required. But then again there were all kinds of lightweight devices. She considered the possibility of some sort of poison. Something absorbed through the skin or inhaled like anthrax.

Resisting the impulse to scan the lot for Maverick’s vehicle, she opened the main door and stepped inside. She strode straight up to the lobby desk.

“I have a package for Victoria Colby,” she said in as professional a tone as she could manage. He could be listening, watching even. Who knew what sort of gadgets he could have added to the innocuous-looking uniform. There’d been no time to check it out thoroughly.

“Fourth floor,” the watchman said without even asking for ID.

It was the uniform. It was too much a part of everyday life for anyone to give it a second thought.

Tasha went to the bank of elevators and pressed the call button. She let her respiration and heart rate increase faster and faster as a signal to Maverick that something was wrong. By the time she reached the fourth floor, her skin felt flushed and she’d all but hyperventilated. Even if Seth had some way of monitoring her now, he would expect her to be nervous going in.

The receptionist greeted her with a smile and a pleasant, “May I help you?”

“I have a delivery for Victoria Colby.”

The receptionist reached for the package. “I’ll take it for you.”

Tasha knew a moment’s panic. “I’m sorry,” she said, grabbing back control. “Ms. Colby has to personally sign for the package.”

“Oh.” The woman’s expression turned to one of confusion, or maybe irritation. She pointed to the corridor on Tasha’s right. “Her secretary’s office is the first one on the left.”

Tasha forced a smile. “Thank you.”

She passed a couple of people in the corridor, both male and wearing suits. Colby Agency investigators, Tasha presumed. Each one surveyed her thoroughly before moving on. She wanted to scream, “Doesn’t anyone suspect anything is wrong here?” But she only smiled stiffly.

“Good afternoon. You have a delivery?” This from a pleasant-looking middle-aged lady whose name plate read, Mildred Parker.

“Yes, for Victoria Colby.”

“Well, generally the receptionist would sign for any packages,” she offered kindly.

Tasha glanced at the clipboard. “The sender requested that Ms. Colby sign for the package personally.”

“Very well.”

The secretary stood and moved toward the door on the other side of the room. Tasha followed. The older woman knocked once and pushed it open.

“Victoria, there’s a special delivery for you. This young lady needs you to sign for it.”

Mildred opened the door wider and stepped to one side for Tasha to enter.

Her pulse racing, Tasha met the dark gaze focused on her from the other side of the massive mahogany desk. So this was Victoria Colby. She looked every bit as dignified and sophisticated as Tasha had expected.