Well, here it is, finally! Welcome back to any that followed me through the journey of writing "Sunsets & Roses." I hope you enjoy this story as much. It's a much different story.
Translation: Sonsuzluk - Eternity; Le Chat - The Cat
DISCLAIMER: I own only the plot. Richelle Mead owns the characters.
Chapter 1: Le Chat
The reservation clerk's head was lowered over the desk, staring intently at the computer screen. He was so focused, it wasn't until he heard the 'click-clack' of fingernails drumming on the counter that he raised his head.
She chuckled internally as she saw the expected, but still humorous, reaction. The young man's eyes widened exponentially as he raked them up and down her body. Resting back on her face, he squeaked out, "May I help you?"
She nearly laughed as his face turned a bright pink against his pale, freckled skin. The shock of red hair framed the deep blush perfectly. Gently pushing a long lock of bleached blonde hair off her shoulder with her well-manicured hand, the woman smiled. It was the one she used to get most men to bend to her will. Reaching up, she slid the large framed sunglasses down her nose. Looking at his name tag, she then pushed them back into place. "Charles, is it?" she said, her southern drawl flowing out like honey.
Coughing, he smiled shyly in return. "Yes, ma'am. Welcome to The Oriental. How might I assist you today?" he said, his accent clearly practiced. If she had to hazard a guess, she would say he was originally from the Southeast part of England, based on the Estuary accent he barely contained.
"I'm checking in, sugar. The name's Savannah Ethridge," she replied, extending her slightly draped hand, fingers covered in various rings and gems.
Charles' eyes jumped between her face and the protracted hand, uncertainty washing over his features. With a small curl at his lips, he reached out and gently grasped her hand, shaking it slightly. Just as quickly, he dropped it, as if the contact burned his fair skin. Clearing his throat, he responded, "Yes, ma'am. Let me just check. Do you have your passport with you?"
Savannah slid her jeweled hand into her bag, swiftly pulling out the requested document. Sliding it across the counter, she replied, "Sure do, honey." She watched as the clerk's fingers flew across the keyboard.
"Ah, here it is," he said, before raising his head. Smiling broadly, he continued, "It says you will be staying for just one night. Is that correct?"
Again, she had to curtail a chuckle as she saw his slightly forlorn expression. "I'm afraid so, sugar," she responded. Resting her elbow on the counter, she leaned in closer, giving him an eyeful of her exposed cleavage. She pulled her glasses down once again. Her bright blue eyes caught his as she continued, her voice low, "But, had I known I would meet such a handsome man as yourself, I would have definitely extended my stay." She winked before slipping the shades back up. The edge of her lips curled slightly as she took in the blush once again spreading across his cheeks.
Taking her passport, he double checked the information, scanned it quickly and slid it back across the desk. She dropped it back into her purse and waited patiently for the man to finish. After a brief moment, he pulled a sheet from the nearby printer and placed it in front of her. Handing her a pen, he said, "If you will please make sure everything is correct and sign at the bottom, Ms. Ethridge."
She moved her hand over his, lightly touching his skin as she removed the writing instrument from his fingers. "Thanks, honey." She quickly scrawled a nearly illegible signature across the sheet before pushing the paper toward the befuddled man.
Collecting it off the desk, he pulled the requisite hotel keycard from a pile before programming it. "Here is your key," he said, handing it to her. "You're in the Royal Suite, which is on the second floor. Do you need anyone to help you with your bags?"
"Oh, no, sugar. I've only got this here small carry-on, but aren't you sweet to offer." Turning to walk toward the elevator, she stopped after a few steps and turned around. "Thank you for all your help, Charles," she said before blowing him a small kiss. She turned and continued to the elevator, as the bellman pressed the button.
The suite was stunning. The décor was light creams and gray with beautiful hardwood floors. The floor to ceiling windows overlooked Hyde Park's lush greenery. Savannah's six-inch heels clicked across the wooden floor as she made her way toward the master bedroom and into the large, walk-in closet. As she studied the safe mounted into the closet wall, she smiled. This time, it was a smile that made most men cower in fear.
