"Spin for me, Agent Blye."
Marcy Hemming, a middle-age seamstress for the undercover operations department, regarded her latest project with a critical eye. Kensi stood before the full-length mirror in the department's basement office, a sleek red dress hanging around her. It was closely fitted to her slender form, a bright scarlet that brought out her dark complexion and eyes.
She obeyed Marcy's command, twirling once so that the seamstress could admire the outfit. The silky garment felt out of place, unfamiliar. Kensi was used to wearing her usual uniformed of plaid shirts, jeans, sneakers or boots. Even when she went out-which wasn't often-she opted for practical skirts and flat shoes. She liked outfits that she could move in. Forget chasing down a suspect in these 3 inch spiked heels, she could barely walk.
"You look lovely, Miss Blye."
Kensi wheeled around, nearly tripping over herself, to see Hetty standing behind her.
"Come up to the garage and I'll have them loan you an agency car for the assignment. Something flashy and fast, I should think…"
Fifteen minutes later, Kensi tiptoed through the bullpen, awkward in her revealing outfit. Someone wolf-whistled as she passed and Kensi felt her cheeks heat in a blush.
"Nice outfit," Sam smirked. Kensi pulled a quick face at him before following out the garage. She was a little nervous about this assignment, one of her first in several months. Not to mention the fact that she wouldn't be armed or wired in order to avoid being made. The thought of heading into a potentially dangerous situation without a gun or any outside communication except a burn phone made her a tad worried.
Still, it was hard to stay on edge when Hetty handed her the keys to a red sports car and a slip of paper with a Bel Air address printed on it.
"Good luck, Agent Blye," said Hetty. Sam clapped a hand on her back and reassured her that if she got into a scrape they would come get her. Callen squeezed her hand, a silent message passing between them. Deeks, however, simply stood in the background, a bitter smile on his face as she watched her drive away.
Kensi had never been so grateful to have someone fade in her rearview mirror.
The address that Hetty had given her took Kensi to a pair of high wrought-iron gates and a long curving driveway flanked by two tall pillars. She punched the intercom call button and a clipped British accent answered. A woman. Kensi reminded herself that a millionaire arms dealer probably wouldn't be answering his own doorbell.
"Lekova residence, how can I help you?"
"Hi, I'm here to speak to Mr. Lekova. Tell him that Top Tier Escorts sent me," Kensi said, faking a slightly stupid sounding voice. She figured that someone whose career involved selling herself for large tips didn't involve the highest education.
"Uh huh." The woman sounded bored and unimpressed. "Well, Mr. Lekova isn't taking visitors right now."
Kensi's heart rate picked up. Thousands of dollars were being invested in this mission. She couldn't be turned away before she even glimpsed the inside of Lekova's gilded throne room.
"Please, just let me inside. Mr. Lekova gets very mad when his…orders…get left out in the cold."
A small sigh of defeat, and the clipped accent replied,
"I've worked for Mr. Lekova for three years now. I should know better than anyone."
And the gates slid open to reveal a long curving drive that wound up the hillside to an enormous Spanish-style mansion. Kensi took in a breath as she nose the car through the winged gates and up the road. Several expensive antique cars, all polished like apples, sat in the driveway before the house. Kensi got the distinct impression that they were there for show only. She also noted the top-notch security system, counting at least 30 'hidden' cameras. She was sure there were more. One thing was certain-no one was getting in here without someone knowing.
Sure enough, as Kensi parked the sportscar, a man in a crisp business suit approached her with his hand held out. A telltale bulge at his hip said that he was probably an armed guard.
"Miss, please step out of the car and place your hands on the hood," he barked from a few yards out. Thank God I'm not wearing a wire, Kensi thought as she assumed the proper pose. As if on cue, two men with mirrors on long poles appeared and began sweeping the car, presumably for explosives or booby traps.
"I swear I didn't do anything, Officer," Kensi joked, trying to keep a flirtatious smile on her face as the suited man began frisking her. She tensed at the his rough hands whisking over her skin. It wasn't like she hadn't been frisked before, at the Academy, at FLETC, at Undercover School…but this felt different. This time, it wasn't a lesson or a joke. She felt almost violated, but told herself to stop acting like a pansy. Until she was being raped or tortured, she would keep her head screwed on straight. She wouldn't worry.
"Car's all clear, boss," one of the bomb sweepers announced, retracting his mirror. The guard released Kensi, who gave him what she hoped was a sweet smile.
"Have a nice day, sir."
No one returned the sentiment, so she mounted the high steps and stood before the front door. Beads of sweat gathered on her palms as she rang the doorbell, praying that it wasn't actually Lekova who answered. She needed time to rehearse silently in her head, running lines for a play with no script.
The door swung open.
Sorry for the short chapter, but I have a lot of homework and I just wanted this out there.
