The Animal Under The Fur Page 5

  As I clasp it on, the metal gives my skin a chilled kiss.

  “I’ve also got some sleepers in case someone is bothering you.” He drops three small sheer sheets in my hand. They look like I’m about to drop acid. “You can hide those in your purse. They only dissolve in liquid. Otherwise they are as durable as rubber.”

  “Nice.”

  “I know, right?” Looking like a nerd who just won the gadget lottery, Akoni slides over to type something on his keyboard. “Okay, well, that’s really it,” he says, leaning his large form back in his chair, pushing up his glasses. “Everything else is already at the hotel.”

  I nod just as a beep comes from his phone. “That’ll be your car.” He reads the screen. “You should make your way down.”

  Grabbing my clutch, I pat down my body for the sixth time, making sure all my hidden flexible plastic blades are contained in my lingerie underneath. I shouldn’t need these at the gala, but a girl can never have too many knives.

  “You’ll do great,” Akoni says.

  “I know.” I turn toward the door.

  “3?”

  Glancing back, I find Akoni’s brown magnified gaze on me. “You really do look lovely.”

  If I were a woman who blushed, I would be now. Thankfully, I’m not.

  “I’ll be in touch,” I say.

  “I’ll hear and see every word,” he returns with a smile.

  And with that I make my way down to yet another night on the job.

  11

  Carter

  PEARL RIVER HOTEL

  HONG KONG: 2240 HOURS

  Eu-fùnh moves around the elegantly decorated room in her graceful alluring strides, a goddess descending to mix with mortals. Her formfitting red gown only heightens her demanding presence, and it took all my strength not to tear it off her the moment she stepped out of her bedroom. If all goes smoothly, I’ll get the opportunity later tonight.

  From my spot in the corner, I watch her turn, twist, and bow to greet various businessmen and their dates, creating the illusion that she’s the woman who connects them all. Eu-fùnh has always been better at working a room, where I’m more inclined to sit back and take in the proceedings undisturbed.

  Skimming over the different participants of this evening’s event, I catalogue the bankers and traders, government officials and their adversaries, billionaires and their mistresses of the night, all mingling with delight at the expense of another’s dime. My gaze travels lazily around the opulence, passing over tall white columns and the sleek couched area, wondering when the man of the hour will show, when I stop on a young woman sitting alone across the room at the other bar. Her shoulder-length brown hair is cut in a style reminiscent of Cleopatra, and its angled severity shockingly contradicts the voluptuous but lean body that flows out from it, which is delicately wrapped by an emerald-green floor-length gown. Without knowing it, I find myself moving through the crowd toward her.

  As I draw closer, she fleetingly looks my way, and I almost stop in my tracks. Her eyes are extraordinarily blue, the purest glacial waters, and rest in a porcelain-smooth face. I steal a glance at the fatter gentlemen next to her as he tries to engage her in conversation, and I get a flutter of pleasure when she rebukes his attempts.

  Stepping in front of Fatso, I smile and make room for myself beside her at the bar. She gives me an uninterested glance before moving her gaze somewhere else, and if I’m not mistaken…yes, I did see it. A flicker of annoyance passed across her features before she covered it up with practiced indifference.

  Interesting.

  “What will you have, sir?” the bartender asks, and without moving my eyes from the woman, I reply, “Tonic with lemon peel, please.”

  She’s intentionally not looking my way, which for some reason delights me.

  I’m never ignored.

  Continuing to admire her features, I take in the delicate structure of her face, her small, slightly upturned nose and deep-red lips that set off her milky-white skin. Everything about her seems poised and graceful, and she hasn’t done anything more than take a sip from her martini. I have a deep urge to see what she looks like sweaty and in pleasure on top of me.

  If I wasn’t trained to notice details, I might have missed her tiny exasperated breath before she turns to meet my gaze. “Can I help you?” she asks in a lyrically pleasant voice I can tell she only uses in public.

  My grin widens.

