Missing Lynx (26 page)

“Will do.” Manny released me from a bear hug. “Hey, you be safe now.”

“I’ll try.” I waved good-bye. Cowardly or not, I was thankful to be heading to Striker’s to live far away from all this mess. As I strolled toward my porch, my mouth bowed with pleasure. The vibrations that tickled my nerves had nothing to do with my fear of leopard woman and everything to do with my thoughts of spending time with oh-so-delectable Commander Rheas.

Twenty-Five

“C
hica, what kinds of things did you pack in your bag?” Striker asked. We were cozied up on the couch in his living room, watching the evening news.

“Um, I have workout clothes, regular work clothes, and a couple of dresses with heels.”

“Fancy dresses?”

“No, regular dresses. Why?” My curiosity was piqued. A date?

“We’re in the field on assignment tomorrow night, and we need you with us.”

Not a date. Shoot. “What’s up?”

“It’s a delicate situation.” He eased down the sofa to rest his head on the back. “We have a guy we need to run surveillance on. He’s got bucks, and he’s got a security team. A good one. He put a call in to Cachet for a girl for tomorrow night. The manager there has a working relationship with Iniquus, so he’s going to let you take the job.”

“I’m taking it that Cachet is a prostitution ring?”

“Escort service. They provide intelligent, well-mannered, beautiful women for out-of-town clientele. It’s the girl’s call whether she pursues extra-curricular activities. We need you to be scintillating company, and make sure he takes you back to his hotel. Get him to have a little spiked drink, and let us in through the balcony. We’ll do our work, and you’ll leave the way you came in so as not to arouse suspicion. If at any time you think things aren’t going well, you’ll bail, okay?”
Striker had an odd glint in his eye.

I tilted my head as if that would help me read him better. “Yeah, okay. What’s the mark’s name?”

“Griffin Babcock. I’ll get you all of the particulars later. Your name is going to be Gabriella Ricci.”

There it was again, a brief shadow across the eyes. Huh. My guess was he was keeping something from me. “That’s pretty. I like it. It’s Italian, though.”

“He requested an Italian girl.”

Italian? I was Irish descent, for heaven’s sake. “Striker, how am I going to pull that off?”  

“Don’t know. I was hoping you had something in your bag of tricks.”

“Okay. Where am I going?”

“Halston Ball.”

I sat bolt upright. “No way! Are you kidding me? That’s going to be full of politicians and celebrities. I don’t have a gown suitable for that. I’ll have to call Celia and ask her if she has something.”

“Yeah - about those political types. We need you to plant a bug on Babcock, as soon as he’s in the car; you’ll be wired, as well. We need to make his connections.”

I waited for more, but Striker was suddenly
very
engrossed by a Tide commercial. I knew that was all I’d pull from him tonight.

The next day, I drove over to Celia’s, so I could look through her closet and try on a few of her gowns. Celia and I were the same size, and as the wife to a bajillionaire, her job was to look marvelous. What that meant to me was lots of free, beautiful clothes. Since Celia did red carpets and celebrity dinners all the time, I was sure she’d have the right thing for Gabriella Ricci to wear tonight hanging in her closet.

As I drove, I thought through my next move with my Maria problem. I needed to investigate this Tammy chick and see how involved she was with her auntie. I’d ask Iniquus to run surveillance equipment through the house again, and Tammy’s car. I wondered how long it would last. Would Maria come and do a sweep again? Well even that would be information. It would mean that Maria was concerned about what we’d pick up. I’d do a background check on Tammy for sure, casting a wide net, maybe I would catch a new lead. Beyond that, I wanted to locate Maria’s husband. See if he was on anyone’s grid.

“Celia, you have wonderful taste. I love these gowns. They’re beautiful. Are you sure it’s okay for me to borrow one?” I held up a dress cut like a Grecian goddess’s.

“More than okay. You know I can’t wear them again, and they’re just taking up my closet space. I don’t like that one.” Celia wrinkled her nose. “That bronze is too hard for a blond to wear - it looks harsh.”

“Why do you have it? You’re as fair as I am.” I looked at my reflection in her floor to ceiling mirror.

“A designer friend gave it to me as a gift. I’ve never actually worn it, myself.” Celia was sprawled across her bed with her head resting on her hands, kicking her bent legs like a school girl.

“Do you mind if I try it on? See if it fits?”

