Seduced In Seattle. Kristin Gabriel

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СКАЧАТЬ to Boston, to Dooley’s, although he didn’t really have anywhere that he could call home.

      Brock’s boss worked out of this bar, owned it in fact, having retired from the mercenary field himself. Now Sam Dooley simply supervised the missions, assigning the best man or woman in his employ to the job, and taking a small percentage of the fee for himself.

      A haunting Irish melody emanated from the jukebox and two men sat at the long oak bar, each of them staring into his mug of dark beer. The sound of a woman’s laughter drew Brock’s attention toward the back of the bar. A billiard game was in progress and he spotted the snow-white hair of his boss as he bent over the table to rack up the balls.

      Brock ordered a beer, then ambled over to an empty booth to wait until the billiards game ended. He wasn’t in any hurry. He’d spent enough nights in empty hotel rooms to appreciate the change of scenery.

      Thirty minutes later, Dooley approached the table. “Well, hell, Gannon. Why didn’t you let me know you were here?”

      Brock nodded to the two women at the billiards table. “Looked to me like you were busy.”

      “You could have joined us.” Dooley sat down across from him, raking his shaggy white hair off his forehead. “Made it a party.”

      Brock shook his head. “I have to catch a plane early tomorrow morning. Although you didn’t mention where you’re sending me this time.”

      “Seattle.”

      Brock picked up his beer and took a long swallow. He knew Dooley was watching him, waiting for a reaction. Too bad he’d be disappointed. Seattle was now just another pit stop in a long line of cities. London, Chicago, Toronto. They all blended together after awhile.

      He’d grown up around Navy bases in different parts of the country, including Whidbey Island. His mother was a Navy groupie, taking dead-end jobs in towns near a base in hopes of enticing an enlisted man into marriage. She’d caught five, but thrown them back when they’d failed to make her happily ever after. His own father hadn’t even bothered to stick around long enough to see Brock born. Dooley was just one of the four stepfathers who had tried to fill the void. His favorite one.

      “Speaking of Seattle, I talked to your mother on the telephone yesterday.” Dooley motioned to the waitress for another round of beers. “She told me she received an invitation to the Talaveras fortieth anniversary party. You’re invited, too.”

      Brock nodded, though he had no intention of going. He’d cut all ties with Seattle the day he’d left twelve years ago. Dooley knew all about the Talaveras. Knew how close Brock had been to them before he enlisted in the Navy in the middle of his senior year. Tony Talavera had been his best friend the three years Brock had lived in Seattle. Tony’s family had opened up their home to him.

      He stared at his empty beer mug, remembering Sid and Rose and Katie the Pest, Tony’s little sister. She used to have her nose buried in those gothic romances, escaping to her room whenever Tony would tease her about them. It all seemed like such a long time ago.

      Their waitress approached, breaking his reverie. Brock sat back and waited until she had set the frosty beer mugs down in front of them and walked away again. “So tell me about this mission.”

      One corner of Dooley’s mouth twitched. “It’s a little unusual.”

      “Then it sounds like my kind of job.” Brock’s special skills as a military tracker had made him one of Dooley’s best operatives.

      At first, Brock had thrived on the recovery work. The travel to exotic locations. The one-night stands with beautiful, mysterious women. But somewhere along the way, his job had lost its allure. It all just seemed so pointless.

      He’d thought about quitting, since he didn’t really need the money anymore. But then what? Brock knew he was at a turning point in his life. Unfortunately, he had no idea which direction to go.

      He leaned back against the booth. “Who’s the client?”

      Dooley took a swig of his beer, then wiped the foam off his upper lip. “A native of Calabra.”

      Brock knew about the tiny island nestled in the Caribbean. The people liked to keep to themselves, never exploiting their beautiful beaches or tropical forests for the hordes of tourists that flocked to the other, more well-known islands. Few people even knew of Calabra’s existence.

      “This woman is one of the candidates in a special election there,” Dooley continued. “Apparently, she believes recovering the item will win her votes. She promised to pay top dollar and kept emphasizing the importance of keeping this transaction confidential.”

      Brock arched a brow. “Don’t we always?”

      Dooley nodded, then picked up his mug and grinned. “But guess what she wants?”

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