Chapter Five.

S teve plucked at his lips as he went through the files in front of him, blocking out the noise from the rest of the guys around him. He had come straight back here as soon as Marlena had told him he had the rest of the day off till evening, eager to catch the other side of the phone conversation he'd overheard at the apartment.

He didn't really want to leave her, and it wasn't because it was his job to keep tabs on her activities, either. The men stationed outside would report if she stepped out of the building, but with the cameras gone, he was the only link to what she did on her own. Not that he had much to report to Harden. He couldn't just say that he spent half the time with his lips locked on the woman. He could just hear what his O.C. was going to say to that, considering the harsh words he had thrown in his direction last night.

But d.a.m.n it, why was it that sometimes, for no reason, he thought of her blue eyes on him and something inside just shivered like a tray of Jell-O? He wished he could read what was behind those secretive blue eyes. The woman wasn't what she seemed. She wasn't this funny, wholesome, exasperating, s.e.xy, crazy, mind-blowing creature. She was, but she wasn't. She, he told himself, owned two weapons that he knew of, and from the way she had used one of them the other night, she was very proficient with them. She also happened to be known as a hired a.s.sa.s.sin, her name bandied around among international criminal circles with a certain reverence, mainly because no one had been able to catch her in any criminal activities.

"You've gone through those files a dozen times, McMillan," Cam said, dropping into a chair nearby. "Anything new in there that you or I, or any of us, have missed?"

Steve looked up. Cam was one of the few with whom he had formed a friendship of sorts since coming to town. The man looked like an ex-hippie, long hair and an earring, most mornings coming in to work looking as if he had been to a wild party, but he had been the first to welcome Steve aboard, taking the trouble to explain how things were done in TIARA. Steve liked him. Cam didn't look it, but he had a keen eye for details that most people didn't catch.

"It's not what is there that I'm looking for, it's what's not there," he explained.

"Oh yeah?" Cam scooted the chair closer. "Tell me."

"These files we have on her account for her whereabouts the last two years. The pictures proved that she was always around certain incidents, but nothing else could be found to tie her with any of the crimes."

"That's her mystique," Cam said. "It's her shtick, actually. She arrives at the scene with a lot of fanfare and lots of people keep an eye on her. She usually has some arm candy on her-um...pardon me, Steve-that she takes around to several very public bashes. Then wham! Someone disappears, or gets whacked, and she always has an alibi."

"She's never been caught, not once, in all the years she's been monitored?"

Cam shook his head and pointed at some highlighted paragraphs. "The last two years, she's been tied to several crime organizations as well as big-time arms dealers, but you would never guess from the parties she hangs out at. See that pic? That was at the wedding of Prince Talimar. And that one? That was at a very big to-do at Mad Max Shoggi's. A guest in a royal wedding and at a wealthier-than-royalty arms dealer's shindig. That is the mystique. How does she do it? No one knows."

"No family. No friends. Yet surrounded by people who know her," Steve said.

"Well, hey, you didn't expect an a.s.sa.s.sin to have a family with kids in tow, did you?" asked Cam, reaching for the bag of stale chips nearby.

"If we have no evidence, why do we call her an a.s.sa.s.sin?"

Cam crunched the chips loudly, then popped open a can of soda. "Good question," he said, then took a long gulp, followed by a loud burp. "Ahhh, nothing like warm c.o.ke for lunch."

Steve watched him pour the rest of the bag of chips into his open mouth. "That is pretty disgusting, man. That bag was there a couple of days ago."

Cam lifted one dark brow at him. "Hey, I didn't eat green s.h.i.t for breakfast."

"It wasn't s.h.i.t." Although it was green.

"It looked like s.h.i.t from here. We were all yelling at the TV screen, 'No man! Don't eat it! You're gonna die!' But h.e.l.l, you were some brave soul, putting that into your system," Cam told him with a straight face. "Must be that SEAL training."