  “Hello.” I extend a hand. “I’m Simon.”

  12

  3

  PEARL RIVER HOTEL

  HONG KONG: 2245 HOURS

  I saw him coming a mile away. Mr. Rich-Kid-Suave. Tall, obvious impressive build hidden under a Gucci tailored tux with thick, swept-back brown hair and green eyes that practically match my dress. Out to bag-and-shag a lady who, most likely, one of his father’s business partners is married to, or better yet, escorting as his mistress. I can easily detect a woman’s rose-scented perfume hugging him, and there’s no mistaking his heightened testosterone levels from either just getting—or soon expecting—some nooky. Good luck trying to get it from me, sir.

  I knew I had no time for this man before I even saw his face. One that I hate to admit, on a nonworking night might have made its way into my sheets for an only-once roll around. He has the appeal that some might say is devilishly good looking, with his smooth, angular jaw and tanned skin. I’m more inclined to package such features with a disappointing conversation and proof that beauty really is only skin deep.

  I stare at the hand he’s held out for an awkwardly long time, even though he’s pulling it off with confidence, and instead of shaking it, take another sip of my drink. He chuckles, the sound rich and thick, a cashmere blanket, before curling his fingers back around his glass.

  “Not one for introductions?” he asks, keeping those annoyingly cocksure green eyes pinned to me. He’s probably used to having woman immediately swoon over him. Too bad I don’t swoon, unless I’m able to kill the man who makes me.

  “Only if I see the benefit in it,” I reply while perusing the room. Using my senses, I pick through useless conversations, an overabundance of peaked hormones, expensive colognes, and a few radio blips from the earpieces of security guards, who are peppered along the wall. The only man I care about tonight has yet to arrive, which I hope changes soon. The faster I get this done, the faster I can get home, collect my money, and fall asleep on a private beach.

  Mmm, beach.

  “Looking for someone?”

  Turning back, I find Simon’s easy smile now mixed with a darker gaze, an examining one. Immediately, I hone in on him: Heart rate 42 beats per minute, blood pressure 120/80, no contacts or evidence of nervous perspiration. Last meal—I subtly inhale—nuts, specifically cashews from one of the bars. I hold back an annoyed curl of my lip. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a horny man in prime physical condition completely at ease beside me.

  “Not particularly,” I mutter before taking another fake sip of my martini. “And what brings you here this evening, Simon, was it?”

  He inclines his head. “I’m sure for similar reasons as you.”

  I’m bored already.

  “So you’re also organizing Mr. Kam’s escort service for the rest of the month?” I ask.

  His eyes spark, delighted. “Next month,” he answers without missing a beat before leaning in to add, “and I’m tempted to recruit you.”

  It takes all my strength not to break the stem of my glass and jab it into his mirth-filled gaze.

  “Simon, darling. Who’s your friend?” A sensual voice breaks into our moment, the floral perfume I smelled on him earlier curling around us. Simon returns to his full height of six feet three as he turns to our new guest.

  A striking Chinese woman drapes herself against his side. Her deep-brown eyes are rimmed dark and smoky, allowing her red dress to appear theatrical in representing fire, but in a tasteful, deliberate way. Her long black hair is stick straight and comes down to her waist, which is mad
e cartoonishly small by a hidden corset. Her heartbeat is as steady as her companion’s, and her pupils dilate as they study me.

  I have just met someone who would serve an introduction.

  “Victoria,” I say, holding out my hand, and catch Simon’s look of understanding. I’m not sure I like how acute his sensibilities are turning out to be.

  The Chinese woman smiles and takes my hand. “Jia.” Her grip is strong.

  “Your name is certainly fitting.” I smile. Jia means beautiful.

  Her face brightens. “You know Cantonese?”

  “I know enough,” I respond in her native tongue, and she briefly catches Simon’s eye.

  I also steal a glance at him. He appears to be dancing around a thousand questions, and I know I’ll soon have to take my leave. Despite my initial belief that only air filled this particular gentlemen’s head, I’m quickly realizing these two are no beginners in the subtleties of conversational interrogation.

