Hit: A Thriller (The Codename: Chandler) (3 page)

“You were just telling me I’m too old for him.”

“And I can tell you how to fix that problem.”

“You’re not trying to sell me some expensive skin cream or shoot my forehead full of botulism, are you?”

He laughed, a sound I liked more than I should have. “You are perfection just the way you are. Only a
pendejo
like my employer would fail to recognize that.”

“You sweet talker,” I said. “You seem to be going out of your way to find a date for this
pendejo
.”

“And you wonder why?”

I gave an apologetic tilt of the head. A real hooker probably wouldn’t spend a lot of time questioning either the compliments or the promise of a lucrative job. “Does it seem like I’m looking a gift horse in the mouth?”

“I never understood that cliché.”

“You can tell a horse’s age by looking at its teeth.”

He stared at me, as if waiting for more.

“Never mind.”

“I told you. It is my job to find his entertainment. But I confess I have more reason than that. I’m hoping something unfortunate happens to him, and then you will be all mine.”

I smiled. “So tell me the secrets of Dominic Bratton.”

He leaned close and whispered all I needed to know, his warm breath tickling my neck. “You can do that, no?”

“Of course”

“And I will go back to the table and feed him so many drinks he underperforms and overpays, and then you and I will have the rest of the evening.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

He smiled and held out a hand. “Heath Rodriguez.”

We shook. “Simone.”

“
Encantado,
Simone.” With his accent, the name sounded pornographic. “You will be back before we are finished with our steak?”

“I will.”

“Don’t be late. This meeting will not last long after the food and drink is gone.” He brushed his lips to my cheek then turned to leave.

And as I watched him walk back to his employer’s table, I almost felt bad using him as a means to his boss’s end, especially since he would lose his job out of the deal.

And if he got in my way, his life.

Heath

Heath felt the lovely Simone’s eyes follow him all the way back to Bratton’s private dining room, but he resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder. The art of flirting was as much about leaving a woman wanting more as it was about showing interest, and Heath was a master at both.

He circled the table and took his chair, sneaking a glance just in time to see Simone rub her fingers up and down the stem of her glass as if she was stroking a man. Then she stood, swooping up her coat and bag, and headed out of the restaurant, the fingerprints on her glass now safely smudged beyond recover.

She was a professional, all right—Heath had identified her the moment he stepped through the door—but she was no sex professional.

Heath recognized an assassin when he saw one.

The signs were obvious if you knew what to look for. Tucked into the corner of the bar, she’d chosen the one seat in the restaurant where no one could approach her unseen, and yet she had a view of the entrance and most of the tables of the main dining room and private rooms. She’d noted his every move without seeming to, expertly positioned herself to run into Bratton, and after having tasted the Capital Grille’s pineapple martini drink on his last trip to Chicago, Heath doubted any normal person could manage to sip one so slowly.

And now the attention to fingerprints.

Heath also sensed something about her, a controlled and focused intensity that made the back of his neck prickle and his blood feel alive. He’d known many hot women in his life, but none had affected him this way. This wasn’t mere sexual attraction.

She was dangerous.

And Heath could sense it, because he and the
chica bonita
had much in common.

“So did you let the waiter know we need another round?” Bratton asked, the martinis he’d consumed already smoothing the edges off his sandpaper voice.

Heath smiled at his boss like a perfect minion. He’d been working for Bratton for nearly two months now, and had witnessed firsthand what an entitled
baboso
the man was all the way to his core. It had been tough to follow his commands when Heath really wanted to break his neck, but he had managed to be a model employee.

Now that the auction had almost come to a close, he wouldn’t have to keep up the charade much longer.

“If you want to enjoy our steak before we must leave for your appointment, I thought it best the waiter bring the wine,” Heath said.

Bratton nodded. “See? That’s why I pay him. He keeps me on schedule and makes sure I enjoy the finer things.”

“It is my pleasure. And I also saw to arrange for your pleasure later.”

“You found what I like?”

“
Sí. Muy guapa, muy joven y muy obediente
.”

