Code Name Desire Read online

  Covert Affair

  Book One: Code Name Desire

  by

  Laura Kitchell

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.

  A Quality Novelists Coalition E book

  Covert Affairs Series

  Book One: Code Name Desire

  Copyright© 2014 by Laura Kitchell

  Smashwords Edition

  E-book ISBN: 9781310127496

  Cover Artist: Lara Nance

  Editor: Karen Webb

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Quality Novelists Coalition  QNC. All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  For my mother, my biggest fan. For Sara, my best friend in the world, who makes me feel like a superstar every day, good or bad. And a special thanks to the members of the Quality Novelists Coalition who worked so hard to make sure my readers get a first-rate book every time they buy my stories.

  Chapter One

  “Capture his heart?” Jaeda blinked at a bare hotel room wall. Did she hear the director right? Had he lost his mind?

  “Are you up to the assignment, Agent Bennett?”

  “Yes, Director.”

  “Don’t fail me. This is imperative to our nation’s security.”

  “You can count on me. I’ve never failed my country.” She adjusted her earpiece, glad he couldn’t see her mouth working like a fish out of water.

  “That’s what I’m counting on. You’ll find what you need in the usual place. You’ve got three days, including today.” The director’s raspy baritone raked the phone line and put Jaeda’s nerves on edge.

  “I’m on it, sir.” Including today. She didn’t have much left of the day, but the evening held promise. The day after tomorrow would be Saint Valentine’s Day. How ironic.

  Jaeda jerked when his abrupt ending of the call caused a loud click. She snatched the wireless device from her ear canal and tossed it on her mussed bed then glared at the offensive equipment. This was it. Her chance. Her best friend and fellow agent, Cassie, had served the agency as a covert lover for the past three years. Cassie had accomplished amazing ops and gathered critical information that no other agent could touch. Now Jaeda’s time had come. Her stomach did a flip.

  Please just let him not be old and ugly.

  She folded her portable satellite dish and closed her laptop with a snap. Shoving the equipment under the bed, she fought butterflies of excitement. She couldn’t afford to get excited. She would face this task like any other assignment – with a professional focus on the end result. No emotion. No wondering. She had a job to do, simple as that.

  A knock on the door startled her. Jaeda took one of her guns from the bedside table, checked it for rounds, and released the safety as she made her way to the door.

  “Who is it?” she called, her ear to the doorframe.

  “Special delivery,” said a young man’s voice with a thick Liverpool singsong.

  Her gun at the ready but out of sight, she unlocked the door and let him pass a plain brown package through the opening. In less than a second, she kicked the door closed, tossed the package on the bed, and had the locks secured.

  On the other side of the door, the delivery boy mumbled about her lack of tip.

  She set the safety on the gun as his footsteps clipped along the hallway’s linoleum. The package had no return address, but she could tell it came from the agency by the font on the label and the fact that her agent number appeared in the barcode at the side. After putting her gun away, she opened the brown paper wrapping and found a creamy-green department store box from one of London’s most exclusive women’s boutiques.

  Her stomach flipped, but she suppressed the adrenaline rush that threatened to make her heart race. This is just another job.

  Inside the box, a bright red dress and matching shoes greeted her.

  “Well, hello there,” she said. Jaeda picked up a shoe and knew immediately by its weight that the heel had reinforced steel at its core. In its spiked form, it would make a deadly weapon, if necessary. A note tucked into the toe read, You have one hour to acquire your target.

  Now in agent mode, she went to the tiny bathroom and scowled at her reflection above the sink. She had to snap out of this. Why did this assignment strike such a nerve? It was another op. Nothing more.

  Assessing her image in the mirror, she took in her plain ponytail and lack of make-up. She had mastered the secret agent’s greatest tool - the ability to blend in and move through the world unnoticed. She maintained an unmemorable look that allowed her to go places and do things most people couldn’t. But this tool would not serve her on this assignment. With a knowing smile tilting one corner of her mouth, she pulled a simple ponytail holder from her straightened, mousy hair.

  Look out, Mr. Whoever-you-are. I'm about to make my London debut.

  Twenty minutes later, brown locks swirled past her shoulders in rich, sexy curls. Foundation had created a flawless porcelain finish on her skin, blush added a hint of color, and fake lashes gave her big brown eyes a sultry, come-hither effect. She dabbed clear gloss on her full bottom lip, pleased with the way it brightened the natural pink hue to a subdued red. Perfect.

  “I’d kiss you,” she said to her reflection.

  In the main room, she removed her bra and drew on the form-fitting dress. It hugged her curves before draping from her hips to just above her knees. A lettuce-leaf hem gave the skirt a sexy flip that drew the eye as it rippled when she walked. She hoped she would get to keep the dress when the assignment ended. At the bottom of the box were silky, sheer thigh highs. She put them on, admitting they went a long way in adding to her confidence, then slipped her feet into the red high heels.