Steve scowled and shuffled the papers in front of him. The guys had already given him enough ribbing over that breakfast. They had started calling him Stash, too, making crude remarks about him and Marlena.

"Of course," Cam went on, "if I got that kind of kiss every time I ate green s.h.i.t, I wouldn't hesitate, either. Hey, hey, hey!" He lifted his arms in surrender, the laughter in his voice and eyes betraying his teasing. "You aren't going to punch me out just because you got a nice-looking chick and an apartment for a while, are you? I mean, from the look of things, she's got the hots for you, Stash baby."

Steve didn't want to talk about Marlena and how hot she was. That subject led to thoughts he wasn't willing to discuss with anyone. "Let's backtrack to my question," he said, ignoring Cam's wicked grin. "I've heard of names given to faceless a.s.sa.s.sins and criminals who've never been caught, but I haven't ever heard of an a.s.sa.s.sin with a name and a face whom n.o.body has ever seen in the act of a crime."

"Well, a good a.s.sa.s.sin is supposed to never be caught."

"Yeah, but there are usually witnesses or people around who give information we can never use in court. Or there's some kind of criminal record in her background. These files show nothing, not a d.a.m.n thing."

"Well, I'm sure her older files will show her previous amateur criminal activities. You know how it is. She's so well known, her files are probably a closetful, still not updated into the mainframe. This is the recent information on disk and that's what counts. We want to see whom she'd hung out with recently, why she's here in D.C., and whether we can connect her recent activities to her current contract. Two years is plenty long to try to see what she's up to, Steve." Cam finished his soda and burped loudly again. He noisily crunched the aluminum can, then took aim at the wastepaper basket on the other side of the room. "Don't forget, she's an a.s.sa.s.sin, a contract agent. d.a.m.n, missed by inches. That means what she's asked to do is very current, very up-to-date. No one contracts to kill two years ahead of time, man. Yo, Arms, can you pick that can up for me?"

Steve glanced in the direction of Arms, who gave a crude answer to Cam's request before complying. The two men exchanged basketball banter while he thought about what Marlena was up to. Cam's a.n.a.lysis made sense, of course. This wasn't some war in the jungles against some drug lord that could take months and months and not see any resolution. A contract was something that had a time frame.

Steve looked down at the picture of Marlena dancing with some handsome tall Asian punk, taken at that fancy wedding of some prince last year. She looked glamorous, in a glittery slinky gown, not a hair out of place. Her companion was looking at her like she was some G.o.ddess, his attention totally focused on her. Her eyes held the familiar sensual heat, but they were looking at the camera, not her companion, as if she wanted to make sure the world saw her.

Something clicked in his mind. A woman who liked to act in a certain manner when the camera was around. A woman projecting a certain image.

When there was no camera around, Marlena was totally different with him. During the shopping spree, she had a certain sparkle and fun that were missing in these pictures and in those videos the others saw. But why did she show it to him?

"Tough, isn't it?" Cam interrupted his reverie.

"What?"

"To reconcile that creature with cold-blooded murder. There's something totally different about her when you look at her picture, like she has more than she's willing to show." Cam shrugged, then his gaze on Steve sharpened. "But then aren't all crooks like that? Something to hide. She'll probably slit your throat if you aren't careful, Stash baby. Don't trust her, no matter what you do. Get naked with her if you want to, but don't give her a chance to take you down, man. She's got you all cross-eyed with l.u.s.t."

"I can handle it." Steve mustn't have sounded convincing enough because Cam gave a snort of disbelief. He stressed again, "I can handle it. I just need to find out what this other thing is, then we at least have a clue what we're after."

"What other thing?"

"The recent recorded conversation. We're tagging him as the seller."

"Yeah."

"What is he selling? Marlena's supposed to play courier between him and the buyer, and then what? What has that got to do with a contract? We thought the seller hired the middleman to get her the apartment, but this call seems to point to another direction. The buyer, perhaps?"

"Don't forget the threatening calls, too. Or that first night, when you were followed."