  “How lovely,” Jia continues in Cantonese. “It’s so rare to find an American that is well versed in our language.”

  “Your own accent is barely recognizable in English,” I compliment in return before continuing our verbal tango as Simon watches on. Even though I’m not looking, I zero in on Jia’s long red nail that’s making circles along his neck. Yes, I get it. You two have bumped uglies. No need for a show.

  My internal eye roll is interrupted by the sound of a voice I’ve memorized piercing me from across the room. Quickly I flicker through the crowd to find a familiar middle-aged man moving about the opulent space. He’s wearing an immaculately tailored gray tux with a red pocket square, and what’s left of his thinning black hair is parted and swept to the side. Chenglei Kam slides through the gala followed by three giant bodyguards, stopping every few feet to greet guests. How long has he been here? I hold in a growl. If it weren’t for these two distracting me, I would have known.

  Tracking Chenglei as he stops to talk with one of his personal advisers, I listen as he mentions retiring to his suite and to send the files from their earlier board meeting. The same three bodyguards surround him as he takes his leave through a side door.

  In and out. Just like that.

  A man with little need for parties and pleasantries. In an alternate universe, we might have been friends.

  As the door closes over Chenglei’s small form, a dusting of goose bumps settles over my skin, and my shoulders stiffen. As if carried by the low music filling the room, a feeling of someone watching me vibrates across my nerve endings. Particularly someone who doesn’t want me to know they are watching me. With new alertness I scan the gala. Hundreds of finely dressed people fill the high ceiling-glass ballroom, mingling, talking, and laughing. I lock on to all of them, but their scents begin to mix into one. Where are you, little perv? A ghost of a shadow rests behind one of the room’s giant columns, but when I return my gaze, it’s gone.

  I clench my jaw, wanting nothing more than to cross the space to investigate, but I don’t have time, so instead I shake off the feeling and return my attention to my companions.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” I say to Jia and Simon.

  “Leaving us so soon?” Simon glances at my drink. “You haven’t even finished your martini.”

  “Yes, how rude of me, but I find myself in need of the ladies’ room.”

  “Another time then, Victoria,” Simon says as I slide off the stool.

  I don’t mistake the promise in his voice, and I almost laugh at his failure to catch any form of my intrigue.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you, Jia.” I smile at the woman, who flashes her pearly whites. As I walk toward the powder room, I can feel her clever brown eyes remaining pinned to me and have no doubt her gaze isn’t the only one that lingers.

  13

  Carter

  PEARL RIVER HOTEL

  HONG KONG: 2306 HOURS

  I’m still staring at the space where Victoria’s delicious form rounded the corner. I might have only met her for a moment, but there’s something about this one…

  Damn.

  Why did Eu-fùnh have to come over and scare her off? I have no doubt her interrogation, though subtle, was the reason for Victoria’s quick exit. A woman who avoids questions about herself is an alluring specimen indeed, and I’m nothing if not a man of allure.

  “Okay, Simon,” Eu-fùnh says by my side. “Let’s talk with Li and see if Kam has indeed left for the night.”

  We both noticed Chenglei make his brief appearance, and while Victoria’s departure was disappointing, it was rather well timed. Glancing once more in the direction she left, I let out a subtle sigh before gesturing to Eu-fùnh to lead the way.

  Maneuvering through the crowd, we approach a middle-age Chinese man who’s sitting on one of the gray sofas with a woman who’s a thousand points above him in attraction. She’s curled to his side, playing with the lapels of his suit, whispering something in his ear, which causes his lips to curve into a devilish grin.

  “Director Li,” Eu-fùnh begins in her native tongue, bringing his attention to us as we give respectful bows. “I was wondering if you could inform Chairman Kam that I have an important potential business partner that wishes to speak with him.”

  Chenglei’s adviser looks me over, appraising the cost of my designer suit to the style of my hair to the gleam of my gold cuff links before he returns his attention to Eu-fùnh.

