Code Name Desire

by

Laura Kitchell

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any
resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons,
living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.

A Quality Novelists Coalition E book

Covert Affairs Series

Book One: Code Name Desire

Copyright© 2014 by Laura Kitchell

Smashwords Edition

E-book ISBN: 9781310127496

Cover Artist: Lara Nance

Editor: Karen Webb

All rights reserved. No part of this book may
be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written
permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in
reviews.

Quality Novelists Coalition

QNC. All rights reserved.

DEDICATION

For my mother, my biggest fan. For Sara, my
best friend in the world, who makes me feel like a superstar every
day, good or bad. And a special thanks to the members of the
Quality Novelists Coalition who worked so hard to make sure my
readers get a first-rate book every time they buy my stories.

Chapter One

“Capture his heart?” Jaeda blinked at a bare
hotel room wall. Did she hear the director right? Had he lost his
mind?

“Are you up to the assignment, Agent
Bennett?”

“Yes, Director.”

“Don’t fail me. This is imperative to our
nation’s security.”

“You can count on me. I’ve never failed my
country.” She adjusted her earpiece, glad he couldn’t see her mouth
working like a fish out of water.

“That’s what I’m counting on. You’ll find
what you need in the usual place. You’ve got three days, including
today.” The director’s raspy baritone raked the phone line and put
Jaeda’s nerves on edge.

“I’m on it, sir.”
Including today.
She
didn’t have much left of the day, but the evening held promise. The
day after tomorrow would be Saint Valentine’s Day. How ironic.

Jaeda jerked when his abrupt ending of the
call caused a loud click. She snatched the wireless device from her
ear canal and tossed it on her mussed bed then glared at the
offensive equipment. This was it. Her chance. Her best friend and
fellow agent, Cassie, had served the agency as a covert lover for
the past three years. Cassie had accomplished amazing ops and
gathered critical information that no other agent could touch. Now
Jaeda’s time had come. Her stomach did a flip.

Please just let him not be old and ugly.

She folded her portable satellite dish and
closed her laptop with a snap. Shoving the equipment under the bed,
she fought butterflies of excitement. She couldn’t afford to get
excited. She would face this task like any other assignment – with
a professional focus on the end result. No emotion. No wondering.
She had a job to do, simple as that.

A knock on the door startled her. Jaeda took
one of her guns from the bedside table, checked it for rounds, and
released the safety as she made her way to the door.

“Who is it?” she called, her ear to the
doorframe.

“Special delivery,” said a young man’s voice
with a thick Liverpool singsong.

Her gun at the ready but out of sight, she
unlocked the door and let him pass a plain brown package through
the opening. In less than a second, she kicked the door closed,
tossed the package on the bed, and had the locks secured.

On the other side of the door, the delivery
boy mumbled about her lack of tip.

She set the safety on the gun as his
footsteps clipped along the hallway’s linoleum. The package had no
return address, but she could tell it came from the agency by the
font on the label and the fact that her agent number appeared in
the barcode at the side. After putting her gun away, she opened the
brown paper wrapping and found a creamy-green department store box
from one of London’s most exclusive women’s boutiques.

Her stomach flipped, but she suppressed the
adrenaline rush that threatened to make her heart race.
This is
just another job
.

Inside the box, a bright red dress and
matching shoes greeted her.

“Well, hello there,” she said. Jaeda picked
up a shoe and knew immediately by its weight that the heel had
reinforced steel at its core. In its spiked form, it would make a
deadly weapon, if necessary. A note tucked into the toe read,
You have one hour to acquire your target
.

Now in agent mode, she went to the tiny
bathroom and scowled at her reflection above the sink. She had to
snap out of this. Why did this assignment strike such a nerve? It
was another op. Nothing more.

Assessing her image in the mirror, she took
in her plain ponytail and lack of make-up. She had mastered the
secret agent’s greatest tool - the ability to blend in and move
through the world unnoticed. She maintained an unmemorable look
that allowed her to go places and do things most people couldn’t.
But this tool would not serve her on this assignment. With a
knowing smile tilting one corner of her mouth, she pulled a simple
ponytail holder from her straightened, mousy hair.

Look out, Mr. Whoever-you-are. I'm about to
make my London debut.

Twenty minutes later, brown locks swirled
past her shoulders in rich, sexy curls. Foundation had created a
flawless porcelain finish on her skin, blush added a hint of color,
and fake lashes gave her big brown eyes a sultry, come-hither
effect. She dabbed clear gloss on her full bottom lip, pleased with
the way it brightened the natural pink hue to a subdued red.
Perfect.

“
I’d
kiss you,” she said to her
reflection.

In the main room, she removed her bra and
drew on the form-fitting dress. It hugged her curves before draping
from her hips to just above her knees. A lettuce-leaf hem gave the
skirt a sexy flip that drew the eye as it rippled when she walked.
She hoped she would get to keep the dress when the assignment
ended. At the bottom of the box were silky, sheer thigh highs. She
put them on, admitting they went a long way in adding to her
confidence, then slipped her feet into the red high heels.

She checked her overall affect in a
full-length mirror hanging on the bathroom door. Wow. The dress’s
bodice made her b-cup breasts look more like c-cups. Soft fabric
hugged her long, thin waist. The gentle sway of the skirt brought
the eye to her legs, which appeared long and shapely, though the
dress concealed her thighs. No earrings, no necklace, and no rings.
A sparkling gold bracelet watch completed her look. She grinned.
Definitely kiss-worthy. Definitely alluring.