The street in front of the hotel was quiet, the nearby businesses and shops long closed. Only the casino down the road remained open. However, with the late hour, there would be few patrons wandering down the deserted sidewalks. The streetlamps cast eerie shadows alongside the stone walls and concrete roads.
Lurking in the shadows, the woman pulled the black ski mask over her head, securing it into place. Intense, brown eyes, hidden behind it, methodically scanned the area from the darkened alleyway. Clad in black, she climbed the metal drain pipe that ran along the side of the building. Reaching the nearby fire escape, she hauled herself up and over before tiptoeing to the end. Climbing over the side, she lowered herself slowly. Hanging from the cold steel, she swung out a few times before releasing and dropping silently onto the stone patio below. Landing softly, she rolled smoothly before rising into a low crouch. Eyes still surveying the area, she quickly and quietly inched toward a set of patio doors. Hugging the wall, she peered inside, past the sheer curtains. The interior was shuttered in darkness. Slipping a tool from the belt around the waist, the woman slid it surreptitiously between the double doors. With a quick but controlled twist, she heard the tell-tale 'click' as the latch released. Sliding the tool back into place, her gloved hand reached out and carefully lowered the door handle, listening intently for any sound from inside. Pushing it open, just enough to slip through, she slid into the room, hugging the cold glass.
Pushing the door nearly closed, she scanned the room. The large, king-sized bed sat against the far wall, the sides turned down earlier by the maid service. Walking toward the large closet, the intruder gently slid the expensive silk suit jackets apart. Reaching into the kit once again, she pulled out a tubular lock pick. Knowing in advance the safes the hotel used in the past, but had yet to replace, the tool was already set correctly. Inserting the pick into the lock, she gently applied pressure while twisting it back and forth. In a matter of seconds, the heavy metal door popped open. Withdrawing the tool and placing it back in the kit, the prowler reached inside, pulling out a large, dark blue velvet box. Pulling out a small flashlight and turning it on, the small halo of light illuminated the glittering array of jewels. Smiling beneath the mask, the burglar removed the item from the tray before slipping it, now empty back into the safe. She tucked the necklace into a pouch, hidden inside the dark pants.
Locking the safe, the thief slid the clothes back into place before stepping back out into the bedroom. Opening the patio door, she slipped outside and crawled over to the edge once again. Surveying the alleyway below, the woman swung her legs over the side of the small wall and pushed off. Crouching as she landed, the lone figure crept down the alley until reaching the end. Looking around cautiously once more, she pulled on the black helmet that was resting on the seat, started the engine and sped off into the night.
It was nearly forty minutes later when the motorcycle and its passenger pulled up to the rundown warehouse outside the small town of Ilford. Dismounting, the rider unlocked the large metal door, sliding it open enough to push the bike inside. Once through the door, she set the stand, turned, and pulled the door closed, securing it once again. Walking up a set of dirty metal stairs, the burglar slid open another heavy door. Pushing it closed and locking it, the woman reached over and flipped a switch on the wall. A single exposed bulb flickered to life in the center of the moderately sized room. What windows there were had been painted black, blocking out all light from either escaping or entering.
Walking to a table in the center of the room, the thief pulled off her gloves before reaching up and tugging off the helmet. With one hand, she lifted off the mask. Long, dark chestnut-colored hair cascaded down her back. Catching a glance in the floor mirror, the young woman surveyed her reflection. Smiling, she ran her hands through her hair, finger-combing out the tangles. Turning back to the table, she reached into the trousers, pulling out the secured bundle. Unfolding the cloth that housed the treasure, she pulled the necklace free. Holding it up, she studied it, watching as the jewels caught the light from the dim bulb. She smiled, realizing the famous Sonsuzluk emerald and diamond necklace would bring a nice payday. Mounted in platinum, it was set with a graduated series of sixteen rectangular-cut and square-cut emeralds, each within a circular-cut diamond surround. Those were spaced by graduated circular-cut, marquise-cut, and pear-shaped diamond quatrefoils. There was a buyer already lined up.