  She checked her overall affect in a full-length mirror hanging on the bathroom door. Wow. The dress’s bodice made her b-cup breasts look more like c-cups. Soft fabric hugged her long, thin waist. The gentle sway of the skirt brought the eye to her legs, which appeared long and shapely, though the dress concealed her thighs. No earrings, no necklace, and no rings. A sparkling gold bracelet watch completed her look. She grinned. Definitely kiss-worthy. Definitely alluring.

  Jaeda had plenty of time, but she had learned from experience that sitting in a hotel room while waiting to go on assignment created a false sense of urgency. She studied her holster. Nobody would notice it tucked away against her side while she wore her coat, but she would have no place to conceal it when the cover came off. A purse was out of the question. She never could keep up with one and feared leaving it behind.

  Not her favorite, but powerful enough to take down an enemy from a fair distance, she chose her smallest pistol from the nightstand drawer. The clip gave her ten rounds – more than enough. She had never needed more than three. Anyone seeing the pistol would likely mistake it for one of those cigarette lighters shaped like a gun.

  Dropping the weapon in an inside pocket of her trench coat, she glanced at the clock. Yeah, she would go, but walk slowly. Besides, it would give her a chance to get accustomed to walking on these stilts – something she hadn’t done in years.

  With money, her room key, her passport, and a mobile phone carefully stowed in a hidden pocket of the coat’s inner lining, she swung the wrap over her shoulders and left the depressing hotel. In the streetlamp light, a fine drizzle gave London’s roadways and sidewalks a clean, shiny look. Bobbing gray umbrellas mixed with black ones, an
d people huddled against a chill as they hurried to their destinations. A few degrees colder and the drizzle would turn to snow.

  Jaeda didn’t mind any of it, though. The cold air sharpened her senses, and the wet mist would only make her hair look more fabulous. At a leisurely stroll, she went three blocks to the Thames then made her way along the riverbank's viewing walkway until she came to a large docking area. She took a quick, but not obvious, glance around to make sure nobody watched, then pulled a large manila envelope from a hollowed compartment in one of the pilings.

  Tucking the information packet into her coat, she meandered to a nearby pub. She took advantage of the bustling Friday night activity to slip unobserved into the ladies’ bathroom. Keeping her head down, she ducked into a stall and sat on the toilet seat cover. One by one, she pulled items from the packet.

  An information sheet profiling her target told her he worked in high finance for London’s largest investment firm. His clients included royalty and politicians from around the world, and he spent vacation time skiing and sailing. Teague Jameson. He was unmarried and had no children. A blueprint showed he lived in a large home, and the address at the bottom placed it in a rural community outside London. His business card slid from the envelope, and she put it in the hip pocket of her coat in case she needed it to break the ice with him.

  She located her assignment sheet. Operation MINK had assigned her the code name of Desire. Desire…certainly fitting, she thought with a smirk. She had a contact, some guy with a code name of Rush. She added his information to her hidden pocket along with the password - rook. Finally, she could find Mr. Jameson at a popular club near Parliament in fifteen minutes.

  No picture. That would make her job more difficult.

  Balling the documents, she flushed them one at a time. She checked her appearance in the mirror above the sinks, washed her hands then used a confident step to leave the bar and hail a cab. A tall, black car met her at the curb almost immediately.

  “Where to, miss?” asked the cabbie, a clean older gentleman who touched the brim of his cap while trying not to get caught staring at her legs.

  Jaeda’s confidence increased by the minute. “The Barrister’s Press.”

  The cabbie winked. “Have ye there in eight minutes.”

  “Take your time.” She leaned back and stared out a rain-dotted window as her cab pulled onto the street. She concentrated on deep, steady breaths to control her heart rate.

  “American, are ye?”

  “Yes.” Why did she have to get a talkative cabbie?

  “Are ye here on business or pleasure?”

  “Business.”

  “Am I botherin’ ye with my questions?”

  Yes. “Not at all.” She didn’t spare him a glance, and he took the hint.

  When he stopped before an elegant establishment painted Copenhagen blue, he said, “Eight minutes exactly. If ye know what time ye’ll be leavin’, I’d be pleased to collect ye.”

  She handed him the fare and looked him in the eye for the first time. “That won’t be necessary, but thank you.”

  The cabbie touched the brim of his cap and gave her a wink.

  What was it with this guy and winking? Stepping from the cab, Jaeda took a moment to admire the club. A hanging sign painted blue to match the building’s front swung in the breeze. A bright lamp glowed above the door and reflected light from gold letters spelling The Barrister’s Press. Glancing at her bracelet watch, she moved sideways to make way for an exiting couple. According to the ops sheet, Mr. Jameson wouldn’t arrive for another ten minutes.

  Taking advantage of the open door, she slipped inside. She didn’t go unnoticed, however.

  A man in bowtie and vest offered her a ticket. “Take your coat, ma’am?”

  She removed her wrap and draped it over her arm, ignoring the ticket thrust in her direction. “I’ll hang onto it, thank you.” She glanced over her shoulder and assessed the room in a split second.

