Until they’d kidnapped Toby. Toby was her Achilles’ heel. She’d do anything for her little brother.
Even kill?
The alarm on her watch vibrated, letting her know the time had come. She had to get ready and make an appearance at the gala. Her target would recognize her and welcome her with open arms. She might even wonder how Riley could have afforded the plate price to get in. Riley had a lame excuse to cover long enough to get her quarry alone. She’d take her someplace where she could be assured they wouldn’t be followed by the woman’s bodyguards. There, she would do what she’d come to do.
Riley removed the blond wig, slipped the maid’s dress over her head, released the clasps on her bra and slid the straps down her arms. Naked but for a pair of silky black panties, she wrapped a small amount of C-4 explosive to her inner calf with an Ace bandage and tucked the detonator affixed to a hair clip into her long dark hair, pulling it back behind her right ear and letting the rest of her hair fall over her left shoulder. The C-4 and detonator were courtesy of her handler, from among the items she’d found in the locker he’d sent her to in the train station.
Once she had her diversion devices secured, she dug a long black dress out of the bottom lining of her purse and shook out the wrinkles. She’d purchased the dress while shopping with her friend, intending to wear it to a less expensive charity event later that summer.
She almost laughed at the thought. That was when she was still an innocent American female who had nothing more to worry about than riding the Metro to and from her work as an aerospace engineer. The irony of it all was that she’d been recruited by the FBI to help them capture someone stealing government secrets from the corporation where she worked.
They’d come close but hadn’t nailed the bastard. What was so ironic was that thief might have been working for the Russians. Just like she was.
She pulled the dress over her head, settling the halter strap around her neck and letting the silky gown slide down her torso and over her hips. Riley and her roommate had both loved the dress. Though it had been a little pricey for her budget, she’d purchased the garment, excited to wear it to a ritzy DC function.
She no longer was the child easily molded and trained by her parents. That little girl had grown into a woman with a mind of her own. All the propaganda her parents had used to shape her beliefs had been replaced by the readings and research of an inquisitive mind. She had no desire to work as a spy or an assassin for a country for which she felt no affiliation. She was an American, despite her parents’ home of birth. She wanted the American dream, the American lifestyle, and the right to pursue happiness and love. And she’d hoped to accomplish some of that pursuit in the dress she’d purchased with her roommate.
Riley tucked the murder weapon into the bra of her dress. A tiny plastic bag containing one small pill that only had to touch the victim’s tongue to do the job. The pill would dissolve before anyone could do anything to help her, and the damage would be done. She’d die within just two minutes, her body hemorrhaging internally.
Pulling a small mirror from her purse, she examined her makeup and the dress in an entirely different light from that of the happy young professional engineer she’d been when she purchased the item. In that dress, her life would change forever.
To Riley, the dress would always be what she’d worn when she committed murder.
* * *
“ARE WE HERE?” Charlotte Halverson asked as the limousine pulled up to the curb outside the Marriott Marquis hotel in downtown Washington, DC.
Mack Balkman had the lead on the bodyguard detail for his new boss. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And don’t call me ma’am,” the woman said. “It’s Charlie.”
“Yes, ma’am—Charlie.” Mack choked on calling his new boss by her first name. His years on active duty made him want to address his boss with the utmost respect. And if that wasn’t bad enough, his parents had insisted he address women older than him by their surnames. Calling Mrs. Halverson by her first name didn’t sit right in his books. But she was the boss, and if she wanted him to call her Pookie while standing on his head, he’d do it. She’d given him a job when most others wouldn’t have given him the time of day.
“Are my men in place?” Charlie asked.
“They are. We’ve got you covered.” He touched his headset. “All clear?”
Mustang, their point man who’d arrived on a motorcycle ahead of them, replied, “Ready as we can be. This place is crawling with people here to see the red-carpet show.”
Augustus “Gus” Walsh climbed out of the passenger seat of the limousine and opened the back door.
When Charlie started to slide across the seat, Mack touched her arm. “Normally, I’d say ladies first, but not tonight.”
“Right.” Charlie settled back and waited for Mack to exit the vehicle.
He stood, straightened the tuxedo she’d arranged for him to wear and patted the nine-millimeter SIG Sauer P226 tucked beneath his jacket. Under his white shirt and cummerbund, he wore a bulletproof vest. He’d already cleared his men through the service that had been hired to provide security for the annual gala. All they had to do was show their identification and they would bypass the metal detectors that would make all kinds of noise if they found guns or knives on those who passed through.
He held out his hand for Charlie and helped the older woman from the back of the limousine. Gus closed ranks, moving in on the other side of her. He used his body as a shield against any potential threat.
They couldn’t be too careful. Less than two weeks prior, an attempt had been made on Charlie’s life. Two vans full of bad guys had cornered her limousine on a busy DC street. They’d killed her previous bodyguards and attempted a kidnapping. Thankfully, former Force Recon marine Declan O’Neill, Mack’s old team leader, had been there to save her. She’d rewarded him by hiring him and his team to provide security for her or anyone she deemed in need of assistance.
“You gentlemen don’t know how safe it makes me feel to have highly qualified, loyal men protecting me.” Charlie patted his arm. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that Declan agreed to come on board and bring his team with him.”
“Ma’am—” Mack started.
“Charlie,” she said.
Gus smiled. “I don’t know about you, Mack, but I have a hard time calling her Charlie myself. She could be my mo—”
Charlie held up her hand. “Don’t say it.”
Gus clamped his lips shut.
Mack hid a smile.
“Don’t say I’m old enough to be your mother. I feel old enough as it is. But my mind is still sharp and I feel like a twenty-five-year-old, thanks to Edwardo, my personal trainer.” She lifted her chin. “And this dress makes me feel like a million bucks.” She sighed. “My husband would have liked me in it.”
“You look amazing, Charlie,” Mack said. “But I’d feel better if you looked amazing inside the hotel. Not out here on the streets where anything can happen.”
“Right.” Charlie forced a smile to her lips and stepped out on Mack’s arm.
He knew he appeared to be more a date than a bodyguard, but he didn’t care, as long as he had room under his jacket for a weapon. He scanned the crowds of people standing on the other side of a barricade. Photographers snapped pictures and bystanders watched as vehicles pulled up one by one, discharging well-dressed men and women onto the red carpet.
Mack and Gus eased their charge along.
Charlie smiled