Artful Dodger Page 2

  Dodger didn’t comment, just watched him spin that notebook. But 2-Stroke didn’t say anything else. They sat there for a few minutes, then he rose and said, “Sorry. It’s just personal.”

  “Sorry for invading your privacy,” Dodger said, trying to be contrite.

  2-Stroke smirked and shook his head. “No, you’re not, you nosy bastard.” He walked away.

  Dodger finished off his beer, ate a bit, and turned in.

  2-Stroke’s past came back to haunt him twice today.

  It was the anniversary of the act that had liberated him from a nightmare. He knew he should have regrets about it. Everything had been documented and sealed up in a juvenile record, never to be seen by anyone’s eyes.

  The only people who had seen what he’d done would never say a word. Yet the secret haunted him, not necessarily the act, although there was some anger and pain associated with it.

  2-Stroke realized that his formative years, the ones he’d spent with his gentle and sweet mother, had set the foundations for the man and the SEAL he was now.

  Violence had defined his life—he’d lived in a violent LA neighborhood where his father was part of a violent and aggressive biker gang, spewing hatred. He was even conceived in violence. It was no wonder he made it his living.

  But he learned in BUD/S that SEALs weren’t about violence. They were about defending the weak and exacting justice. He’d been unable to save his younger brother Riley from his father’s anger, which only reinforced his need to protect others. He didn’t matter. Only the people behind his shield counted. Being a SEAL grounded him, gave him the brotherhood and a way to express everything he was.

  A lot of kids in high school, ones who didn’t know his situation, thought it was cool that he had a father in the Black Hearts—racing motorcycles, riding wheelies, and just being badass with a bunch of hellraisers. They had no idea what kind of black heart the man had or how hard it was for 2-Stroke to fit into a motorcycle club. His strong dislike of bullies and sadists started young with many bloody lips and skinned knuckles, but also the determination to stand up to people to protect those weaker than him came second nature.

  He’d toed the line after his act of deliverance to keep the peace and his home. But when he’d seen a documentary on SEALs, he became obsessed. This job would allow him to expend all the energy inside him, sat in perfect alignment with his attitudes and principles, and defined him as the man he wanted to be and the warrior that was buried inside him. After that, his only goal in life was to get to BUD/S.

  Mission accomplished.

  So, there were times when his past came back to haunt him. Sometimes in his nightmares, sometimes with a date on the calendar, and sometimes in a seriously beautiful and badass package.

  Chrysanthe Steele. He’d known her growing up. She’d lived with her grandmother, Jessica Steele, or as she was known to the kids she helped, Granny Steele. She took in strays and street kids and nurtured them, put a roof over their heads, and gave them the stability to find their way in life. There was a side business that was illegal, but it put bread on the table and supported a houseful of children. He didn’t condone it or judge. But as far as he knew, Chry’s grandmother was now out of that business. She was currently raising money for a charity that helped at-risk youth.

  He and Chry had been close friends, until they were something else in his mind. But with him planning to move away, join the Navy, and travel the world, he never let her know how he felt. In her mind, they were still just friends.

  He climbed into his hammock and pulled out his sketchpad. He’d always been able to draw for as long as he could remember. The details and the way a subject came into focus soothed him when he got emotional. From memory, he started on a new portrait of Chry.

  It was interesting that she’d shown up on the anniversary of the day he’d shot and killed his father.

  When Dodger walked off the plane, he was still waking up. It was early morning in Central Europe. He thought about all his contacts in this country, having spent a bit of time here for his previous employer. The one he didn’t like to think about.

  They got into black SUVs and were driven to a gorgeous, well-weathered art nouveau building in the heart of downtown, where the DEA had set up their offices. The SEALs would be sleeping in bunks on the fifth floor with the ladies in their own small living quarters on the fourth, each with their own bathroom.