  Tables with diners. Waiters in white shirts with black aprons moving throughout. Nobody suspicious. A U-shaped bar, a smattering of people in suits, and three bartenders who moved with experience. A casual sitting area tucked at the back with three men, one who sat alone and carried an air of mystery. She would keep an eye on him.

  “May I have the maitre d' show you to a table? Are you expecting others?” The vested man reluctantly drew the ticket to his side.

  “No. If I may, I’d like to have a drink at the bar.”

  “Certainly, ma’am. Please sit wherever you like.”

  Jaeda smiled, a practiced curl of her lips that looked more genuine than her own, real smile. She turned on her heel and sauntered to a vacant stool and settled. In a casual move she meant to seem meaningless to anyone watching, she draped her coat over the stool next to hers. The hardness of her gun under the folds reassured her.

  Through her lashes, she glimpsed the man at the back. He didn’t stare, but he cast furtive glances her way. Not glances of sexual interest. No. The man had a watchful awareness she recognized from working with other agents. He knew what she was, but did he know why she had come to The Barrister’s Press? Only one way to find out.

  “An apple martini,” she ordered from the nearest bartender then slid from her stool. With her eyes on a payphone next to the mysterious man, she walked with confidence until she stood by his chair. She picked up the handset and said in a voice too low for anyone but the man to hear, “Is that a rook in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?”

  “Indeed,” he said in a voice more fitting for a college student than a man of mystery. “A rook for your queen, Desire.”

  “You shouldn't be here. I’m on a meet. You need to leave,” she said, talking into the handset and staring at the wall above the phone. “I know how to reach you.”

  “I’m here for your safety,” said Rush.

  Jaeda cut a look sideways at him and witnessed a bright gleam in his pale eyes. He had come for the thrill of the hunt. Damn him. “Leave or I’ll report you to the director.”

  He audibly gulped, and Jaeda replaced the handset. Squaring her shoulders, she stalked to her stool and resumed her place. Her drink waited. Yes! A little liquid courage, but not enough to impair her judgment.

  Rush strode past, appearing none too pleased, but it served him right. A moment after he left, the main entrance opened, letting in men’s laughter. Deep, cultured voices chatted as coats were checked. Glancing at her watch, Jaeda discovered the time had come. Her target had arrived.

  Chapter Two

  Jaeda stiffened as the hairs on the back of her neck bristled. That had never happened. Who was this guy, anyway? Was it even Mr. Jameson?

  “Hey, Teague. Where are you going?”

  Yeah, he had arrived.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment,” came a refined man’s voice in the most captivating of Cambridge-trained accents. He stood close enough to touch her. “I’m just going to get a drink first.” He seemed to talk to his friends, but his subdued tone sounded in her ear, as if he said it for her benefit.

  “Never knew him to want a drink so badly,” said his friend, his nasal voice fading as he moved toward the dining area.

  Jaeda inhaled deeply, enjoying the masculine scent of sandalwood and allspice that dominated in his cologne. His shoulder brushed hers as he leaned over the bar to get the attention of a bartender. He did it on purpose, and she smiled. She had two empty stools on either side. He had no reason to stand so close other than wanting to. He made this too easy.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “I seem to be blocking the way to your drink.”

  His low chuckle was so close it actually rustled her hair against her cheek. “It’s not the drink you’re obstructing. It’s any attempt I make at logical thought that you obstruct.”

  Oh, now he delivered that line flawlessly. She considered playing the ditz for a fleeting moment, but something in his tone told her he would have a greater appreciation for an intelligent, challenging p
rey.

  She turned slightly and nearly lost her ability to breathe. Heather green eyes watched her with weathered crinkles at the corners. His skin spoke of long periods outside, but he didn’t appear older than his mid-thirties. Light brown hair swept away from his square face in well-groomed waves, and his gray suit screamed money from every seam and every weave of its fine wool blend. The dimple in his chin held strength, yet amusement shined in his eyes, softening his features.

  “What can I get you, Mr. Jameson?” asked the bartender.

  Get a grip. Jaeda gave herself a mental shake. What had she unknowingly revealed in that moment of weakness?

  “The usual,” he said without taking his eyes from Jaeda’s.

  The man was smooth. She’d give him that.

  “Gin and tonic, coming right away,” said the bartender as he sidestepped away to do his work.

  Teague Jameson eased a hip toward the stool at her side, and Jaeda slid her coat out of the way before he could sit on her gun. While transferring the cover to the stool on her other side, she raised a knee to cross her legs. She held it aloft long enough to send her skirt riding up, revealing the top of her thigh high.

  He noticed, not hiding his appreciation as his gaze caressed what she showed.

  “So your name is Mr. Jameson. Tell me, Mr. Jameson, do you plan to hit and run, or do you intend to take responsibility for the damage you’ve done?”

  His lips parted to flash straight, white teeth – so unusual for a British man in the business sector. “I’ve damaged you, have I?”

  “You have,” she said with a decisive nod. “There isn’t a man in London who could interest me now. You’ve ruined me.”

  The crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepened a moment before he barked a delighted laugh. “Perhaps I might take responsibility if we were on equal terms.”