Laced Impulse (6 page)

"Anything for the success of our mission."

Mot's eyes softened because honestly he didn't think her room was being watched like his was. Greta would have jumped for joy, knowing that he was alone but the feisty red head wasn’t his reason for asking her to stay. There was something about Bianca that fascinated him. Something that willed his eyes to stray in her direction whenever his duties required that he meet with Vance. He hadn't been able to work out the question. He only knew for him and unlike Vance; it wasn't her IQ. Even though her test scores had placed her in the genius range. He'd heard about it. Rumbling rumors that bordered along the lines of jealousy. He certainly wasn't her biggest fan when it came to hand to hand combat. In this area, her skills were barely passable. No....not even her beauty could be blamed for his attraction. And hell yes, she was a knockout but getting women had never been a problem that burdened him. If asked, he could recite all the things about her that didn't register in his brain. But if he had to state his reasons for being drawn to her. Mot's mouth would dry up like the hottest desert. He had no words to adequately express his fondness for Bianca Milton. And this oddity gnawed at his nerves.

She was standing in the bedroom watching Mot as he rifled through his carryon bag. He palmed one large teeshirt, then pulled a complementary robe from the dresser drawer.

He crossed the room with his offering while saying....

"You sleep here. I'll take the sofa."

"At least tell me that the sofa has a pullout bed. Lie to me if you must." Her face radiated concern. "You’re giving me your bed and I'll never sleep, knowing that you're camped out on that sofa while I’m stretched out comfortably in this enormous bed."

Mot smiled and when he answered, she couldn't rightly discern truth from fiction. He was that good when it came to deceiving.

"Yes. The sofa has a pullout bed. Now that we’ve covered that subject; where I sleep is no longer an issue."

Not giving her time to rethink, question, or digest his response. Mot turned on his heel, leaving her to sleep in his room in private. He closed the door and all at once she began to question her readiness. In her head she heard the words of her mentor. Vance telling her the rules of stealth engagement. She heard TC’s banter, repeatedly saying that female agents are rarely suspected. He explained the importance of her using sex as a weapon. For months, these two men rambled in her brain. Each in their own way preparing her for her first assignment. Now she had a third voice to listen too. Mot explaining his own set of golden rules. Contact your handler at the appointed time. Don't take any unnecessary risk. Staying alive is your number one job. She could remember this. She would remember this because the words were Mot's suggestions.

***************

Chapter 5

Bianca woke, feeling rested but slightly disoriented. Her eyes scanned the area, seeing a suite much larger than her own. It took less than a few seconds for her brain to recognize her surroundings. She trained her ears, listening for sounds. The clatter of a cup and saucer. The clang of a fork being placed on a plate. Anything that might tell her what he was doing or if he was awake at all.

Bianca rose from the bed, easing into the plush robe Mot had given her. She strolled into the outer room, preparing to see him, yet finding that she was alone. She walked back into the bedroom, looking to find traces of him. Shaving cream... Clothes or his luggage. But after she searched the entire suite, she realized that he'd already gone. She was on her own again. There hadn't been time for more questions but this is what she'd trained for. She still didn't know what Vance had seen in her. He'd never explained why he'd recruited her or why he'd chosen her for this assignment. Last night, before Mot had led her to his bedroom, he'd told her to monitor Greta and Hendrik. Actually, she'd been instructed to keep them thoroughly occupied. He didn't tell her how too do it; he'd left the details too her to figure out. Bianca had been brimming with questions. What to do and how to do it. More too the point; why had she been chosen? She didn't dare ask Vance this question but her brain had been poised to ask Mot. But the timing had been all wrong and she accepted that maybe she'd squandered her only chance.

Bianca changed into her clothes, being sure to take Mot's teeshirt with her when she left. She didn't want to leave it behind because she wasn't sure if returning was a part of his plans. This realization pained her but the angst didn’t cripple her memory. She recalled the red head and her angry gaze. The bold way she confronted him; refusing to be ignored. These images pierced her thoughts. Moreover... Bianca wondered what Greta would do once she learned that Mot had gone. Whatever her response, she was sure his absence wouldn’t improve her mood.

