ce from the small underground cellar he had used, and take his leave. Her husband and son would receive a call later with the location of her body. Once it was found, the money would hit his account. There was a particularly lovely villa he had his eye on in France.
After wiping the last traces of himself from the area, he dressed carefully, picked up his briefcase, and slid open the narrow door.
Outside, the nightlife was in full steam. Israelis did so enjoy their entertainment. The nightclubs were, as usual, packed.
Smiling at one particularly lovely girl who passed by, he drew his cell phone from the pocket of his jacket and made a call to his handler. At least he could trust the mousey little man who dealt with arranging his assignments around his other job. It was often difficult to be both a CIA agent as well as the world’s most secretive assassin. His handler managed it all very smoothly and, in all the years he’d had the job, had never breathed so much as a whisper of betrayal.
“I’m heading to the airport.” He never spoke directly. “My flight to New York leaves in less than two hours; please make the necessary calls.”
He closed the phone, pocketed it, and lifted his hand to stop one of the many taxis making their way through the streets. In less than two hours he would be heading to another job, another challenge. He did so love the challenge. But there was a heaviness in his chest as well. This job didn’t set well on him at all.
As he boarded the plane two hours later and took his seat, he unfolded the American newspaper he had bought in the airport. The front page caused his brows to lift.
POPULAR INDUSTRIALIST KILLED DURING SENATOR’S DAUGHTER’S RESCUE
He rubbed his finger against his lower lip as he read, a frown pulling between his brows. One of his favored employers, it seemed, had been killed during the rescue. Jansen Clay. He almost smiled when he read that Clay had died during the rescue of Senator Stanton’s daughter, Emily. Evidently the American government didn’t like the truth. Jansen Clay was no hero. He’d proven that when he’d arranged the first kidnapping of Emily Stanton along with two other girls, one of whom was Clay’s own daughter. No doubt he had wished his plain little daughter had been killed during the kidnapping nearly two years before.
Emily Stanton and Risa Clay had survived, though. The third had died. And now, Clay was dead after trying to arrange the kidnapping of the Stanton girl again. The fool.
He stared at the picture before frowning. Another of his employers was involved in this affair. He knew Diego Fuentes had acquired the scientist’s services just months before, because the man had actually approached Orion’s handler to price the hit on Fuentes. Unfortunately, Orion hadn’t finished this assignment as of yet.
Interesting.
He stared at the picture of Risa Clay and Emily Stanton again and grimaced. So plain. A man would have to put a bag over Risa’s head or hide her face in the blankets to fuck her, as his employer had done nearly two years before. Were Orion to kill her, he’d definitely have to turn her facedown.
He nearly shuddered in distaste at the thought of it.
Ah well. Clay was dead; his daughter, it was rumored, was in some asylum, her brain destroyed from the drug she had been given during the kidnapping. Risa would remember little of that singular event in her life, and should be no risk to Orion’s future profits. The man who had played a role in her destruction had little to worry about.
CHAPTER 1
Six Years Later
TONIGHT RISA CLAY was going to take a lover.
Behind her, in the bathroom garbage were the overly large cotton pants and t-shirt she normally wore. None of that tonight. With her heart beating an erratic tattoo in her chest, she forced herself to turn and stare into the full-length mirror, at her naked body. She had to force herself to look, to be objective, to push back the panic rising inside her at the thought of what she was about to do.
She was pale. Pale skin, pale breasts, and pale pink nipples. Her gaze went lower to the bare pale lips of her sex and she had to swallow quickly to hold back the nausea that rose in her stomach. She was pale there as well. Perhaps she should have tried the tanning bed, she thought. If her body didn’t look like her own, perhaps this would be easier to do.
She could cancel until she tanned. But she immediately vetoed that idea. No excuses, she told herself. No more backing out, no more cowardly nights hiding.
She could do this. She had gone to the spa yesterday, hadn’t she? She had sat in the chair and spread her thighs while the technician had waxed her most private parts. Parts that she had hated for so long. The part of herself that she blamed for the worst episode in her life.
She forced her eyes to close and inhaled quickly. She wasn’t thinking about that tonight. She wasn’t going to let the past ruin the plan she had come up with. She had promised herself she wouldn’t. This was the right decision. She could do this. If she was ever going to regain her life and her independence, then she had to grab it with both hands and hold on, no matter how frightened she became.
Staring back at the mirror, she checked her hair. The thick, heavy dark blond strands that had once fallen halfway down her back were now shoulder length and fell neatly around her face. They weren’t pale, at least not any longer. Highlights had been added by the beautician. Dark and golden brown strands were mixed with the sandy color now. At least it no longer faded into Risa’s face.
There wasn’t much she could do with her face, with the exception of the makeup she had learned how to use. The smoky shadow highlighted her pale blue eyes and rather nondescript features and gave her an interesting appearance instead. Her lashes were longer, darkened with mascara and eyeliner. Her lips were more lush than she had thought they were. Bronze lipstick had brought out their shape, and a light coating of blush highlighted her rather high cheekbones.
The makeup specialist Risa had gone to had complimented her on her cheekbones and the arch of her eyes and taught her how to bring out the best in them. If only that addition of makeup could instill the confidence she had lost so long ago.
Risa forced in another deep breath before reaching for the soft bronze silk panties she had bought. The low-rise thong was daring and terrifying. It was an invitation. A silken bit of nothing that would take no time to pull from her body.
But that was what she wanted, she reminded herself. Something that would be easy to remove, that wouldn’t give her time to think or to consider what she was doing once she started doing it.
Next came the stockings. In ways, the stockings were even harder to put on. The thigh-high shimmering color made her legs appear longer, sexier. Another invitation. She was painting a “fuck me” sign on her body and she was doing it deliberately.
God help her to go through with this, because if she didn’t, she might never have the nerve to try again.