"Yes, what is this thing they're all after, that they think she has gotten from the seller?"

"Our intel interception had only mentioned a contract out, and that Marlena Maxwell was going to D.C. That's usually the code over the air that means she has a job." Cam's voice turned thoughtful, as if he was getting intrigued, too. He scratched the back of his neck, pushing his long hair out of the way. "You're right. Knowing what the article is could be the key."

"Can you get the files from before two years? Or some of them."

"Sure. What are you looking for?"

"Don't know yet. Just gut feeling." A thought occurred to Steve. "Do I have to clear it with Harden?"

Cam shrugged. "Don't think so. But if you have to, I don't know why he wouldn't approve it."

Steve could give several reasons, none of them appropriate. "I suppose not," he vaguely agreed. He hoped he didn't have to, anyway.

Cam placed a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Look, Hard-On has been tough on you but that's the way he is, man. He's an SOB but he listens more than you think. He's good at coordinating a sting." He got up from the chair, brushing off tiny crumbs from his rumpled shirt and pants. "He just has this almighty att.i.tude about control, that's all. Doesn't like to have unknowns in the equation, and you're an unknown, Steve. You aren't from around here. He can't tell whether you're reliable or not."

Steve met Cam's eyes steadily. "I'm a SEAL. I can be relied on to carry a team."

"Hey, I ain't saying you aren't. You've been okay in my book since you arrived. Thing is, we haven't had a big case till now, so this is like your test, capisce? Not only that," Cam lowered his voice several octaves, "Hard-On has a thing against what you're doing."

Steve frowned, puzzled. "You lost me."

Cam bent down to pick up several of the files on the desk, as if he didn't want to bring attention to what he was saying. "Not good to talk about it here, even though he's somewhere else. Let's just say that rumor has it, Hard-On was an operative for Internal Investigations a long time ago, and some female operative nearly destroyed his career. He was supposed to be going up into the elite tiers of the CIA but was demoted to almost nothing because of one slip-up."

Things were certainly clearer now, Steve thought, recalling certain aspects of the conversation with his operations chief. "So he thinks I might go that way," he murmured.

Cam slipped the folders under his arm and tucked a pen behind his ear. "Maybe. Maybe not. You can't tell with him. Got to go, but will get you the info ASAP. Meanwhile"-his voice turned into a sneer-"make sure you don't splatter any wine on your penguin suit tonight."

That brought another scowl to Steve's face. He wasn't looking forward to a night of playing Marlena's arm candy. "She'd better not make me dance. I don't dance," he warned n.o.body particular in the room.

Cam chuckled. "Life is good, man. I wouldn't mind twirling that woman in my arms. She's just my type, too: pa.s.sionate, a little dangerous, and nice, shapely"-gesturing suggestively, he started chuckling even more at the look Steve tossed him before continuing-"ummm...shapely legs. Remember, she wants you around as an alibi at all times, and hey, if you ask me, Stash, you've had no cause to complain so far, penguin suit or no penguin suit."

Steve decided to change the subject. Talking about Marlena and him together made him uncomfortable. He didn't like sharing his private moments with her with anybody. "Yeah, well, I'd better go back to my place. You'll get me the info, right?"

"It'll take some time, since it's all hard copy, but that's my job." Cam gave a mock salute. "Just remember I'm the one working hard while you're hardly working."

After Cam went off, Steve rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands. There were too many screens to stare at around here. Computers, TVs, videos, cameras hooked to videos. Everything focused on that one person who had somehow become mixed up with a mermaid in his mind. And like a mermaid, she had never been caught, never been seen.

Stuff of myths. He frowned. Another M word. Marlena the Myth.

He had a plateful piled high with information. Marlena stuff. His own operations chief stuff. His very own stuff. And somewhere in there was a nugget of truth. All he had to do was figure out how to see what wasn't there, because he didn't trust the cameras like these guys did.