Jaeda had plenty of time, but she had learned
from experience that sitting in a hotel room while waiting to go on
assignment created a false sense of urgency. She studied her
holster. Nobody would notice it tucked away against her side while
she wore her coat, but she would have no place to conceal it when
the cover came off. A purse was out of the question. She never
could keep up with one and feared leaving it behind.

Not her favorite, but powerful enough to take
down an enemy from a fair distance, she chose her smallest pistol
from the nightstand drawer. The clip gave her ten rounds – more
than enough. She had never needed more than three. Anyone seeing
the pistol would likely mistake it for one of those cigarette
lighters shaped like a gun.

Dropping the weapon in an inside pocket of
her trench coat, she glanced at the clock. Yeah, she would go, but
walk slowly. Besides, it would give her a chance to get accustomed
to walking on these stilts – something she hadn’t done in
years.

With money, her room key, her passport, and a
mobile phone carefully stowed in a hidden pocket of the coat’s
inner lining, she swung the wrap over her shoulders and left the
depressing hotel. In the streetlamp light, a fine drizzle gave
London’s roadways and sidewalks a clean, shiny look. Bobbing gray
umbrellas mixed with black ones, and people huddled against a chill
as they hurried to their destinations. A few degrees colder and the
drizzle would turn to snow.

Jaeda didn’t mind any of it, though. The cold
air sharpened her senses, and the wet mist would only make her hair
look more fabulous. At a leisurely stroll, she went three blocks to
the Thames then made her way along the riverbank's viewing walkway
until she came to a large docking area. She took a quick, but not
obvious, glance around to make sure nobody watched, then pulled a
large manila envelope from a hollowed compartment in one of the
pilings.

Tucking the information packet into her coat,
she meandered to a nearby pub. She took advantage of the bustling
Friday night activity to slip unobserved into the ladies’ bathroom.
Keeping her head down, she ducked into a stall and sat on the
toilet seat cover. One by one, she pulled items from the
packet.

An information sheet profiling her target
told her he worked in high finance for London’s largest investment
firm. His clients included royalty and politicians from around the
world, and he spent vacation time skiing and sailing. Teague
Jameson. He was unmarried and had no children. A blueprint showed
he lived in a large home, and the address at the bottom placed it
in a rural community outside London. His business card slid from
the envelope, and she put it in the hip pocket of her coat in case
she needed it to break the ice with him.

She located her assignment sheet. Operation
MINK had assigned her the code name of Desire.
Desire…certainly
fitting
, she thought with a smirk. She had a contact, some guy
with a code name of Rush. She added his information to her hidden
pocket along with the password - rook. Finally, she could find Mr.
Jameson at a popular club near Parliament in fifteen minutes.

No picture. That would make her job more
difficult.

Balling the documents, she flushed them one
at a time. She checked her appearance in the mirror above the
sinks, washed her hands then used a confident step to leave the bar
and hail a cab. A tall, black car met her at the curb almost
immediately.

“Where to, miss?” asked the cabbie, a clean
older gentleman who touched the brim of his cap while trying not to
get caught staring at her legs.

Jaeda’s confidence increased by the minute.
“The Barrister’s Press.”

The cabbie winked. “Have ye there in eight
minutes.”

“Take your time.” She leaned back and stared
out a rain-dotted window as her cab pulled onto the street. She
concentrated on deep, steady breaths to control her heart rate.

“American, are ye?”

“Yes.” Why did she have to get a talkative
cabbie?

“Are ye here on business or pleasure?”

“Business.”

“Am I botherin’ ye with my questions?”

Yes
. “Not at all.” She didn’t spare
him a glance, and he took the hint.

When he stopped before an elegant
establishment painted Copenhagen blue, he said, “Eight minutes
exactly. If ye know what time ye’ll be leavin’, I’d be pleased to
collect ye.”

She handed him the fare and looked him in the
eye for the first time. “That won’t be necessary, but thank
you.”

The cabbie touched the brim of his cap and
gave her a wink.

What was it with this guy and winking?
Stepping from the cab, Jaeda took a moment to admire the club. A
hanging sign painted blue to match the building’s front swung in
the breeze. A bright lamp glowed above the door and reflected light
from gold letters spelling The Barrister’s Press. Glancing at her
bracelet watch, she moved sideways to make way for an exiting
couple. According to the ops sheet, Mr. Jameson wouldn’t arrive for
another ten minutes.

Taking advantage of the open door, she
slipped inside. She didn’t go unnoticed, however.

A man in bowtie and vest offered her a
ticket. “Take your coat, ma’am?”

She removed her wrap and draped it over her
arm, ignoring the ticket thrust in her direction. “I’ll hang onto
it, thank you.” She glanced over her shoulder and assessed the room
in a split second.

Tables with diners. Waiters in white shirts
with black aprons moving throughout. Nobody suspicious. A U-shaped
bar, a smattering of people in suits, and three bartenders who
moved with experience. A casual sitting area tucked at the back
with three men, one who sat alone and carried an air of mystery.
She would keep an eye on him.

“May I have the maitre d' show you to a
table? Are you expecting others?” The vested man reluctantly drew
the ticket to his side.