Femme Fatale Read Online Free PDF

looked up in time to see Bear watching him with sympathy that instantly vanished. “Right, then,” Bear said brusquely. “Here’s some good news. Your Mystery Lady didn’t run far. Don’t know how she got there, but she left the dockson foot and headed for the quaint cultural experiences of the waterfront. As far as we know, she’s still noodling about the shops, though we don’t currently have an exact location on her. It strikes me, Stellar, that the gentleman’s thing to do would be to return her coat.”
    “You must have a mind-reading program installed into that OS of yours,” Jason said, pulling the parka from the end of the bed. This room was not so large that he couldn’t sit at its desk and reach just about anything he needed. He’d give the parka another examination before returning it to its owner, just in case it held any other little hidden thing to make his day miserable. With the cool fall nights, she might well be glad to see the thing again—though no doubt she’d have little welcome for him.
    “Look after yourself on this one,” Bear said, and frowned. “And keep in touch. I’ve got dead air coming up for a while. That’s the hell of stealing sat feeds…can’t control the maintenance.”
    Jason bunched the parka in his hand. The movement released a clean, crisp scent…something citrusy. He had to stop himself from bringing it closer to his face. “I always look after myself.”
    “Yeah?” Bear said dryly. “Then quit grinning like a fool.”
    “Get off.” Jason kept his voice mild. “I’ll be in touch.” He stabbed the quit key for the communications program and flipped the laptop closed.
    He looked at the parka another long moment. It was a deep teal thing, or perhaps dark turquoise. The tan lining looked like it probably held secrets, things he needed to find before he returned it to her. He’d give it a good search, change his own clothes, and head right back to the waterfront. But for starters…
    For starters he lifted the coat closer to his face and inhaled the scent of it.
     
    Blue Crane. As Beth fled for the refuge of the commercial waterfront, she considered Lyeta’s last words…and her own options. Follow up on finding that computer keycard. Okay, that was a given. Check in with Barbara Price. Also a given. Barbara might have some insight on Lyeta’s words…or she might know more about the MI6 agent now involved.
    For Beth had no reason to consider him out of the game. He’d lick his wounds—not for very long, either—and then he’d be back after her. He thought she’d killed Lyeta; he suspected, rightly, that she had information of value. And he had a grudge.
    She needed to stay ahead of him.
    Returning to her hotel didn’t appeal to her. If Mr. MI6 had gotten a good look at her face, they might well have an ID on her by now, at least enough to know she was CIA-trained. They might well have broken her cover…they might be at her hotel. She could handle it if they were, but she didn’t want the delay the encounter would cause.
    Best bet…get lost in a crowd. Find a corner to contact Barbara, courtesy of the highly enhanced PDA she had stashed in her sling pack, which she’d hidden near the warehouse and nabbed again on the way out. She couldn’t do much to disguise her basic look, but as she hesitated in the quiet shadows of the drawbridge on West Quay Road she pulled the band from her hair and bent over to give it a quick upside-down brushing. When she stood, flipping the blunt cut to fall into place around her shoulders, she had a different upper silhouette…and she could obscure her face simply by tipping her head.
    The sling pack also held a sheer silk-knit gray twinset sweater; she pulled it on over her leotard, hiding her lean curves. Her backup pistol went in an ankle holster, and Wyatt into his discreet custom fanny pack. A light application of lipstick—just a shade more intense than her natural color—a little foundation to conceal her