LITMIR.BIZ

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sexy. You wear short dress. Not very many married couple go, though. Mostly businessmen looking for women and if you ask right people you can find card—”

      The woman working on his back hissed as if to shush the other one.

      The girl walking on Mariska’s back shrugged. Jackson found the interplay between the two women interesting. He couldn’t tell if the older woman didn’t want the younger one to share information, or if she was concerned for Mariska and him.

      “Oh, that sounds like fun. Thank you,” Mariska said. “We love dancing. Then maybe we can, um, find those people she talked about so you can play cards, honey.” Mariska was definitely getting into their charade.

      From the toe action down his spine Jackson thought the woman walking on top of him might be angry. If she dug into his shoulder one more time, he might have to take her out. It hadn’t completely healed from the beating he’d received from Vlad’s men a few months ago.

      It appeared to him as if Phatong would be the best place to continue their search for Gladstone. He’d seen the club a couple of days ago when he quickly toured the red light district searching for one of his old contacts. Of course, the man was nowhere to be found. It was no coincidence that anyone who could have possibly helped Jackson seemed to have disappeared.

      She jumped off the table and patted his shoulder. “I do front now.” That was her way of ordering him to flip over. Jackson considered it for a moment and realized his thinking about Vlad had rid his mind of all the sexy thoughts from before.

      All he had to do was try and not look at or listen to the sensual Mariska.

      BEFORE THEY HIT THE CLUB, Mariska begged to take a quick shower to get the heavy oils off her skin and to change into something more appropriate for club hopping.

      Jackson followed her to the room. As she turned on the water he tried his best not to think about her soaping herself up as the warm water sprayed the oil off her sexy body. The very idea caused his gut to tighten with pleasure.

      Sitting down at the desk in front of the large expanse of windows, he didn’t have time to take in the view of the city lights. He made a few quick phone calls to the front desk, and to hotel security pretending to be Mariska’s assistant again. Once he had completed his tasks, he did his best to concentrate on the background check on the club.

      Borrowing her laptop, he was able to get the information he needed by doing some quick searches. As he suspected, the club was a front for a busy casino in the red light district, one that wasn’t that well hidden. Jackson hoped they would find some clues about what happened to Gladstone.

      Jackson hadn’t lied about hunches. As soon as the women at the massage parlor mentioned the club, he thought perhaps their quarry might be a gambler. There hadn’t been anything in the file about Gladstone having a penchant for cards, but it would explain the long absence from his hotel. More than likely he’d been on the hunt for a card game, too, and that’s why the younger girl had mentioned it. If she’d been working on the other man, there was a good chance she’d mentioned the same place.

      The club would be a good start, but they might have to hit a few clubs to find their man. Then again, they might get lucky. Though, until he’d run into Mariska earlier, luck hadn’t exactly been on Jackson’s side the last few months.

      On to more important matters. He thanked the stars that Mariska had exactly the software he needed to implement the second part of his plan. Using an untraceable account, he sent an e-mail to Dawson.

      Jackson had no idea if the other agent would even read it, but it was worth a chance. A few weeks ago Dawson said he was looking into what happened to Jackson, and that he’d help find out how he’d been burned, but so far they’d both come up with nothing. One minute his cover was blown, the next he’d been burned. His fist tightened on the keyboard and he forced himself to relax.

       Thanks for the asset. She is something. News? He typed the words using the code he and Dawson had devised, hitting send as the water shut off.

      What he really wanted to ask was, why Mariska? While her laptop and resources would definitely come in handy, there didn’t seem much she could do for him. Well, she was obviously loaded. Maybe Dawson thought he could use the cash. And possibly use spending time with her as a cover. No one would look for a burned CIA agent with a wealthy socialite.

      Jackson picked up the phone and called the front desk to get a car and make some arrangements in case they found their quarry.

      Mariska hummed a sweet tune in the bathroom and it was more than a little distracting. It took everything he had not to offer to dry her off. It had been a long time since his mind had been so full of a woman, probably not since one of his high school crushes.

      He brought up the search engine again, and cleared away any evidence of what he’d been doing before. He didn’t want to risk suspicion.

      When she walked out of the bathroom, she might as well have roundhouse kicked him in the gut. Her long, tan legs were at the bottom of a short black skirt topped with a red halter that looked sexy, but not cheap. Her feet were in sexy heels and it took him a minute to catch his breath.

      She stared at him, scrunching up her nose. “Is everything all right?” Twirling around, she flashed a hand down her outfit. “Do you think it’s too much? I thought it would be best if I looked like arm candy, but do you think I need more makeup or something?”

      She said it as if she had no idea how much the total package would be a constant distraction for him. Hell, she’d be a distraction for any man. Mar didn’t seem to have any idea how gorgeous she was, and he found that extremely appealing.

      “No.” He shook his head. “I meant—the outfit is fine. I have some information for you.” He told her about the casino as she searched the dresser drawers for something.

      “There’s one little problem. I’m not exactly flush with cash right now and to get in we’re going to need some to blow on the kind of game we want,” Jackson admitted. He did have a stash, but he had no idea how long it would have to last him.

      She pulled out a purse from the dresser and put a lipstick and some other things inside. “Oh, that’s no problem. I brought some extra cash.” She pursed her lips as she walked toward him and he forced himself to stand still, instead of leaning forward and kissing the plum-colored softness before him. “Do you think twenty thousand will be enough? I can get more if we need it.”

      The thousand-dollar-a-night suite was his first clue that she had money, but who traveled with that much cash?

      “That should get us into the good tables,” he said, choking back a laugh.

      “Cool.” She looked down at her outfit again, pulling at a thread. “Um, I don’t exactly have anywhere to carry that much, so maybe you better hold on to it.”

      He realized how much she trusted him and a small pit of guilt opened up in Jackson’s gut. He didn’t deserve it, and when she found out, if she found out, who he really was she would hate him for eternity. But for now, he’d help her with her job, and do his best to keep her happy. If he helped her solve her case, there was a great chance she’d feel indebted to him. That might come in handy over the next week or so.

      She seemed confident in her skin, but unaware of her beauty. Then there was her job. When it came down to tracking Gladstone, she really did seem clueless. It didn’t add up.

      As they entered the lobby, he couldn’t resist asking. “Do you always travel with that much cash?”

      She rolled her eyes. “You must think I’m insane. No. The bank delivered the money to the hotel this morning. Part of it is expenses for this case. I didn’t know how long it would take, and informants don’t take credit.” She fiddled with the purse.

      Pausing for a moment, she seemed to check herself. “And part of it was for shopping. I planned to have clothes designed for myself, and some friends, and most of the tailors only accept cash. I have this, um, sort of compulsion for

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