Codename: Nightshade (Deadly Seven Strike Force) Read Online Free PDF

a laugh behind his hand. I make a mental note to punch him the next time we’re alone.
    “I was presented a secondary opportunity, sir.”
    “Secondary opportunity?”
    The woman takes notes on a digital tablet as we drive through the streets of Frankfurt. I’m familiar with the direction we’re heading, so I ease back in my seat.
    “Commander,” I say, trying to keep the defensive edge out of my voice, “I believe the DMG is supplying Saudi rebels with munitions.”
    “You believe ,” Commander Justice says. I’m not sure his lips can do anything but sneer.
    I open my mouth to explain, but he holds up a hand to stop me.
    “Save it, Ms. Vincent. You have the council to appeal to, not me.”
    I turn away from him and watch the buildings fly by outside the car window. Movement in my peripheral draws my eyes to Claymore. He’s watching the streets, too, but he absently occupies himself with twirling his pocketknife in one hand. It’s old school, with two ivory handles that fold open to a four-inch blade. He flips the handles open and tosses the thing in the air, catching the safe side effortlessly each time. He’s done that for as long as I’ve known him.
    He has a gift with the blade.
    The car stops at a security booth before entering an underground garage. People always think being a spy and seeing inside covert operations would be fascinating. I figure that’s because they’ve never done it. It’s actually rather boring. All check points and ritual. We’re so careful to be meticulous and routine, to ensure nothing is overlooked or forgotten, that we’re all just a bunch of boring asses going through motions most of the time.
    Justice and his secretary hop out first. He barks orders for Claymore to report to the main office with me so I can be processed for the council meeting at four.
    Claymore jumps out next, holding the door open for me with a gentlemanly bow. “M’lady.”
    His Scottish accent would be charming if I didn’t see his smartass smirk.
    “Asshole,” I mutter under my breath.
    He hears me and laughs. He’s still twirling that damn knife as we wave our security badges in front of the sensor for the elevator doors. “So you have a problem with sticking to the plans on every mission, do ya?”
    I stick out my tongue, punching the number twenty button.
    He lets out a dramatic sigh. “I don’t recall him saying you were to push the button.”
    “I haven’t had a man push my button for me in over a decade, MacNeal,” I say, dropping formality to call him by his real name. “And I can promise you that when I do want a man to do it, you won’t be the one I call.”
    His laughter is booming, echoing in the small space of the elevator. “Oh, I know well about your buttons, lass. And allow me to say ditto .”
    I exit the elevator first and make a sharp left that Claymore’s not expecting.
    “Where’re you going?” he whines, trailing after me like a lost puppy.
    I point to the restrooms sign and enter the Ladies’ without waiting for him to catch on. I suddenly can’t remember the last time I used a toilet. It’s an odd thought to have, one I only entertain because staring at the back of the bright blue metal stall door is boring otherwise. While deployed on a mission, I don’t think about my body’s needs. Starvation, exhaustion, the total removal of basic comforts… none of it registers with me. But I’m not on assignment right now. I get to enjoy things like seat covers and soft tissue paper.
    My toe taps along to the beat of the pop song playing over the loudspeaker.
    The bathroom door opens and closes and a head pops under my door. I scream, kicking at Claymore’s face. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
    His laugh bounces off the walls as he moves away. “I was told to keep my eyes on you.”
    “Well keep them above my waist, you pervert!”
    “Don’t get your pastel purple panties in a twist, lass,” he says as I finish up and exit my stall. “I didn’t see