“Knock yourself out.” Celia flopped onto her back. “Do you have a Spanx with you? Grab one out of my drawer there.”

I tried the dress on, standing on my toes, as I looked in the mirror. I thought it looked acceptably Italian.

“See?” Celia asked. “You look terrible. It’s the wrong color for you. Try the indigo one I laid out. It’s comfy and beautiful on.”

“You know, I think I’m going to use this one, if it’s okay with you. I’m going to get a spray tan, so that should help.”

Celia made a face. “Okay, if that’s the one you want, you’re welcome to it. Take the Spanx. Don’t wear hose. Here.” Celia crawled off her bed and went into her closet to draw out a shoe box with a pair of strappy sandals that matched the hue of the dress perfectly. She pawed through her jewelry closet and pulled out a snake arm-cuff that went above the elbow. The snake’s eyes looked like rubies, and it stuck out a diamond studded tongue.

“It’s a fake,” Celia said. “But it looks fun with that dress.”

I gave Celia a quick kiss good-bye and left with my loot. My next stop was the day spa. I chose a dark garnet polish for my mani/pedi and went as dark as the technician dared with the spray-on-tan. In their salon, the stylist used a temporary hair color in deep chestnut to darken my hair and eye brows. They dyed my eyelashes black. I stared at myself in the mirror. Wow, I looked creepy being so dark with my pale blue eyes, like a Voodoo priestess. I left with my hair styled in big, soft, almost-black curls.

When I got back to the barracks, Striker wasn’t home. I found my wire on the countertop with a note, “Wish I were there to help you get this in place. I’ll be back to pick you up at six — Striker.”

I checked my watch. I still had ten minutes until the Iniquus photographer would be here to get my picture for my fake ID.

I stared into the bathroom mirror and saw the shock on my face reflected back at me. My makeup brush dangled in my fingers. I had been thinking of Babcock and the mission when
Hydra Marionette
glowed before me. A “knowing.” Shit. Is Striker going to tell me at the briefing? I tapped my foot. Well, I’d soon find out.

With the tech gone to get my driver’s license manufactured, I finished up the makeup job, trying to find the right balance between lovely lady and arm-candy-for-hire. My dark brown contact lenses really helped. I pulled on my Spanx, strapped on my heels, and lifted the soft, silky fabric up over my hips.

When I heard Striker at the door, I drifted out for inspection, pulling the snake up my left arm. Striker gave a start when he saw me..

“Striker? It’s me.” I laughed. I guess that meant I was pretty well disguised.

Striker walked around me, looking me over. “That’s amazing.” A wolfish grin spread over his lips.

My breath hitched. “Thank you.” I managed. “Italian enough to make Babcock happy, you think?”

“Babcock’s going to be happy. Maybe a little too happy.” Striker narrowed his eyes. Was that jealousy I read there?

“We need to make sure he stays at the party.” Striker said. “He can’t be racing back to his hotel room with you.” He paused for a beat. “Let me clarify; his hotel room is the most important part of the plan. That takes precedence. But the longer he stays at the party the better. We’d like to see who he knows, and what he talks about at the ball. You’ll need to follow your instincts. We’ll have eyes and ears on you the whole time, so whatever happens we’ll have your back.”

Deep walked in, dressed in his perfectly tailored tuxedo. He nodded at Striker and shot a curious glance at me. “How do you do, ma’am,” Deep said.

Striker bent over laughing. “This is Lynx.”

“Lynx?” Deep took a step closer and scanned over me. He let out a low whistle. “Damn, woman.”

Okay, so I knew my disguise was a good one. Striker reviewed the plans for the evening with me and Deep. He checked to make sure my wire was functional, and handed me my fake driver’s license and credit cards, which I slid into my evening bag.

Striker drove me over to Cachet Mansion, where Babcock’s limo was supposed to pick me up.

I broke the silence. “Is there anything you need to tell me this mission?”

Striker turned his head to glance at me then turned back to the road. “You’re thoroughly briefed. Was there something you need to go over?” he asked.

I crossed my arms tightly under my breasts. Nope. No mention of the Sylanos connection. I sent a vehement look over to Striker.

He glanced my way again. “What?” he asked as he pulled to an abrupt halt in front of the massive carved doors of the mansion.

“Nothing.” I flounced out of the car. Bewilderment etched his face as I slammed the door shut. Well that was mature and highly professional of me.

