Chastity Flame (2 page)

"I work for BT!" he choked out at
last. The man looked at her with genuine terror and Chastity
realized she had made a mistake.

"Why were you following me?" she asked
in somewhat less peremptory tone.

"I—I was going to see if I could hit
on you," he said, gulping and continuing to rub his sore throat.
"Don't worry, I won't." He looked angry now that he figured she
wasn't going to kill him.

"You should know better than to follow
women down dark corridors," Chastity said with a laugh. "You never
know what you might find." Moron, she thought. At least maybe he'd
think better of trailing after another woman that way. He looked
like he would recover momentarily, so she turned on her heel,
climbed up the steps and crossed over the Strand. The guy might try
to call a policeman, but she doubted it. The world may have changed
in many ways, but it was a rare man who could admit to being hit by
a woman, let alone complain about it.

She glanced at the card once more as
she walked toward Waterloo Bridge. The name on it meant nothing to
her, but she recognized the address as one of those ugly corporate
piles. Bit of a risk to enter, as they always kept a close watch on
their employees—thieves never trusting anyone, after all—but people
paid no attention to what they didn't think they saw, and anyway,
no face recognition software would ever be able to identify a woman
who didn't really exist.

Chastity had a distinct advantage
there.

A memory bubbled up from that lost
past, something she usually tried to keep buried, but it had
surfaced before she had a chance to think better of it. It might
have been her tenth birthday, or even ninth. Her parents had
brought her up to London from Devon, where they were visiting her
mother's family. While she enjoyed being the adored child among all
those women (in her recollections the only men ever there were her
father and grandfather), Chastity had been most happy alone with
her parents in the swirl of the city. She had not been Chastity
then, of course, but no passing nostalgia could make her pronounce
her true name even in her own mind.

The day that swam into her thoughts
had been a perfect one: afternoon tea at the Savoy. The waiters
were especially kind, her parents happy and loving, and the cakes
absolutely and indescribably delicious. She was too young to know
that a painter, as her father claimed to be, could not afford teas
at the Savoy without some sort of backlog of royal commissions.
Chastity only knew that his Castilian accent never failed to charm
all who met him, yet he never had eyes for anyone but her mother.
Her mother had been so plain, Chastity could never understand how
he had become so smitten, particularly when she saw some of the
international beauties who tried to flirt with him. As an adult,
however, she recognized the power of that devastating wit and
intelligence her mother had wielded, both in conversation and in
her columns. Chastity had been lucky to inherit her mother's
intelligence if not her wit, as much as she had been blessed by her
father's good looks. They were useful tools in her work, Chastity
thought bitterly.

She did not look at the Savoy as she
walked past it. Time to concentrate on the job. The card led her to
one of the monotonous office blocks which, as anticipated, had a
security desk at the front. No problem that.

Chastity fished in her pocket for a
well-used press pass. "Hello there," she said, flashing a winning
smile at the receptionist. "Eleanor Brown, Financial Times. I have
an appointment to interview, ah, let's see…" she pulled out the
card for the full effect. "James Clark Hall,
Acquisitions."

"Do you have an appointment?" the
young woman asked, her eyes on the computer screen rather than on
Chastity's face.

"Yes, my office made it last week."
Would she go for it? Or were they strict here?

"Fifteenth floor, see the
receptionist."

"Thanks ever so," Chastity said with
genuine warmth.

Up the lift and another desk waited.
The woman behind this desk looked more fierce and far more harried
than the one in the lobby. She would not be as easy to blow past.
Chastity counted on the ego of the "interviewee" to get her where
she needed to be, particularly if he looked out here. Most men—and
not a few women—found her appealing. Chastity knew her curvy figure
didn't appeal to everyone, but many seemed to think it promised
luscious rewards. She was fit, if not skinny, and her olive skin
and chestnut tresses radiated the glow that good health brings. Few
could resist remarking on her amber eyes, a rare enough color, but
years of training had made them even more expressive—when she chose
to have them reveal anything.

"Eleanor Brown, Financial Times. I'm
here to see John Clark Hall—"

"What time?" The reception did not
look up or meet her gaze.

"Three fifteen."

The woman flipped a page in one of the
six diaries on her desk. Impressive, Chastity thought. "No, sorry,
not here."

"Oh, but it must be! My PA made it
last week and she's an absolute wonder. She would never steer me
wrong."

"Sorry, not here." The receptionist
looked up only to emphasize the fact that Chastity was wasting her
time.

"Is there any chance—"

"He's booked up the rest of the
afternoon." The receptionist turned back to her diaries, implicitly
dismissing Chastity, but she wasn't willing to throw in the sponge
yet. She sensed that the "we're all working girls in this together"
wasn't going to fly with this overworked woman, so she tried
another tack.

"Pity. Well, I'd like to rebook now,
but chances are by the time he has a free spot, my editor will
already have asked me to move onto the next name on the list.
Perhaps you shouldn't mention it to him . . ."

The receptionist tapped her fingers
for a few seconds then resignedly offered, "His three o'clock
hasn't turned up yet, but he is back from lunch. I could buzz him
and see if he's got five minutes."

"That would do nicely," Chastity
purred.

The receptionist tapped the numbers
and spoke into her headset. "Eleanor Brown, Financial Times, is
here to see you. Thought she had a 3.15 with you, but I see the
Ayers Group representative is supposed to be here at three. Yes,"
she added, flashing a quick look at Chastity, "I think you'd like
to see her."

