Spies, Lies & Naked Thighs. Jina Bacarr

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СКАЧАТЬ he was being tailed. Never once was the rabbit in the black—surveillance-free for more than a few seconds. The man wasn’t easily fooled, seeming to look at no one but keeping his eye out for any attention directed his way. Disguised as a punk with a spiked, black-crow haircut and patch over one eye, Caine had been closer to him than his shadow and he never knew. Until now. And why, why?

      Her.

      What the hell is she doing here? I thought I’d sent her ass packing. Now she’s lying half-naked across the bed, all melting flesh and big breasts, the smell of her desire driving me crazy.

      She’d turned him on in that alley with her sassy attitude and curvaceous body, her breasts spilling out of that tight corset and nearly into his hands. He rubbed his fingers together, remembering jamming his knee between her legs and crushing her breasts against his chest. But that wasn’t what made him change his plans and follow her into the hotel. When she turned her head a certain way and raised up her buttocks, something clicked in his brain, as if he’d seen her somewhere. But his brain failed to connect the time or place when he rubbed up against her, smelled her, touched her.

      He couldn’t believe it when she headed for the Russian’s room. He was certain she was walking head-on into a cover stop—a planned diversion by the Russian to cover up his real purpose. The ex-KGB agent would stop at nothing short of murder if she didn’t fit into his plans.

      “Beautiful, isn’t she?” said the Russian. Taking his time, running his hands over the curve of her buttocks, he snapped the tight red thong separating her cheeks. Her butt jiggled, pleasing Caine’s eye, but she didn’t wince. She didn’t feel the slap of the elastic band.

      “Yeah. Primo ass.” Caine swallowed and nodded toward the strutting call girl lying unconscious on the bed as still and quiet as if she were bound and gagged. In spite of the situation, he grinned. Not a bad idea. He’d almost grabbed the hemp rope hanging from her belt earlier with a similar idea in mind. Now he wished he had. She’d be tied up in a rented room and out of danger and waiting for him. “What did you put in her drink? Or did you use a syringe?”

      Did the Russian jab her in the thigh with a sleep-inducing drug? It was quick and done so discreetly she wouldn’t have seen it coming.

      The Russian gave him a smirking look and he could tell he reveled in his application of tradecraft. “I sprayed a synthetic opioid in her ear.”

      Caine tensed. “Fentanyl?”

      “Yes. A favorite of mine,” drawled the Russian. “Much more potent than a Valium-type drug.”

      Caine darted his eyes again on the gorgeous girl. He was no doctor, but he’d seen army medics administer the drug on the battlefield. It was a powerful anesthetic used in small, controlled doses to manage pain. Its effects were similar to nerve gas or heroin and hundreds of times more potent.

      He said, “An overdose is usually fatal.”

      “Not always.” The Russian patted his jacket pocket. “I have the overdose kit right here. She’ll survive.”

      “Unless you don’t intend to give it to her.”

      “Are you calling me a liar?”

      Caine stared at him. Hard. Was he telling the truth? If not, he didn’t have much time. If the opioid was comparable to what the Mossad used in assassination attempts, she could suffer from respiratory collapse and be dead in a matter of hours. He had no doubt that was exactly what the Russian intended. Why? Something didn’t add up. Yet he didn’t have the time to react to the man’s accusation. He had a job to do, and damn this girl for getting in the way.

      “I have no choice but to play along with your sexual diversions.” Caine kept his cool, though a chill ran through him. “What bothers me is the girl might be dead before I take my turn with her.”

      The ex-KGB agent shook his head, then smiled with a toothy grin that unnerved Caine, something that rarely happened. “She’ll sleep until I awaken her.” A grunt, then a groan spewed from his mouth. “With my cock.”

      His stomach turned and bile rose in his throat as Caine fought back a rising disgust for the terrorist. Instead he said, “Then you’re not going to share her?”

      The Russian punched him in the ribs. Hard. “This one is mine. Get your own pussy.”

      “Fuck you. I want her.” Caine shoved him back, careful not to push him too hard. He didn’t intend to be on the receiving end of a knuckle blow to the throat. If he allowed his dick to rule, he’d be putting his head in a trap. He was operating in a red zone—enemy territory—and he could expect no mercy if the Russian saw through his disguise. He wore the mask of an operative 24/7, revealing none of his inner thoughts, and, God help him, his feelings. Violence had always been his aphrodisiac, seducing him with its acrid smells and quick adrenaline rush. Now a different scent tempted him, a bouquet tipped with honey, and he liked it.

      The Russian’s eyes blazed at him. “You’ve been tailing me. Why?”

      “You didn’t know I was on your back until I burst in here five minutes ago.” Caine had only to see the hostile look on the Russian’s face to know he was right. “Admit it, your Cold War days of covering your tracks by dodging around the side streets in the snow or guzzling down vodka in bars are over.”

      “I admit nothing,” insisted the Russian, finishing his drink. “You still haven’t explained what you’re doing here.”

      Time to play his hole card.

      “Sharif sent me,” he said in a conversational tone of voice, though inside he was seething with need. The girl was ruining months of work with her silly game. He had to get his business finished and not worry about her.

      Arching an eyebrow, the Russian asked, “What does Sharif want?”

      “Did you make contact with—” Caine rattled off the names of several men connected with a sleeper terrorist cell in northern Italy. The Russian was to hook up with these men of Indian and Ethiopian descent in Basel, where France, Switzerland and Germany met. A crossroads. Basel was very useful to anyone in the espionage business. Caine often used a small café near the train station for dead drops. An agent was there for a few hours then he disappeared. It was anyone’s guess where he’d gone, especially if someone was tailing him.

      Unless that someone was Caine.

      “Ooohhh…” A raspy sound came from the girl’s throat. His pulse raced. She was stirring, but her breathing was ragged. And were her lips turning blue? What if she started vomiting? He couldn’t take her to a hospital. Too many questions.

      “Quiet, bitch,” yelled the Russian in his native dialect, then he held a pillow over her face, cutting off her air. Her legs kicked wildly, her hands flailing about, her black nails trying to scratch her assailant.

      “You call that pillow talk?” Caine grabbed the pillow and tossed it onto the floor. The girl gasped for air, but she didn’t open her eyes. The effects of the drug kept her prisoner. He leaned over her, wiping the perspiration from her upper lip with his finger. Her closed eyelids shimmered silver and blue and gold like a metallic sunset, and her lips blazed red. He shuddered, imagining those lips giving him pleasure.

      Raising his voice, the Russian yelled, “I don’t СКАЧАТЬ