Picking up her phone, she sauntered over to the refrigerator and pulled it open. Grabbing a beer, she popped the cap off before taking a long pull from the cold beverage. Flipping through her contacts, she hit the button and held the phone to her ear. It only rang twice before the familiar voice answered, "Hey, Little Cat."
Rolling her eyes, she replied, "What have I said about calling me that, Adrian?"
Chuckling but ignoring her rhetorical question, he said, "So, I assume you scored tonight?"
Taking a quick swig from the bottle, she replied, "Yup. It's so beautiful, I'm tempted to keep it for myself."
"Tsk, tsk," he responded. "I don't think Abe would look too kindly on that, even if you are his favorite."
Abe Mazur was the head of the syndicate for which she freelanced. He had discovered her real identity years earlier and had used that information to blackmail her into working for him. While it had pissed her off initially, she had found that working for Abe brought quite a few rewards. With his wealth and reputation, she was able to take any job she wanted. She also had unlimited access to resources that helped her stay undetected and out of prison. Sighing, she answered, "I'm not his favorite. I'm just the best, and he appreciates real talent."
Adrian laughed. "There's my girl. Not an ounce of humility in that beautiful body."
Snorting, she replied, "It's not bragging if it's the truth." Pausing to take another drink, she continued, "So, when and where is the drop?"
"Not sure yet. The buyer is pretty skittish. They keep changing the plans. Abe's trying to nail them down. I'll let you know as soon as he lets me know."
Taking one last swig, she tossed the empty bottle into the trash before walking back to the table. Picking up the necklace, she studied it once again. It indeed was a thing of beauty, but she knew that it was only a means to an end. "Okay, let me know. Does the old man have a new target for me?"
Snickering, Adrian replied, "Always need to be on the job, huh?"
Running a hand through her hair, she replied wearily, "Guess so. Wouldn't know what to do with myself otherwise."
"Just don't get burned out. One mistake and that's it; game over."
"Yeah, yeah," she mumbled. "So? The next job?"
"Fine. He's got a buyer interested in the Royal Star of Paris. I've sent over the details. Once you deliver the necklace to the sheik, you'll head to Paris. The brooch will be on display in two weeks. That should give you enough time."
She closed her eyes and furrowed her brow. "Please, tell me it's not..." she said, the last word dying on her lips.
"Yup. The brooch will be at the Louvre."
Her fist clenched. She wasn't entirely sure if her desire to beat the shit out of something was due to the location of the jewel, or at the amusement she heard in Adrian's voice. "Son of a bitch," she mumbled.
"Don't tell me Le Chat is afraid of a widdle biddy world-famous museum, with probably the most state of the art security?" Adrian said, smugness tinting his tone.
"Fuck you, Adrian," she retorted.
Laughing outright, he responded, "Hey, I'm only kidding. You know there's no security system in the world you can't crack. It'll be fine, you'll see. Besides, Mia's already pulling together all the intel on their systems. You'll go and do your regular surveillance and then, badabing badaboom, that fancy pin is as good as yours."
She smirked. Adrian always knew how to bring her out of her funks. "Fine. Once I get this damn necklace off my hands, I'll head to Paris and start scouting." She'd have to lay the Southern belle, Savannah, to rest and pull out one of her other aliases.
"That a girl!"
"Goodnight, Adrian," she growled before hanging up.
"Goodnight, Lilly," he replied.
The blaring ringtone from her phone startled Rose from her deep slumber. With her eyes still closed, she fumbled around the bedside table, searching for the offending device. Swiping at the screen, she mumbled into the receiver, "What?"
"Morning, sunshine," Adrian chirped.
Groaning, Rose replied, "This better be good."
Chuckling, he answered, "It is. We have a meet scheduled."
Opening her eyes, Rose slowly sat up before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Pushing her hair off her face, she said, "When and where?"
"Much better. And people say you're not a morning person," he teased.
"I'm not, and get to the fucking point."
