LITMIR.BIZ

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he belonged to a very powerful organization. He’d been sent to this country to find a way to build up the depleted coffers of the Brothers of Darkness, the terrorist group he had pledged his allegiance to when he was just a boy. The organization was his mother, his father, his god and he would gladly die for it.

      But not yet.

      He sighed, frustrated. He needed to be in Austin by the end of the week. His contact would be there, the man who could put him in touch with others who thought the way he did, who believed in their cause. But it was moving far too slowly for his tastes. Finding a way to rebuild resources, to make connections that would allow a way for money to begin flowing back to his organization, took too much time.

      And once that was started, he would go on to an even bigger mission. Killing the son of the king of Montebello. This time, for good. According to the intelligence network, Prince Lucas had escaped the jaws of death despite the plane crash.

      But not for long.

      Right now, though, Salim was getting bored, restless. From where he was sitting, he could see into a booth that was to his left. A man occupying it was there with a woman who was obviously not his wife. The man was running his hand up her skirt.

      Salim shifted on the stool. He needed diversion. He needed a woman.

      Being on the run this way hadn’t left him much time for the simpler, necessary pleasures of life. A man needed to feel like a man once in a while and though these western women were inferior to the women in his country and far too stubborn for his tastes, with their big breasts and tempting hips, they had their uses.

      A slight movement in the mirror caused him to look to his right, toward the bar’s entrance. A dark-haired woman wearing a clingy white dress walked in. The wide folds of the short dress caressed her body with every step she took. She made his mouth water.

      She seemed to smile right at him, though his back was to her. Their eyes met in the mirror.

      A working woman, by his estimation.

      He could smell them. High-class from the looks of her. A woman who knew how to work a room, who knew how to say the things a man wanted to hear. Do the things a man wanted done. Obviously a whore, but still infinitely superior to the ones he saw frequenting selected corners and streets, offering instant gratification in the time it took to pull down a zipper.

      There was a time and a place for instant gratification, but not from a common slut ripe with diseases.

      He liked quality, even in his whores. Salim was willing to pay if it meant that his needs would be pleasured, that the woman was clean and attractive, not used-looking or cheap.

      The very word turned his stomach. He’d had enough of “cheap” hiding in those run-down motels, staying ahead of that bounty hunter who had been after him. But now the hunter was behind him, most likely gone for good. He was through running, through with the game. The next encounter, if there was to be one, would be deadly. And he intended to be the one walking away.

      The stool beside him was empty. The woman in white had crossed to him, standing behind it.

      “Is this seat taken?” she purred in a voice that seemed to have been dipped in honey.

      He could feel his arousal beginning. This one he would have, first quickly, then slowly, until he was tired of her.

      “If you sit down, it will be.”

      She took it as an invitation. Smiling, she sat down beside him, adjusting her skirt so that he could see her long legs, her bare, silky skin. As she turned toward him, the neckline of her dress dipped down. The firm cleavage that was exposed to his hot gaze rose and felt seductively with each breath she took.

      Salim was fairly salivating.

      “Would you like a drink?” he offered.

      She lowered her eyes to the one on the counter. “I’ll take a sip of yours,” she murmured, her voice low, husky. She took the glass from his hand. Slowly she ran the tip of her fingernail along one edge of the rim. “Is this where your lips touched the glass?”

      He felt his throat and his loins tightening. “Yes.”

      As Salim watched, the woman pressed her own lips to the spot and took a long sip. Her eyes never left his. He found that his breath caught in his throat.

      The drink was a particularly strong one. He expected to see her eyes water. Instead she merely smiled as she placed the glass on the counter.

      “Smooth,” she whispered. The word seemed to graze his very skin.

      His arousal increased. He inclined his head toward hers. “Perhaps you would like to leave here for a little while?”

      “Perhaps,” the woman echoed. Her blue-gray eyes danced as they teased his. “Just what did you have in mind?”

      She was being coy. It was part of the game. “I think you know.”

      Leaning her elbow on the bar, she rested her chin on her hand. Her eyes smiled up into his. “Why don’t you tell me, anyway?”

      He skimmed her bare arm with his fingers, envisioning his hands on her breasts instead. “We could go back to my room and I could appreciate you the way a woman such as you should be appreciated.”

      She exhaled a long, sensuous breath, as if she could read his mind, feel his touch. His excitement mounted. “Sounds good to me.” Slipping from her stool, she watched him toss a couple of twenties onto the bar before he got off his stool. She nodded at the money. “Pretty free with your money. Are there any more like that?”

      His smile broadened. He’d been right. A working woman. Well, he was going to make her work.

      “A great many.” He placed one proprietary hand on her shoulder, steering her toward the entrance. “In my hotel room.”

      Her smile was inviting, seductive. “Then show me your hotel room.”

      Slipping his hand from her shoulder, he took her arm. “That is not all I will show you.”

      She leaned into him, laughing, filling his space with the perfume she’d put on only half an hour ago. “I’m counting on it.”

      * * *

      Damn it, she was here. Intent on finding his quarry, Max had almost missed her. As if a body like that could be overlooked.

      What the hell did she think she was doing?

      Didn’t she have any idea how dangerous the man was and what could happen to her?

      Obviously not, Max thought in disgust.

      The woman was a myopic fool.

      Making his way out of the bar again, he followed them, keeping a discrete distance behind.

      As they walked out of the bar and toward the elevator, Cara planned how and when to make her move. Weber’s room was both the best place and the riskiest. Best because there was no one to get in her way, no one he could use as a shield to make his getaway. And, since the room was on the sixth floor, there was only one way out for Weber. He certainly wasn’t going to leap out the window and suddenly sprout wings. This time, there would be no Dumpster to catch him.

      But it was the riskiest place because there would be no witnesses, no one for him to fear if he suddenly turned on her or tried to overpower her.

      The operative word here was “tried.”

      Which was why she had her gun very strategically planted beneath the slinky white skirt of her dress. She could easily draw it out when the time came.

      Cara stole a glance at the man at her side as he jabbed again for the elevator. She’d known what he looked like, had carried around his likeness to hold up in front of people and help jar their memories, but she hadn’t realized just how unnerving he was in person. There was an aura around him. Though it seemed foolish, it felt as if she was in the presence of pure evil.

      It

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