That conversation between her and the seller bothered him somehow. He had a feeling that he was close to getting a big revelation, but so far everything was clouded. One thing was sure, though. Harden didn't think he could do the job because of his attraction to the target. Knowing that only added to his determination to be successful at this a.s.signment.

He, Steve McMillan, had a job. And that was to catch a mermaid. Another M word, he realized with growing despondency. He was much too obsessed with M words.

Marlena put her hand on her heart. Her eyes widened appreciatively. Good Lord.

The object of her attention frowned down at her, obviously unhappy with his situation. The corners of his masculine lips were turned down like those of a sulky child, begging to be kissed. Tempting, very tempting.

"What?" he demanded. The recessed lighting in her bedroom cast intriguing shadows on his handsome face, giving him a mysterious and dangerous air. It just wasn't fair for a man to have cheekbones that perfect, Marlena mourned in silent envy. Most women had to suck in their cheeks and blow out their lips to get that look. It just wasn't fair. His smoothly shaven jaw line was chiseled perfection, ending with that cute dimple in his willful chin. His dark hair was combed back, the first time she had seen it so neat. The crisp dark Valente tuxedo emphasized his broad shoulders. Its clean, simple straight lines gave an illusion of leashed power. From the top of his head to his polished new Guccis, Steve McMillan looked as if he had stepped out of a GQ magazine. He would look good in uniform, she thought, and rubbed her poor palpitating heart again.

"Such beauty," Marlena mocked, smiling up at him. "I don't think my heart can take it."

His dark gaze slithered possessively up and down her, resting a few moments on the bare flesh of her bosom. Her heart beat faster. "I think that's my line," he told her, his lips softening into a reluctant smile of admiration.

She wore the new daring gown she'd bought. That day she'd deliberately chosen it because she'd wanted to turn him on, knowing very well how he hated to be there waiting for her to try on yet another set of clothes. For reasons she couldn't explain, she found it amusing to tease him, to make him as aware of her as she was of him. She'd never felt the need to garner any man's attention before.

"You've already seen me in this," she told him, brushing down the soft material with one hand. She adjusted the new brooch holding the gown together under her belly b.u.t.ton, arranging the folds of the dress to fan out at the bottom with an artistic flair. It was a delicately designed piece, yet heavy enough to be used for the bold designer outfit. Little diamonds sparkled among fleurs de lis shaped by tiny seed pearls, drawing attention away from the plunging neckline. She had fallen in love with it, even though the fastener behind it had a tricky catch.

"Let me." He came closer. He couldn't reach the brooch standing up, so he went down on his haunches, coming eye level to it. "Is this what's holding the dress together?"

His voice was soft and seductive, and Marlena held her breath as his fingers touched the piece of jewelry, lifting it and the attached material off her body enough so he could properly fasten it. Sheer torture. But it was important to let him take his time.

She closed her eyes, feeling unbelievably aroused at the thought of how gentle his hands were. How could such big hands be so tender? He didn't touch her bare flesh at all but she felt his warm breath caressing her in a slow rhythm. Her plan to distract him, keep his mind occupied with other things, was working far too well.

"Do you have anything underneath this at all?"

Marlena opened her eyes to see Steve's dark gaze contemplating his own question. He leaned closer, as if to find out for himself. "Yes. My Tweety Bird tattoo," she answered very softly. "And we're going to be late if you mess with my dress. The trick in keeping it in place is not to play with it."

Her words had the desired opposite effect. She knew Stash would take it as a challenge. His hands spanned her waist, and her breath caught when he rubbed her lower belly with his thumbs. She closed her eyes again, wondering whether she could afford to be late for the party. His hands slid from her waist to her hips, his thumb scoring down the front of her tummy with erotic slowness. Lower. She felt his hands hugging her thighs, his thumbs exploring the curve where her legs met her hips. They followed a sensuous pattern as his long fingers cupped her b.u.t.tocks, and desire swamped her senses as those magic thumbs explored the twin geometrical lines that ended at the point of a triangle. G.o.d, if she wasn't careful, she would be the one distracted, not him.