"Fine, fine, no need to get testy. The buyer is sending his representative. They'll meet you at the London Eye. You'll have a ticket waiting. Board at the Fast Track entrance. Be there a little before ten o'clock."
Rose looked over at her clock. It was only seven. That would give her time to eat something, go for a run and get showered and changed before driving the forty minutes back into town. "Fine. Do we know anything about this person?"
"Only that he goes by the initial S."
Rose scoffed. "Seriously? Sounds like a douche to me."
Adrian laughed. "My thoughts exactly."
"How's the payment being handled? Am I picking up currency, or are they doing a wire-transfer?"
"Payment will be made electronically once they have the necklace. You'll call me from the gondola, and Mr. S will initiate the transfer."
"And if things don't go…according to plan?" she asked. While most of the time the clients were happy to pay for services rendered, there had been rare instances where persuasion had been required.
"Abe says to do whatever is necessary to ensure things go as expected." Squeezing her eyes shut, Rose nodded, mainly to herself. That meant she would have to pack her Sig 1911 Tribal Ultra Compact, as well as her Gerber StrongArm Fixed Blade Knife.
"Fine, I'll call you when we're ready." Hanging up, she stood and walked to the kitchenette. Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, she pulled out her Ninja and whipped up a quick protein smoothie. Drinking it as she changed into her running gear, she placed the glass into the small sink before picking up her music player.
Exiting out of the warehouse, she looked around for signs of vagrants or police. Seeing no one, she started with a slow lope, letting her muscles warm up. Eventually, she stepped up the pace, running briskly through the crisp autumn air. As the music thumped through the headset, she moved through the small, narrow streets. After about thirty minutes, she started to slow, as she came across a small park. There were only a handful of people milling about, as it was still early. Finding a secluded spot, Rose began to stretch out her muscles, breathing in the slightly chilled air.
"Excuse me?" a male voice said. Looking up, Rose was facing a young man, close to her age. His hair was bright red, contrasting against his blue eyes. He was smiling as he held out a map. "I seem to be lost. Could you tell me how to get to London?"
Rose smirked. "Sure," she said, standing close to the man, as they both studied the map. As her finger ran along the page, she whispered, "What the fuck are you doing here, Mason?"
He looked at her, nodding as if listening to her supply directions. "She wanted an update."
She shook her head, before pointing once again at the map and then at the nearby street. "Are you trying to blow my cover?" she asked, her voice coated in ire.
"No," he said, calmly, a smile still on his face. "I only do what I'm ordered. Associate Deputy Director Ozera wants a report – like today."
Huffing slightly, she responded, "Tell Tasha I'll have something for her soon. I'm meeting with one of the buyer's men this morning. I was able to insert the listening and tracking device into the necklace. Not sure if they'll spot it, but if not, it should give the agency what they're looking for."
Nodding, Mason smiled before folding up the map and shaking her hand. "Thank you, very much. I hope I didn't inconvenience you," he said, laughter playing in his eyes.
"No problem. I hope you enjoy your visit," she said, politely before walking off.
As she jogged back to the warehouse, she couldn't help but fume. She liked the director and even considered Tasha a friend. However, it had been a dangerous call to have Mason show up like that. Had anyone been watching her, especially one of Abe's men, not only would her assignment end, but most likely her life as well. Her cover was Lilly Martin, otherwise known to only a select few as Le Chat. In real life, she was Rose Hathaway, Field Agent with the CIA's Operations Division. She had been assigned to infiltrate Ibrahim Mazur's organization. One might wonder what a CIA agent would be doing undercover as a jewel thief. Only Director Ozera and her partner, Agent Mason Ashford knew the real mission. Rose was to use her position in Mazur's syndicate to tag bank accounts and gather evidence on suspected terrorists like this particular individual. The CIA knew the identity of the buyer, but they needed concrete proof of their involvement with terrorism.
Operations like these weren't short term. Rose had been honing her skills and building her reputation for years. Her one goal was bringing down one of the world's most wanted men. Unfortunately, they had no idea who he was. Those who fought and died for the leader of The Revolution Front were highly dedicated, and not even the most brutal interrogation techniques could break them. Members of the Front were radical, fanatically loyal and immune to all forms of bribery or coercion. For the operation to have any chance at success, Rose's cover had to be impervious to scrutiny.
