Colby Control

One thing was certain, Nora would.

She had been equalizing situations long before she’d hired on with Jim Colby.

Tallant was the one who needed to be worried.

Chapter Three

Palomino Hotel and Casino, Las Vegas 4:00 p.m.

At least it wasn’t the Copacabana.

Nora kicked aside the nasty memories that accompanied the thought. Five years was a long time. She hadn’t heard a peep from the sick bastard in more than four of those years. Chances were she had nothing to worry about on that old score.

Still … she was back in Vegas.

There was always the possibility.

“That’s her.”

Nora blinked and followed Tallant’s gaze. A tall, lithe blonde floated across the gaming floor, then paused to chat with a guest.

“Camille Soto,” Tallant went on. “Twenty-eight. MBA from UCLA. She—”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Nora, interrupting his narrative. “I read her dossier.”

Tallant shot her a look.

Yeah, yeah. He was in charge. She was supposed to listen. Even if she already knew exactly what he was going to say.

“She was hired as an assistant manager for the casino one year ago. Promptly promoted to manager just six months ago.”

Soto had grown up in Brentwood, a whole different world from Nora’s North Hollywood roots. And Nora had barely finished high school, much less gotten a foot in the door of a fancy university.

“Our client’s husband started …” Nora considered the best way to put it “He started interacting with Ms. Soto six months ago. Ironically about the same time she was promoted.”

Tallant sipped his club soda as he watched the blonde schmooze with patrons. “That’s what the wife says, but we have no documented proof of the allegation.”

Nora had a feeling there was more to this than she knew. Jim had gone over the file with her, but something about the client had sounded personal to him on some level. When she’d asked, he had dismissed the question by moving on to the next topic.

A little jaunt on the Internet last night hadn’t provided Nora with any sort of personal connection between the client and the Colbys, but her instincts were buzzing with the idea that there was something beneath the surface. This was more than just another case. A lot more.

Maybe her new partner had a little inside info. At this point she didn’t see any reason for him not to share. “Does the Colby Agency generally take cases with such a personal connection?”

Tallant turned from his surveillance of the blonde to stare with no small amount of frustration directly at Nora. “We’ve gone over the strategy for this assignment.” He thrust his half-empty glass at her. “Don’t ignore check-in time,” he reminded as she took the glass. Then he walked away.

Nora glared at the glass, then at his back. She was to check in with him every hour when they were separated. No exceptions.

This … no, he was going to be a major pain in the butt.

Nora caught a passing waiter and placed the tumbler on his tray, then smiled appreciatively.

Time to interject her own strategy into this game. He hadn’t specifically said she couldn’t.

When Tallant was fully engaged in conversation with the other woman, Nora headed for the bank of elevators in the glamorous lobby.

The Colby Agency had their way of doing things. But in Nora’s opinion there were far more direct methods. She stepped onto the elevator and selected the twelfth floor. Leaning against the back wall of the empty car, she clutched her satin purse close to her chest. Traveling via commercial airliner these days made it difficult to carry one’s tools of the trade. But she had devised methods for getting around the possibility of her checked bag being inspected. Incorporating various listening devices and breaking-and-entering tools into her jewelry, cosmetics and such worked like a charm every time.

On the twelfth floor she exited the elevator car and strolled to room 1221. Dr. Vandiver was having a drink with friends in the lobby bar downstairs. According to the waiter serving his table, the group had ordered an appetizer from the restaurant next door. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Nora surveyed the door to his room. He would never know she’d been here. With a quick glance right, then left, she gingerly plucked the access card from her purse and slid it into the electronic lock. A small wireless scanner about the size of a makeup compact flashed red, then yellow and finally green. The light on the door’s lock went to green. Nora opened the door, simultaneously removing the access card from the locking mechanism.

And she was in.

When the door had closed with a soft click behind her, she surveyed the suite. Same layout as the one she had two floors below but far larger and grander. Management likely ensured that Vandiver always got a VIP suite. Unlike Nora’s small sitting room, this one was immense, with a generous balcony overlooking the famous Strip. The first of three telephones sat on a table next to an elegant sofa. Less than a minute was required to place the bug in the cordless handset.

A dozen steps across the plush carpet and she entered the well-appointed bedroom with its enormous bed piled with lush bedding. Vandiver’s luggage stood near the walk-in closet, untouched as of yet. The luxurious bed, flanked by wide tables and proud lamps, and a distinctive highboy-style chest of drawers lined the walls not adorned with exquisite art or imposing windows. Two lush chairs, separated by another gleaming ornate table, stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall window framing a gorgeous view of the miles of bold, brash architecture and exotic lights that set Sin City apart from any other.