His grin, when he stepped out of his
bland office, told Chastity everything she needed to know. Well,
that and the fact that he looked like Nigel Havers' little brother
with a loud tie. Vanity would undo him, probably had done in the
first place. "Ms. Brown," he said too warmly, taking her hand in
both of his. "Do step into my office. I'm sure Ms. Perkins has made
a mistake about the appointment, I remember it clearly." Chastity
made sure to roll her eyes at poor Ms. Perkins, who made no sign of
recognition at the attempt to forge solidarity, but she didn't
regret the gesture. Chances are she was all too aware what a jerk
she worked for—one of six, no less.

Chastity sat down in the proffered
chair, making sure her skirt hiked up as far as possible without
being too obvious. It wouldn't take much with this guy. His eyes
were nearly popping out of his head already. She saw the pause as
he decided to sit on the edge of his gigantic desk rather than go
behind it. His hands couldn't grope her cleavage, but his eyes did
a good job of it. She was glad she had decided to loosen another
button in the elevator, which had drawn stares enough from her
fellow passengers.

Chastity took out her handy digital
recorder. Good thing Monitor had pressed it on her last week. It
was much more convenient than slinging around a pad of paper,
particularly as she preferred to travel light and hated carrying a
bag. Looking every inch the professional, she pressed the record
button and said into the mic, "Profile, John Clark Hall." Chastity
leaned forward as if eager and the target smiled down eagerly. "I
don't suppose we could go out for coffee and do the interview
there?" Chastity asked as if the idea had just occurred to her.
"It's so nice to be away from the office for a little . . .
privacy." She smiled up at him adoringly.

He seemed genuinely regretful, but
shook his head. "I can put off the next appointment, but I can't
squeeze too much time right now. But we can be sure to have some
privacy." He leaned back and picked up the phone. "Ms. Perkins, ask
the Avery guy to wait when he gets here, just buzz me once when he
arrives." He looked back at Chastity with another maddening grin.
"All alone now."

"Oh, Mr. Clark Hall," Chastity said,
trying to look blushingly innocent even as she thrust her chest
out. "You make it sound so . . . suggestive."

"Just think you should get to know the
real man," he leered. "And I'm all man."

Oh brother, what a fucker, Chastity
thought. At least that made it easier. She slipped her free hand up
to stroke his thigh. "I bet you are."

The target hopped down from the desk
and unzipped his pants, fishing his knob out from the stripey
boxers. It was unremarkable. "How would you like a taste of this,
Miss Brown?"

"Oh mother, may I?" Chastity had to
smother a desire to laugh. She reached out to take hold of his
erection, gently at first, then pumping it a little more
assertively to make him close his eyes with pleasure, as if on cue.
She dropped the recorder into her pocket and instead took up the
syringe. Taking a firmer grip, Chastity thumbed off the syringe's
cap and brought it up to his groin.

"Hey, take it easy there, missy," he
said irritably. "You don't need to pull it off." But then his eyes
were wide open as he saw what she had in her other hand. It told
Chastity a lot about this target that his cock only got
harder.

"I have a few questions for you and if
you answer them quickly and truthfully, I won't have to shoot you
fill of potassium chloride. You probably don't know what that is,
but it will bring on a heart attack in minutes."

"All right, all right, let's just
relax," he said, the panic evident in his face, the erection all
but gone in that instant, yet Chastity tightened her hold. "I'll
tell you whatever you want to know. Jesus, I didn't know the
Financial Times was so cut-throat!"

Chastity laughed out loud. "I'm not
from the FT," she said at last as he stared at her, disbelieving.
"You sold some information to a hacker. Information that has put
the security of this nation into jeopardy." A slight exaggeration,
but what would he know?

"I don't know what you're talking
about, honestly!" His eyes pleaded convincingly, but Chastity
didn’t loosen her grip.

"Information about an encryption
system used by your company," Chastity prompted him. Suddenly he
looked a little more worried—and slightly embarrassed.

"I, uh, I don't think—"

"Clearly, it's not your strong point,"
Chastity cut in, "thinking. You certainly didn't think about why
someone might be interested in cracking a system, that protected
data might be compromised?"

"He said it was just for money, you
know, he was just going to skim the system a little, get a jump on
the competition. Everybody does that!"

"Not everybody," Chastity hissed. He
actually had the good grace to slink back, ashamed. "Who was
it?"

"I don't know his name!" He grimaced
as Chastity gripped him tighter. "Ouch! I really don't. He just
came up to me at one of the Friday functions and started chatting."
His eyes were wild, pleading for her to let him go. "I don't really
know anything about how the computers work, really! I'm just an
administrator of the IT department. He told me he just needed a
certain set of files. We have daily passwords that expire at
midnight. I just let him use mine."

"So you have no idea what he actually
took?"

"Well, he said he wanted—that is, he
was after—" He swallowed hard. "No, I guess I don't."

Chastity knew all she needed to know.
"They say ignorance is bliss," she muttered, looking into his eyes.
His gaze fastened onto hers, full of hope and a desire to please.
"If so, you must have been happy."

But it was too late. They both jumped
when the phone buzzed loudly. Chastity took advantage of his
distraction to pump the contents of the syringe into the skin at
his groin. Betrayal and fear alternated quickly across his face,
but in no time he was seizing up with the pain of his overworked
heart. Chastity let him slump to the floor, where he continued to
gasp like a beached fish, clutching his chest. A final shudder
wracked his frame, then he lay still. She bent down to touch his
neck and felt no pulse. Retrieving the syringe cap from where it
had fallen on the carpet, she slipped it back in her
pocket.

She reached up to fluff her hair, put
on a practiced look of alarm, then turned to the door. As if
breathless with fear, she ran out into the corridor announcing,
"Mr. Clark Hall has fainted! I don't know what's wrong with
him!"

His three o'clock appointment jumped
up from his chair and Perkins, the receptionist, paused to consider
whether she should leave her station. "I think you better call an
ambulance," Chastity suggested. Perkins nodded and dialed 999 while
other heads poked out of office doors.