She had become so entrenched in her new life, sometimes she wondered how she'd ever go back. Her mother, Janine Hathaway, had been one of the CIA's top agents. While Rose held little familial attachment to her mother, she had always had her respect. When her mother had died, the victim of a car bomb many years ago, Rose had vowed, not only honor her mother by becoming the best agent she could but to find her mother's killer. All her investigation and research had led her to this point. After years of pulling at the threads of The Front, she was getting one step closer to victory.
Slipping into the warehouse, she dropped the player and headset on the table before grabbing a bottle of water. Strolling over to the desk, she flipped open a thick folder. Inside was every piece of information gathered over the years on The Front's elusive leader. She had spent years memorizing every note and photo. They haunted her dreams and tortured her waking hours. In this game of cat and mouse, she always felt as if she took two steps back for every one step forward. Shaking her head, she slammed it shut. She knew that if she didn't catch a break soon, the Director would have no choice but to pull her. Rose shivered at the thought of being reassigned.
Rolling her shoulders, she stripped out of her clothes and took a quick shower. Once finished and dry, she pulled her long hair up into a high ponytail and wrapped it into a tight bun. Removing the short copper-colored wig off the mannequin, she placed it over her hair, pinning it into place. Putting on the jade green contact lenses, she applied her makeup and positioned a small, fake beauty mark just above her left eyebrow. Once satisfied with the look, she slid on a pair of skinny jeans and a fitted tank top. She opted for her black buckled-back combat boots. They would allow her to hide the knife in the ankle holster. Grabbing her black leather jacket, she picked up the necklace, wrapped it back in the cloth and slid it into the inside pocket. Pulling her Sig from the desk, she checked the magazine before pulling the slide. She then slipped the gun into the waistband of her jeans at her lower back. Sliding the jacket back over it, she grabbed the knife, pulled up her pant leg and placed it in the holster.
A few minutes later she was flying down the highway, headed toward London. It would take her about an hour to get to the meeting spot. That would leave her an hour to do surveillance and figure out escape routes if things went south. Rose's motto was "Hope for the best, but plan for the worst." In her line of work, it almost always ended up being the latter.
Almost exactly thirty minutes later, Rose pulled into a parking spot for motorcycles near the Tower Hill tube station. Buying a ticket at the automated kiosk, she walked to the turnstile and inserted it before walking through. Rose boarded the train on the District line and headed toward the Embankment station. Ten minutes later, she stepped out and made her way along the platform and up the escalator. Taking another long hallway, Rose stepped out onto the Northern line platform and waited for the train. It arrived a few moments later, and she boarded quickly, placing herself near the door with her back to the wall.
A short three minutes later she exited the train and made her way up the escalator. Leaving the station, she quickly crossed the street, heading down Chicheley Street. Crossing Belvedere Road, she walked toward the massive, metal structure that sat on the bank of the Thames. With her large sunglasses in place, she sat on a nearby bench, pretending to read her copy of Fodor's London. She covertly surveyed the area, registering law enforcement presence, security measures, as well as entrance and egress points. As it was still relatively early, there were only a few tourists milling around. Standing, she made her way to the concession stand, purchasing a coffee. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her phone, placing it to her ear. Sipping her coffee, she pretended to carry on an engaging conversation while continuing to watch people as they came and went.
Ending the fake call, she put her phone away and looked down at her watch. It was a few minutes to ten. She stood and walked toward the ticket station. At ten o'clock sharp, a young woman waved her forward.
"How may I help you?" she asked in her clipped accent.
"Ticket for Chelsea Cook," she replied in her perfect cockney accent.
"May I see your identification, please?"
Rose reached into her back pocket and pulled out the forged card, sliding it under the glass. No matter how many times she used fake identification, she always felt a sense of unease. She knew it was nearly impossible that anyone would discover the fraud, but she also knew that nothing was ever guaranteed.