  There was a gym in the basement along with a communal shower for the men. After they all went for a group run to clear their heads and pump up their blood, Dodger unpacked his stuff into a locker at the end of his rack, then went to chow located on the second floor. After a quick bite, he headed to the SEALs’ ready room and command station on the third floor.

  Kelly and Chry were talking together at the front of the room as he entered. He sat down at the table and overheard Pitbull say, “It sucks that we only got a few weeks with our families.”

  Max nodded. “Renata is starting her first day at her dad’s practice. I wish I was there to support her.”

  “That girl is a rock, man. She’ll do great.”

  Dodger didn’t have anyone to miss. His thoughts drifted to Anna, but he pulled them back.

  “Today, we’re going to be doing some recon,” Kelly said, interrupting his thoughts. “That’s all to begin with. Get the lay of the land, map out the route we want to take, and just get acclimated to the city.”

  “Let’s do this in twos,” Chry said. “We’ll all have comms.”

  It was getting on three o’clock when Dodger hooked up with 2-Stroke and they walked a city that Dodger already knew well. But he went along with it. It was good to be back. He had good memories here. The nightlife was especially lively.

  Two hours passed and it was time for them to head back to base. But as they approached the safe house, 2-Stroke slowed.

  “Hey, do you mind if I stop in here for a bit?” 2-Stroke asked, eyeing an art store.

  Dodger shrugged. “No, go ahead. I think I’ll head back to HQ.”

  “Okay,” 2-Stroke said.

  Dodger turned off his comm and slipped it into his pocket.

  When he looked up, he stopped dead.

  He knew the confident leather-clad hooker marching her way down the street in two-inch black patent-leather thigh-high boots. The shiny black leather painted-on miniskirt was skin-tight in the back, revealing the bottom curve of a fishnet-clad arse he’d know anywhere.

  “Anna?” he said and started after her.

  2

  Anna Keegan hooking in Prague. That sentence made no sense to him at all. Nor did the see-through black tank top revealing the red lace pushup bra and some amazing cleavage or the severely pulled back, dominatrix ponytail swinging across her exposed bra. He knew her as Mad Max’s smart, sexy, gainfully employed baby sister. Not this…this mind-boggling, well-put-together, upscale prostitute.

  He slid his gaze over her again, from the boots to the ponytail. He had to get to the bottom of this, then break it to Max after he did. The only reason he was following her was to make sure he wasn’t seeing things and hadn’t mistaken someone else for her. Max would bust his arse if he just let her go on her merry way.

  Some things couldn’t be unseen.

  She couldn’t possibly be a lady of the evening. No way in bloody hell. Not the Anna who had held her own in the jungle when they went after her brother in Paraguay to rescue him and Jugs.

  He couldn’t stop the memory of that night at her sister Rhonda’s wedding. She had looked like spun sugar that night, so different from the hard-edged woman who didn’t miss a step in those I’ll tie you down and school you on who’s your master boots. The thought of Anna tying him down while she wore that outfit made his mouth dry because he was a twisted-up bastard. She started across the square, her boot heels clacking against the polished cobblestones, heading toward the Evzen Hotel on the other side. When she was partway there, the Evzen’s valet got her attention, then slipped her something, and Dodger
swore under his breath. The handoff was very professionally done.

  This was going to kill Max.

  She’d gotten a john here at the hotel, and it was clear the valet was helping out hookers with room keys.

  What she did and who she did it with was her business. Bollocks, he didn’t want to think about what she was heading toward and what she was going to do when she got there. It made him…angry.

  But really. It was none of his or anyone else’s concern. He should go back to HQ and forget he ever saw her, keep her little dark secret so that Max would never have to know. Dodger was on a classified, active op, and he was already overdue. But instead, he crossed the square, his loyalty to his brother taking over.

  A scoffing grin twitched the corner of his lips. Mistress Anna had never been anything but Grade A trouble from the moment he set eyes on her. Barreling in there to stop her would be reckless and draw attention to him. Not what he should be doing on an op. The police could get involved, and this was certainly not something Fast Lane needed with the black eye they’d gotten in losing Angar Said.

