11. "There is a guy who keeps protecting my targets from me, who are you and can you stop now"
Theresa Gray was not known for her sharp shooting, even though she was an excellent sharp shooter. She was not known for her hand-to-hand combat, even though she had used her bare hands to snap bones. She was not known for her skill with poisons, or explosives, or knives, or guns.
She was known for getting the job done.
She had joined La Miroir, one of the best private risk management agency in the country, when she was seventeen and she was damn good at her job. She had uncanny talents that let her blend in with her surroundings and made people forget she wasn't one of their best friends. And then, depending on her clients wishes, she stole from them or bugged their bedrooms or slapped handcuffs on them and turned them over to the CIA.
Her current target was one Axel Mortmain, suspected international terrorist and all around bad guy. The agency had actually had three clients who wanted him dead and the owner had no qualms with taking all of their money in order to make him so. She did not kill people, that was specifically in her contract, but she had been deemed the only one at La Miroir who was skilled enough to bring him in.
It would have been relatively simple. She'd had plenty of similar jobs to this before. It was usually a simple matter, just enough distraction to incapacitate her target and call for back up. La Miroir had an excellent extraction team and it was always a swift and efficient process that let her go home to her book within a few hours.
Not so with Axel Mortmain. It wasn't that he was the problem. He was incredibly dangerous, yes, but he was also arrogant and that made men stupid. She'd been tailing him for a week and had his security detail figured out. One big guy with a froglike expression and superhuman strength and two women who were incredibly ugly and spoke almost exclusively in Russian. But they weren't her problem.
Her problem was he man he was doing business with, James Carstairs. If she had met him in a different situation, she would have said he was gorgeous and would have stammered if she'd gotten up the nerve to ask him for his phone number. He was tall and slim and there was a streak of silver in his dark hair that she wanted to touch and a British accent that sent shivers down her spine. He was some sort of a tech typhoon and his security was incredibly tight for a private citizen with no criminal record. It seemed like he was going out of his way to make Mortmain feel safe during their, which had proven to be incredibly annoying.
After three fruitless attempts to reach Mortmain in any sort of clandestine manner, her agency sent her information regarding a charity fundraiser that he was on the guest list to attend. It wasn't ideal, but it was out of Carstair's impenetrable office and penthouse, both of which she'd tried and failed to infiltrate.
She didn't have any other options. Her best chance of getting Mortmain away from Carstairs long enough for her team to extract him was this gala. So, she'd donated enough money to the Children's Hospital to warrant an immediate invitation, donned a ridiculously sexy grey silk dress that did not to hide her shape and still managed to hide the stun gun and throwing knives, put up her hair with poisoned-tipped pins and gone to the party.
It was an insanely boring affair, all quiet murmuring while jazz played softly in the background. James Carstairs was there at Mortmain's table, looking absurdly sexy in a black tux. There was a decent chance that she'd blow this lead simply because she couldn't stop herself from staring at him. She pretended to drink champagne and ate too many bacon wrapped scallops. She watched Mortmain, who'd only brought the muscle, not the Russians, and tried to figure out how a man could donate money to the Children's Hospital and want to blow up the next United Nations Summit.
She did not stare at James Carstairs.
The hospital's director was giving a speech when Mortmain excused himself from his table and slipped into the hall without his man. She made herself count to thirty before she followed him. By the time she made it to the hall, he had disappeared. She swore, eased off her shoes, and pulled the stun gun from it's thigh holster. She had only taken a few steps when a voice said in her ear.
"Please don't kill him. That would make my job so much more difficult."
She spun around and slammed James Carstairs into the wall. She was damn annoyed now and her target was getting away and he smelled incredible.
"Do you have any idea how incredibly dangerous Mortmain is?" she hissed, pressing the muzzle of the gun into his throat. "He wants to use your tech to destroy the U.N.! If you'll just let me do my job, my people can stop that from happening."
"That's what I'm here to stop too," His British accent and breath in her hair almost made her miss what he was saying. "Jem Carstairs, MI6."
She let go of him abruptly. "You're kidding me."
He shrugged elegantly. "I wish I were, Miss…"
"Grey."
"Miss Grey, my people have been trying to figure out how he plans on destroying the U.N. so we can stop him."
"Then we're after the same thing," she said, launching herself down the hall. He caught the hand not holding the gun and pulled her to a stop.
"Not quite." He dropped her hand and straightened the front of his shirt. She tried not to get distracted by the layers of muscle that were apparent even under the starched linen. 'It would seem that you just want him dead, whereas I want the information he has yet to give me. He wants the tech, yes, but we don't know what he wants to do with it. It's imperative that we find out."
She regarded him in the moonlight. She believed him. "Maybe we can help each other. My clients want him dead, that's true, but there's no reason we can't work together to collect that information, if MI6 is willing to hand him over to us."
He gave her a long look before his face broke into a smile.
"I think we can come to some sort of an arrangement."