"Enjoy the ride, Ms. Cook," she said, smiling, sliding the ticket and identification back under the glass.
"Thanks," Rose replied.
Sliding the license into her back pocket, her fingers surreptitiously brushed the Sig. That brief contact brought calm back to her nerves, as she turned and walked toward the assigned entrance. Handing her ticket to the young man at the walkway, she slid past him, ignoring his blatant, heated stare. She stepped through the open doors and stood to face them, her back against the glass walls.
A minute later, three men stepped inside, filling up the entrance. Two massive men flanked a smaller, but still well-muscled man. He had spiked blonde hair and green eyes. Rose would guess he was in his late twenties. His posture was relaxed, as he stood, feet apart, his hands clasped in front. As the doors closed and the gondola began to move, he stepped forward until he was standing next to her. Looking out the window, he said, "Spectacular view." His Belfast accent was evidently authentic.
Rose inclined her head toward him, nodding slightly. "Ready to make the trade?" she asked, her own accent still firmly in place.
Turning entirely to face her, he replied, "What's the hurry, luv?"
It took everything in her to not thrust her forearm into his larynx. His presence was a combination of confidence and arrogance. While many might consider him handsome, she found him repulsive. Underneath the swagger and charm, she saw the snake beneath. She suddenly found herself more concerned with him than the two hulking giants standing guard by the exit. Maintaining her own disguise, she shrugged and retorted, "Just have places to be."
Stepping even closer, his chest now rubbing against her arm, he leaned down to whisper into her ear, "Awe, I'm sure we could persuade such a lovely lass as yourself to stay awhile." Sliding his hand from her waist slowly up her shirt, he barely noticed her left hand move to his crotch. "What do you say? The boys and I could give you a real ride." As his fingers reached the bottom of her breast, she squeezed her hand tightly, holding him in place.
Turning her face, so they were cheek to cheek, she whispered, "Bugger off. Touch me again, and I'll make sure you never ride again." With one last squeeze, she released him, wiping her hand on her jeans. Turning, she ground out, "I believe we have business to conduct."
He stared at her for a second, his green eyes now hardened and black. Inhaling deeply, he replied, "Show me the item."
Glancing toward the two men at the door, she slowly slid her hand into her jacket, her other hand raised. She pulled it out slowly. Lowering her other hand she pulled back the cloth, letting the sparkling emeralds and diamonds glint in the morning sun. Looking back at the hired gun, she saw a small smirk. He reached out and picked the necklace up, scanning it closely. After inspecting it thoroughly, he laid it back into her open palm. "Now for the payment," she said, folding the cloth over. Pulling her phone out, she dialed Adrian's number.
"Ready," he said as he answered.
Handing the phone over to Mr. S., she watched as he took it, placing it to his ear. "CNB. Routing number 025762372. Account number 740228119065. You have thirty minutes before the account is closed," he said before promptly hanging up.
"Once he sends confirmation of the transfer, you'll get the necklace," Rose said.
Mr. S. smirked again. "You realize we could just take it from you now?" he said, inching closer again.
Eyes narrowed, she glared at the man. "Itching for a repeat, are you?" She saw his eyes widen slightly before he stepped back. "Besides, I think your employer has enjoyed a rather fruitful arrangement with mine. Doubt he'd appreciate you throwing a spanner in the works, eh?" Before he could reply, her phone beeped. She could see the gondola was nearly back at the bottom. She felt herself relax slightly as she saw the confirmation from Adrian. Pocketing the phone she handed the necklace over, dropping it unceremoniously into his hand. "Pleasure doing business with you."
She turned and walked toward the doors. She tensed again as she saw the two large men holding their position, blocking her exit. Turning her head, she glanced back at the other man. "Mind asking these two wankers to step aside?" she asked before turning to look back at the human barricades. She saw their eyes flick behind her. A second later they both stepped aside, allowing her to pass.
As she crossed the threshold, she heard Mr. S. call out, "Be seeing you soon, lass."
