Out-Foxxed. Debra Webb
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“I’m definitely in the wrong line of work,” Trainer commented dryly. “I don’t even get to touch the thigh holster, much less strap it on.”
Angie cleared her throat, drawing Sabrina’s attention back to her, and held up her hand. A lovely ring, gold with a small cluster of diamonds, sat on her palm. “Be careful with this.”
Sabrina gingerly picked up the piece of jewelry. “Poison?”
Angie nodded. “Stick your target good.” She pointed to what looked like an extra stone on the back of the band. “Depress this at the same time and the poison will be released.”
Cautiously sliding the piece of lethal jewelry onto her right ring finger, Sabrina asked, “How long does it take to work?”
“Ten seconds at most. Even a guy the size of Big Hugh will drop like a rock. But don’t miss. There’s only one dose.”
“I assume this means that the protocol for this op is kill first and ask questions later.”
Big Hugh nodded. “We know who set up the attack. We know the ultimate goal, leaving no reason to make this any more difficult than necessary. The enemy is totally expendable.”
“Do we know how many bogies I’ll encounter?”
He shook his head. “Surveillance spotted two, but there could be more we don’t know about. Control hasn’t been able to get a visual inside the room as of yet. Something about the way the duct work is set up.”
It was always good to go into an operation with as much knowledge as possible. But some situations just didn’t allow for as much advance information as others.
“I can’t risk arming you with anything heavier,” Angie interrupted. “They’ll most certainly pat you down.”
Sabrina nodded. “I understand.” She turned her attention to the cleaning cart waiting by the door. “We have a passkey?”
Angie joined Sabrina at the cart. “This is the same cart all the cleaning ladies on staff use. We’ve rigged it with enough tear gas to put down a herd of elephants, but we don’t want to go that route unless absolutely necessary. Protecting the lives of the hostages is top priority, as you know.”
Sabrina understood. The moment the bad guys noticed anything off-kilter, the killing would begin. If they killed even one of the hostages before the gas put them down, that was one too many, and the operation would be considered a failure. A SWAT team could go in and neutralize the situation, but that wasn’t the goal here. This operation was about rescue, not extermination.
“Room 1012.” Big Hugh provided the passkey. “We’ll be listening to every word. The cart’s rigged for sound, too. If you need us, you know what to do.”
“And if I don’t need you,” Sabrina countered, “I’ll let you know.” These ops could get tense. She didn’t need a control team moving in if there was any chance she could recover the situation.
“We won’t make a move without the code phrase,” he assured.
“Let’s do this thing, then.” Sabrina grasped the handle of the cart and pushed it through the door Trainer held open.
“Good luck, Fox,” he murmured as she passed.
She hesitated long enough to whisper back, “I don’t need luck, Trainer, I’m Sabrina Fox.”
He grinned. “That’s right. How could I forget?”
Sabrina pushed the cart into the corridor and the door closed behind her.
“I wish this night was over already,” she muttered.
“Sound check is good.” Trainer’s voice whispered in her ear, compliments of the commo link Big Hugh had tucked there.
“I need a long hot bath and a bottle of wine,” she added softly as she parked her cart in front of the elevators and pressed the call button.
A sound of deep, guttural agreement echoed in her ear.
She had to smile. Maybe she’d give Trainer a little tit for tat given that he’d made that smart-ass remark about her panties. She did prefer pink lingerie, that was true. She owned pink panties in every imaginable style. French cut, lacy thong, extreme low-rise.
The elevator doors slid open and she pushed the cart inside and selected the tenth floor. Since she was alone in the car, she leaned against the wall and sighed dramatically.
“Lots and lots of frothy bubbles. Neck-deep hot water. Oh yeah, that’s exactly what I’m going to do when I get home.” She closed her eyes and made one of those throaty, wistful sounds that made her think of hot, sweaty sex. “I’ll probably start taking my clothes off before I even get through the door to my apartment. Light every candle in the place and take the bottle of wine and two stemmed glasses to the tub with me.”
“Is that an invitation, Agent Fox? You did say two glasses.”
Director Anderson Marx.
Her gaze snapped open, her face flushed with embarrassment. “Negative, sir, I was…just getting into character with a relaxation technique.”
Damn, she’d forgotten Marx was tied in already. Damn Trainer. He should have said something.
She could imagine him, with his mike muted, laughing his ass off.
“Standing by,” Big Hugh said, reminding her that he was there as well.
“Ten-four, Big Hugh.” She didn’t worry about the big guy; she wasn’t his type.
The car glided to a stop with a soft ding. She pushed the cart into the alcove outside the bank of elevators. A floor-to-ceiling window was on the right, the corridor running parallel to the front of the building on the left. She took the left and headed for Room 1012.
A few steps later, she arrived at the door. She inhaled a deep, fortifying breath, then let it out slowly. She touched her uniform where the holstered weapon lay snugly against her inner thigh, then knocked loudly on the door. “Housekeeping,” she announced.
The room was quiet beyond the door.
Anticipation released another round of adrenaline that ignited a fire in her veins.
She knocked again. “Housekeeping!”
After waiting the perfunctory ten seconds, she slid her passkey through the reader and watched for the green light. Braced for whatever she might find, she pushed down on the lever and backed into the door, ushering it inward as she went.
With her back fully to the room, she pulled her cart through the door. Her pulse edged into that alert zone that reminded her that she’d just turned her back on the enemy. But she needed whoever was in the room to believe she expected to find it empty.
When her cart cleared the open doorway, the door closed with a heavy thud.
“Don’t move.”
The undeniable feel of a muzzle pressed against the back of her skull.
She caught her breath, adopted an expression of terror, making her eyes go wide and leaving her lips slightly parted.
A hand moved over her torso. She tensed, as much from the need to ensure whoever it was didn’t find the weapon fastened against her inner left thigh as from the need to appear frightened.
She twisted slightly away from his touch. “What’re you doing?” She was proud of the fear infused in her voice, as well as a second harsh intake of breath that sounded completely credible. “What’s going on here?”
Harsh fingers curled around her arm and jerked her around to face the owner of the gun that had left an impression on her scalp. “Shut up,” he growled.
She made a small shrieking sound, just loud enough to be convincing without alarming him. Things could go downhill fast if he or one of his