The conference wrapped up, like most formal events do. The exchange of information, agreements and contract negotiations; then there were the sideline deals. Bianca spoke to a few of the attendees but she made certain to keep a watchful eye on Greta and a man she assumed to be Henrik.

The crowd was beginning to thin out. Small groups huddled, candidly talking throughout the room. Greta was mercilessly flirting with an Italian man; fanning red locks over her shoulder. Licking pouty full red lips. Posing in a way to expose the mounds of her voluptuous breast. As she stared at the man, a curious expression lay beneath her calm veneer. Until now, Bianca couldn’t recall seeing him at any of the conference events. She dismissed this anomaly. She couldn’t account for everyone in attendance, so she set her focus on the two she’d been instructed to observe.

Greta’s counterpart Henrik was at the bar, drinking and talking to a delegate from South Africa. The musicians paid to entertain them had already left. For this reason her attention was drawn to the sound of music. Gentle fingers danced across the keys; precise placements caressing the ivory. Notes so serene, Bianca felt compelled to compliment the player. She crossed the room, being certain not to lose sight of Greta or Henrik.

The man playing the piano watched her as she approached. He smiled, then said...

"Interesting conference."

She'd been so impressed by his talent, her thoughts were far off and she didn't register his remark. He smiled then repeated...

"These conferences can be intensely heady. It's nice that the organizers provided this parting gathering. Relaxation fuels creative juices."

She looked at him amused then nodded. "Yes. It was nice of them to consider this." Bianca’s eyes were drawn to the piano. She’d taken lessons as a child, but she never possessed the talent to master the instrument. She added. "You play beautifully."

"Thank you."

By his Danish accent, she rightly assumed his nationality. He offered her his right hand while continuing to play with his left. His bright blue eyes gleamed his sincere greeting.

"My name is Sven... And you are....?"

After days of posturing, endless formal invitations.
Doctor
this and
specialist
that. Bianca had noticed, most of the conference attendees had shed their titles, like kicking off shoes or removing tights clothes to breathe.

Her lips spread wide, charming him with her glimmering smile. She shook his hand.

"Amya." she said simply.

"What a pretty name. If I may ask...what does it mean?"

"I'm not sure. My mom said that she named me Amya because it sounded pretty."

"She's right. A pretty name for a pretty woman."

Bianca conveyed her expressions using agency standards; steering clear of cliché platitudes. A blush on cue. Giggle, then a hand flick of her hair. Earlier, she'd observed Greta flirting, doing this exact thing. The Italian had swooned just like Sven was currently doing. His moo moo eyes considered her kindly. Sven had released her hand; resuming the melody that had tugged her feet in motion. The sweeping flow of his music was magnificent. Strumming chords that brought his notes to life.

She was forming a sentence in her head when a voice startled her from behind.

"Who is your friend?"

The question was asked in a thick German accent. Bianca turned slightly, seeing Henrik towering over her. Along the periphery, from where she stood; she’d noticed him moving but when she blinked, he’d moved outside of her visual field. The plan had been to locate him without being obvious. But before the opportunity presented itself; Henrik was crowding her personal space.

Up close, the German was far more attractive then she'd imagined. Except for a narrow scar that marred his cheek, the man possessed models features and it was obvious that Henrik knew this all to well.

"Henrik, this is Amya.... Amya....Henrik"

Sven continued playing during his brief introduction. Henrik's mouth crooked a smile when he said...

"I don't recall seeing you at the reception."

Bianca said... "I wasn't. I didn't arrive until midweek."

"Yes... Had you been there, I would have noticed you. I made a point to talk to everyone.” Henrik openly studied her. He said... “What a waste for your sponsor though. The best speakers were the early presenters. But you did enjoy some of the festivities, right? I recall seeing you at the hotel lounge."