Rose tried to control the shiver of revulsion that coursed through her body. She knew his comment was meant as a threat and that their next meeting wouldn't be as civil. Mercenaries, or mercs, were the worst to deal with. They had no conscious and worked only for themselves. They could be highly unpredictable.
She walked away, maintaining both an air of confidence and innocence. Walking along the streets, she peered into various shop windows, stopping in a few to look at merchandise she had no interest in purchasing. She was doing what she always did; ensuring she wasn't being tailed. After a half hour, she finally felt confident she wasn't being followed and headed to the tube station. Boarding the train, she made her way back to Tower Hill. Exiting the station, she quickly mounted the bike after sliding on her helmet. Starting the engine, she pulled out and sped down the narrow streets until she reached the highway.
Arriving back at the warehouse, she secured the bike before heading upstairs. She washed her face after removing the wig and contacts. Sliding the knife from the holster, she placed it, along with the Sig into the desk drawer. Just as she pulled a beer from the fridge, her phone rang.
"Nice job, Little Cat," the familiar voice greeted.
Sighing heavily, Rose disregarded the nickname, instead responding, "How much?"
Laughing, Adrian replied, "Always to the point. Your cut was one point two million U.S. dollars. I deposited into your account."
Rose flipped open her laptop, pulling up her bank website. Logging in quickly, she confirmed the payment before responding, "Got it." Stretching and rolling her neck, she continued, "Do I have a base set up?"
She heard Adrian snort. "What do you think? We're not a fly-by-night operation here. Abe has decided that having you close to the museum would be better. You're booked into the Four Seasons Hotel George V."
Rose had to keep from gasping. She knew of its reputation for elegance and luxury. While she wasn't about to tell Abe she wasn't interested, she was slightly concerned. "That seems risky to me," she said.
"You know the drill, Lilly. If anytime you need to alter the plan or arrangements, just give me a call."
Sighing again, Rose responded, "Fine. I'll check it out. How am I getting there?"
"Abe's sending his plane. You'll fly out this evening from Luton into Aéroport de Paris - Le Bourget. Cleaners will be at your place in Ilford tonight after you leave. Want your bike shipped to Paris?"
"No," she said. "Just have them store it someplace in London."
"Will do. So, who will you become this time?" he asked, sounding excited.
"Make the reservation at the hotel for Catharine Hirsiz," she said, smirking.
Adrian chuckled. "You do realize Abe is going to have a fit when he finds out what name you're using. He told you to never use it."
Rose scoffed. "Do you honestly believe anyone in law enforcement is going to have a clue?"
"It's your funeral when the old man finds out."
"Whatever. Listen, Adrian, I've got to run. I've got to pack and get ready to head out. What time should I be at Luton?"
"The plane should arrive around six tonight," he replied.
"All right. I'll talk to you later." Rose waited a moment, expecting a snarky or inappropriate comment in response. Finally, she said, "Adrian?"
She heard him sigh on the other end. "It's probably nothing, but I'm getting a bad feeling in my gut about this one. Just watch your back, okay?" he said, his voice thick with concern.
Rose couldn't help but inhale sharply. Adrian's instincts were nearly as good as hers. The only fault in his was not catching on to her true identity and mission. She couldn't fault him for that. It was what she had trained for since she graduated high school. She could become anyone at any time. As quickly as she could shed one identity, she could promptly assume another, leaving no trace behind. Knowing he had concerns about this next job meant she should give them serious credence. "I will, Adrian. Thanks," she said, making sure he heard the sincerity in her voice.
Hanging up, she looked at the clock. It was only noon. It wouldn't take her long to pack. She could change on the plane, quickly assuming her new identity. She packed her bags and spruced up the room before sitting down and reviewing the dossier she had compiled on Catharine, as well as the information from Mia on the job itself. It would be her most challenging to date.
I'll give a guest spot in this story to the first person who posts in the reviews the significance of Rose's newest alias, Catharine Hirsiz. UPDATE: We have a winner! Congratulations to PrincessKooki who guessed correctly - Catharine Hirsiz = Cat Burglar (Hirsiz is Turkish for burglar).