  If this had been anyone else except Anna, it would have been an easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy decision.

  As he entered the hotel after her, Anna slipped by some tourists chattering to each other, drawing eyes as she went. Dodger still couldn’t get his brain around Anna being a hooker. It just was not her.

  Habit sent his gaze around the lobby, and he didn’t like the three Czech looking thugs whose oversized jackets could easily conceal weapons milling around in one of the corners along with a Chinese woman and a too-interested Lebanese character. All of them had their eyes on the elevator. He was starting to get a funky vibe, which did nothing to alleviate his concerns regarding Max’s sister.

  What in bloody hell was going on here?

  Anna disappeared up the stairs, and Dodger was torn between staying here and watching what was going on with the suspicious looking quint group. But his protective instincts told him to go after Anna.

  He made a beeline for the stairs, sauntering to keep his own profile low. He got there just in time to see her disappear into Room 210. The only sound in the hall was the click of the door as it closed behind her.

  He stood in the hall totally exposed to anyone who came out of their room. It was strange to loiter in a hotel because everyone who was legitimate had someplace to go.

  It was also surreal. Mostly when Dodger was idling in a hallway, he was tacked up and ready to breach in the way his door-kicking team was trained.

  But this wasn’t an op, even though it felt dangerous and risky. He moved down the hall to the door, keeping his eyes out for anyone who might leave their rooms. Inside he could hear voices, murmurs, then a distinctive, “Wow. When they send someone, they really send someone.” Male, American, and if Dodger got his hands on him, fucked up.

  “Let’s get started. I have another appointment.” Yep that was Anna’s voice, smooth, straightforward, and commanding, but with a decisively Slavic accent. What the deuce was going on here? Then there was silence and Dodger clenched his fists.

  Before he knew what he was doing, he knocked, loudly and decisively.

  “Room service.”

  Everything was still and silent. He couldn’t imagine…okay, he could imagine but didn’t want to…what was going on in there.

  Room service? Anna Keegan thought. Had the schlub ordered food? Yeesh. She looked over to the man on the bed under the covers and doped up on liquid ecstasy. The tent the sheet made over his protruding stomach told the story. Yeah, most likely. She glanced at the progress bar on the laptop as it filled up, urging it with her mind to go faster. She had been instructed to not only upload the hidden program to monitor his actions when he was online, but download his files so the CIA could hopefully find something that would give them information about his back door to the satellite system and a security precaution if Miller wanted to delete everything on his system if the worm was discovered.

  Fifty percent.

  She only had a little while before he was fully conscious again, and she had to be here when he woke up or he would be as suspicious as hell.

  She ignored the room service guy and unzipped her boot as Richard Allen Miller, hacker and extortionist, stirred. Luckily, he’d only been in sweatpants when she’d come in, and it was easy enough to get him out of them. Her outfit was deliberately constructed for that purpose.

  Sixty-five percent.

  Richard—or Dick, as she referred to him—stirred and opened his eyes, then closed them. He was coming out of the drug and she had to act. She propped her booted foot on the edge of the bed, sliding in front of and obscuring his view of the laptop. She bent over as he turned his head and looked at her. She slowly pulled the tab up to the top of the zipper and smiled in her most that-was-wonderful expression. “Is this for me?” she asked softly as she dropped her foot to the floor and took the three hundred bucks on the nightstand, tucking it into her tote.

  Then she leaned down and said, “That was great. Call me anytime, pro čep.” She used the word for stud in Czech and Dick smiled.

  The knock came again, this time louder. “Room service,” the man said again in Czech.

  She glanced over her shoulder, the bar reading eighty-five percent.

  “Shouldn’t you get that?” she said breathlessly, her voice even and calm, giving away none of the urgency she felt inside. “I’m famished. You worked me hard, big boy.” Oh, my, she was piling it on thick, but it would keep the groggy hacker lost a bit longer in the fantasy. She risked another quick glance, noting the fill was almost to ninety-eight. Come on, she growled inside her head.