Twenty-Six

B
abcock was an odd little man with a huge, shaggy, prematurely gray head. His body started with thin sloped shoulders from which his belly and hips swelled like a giant raindrop. His tiny feet were ensconced in beautiful leather dress shoes.

“
Sei molto bella stasera, mia cara
,” he whispered in my ear. His breath smelled of garlic and scotch.

“
Grazie non vedo l’ora di una serata favolosa con te
.”

“You speak Italian!” He vibrated when he said that. Maybe odd was an understatement.

“I call it kitchen Italian.” I gave him a friendly smile. “My Nona was always busy cooking delicious things for us, and I liked to help her. She was from Sienna and never got around to learning English. And you? Where is your Italian from? Family?”

“No, no. I have a villa near Milan. Do you know Milan?”

“I’ve never been,” I sighed my disappointment.

“If we get along as well as I think we will, perhaps I’ll take you to my villa.”

“Oh, I’d like that,” I smiled. “Now, what shall I call you?”

“Babcock.” He emphasized the last syllable.

I gave him a mischievous look. “Oh you are a bad boy, Bab
cock
.” That sent him over the edge; he giggled madly. He didn’t seem like he could be a Hydra Marionette, I mused. 

Our driver pulled up to the hotel. The attendant opened my door, and held out a hand to me. We started up the carpeted entrance, me in my heels towering over Babcock’s five-foot-five frame. Inside, we stood in the receiving line. Babcock was regaling me with an explanation of how automatic windshield wipers knew when to turn on.

After giving the room a cursory scan — getting the lay of the land — I refocused my attention on Babcock, trying to take in what he was blathering about. I prepared myself for a long night of this. I smiled and nodded as if he were telling me the most interesting story in the world.

We rounded the corner, moving toward the head of the line. Security checked our invitation then Babcock’s and my identifications. Thank you, Iniquus, for your attention to detail. We lined up, ready to shake hands in the receiving line, and who should be second hostess in line?
Celia
. I looked around trying, to figure a way around this debacle. Nope. Nothing. I’d have to move through with everyone else and shake Celia’s hand if I were to get into the ball. My mind flew to all of the things I could say if she called me by my real name, or mentioned where I worked, or… dear God, this was a nightmare.

“Griffin Babcock escorting Miss Gabriella Ricci.” Babcock said.

Celia stared at my dress, her eyes moved to the snake on my arm, then up to my face. For just the quickest flash, just the smallest instant, I could see Celia’s mind hard at work. Then, her face became placid, if a little bored, and she said, “What a beautiful dress; it’s perfect for your coloring, Miss Ricci. I hope you have a wonderful evening.” She turned to the next person in line.

I loved Celia. I’d blown my cover – she’d know I wasn’t an office worker the way I said I was— and I’d need to explain my job to her now, but in this moment, I was safe.

Griffin Babcock was a well-connected man, with obvious intelligence. Men in designer tuxes and women in haute couture asked his opinions on everything from foreign affairs, to the stock market, to art collection. He was certainly not lonely. He seemed to enjoy saying my name as he introduced me to people, trilling the r in Ricci. He looked approvingly at me when I stood next to him, as if we belonged to one another, without my fawning or draping like a hooker.

A man approached – it was the one man whom Babcock did not introduce me to. They talked about mergers and acquisitions. This guy cast uncertain glances in my direction, and breathed heavier than perhaps he should, shifting from foot to foot like he wanted to run. I looked impassively back at him, cradling my drink just below my breast-line, and I surreptitiously tap-tap-tapped my wire to give Control a heads up. The conversation sounded innocuous, but it looked and felt like something was being passed under the table. After the guy moved away, I asked Babcock who he was. Babcock changed the subject. Yup. I’d lay money that that was the unknown that Iniquus was trying to catch in their net.
Hydra Marionette
. I wondered how much Babcock knew, or if he was being duped and used. He reminded me of an over-sized, very shaggy garden gnome – not someone who would be in bed with Sylanos.

After a yummy dinner, the band tuned up to play. Babcock danced hobgoblin jigs to the modern music, but he wasn’t tone deaf. When the music switched to waltzes and tangos, he was much more self-assured, though spinning under his arm gracefully was something of a trick. While I danced, I felt hard eyes on me and caught the mergers and acquisitions guy staring at me. Did something about my disguise shift? Was something off about me that made this guy’s antennae go up? I caught a glimpse of Deep out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head, and he gave a discreet tap to his watch - it was time for the main event.