The Venezuelan, who Heath knew as Pino, and the merc working for him, a former Airborne Ranger named Smith, gave knowing nods.

“Damn wetback,” muttered Bratton. “Speak English, will you?”

“Very pretty, very young, very obedient,” filled in the American mercenary.

“She’d better be pretty and young. And if she isn’t obedient, I will enjoy teaching her.”

The men laughed as Bratton downed the last of his martini.

Heath chuckled along, the thought of unleashing Simone on Bratton making the moment all the sweeter.

A chirp cut through the laughter, and the CEO reached for his phone. He glanced at the display, at Heath, and then at the other two in the private room. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He stood and left. Only when he was safely away from the glass door did he bring the phone to his ear and speak.

Pino pulled his napkin from his lap as if to rise.

“You’ll need to stay here for a moment.” Heath’s words were quiet, but even a radical as far left of Chavez as Pino was took notice of the firmness behind them.

“I was going to visit the restroom.”

“Mr. Bratton would prefer you stay here while he is taking his call.
Por favor, acepta mis disculpas
.”

A brittle smile spread over Pino’s lips. Then he clapped Heath on the back and took his seat.

A moment later, the bossman returned. The waiter followed behind him with a 1999 Mouton-Rothschild Bordeaux Blend the Capital Grille kept as part of Bratton’s private collection. And as the wine flowed and the steak was served, Heath watched the row of clocks on the wall, each showing a different time zone, and counted down the minutes until they had to leave for Bratton’s appointment…until he would again see the lovely Simone.

Until he held in his hands the one thing he could deny
El Diablo
.

Chandler

“Those who are used to getting what they want only want what they can’t have,” The Instructor said. “If you want to become indispensable to your target, be what eludes him.”

I made it back to the restaurant just as the dinner party was shuffling out between the copper lions and toward the waiting limo. Heath spotted me first, his eyes crinkling at the corners and lips curving into an appreciative smile. He laid a hand on Bratton’s shoulder, directing his attention my way.

Bratton’s eyes flared wide. “You outdid yourself this time, Rodriguez.”

I smiled and cast my eyes to the sidewalk, as if too bashful to hold his gaze.

A quick trip to Forever 21 on Michigan Avenue scored me a cotton eyelet mini skirt and bejeweled blouse, which I wore without a bra. I’d hated to leave my new dress in the store’s restroom, but I kept the shoes, the rest of the outfit change making them look like the Manolo knockoffs that seemed to be everywhere this season, thanks to Sex and the City. As a finishing touch, I’d gone for shimmery pink lip gloss and gathered my hair in to pigtails which now tickled the back of my neck.

A pervert’s fantasy. All I needed was a lollipop.

“Hey,” I said, looking up at him through my lashes.

Bratton turned to his dinner companions. “I will get back to you with the place and time.”

Exchanging knowing looks, the two crossed the street, heading for Michigan Avenue. Heath opened the limo door, ushered Bratton then me inside and climbed in himself. He sat facing us as the limo joined the flow of traffic.

“I’m sorry,
bonita
, but I will have to make sure you have no weapons. It is my job. I’m sure you understand.”

I was hoping to get by without him going through my things, but his caution didn’t surprise me. The most disconcerting thing wasn’t his request but the sharp look in his eyes, all of it focused on me. I wasn’t sure if I should read it as suspicion or interest.

“
Bonita
?”

“Of course.” I gave him my bag, and he looked inside. He raised his brows at me and pulled out my fur lined cuffs. “You have some surprises up your sleeve, no?”

Bratton put a hand on my breast, pinching my nipple through the fabric as if he was dialing a radio station.

Peering back into the bag, Heath pawed through Jacob’s lipstick and mascara, and the sparkly gloss I’d just purchased. When his focus returned to me, it was so intense it made my skin tingle.

The limo turned south toward the river.

“Do you have anything else on your person,
bonita
?”

Heath placed his hand on my inner thigh, holding my gaze as he slowly worked his fingers up. When he reached my garter, he explored further north, finding my weapon. He raised an eyebrow, then tugged out—

“That’s mine,” I said, snatching it away from him. At casual inspection, it looked like a regular American Express card. But this one, when folded correctly, had a razor edge and firm handle. It could cut through bone.