  When he got out of bed and reached for his sweatpants, she slapped him on the rump to keep his attention on her. It was second nature for computer geeks to want to know where their pacifier was at all times. She couldn’t afford for him to see what she was doing. He gave her a cocky smile as he put on his glasses, then stumbled for the door. She turned and grabbed the USB drive from the connector the moment it hit one hundred percent and closed the laptop’s lid.

  Bingo! She was done.

  She’d filled in for Dick’s normal hooker with her agenda perfectly in place. But all this would be for nothing if she didn’t beat feet and stay unidentifiable. She didn’t want the room service guy to see her here. That wouldn’t do.

  Time for a clean getaway.

  Just as Dick was demanding where the food was, she heard the sound of him being unceremoniously pushed aside, but Anna was already through the open window and down the fire escape, heading into the alley to lose herself in the shadows.

  Her plan was to catch a cab as she walked briskly away from the hotel. But then she realized minutes later that she was being followed. In an effort to lose her tail, she broke into a run in her two-inch heels pell-mell toward the opening to the street. Several someones, in fact, were after her. This wasn’t part of the plan. She couldn’t afford to have the USB fall into anyone’s hands or for her to get snagged.

  She had done plenty of recon in this city to know it very well. She didn’t like to get caught flat-footed. She was always prepared.

  She reached for the knife concealed in the top of the left boot, close to her inner thigh, pulled it out and palmed it. Someone stepped out of the shadows, a hulking man at the head of the alley cutting her off. She ducked into a doorway, breathing hard, her heart pounding loud enough for someone to hear it. She was trapped.

  The fact that they hadn’t pulled their weapons meant they wanted her alive. She wasn’t sure who they were, but they weren’t taking her without a fight.

  She ducked down and hid behind a dumpster, spying a two-by-four that would work nicely. She slipped the knife back into her boot, keeping her eyes on their silhouettes as she reached for and grabbed the wooden club. She really, really didn’t need any dead bodies connected to her. Best to incapacitate them and be on her way.

  Worst case scenario—she’d be forced to kill someone.

  No
one was supposed to know who she was, and she was uneasy as she waited in the dark for the four figures to converge. When they did, they talked to each other in quick, angry Czech, wondering where she could be and agreeing to spread out to find her. She hadn’t come out the other end of the alley, so that meant she had to still be here.

  These weren’t the usual dumb henchmen. But the fact they knew about her clandestine op meant they were tipped off, which had even more dire ramifications, not only to her, but to the reason she was sent here in the first place.

  This was bad.

  She couldn’t compound this shit-hitting-the-fan moment by being caught, especially for the intel, but her life could be measured in hours, maybe days. She stayed low, hanging onto her weapon. They separated, and as a lone figure passed her hiding spot, she waited for the opportune moment, reared up, and with one hefty swing of the wood cracked him a stunning blow to the back of his head. He went down like a ton of bricks. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.

  Moving on the balls of her feet, she ghosted down to the end of the alley toward freedom, anonymity, and safety.

  Someone lunged out at her, wrapping beefy hands around her waist, scaring the crap out of her and making her heart catch, then beat a mile a minute. She swung the board and connected with his shin and he howled. Dammit, that would bring the rest of them. No help for it now. She was committed. But the ox wouldn’t let her go. Holding her with one arm, he stripped the board out of her hands, trying to grab her wrists to immobilize her.

  She elbowed him in the ribs, getting no purchase being held with her feet off the ground. He still didn’t let her go, and she could hear footsteps pounding the pavement toward her.

  She reached for her knife, and with a slash at his arm, struggled to get free. When he cried out and dropped her, she went into a crouch, swung around with her leg and knocked the behemoth off his feet. He flipped up into the air and crashed down, unmoving. She rose up and started running to the end of the alley.