  “My lovely Jia, I wish I could help you with an introduction, but I’m afraid Chairman Kam has already retired for the evening. I suggest you set up an appointment with my assistant for a time that is convenient for both parties.” He snaps his fingers, and a small, older woman standing behind him quickly steps closer, bowing to us.

  Eu-fùnh graciously inclines her head. “As always, Director Li, I thank you for your advisement. I will talk with my companion for his availability and will discuss it with your people. I also look forward to being able to discuss more than just work at some point with you this evening.” She finishes with a clever smile.

  The woman beside him glowers, while Director Li merely preens in pleasure before we walk away, me not having uttered a single word.

  “You wicked girl,” I say once we’re behind a column. “You’ll have every man eating out of your palms before the night’s up.”

  “Who says I don’t already?”

  A low chuckle escapes me. How much Eu-fùnh reminds me of someone…oh yes, me.

  “So Kam’s gone to his room,” she says. “Are you ready?”

  I adjust one of my cuff links that’s already perfect. “Of course.”

  “You have my cell and know where we’re regrouping.” She absently cleans nonexistent lint off my shoulder, a small crease between her brows—the only sign of her worry. While friends, both of us know better than to form any real attachments, and not only because of our line of work. Feelings lead to loss, to hurt, and my ability to accept such things died a long time ago. Now I make a point to keep everything casual. Casual is safe. Casual doesn’t rip your heart out and force you to watch it be buried six feet under.

  So claiming Eu-fùnh’s hand, I wait for her to look me in the eyes before sliding her a playful grin. “I’ll be warming our bed in an hour.”

  Picking the security card off the sixth guard I’ve had to knock out, I make my way through the last door in the labyrinth of henchmen Kam has leading to his suite. The hotel’s hallway is peppered with low-glowing modern light fixtures set against silver wallpaper and a patterned red carpet. It’s taken me seventeen minutes to reach the top floor from the gala, and when I press up against the last bend in the hall before reaching my target’s door, I let out a relieved sigh. I’m not nervous, just hungry. Literally. I was an idiot and skipped the dinner portion of tonight, having settled for nuts at the bar. The faster I get this done, the faster I can find a street vendor and feed the growl growing in my stomach.

  Using the mirror finish in my cuff links, I peer around the corner, catching two gua
rds standing outside Kam’s door. The bulk in their jackets outlines their short-barrel shotguns, a favorite of Kam’s men and a not-too-favorable outcome for myself if I get shot by one. Talk about a mess.

  Crouched in the security cameras’ blind spot, I point my scrambler at the lens and count to five before moving to the next one, closer to where the guards stand. After I’m confident they’re both down, I remove my tranquilizer gun and, leaning my head against the wall, take in three steadying breaths before quickly whipping around and shooting the first, then second, guard in the neck. They both let out surprised grunts before dropping to the floor, unconscious.

  Reaching the bodies, I prop both men against the wall, checking that they’re properly knocked out before binding their arms and legs.

  “Now you two just relax out here,” I say, removing one of their key cards to swipe the lock before raising the same guard’s hand to press against the finger scanner. There’s a small beep, a flash of green, and the door pops open.

  I smile before pocketing the card and walking in.

  14

  3

  PEARL RIVER HOTEL

  HONG KONG: 2336 HOURS

  The relentless Hong Kong wind pushes me against the glass surface of the hotel as I silently propel down to the balcony. Dressed in black flexible outerwear, I’m hidden from anyone looking out and shielded from the brutal gusts that accompanies being eighty flights up. My dress is safely tucked in my small sleek backpack, along with the other equipment I’ll need tonight. My face is completely covered by a tight hood and mask that I’ve attached my thermal eyes to.

  I might have better than 20/20 vision, but I never said I could see through walls.

  Reaching the safety of the balcony, I detach my cord, retract it, and place it in my bag before padding over to the sliding glass doors to survey the interior.