"Now, now Henrik. I thought we all agreed there would be no talk of business."

Bianca turned and now Greta had joined their threesome. She still recalled her face to face the other day at the elevator. Greta had been furious with Mot and she’d been too afraid to face the woman. But now... Greta’s manner was tame in comparison. Seeing her again; it was clear that she too was a beauty. Bianca had to force her eyes not to stare.

"Sven... Our driver is here. You can ride with Henrik and me." The red head said.

Greta's pale gray eyes made a point not to look at Bianca and her annoyance nearly burst when Henrik made mention of her.

"Greta... Meet Amya. She too attended the conference. We spoke about her after she was seen dancing with that fellow..." He snapped his fingers, searching for the name.

Greta stopped his incessant gesture when she angrily replied...

“
Vincent. Gideon Vincent.” She said his name with so much venom and Bianca had not been the one who’d told her about Mot mysteriously leaving the conference. Oddly, Sven had been the whistle blower and she didn’t know how or when he’d come to know this. Bianca had overheard the red heads tyrant. Apparently, Mot had promised her he would attend her lavish event. But her temper lost some of it’s simmer when she turned, seeing that Amya had not left the conference with him.

Greta did something strange, and the maneuver caught Bianca completely off guard. The woman did a slow pivot on one heel, her eyes lay low, taking in Bianca's shoes. Her deliberate slow appraisal was unnerving and meant to affect a response. Bianca felt heat building in her face. Beneath her skin, the muscles attached to hairs quivered under the pressure. Her body was reacting as it should. Flight or fight. She stood her ground; rightly choosing the latter.

Showing signs of resilience, Bianca smiled; unfazed by Greta's sharp disapproval of her presence.

"It's nice to see you again Greta. I guess it's obvious that I'm at somewhat of a disadvantage because I wasn't here at the beginning of the conference. I know so few of those in attendance here and the few people that I did meet are already gone."

"And you didn't leave with them?"

Ouch! The word sprung in Bianca's head because Greta was out the gate, staking her ground and punching below the belt. Staying the course, Bianca replied.

"No... I didn't leave when they left. Actually, this is my first time in France and I'd planned to extend my visit. I have an open ticket and my work schedule for the coming week is flexible."

"Paris is a beautiful city." Sven replied. "I've visited several times and if you'd permit me, I'd love to be your guide."

"Thank you Sven. I'll consider that."

"Well... Now that you've got that settled, we mustn't be late for the party." Greta spoke forming her lips in a pout, while tapping the crystal on her watch.

"You still need to shower and change. I've already made arrangements for the delivery of your luggage." She said.

Sven lifted his eyes and he saw confusion on Amya's face. Greta was talking around her, almost as if the other woman wasn't there. In short, she was deliberately being rude and he didn't approve. Sven said...

"Amya... Greta and Henrik have rented a house. Tonight, they're throwing a wonderful party. It's for the people who attended this event. If you'd like to join us, I'm sure they wouldn't mind one more person being added to the list."

It was times like this that people needed cameras to record the moment. At the mentioning of her being invited as a guest, Greta's collagen filled lips puckered out like a sour duck. Her eyebrows did a trampoline dance. On the upswing, she made a sound that may have been a curse. Standing beside her, Henrik's face was a mask of glee. He was getting some kind of sick perverted enjoyment out of witnessing her squirm.

"Greta... There is room enough for four in our car." Henrik’s suggestion was meant to mollify her anger.

"I have a better idea." Greta said. "We won't make any changes to our original plan. Sven, you will ride with Henrik and me to our house. Henrik's valet has already taken care of your tux situation. And as for you...." Greta's eyes studied her, clearly annoyed. Her face looked like a person considering the growth of mold in a petri dish. The odor repugnant and offensive. After half a minute, enduring Greta's painful once over; Bianca had prepared herself to beg off from the invitation. She'd readied her lips to speak, when without warning, Greta's mouth took an upward swing. The metamorphous was downright scary.