Marlena bit down on her lower lip, refusing to allow any sounds to escape. "Stash..." she began, trying to sound normal. His thumbs pressed down on the apex of the triangle and a soft involuntary moan rose from her lips.

His voice held a trace of curiosity. "I don't feel any panties, but there's something here...what is it?" He pressed down again, tracing the small little b.u.mps.

Marlena laid her hands on his shoulder for support. Why had she come up with such a naughty idea? Part of her understood her own seductive power over him, and she had to use it, so she could conduct business while his mind was on other things. However, right now, she discovered that there was a part of her that was very weak and helplessly under the power of the very same man. Her knees were melting under her from the delicious torture he was putting her through. But she wasn't going to tell him that, or they would never leave this room.

"What is it?" he asked again.

"I already told you," she replied stubbornly and gripped harder as his curious investigation pulled and stretched her sensitive skin. Clearing her throat, she said as firmly as she could, "We have to go."

He finally looked up at her. The heat in his eyes threatened to set her in flames. He slowly stood up, his thumb following the mysterious object under her gown. "All right, if you say so," he said, but his eyes promised other things.

She felt disappointed that he had stopped. Don't be ridiculous, she scolded herself. Keep your mind on your job.

As if he'd read her thoughts, Steve asked where they were going. "What kind of party is it? What do I have to do?"

He would know sooner or later, so she told him their destination. "Do you know du Scheum?" He should. The name was synonymous with synthetic and plastic products, for both household and scientific uses.

"Not personally, no," he replied facetiously, as he watched her squirt some perfume on her wrists. He frowned slightly. "h.e.l.l, we're going to a party given by du Scheum? You run around with some big names, don't you?"

Marlena smiled secretively. She could see that he was already busy going through the possible reasons for her going there. That was why she needed to distract him. Wanting to test him, she said, "I make friends easily. Part of my job."

"Really. You know, you've never elaborated exactly what it is that you do." He opened the apartment door for her and they stepped out into the carpeted hallway. "After all, being chased by cars and getting threatening phone calls sort of eliminated the usual socialite party animal I was told to accompany."

She coughed. "I can hardly believe the man who hired you told you that."

"That's the description he gave me when I asked what you were like," Steve said smugly. "He didn't say anything about car chases. Or shopping."

Marlena smiled again. The last word was said with a great deal more disgust than the car chase. Surely the man had some warped priorities. She would have to teach him the fine art of shopping a whole day away another time. But for now she had to concentrate on tonight's agenda.

He seemed to read her mind again. "What do I do? I don't know anybody. Do I say hi and shake hands vigorously? Do I clap Mr. du Scheum on the back and talk to him about what a wonderful invention the plastic egg beater is?" When she burst out laughing, he shrugged, as if he had the right to ask stupid questions. "It's a tough thing to do well, this obedience thing."

Marlena rolled her eyes. Like he really was trying so hard. "I doubt du Scheum and you will get a chance to sit down and talk. There are more important and wealthier people there who need his attention, Stash. Unless, of course, you have connections to help du Scheum Industries?"

"Do you?"

Ah, a loaded question. If she didn't, why would she be at this exclusive party? Du Scheum didn't invite just anybody. He was a facilitator, a powerful ally between politics and business. Of course, sometimes these two things brought together blurred ethical lines.

"Let's just say that I know people du Scheum knows, and he knows people I know," she told Steve. "And all I require you to do is to stay close by me, but don't interrupt too much with your questions. Would that be too much to hope for?"

He gave her one of those quizzical looks that she was beginning to recognize. He would do as she asked but would exact payment afterward. Warm desire rose at the thought of his hands on her.

"I'll be so good, people will want me for their lackey," Steve promised. Marlena made a rude sound. He studied her as they descended in the lift, then asked, "You know so many people, why can't you get a rich man to take you to one of these parties?"