“Don’t leave home without it,” Heath said. “Any other hidden surprises?”

“For crying out loud,” Bratton said. He grabbed my blouse and gave a yank, popping a few buttons, and exposing me from the waist up. “See? Nothing but firm, young tits here. Now leave her to me and make yourself useful pouring champagne for the lady. I’ll have a Manhattan.”

As much as ripping open my clothes was an asshole move, Bratton had just done me a favor. My nudity was a handy distraction, not just for Bratton, but for Heath, too. I’d rather have the bodyguard scrutinizing my bare breasts than the items in my bag or my lethal AmEx. Besides, unlike Bratton’s pawing and lecherous stares, the small smile on Heath’s lips and his quiet appreciation of my body made my breath catch.

If only I’d met him on my own time.

“You are forgetting the stop we must make, Mr. Bratton?” Heath said, throwing my bag on the seat beside him and reaching for the champagne without taking his eyes off me.

“I’m forgetting nothing. Pour the drinks. And…what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Simone.”

“Simone here can enjoy a little bubbly while we attend to business. But until then, I’m going to enjoy her.”

He cupped a breast in each hand and pinched my nipples as if trying to take them. His hands were clammy and three rings encircled his fat fingers, two on his right hand and one on his left ring finger, platinum and diamonds sparkling in the surrounding city lights.

Heath filled a flute for me and one of the biggest Manhattans I’d ever seen for his boss, extra vermouth. Bratton took his hands off me long enough to chug a quarter of his down. The limo crossed the Chicago River and cruised into the financial district. Streets clear this time of night, it didn’t take long to reach the bank.

“Help yourself to the booze,” Bratton said, climbing out onto the sidewalk. “When I get back, we’ll put that cute little mouth of yours to use.”

I formed my cute little mouth into a smile. “I hope you’re staying at a hotel close by. I don’t want to wait.”

“Who said anything about waiting? The drive to Midway Airport is, what, twenty minutes? Maybe less? That’s how long you have.”

“You’re not staying the night in Chicago?”

“Hell, no. I already had my steak, and I’m not in the mood for the blues. Tonight we fly to Vegas.” He grinned and glanced at Heath. “I’m feeling lucky.”

“Vegas?” I didn’t try to hide the surprise in my voice.

“Don’t worry, baby. After I get back, I’ll give you my undivided attention all the way to the airport.” He turned his back and strode for the bank.

Heath poked his head inside. “Cheers,
bonita
,” he said, then closed the door, the lock clicking into place and securing me inside the vehicle.

Great.

Apparently the two at the restaurant hadn’t come in with the top bid. And with Bratton planning to jet off to Las Vegas, my chance to get him alone was nil. The only way to complete my assignment now was to crash the whole car, taking out Bratton, Heath, and the driver in the process. Too difficult to control all the variables.

Time to move to my back up plan.

The light shifted, the driver tilting the rear view mirror, probably trying to get a glimpse of skin now that he could concentrate on more than the road. I had no reason to believe he would go out of his way to provide Bratton security, but neither was he likely to keep quiet about suspicious activity on my part. So leaving my blouse spread open to keep him focused on the view, I grabbed my bag, zipped it open, and made a show of pulling out my lipstick. I applied a coat of apple blossom pink. Pushing the small button on the side of the tube, I reached to the bar for the bottle of champagne, at the same time tipping a healthy dose of syrup of ipecac into Bratton’s Manhattan.

Ipecac’s main use in past decades was inducing vomiting in children who’d accidentally ingested poison, although it was no longer recommended for that purpose. Now it was a favorite of the binge-purge crowd. A poison on its own, ipecac caused nausea when taken by mouth. Bratton’s profile suggested he was known for fluctuating weight and fad diets to offset his voracious appetite, so traces that might remain in his body was found could be easily explained away. And as a bonus, ipecac was sugary sweet, tasting similar to pancake syrup, a flavor the whiskey and sweet vermouth should camouflage nicely.