The second phone, on the table to the left of the bed, was the next target. Her fingers moved deftly as she installed the tiny device. The third phone was in the en suite bathroom. Yards and yards of sleek marble and state-of-the-art fixtures cloaked the room. Thick white towels hung on warming racks.

A few seconds more and her work was done.

Nora made her way back to the sitting room and paused long enough to sync her cell phone with those in the room by putting a call through directly to the room. She slid the phone back into her crowded clutch purse and headed for the door.

Tallant would be wondering where she’d gotten off to. She was supposed to be hanging out in the bar, watching Vandiver.

Her accomplishment here would do a hell of a lot more good than watching the guy sip Scotch and nibble at finger foods.

She had no intention of spending any more time than absolutely necessary on this assignment with Tallant. The sooner she was back in Chicago, the happier she would be. Her rotation with him would be over and her next assignment would be with someone else.

Anyone else would be fine by her.

The shadow of his tall frame flitted across her mind’s eye. She shook off the distant yearning that accompanied the image.

No man had ever gotten to her in such an annoying manner. The vague idea that she was deeply entrenched in denial frustrated her all the more.

She didn’t like him. End of story.

At the entry door she reached for the handle; the distinct hum of the electronic lock stopped her dead in her tracks.

An even more distinct click warned that someone was about to enter the room.

She flattened against the wall just in time for the door to open. It stopped mere centimeters from her nose. Nora held her breath.

“Yes, I’m aware of the consequences.”

Vandiver strode across the room, his cell phone pressed against his ear in one hand, the other working his tie loose from his throat.

Nora remained stone still, her lungs bursting to draw in more air, as he wandered left toward the bedroom, still struggling with the knot in his tie and speaking firmly to the person on the other end of the line.

“That’s out of the question,” Vandiver snapped as he disappeared into the bedroom.

Nora dared to breathe.

She had to get out of here before he came back into the sitting room.

Tallant would kill her if she got caught.

Holding her breath once more, she reached toward the door handle.

The spray of water in the bathroom stalled her escape once more.

Vandiver was preparing to take a shower.

That could work to her benefit in a very big way. If he’d left his cell phone in the bedroom … she could add a device to it, as well.

What a break that would be ….

Tallant’s voice rang in her ears. Don’t make a single move without my approval.

Okay, so maybe he had warned her not to formulate her own strategy.

Nora blinked. She’d certainly already barged past that line in the sand.

What was one more infraction?

Especially if it served to resolve this case.

The move was a risk, no doubt.

If she was caught, she would simply have to wing it. She’d done it before. Would likely do it again.

Go for it.

She slipped off her stilettos and left them at the door. Her steps silent on the thick carpet, she moved quickly toward the bedroom. As she drew nearer, the water sounds grew louder.

Vandiver started to sing.

Not well and certainly not in tune, but providentially loudly.

Three steps into the room and she hesitated. The door to the bathroom was open.

A couple of her favorite curse words flitted through her mind.

Along with a pair of black trousers, a white shirt and a red power tie, the cell phone lay on the bed, as if he’d tossed it there … as if he had nothing at all to worry about.

Adrenaline moved through her veins. Nothing but Nora Friedman. A smile tilted her lips.

Seven feet stood between her and the phone. She glanced at the bathroom door. The glass-enclosed shower had fogged with the billowing steam.

She could do it.

Piece of cake.

Feet wide apart, she braced for the move.

Her purse vibrated. Her fingers clenched around it as if that would somehow stop the insistent tremor.

Her muscles tightened.

Tallant was checking up on her.

Another glance toward the bathroom.

Just do it.

Three long, soundless strides put her at the foot of the bed. She snatched up the phone and backed up, taking the same number of steps.

The off-key melody wafting from the bathroom assured her that Vandiver remained occupied, allowing her to focus on removing the back from the phone. She dug through her clutch for the tiny device required to do the job. With the purse under her arm once more, she installed the electronic splitter in the phone.

Oxygen didn’t fill her lungs again until the back was on the phone and she prepared to toss it onto the bed.

It rang.

Her eyes widened and her heart practically stopped as the phone’s raging tune blasted a second time.

Heated oaths resonated from the bathroom.

Move!

Nora tossed the cell phone onto the bed just as it erupted into musical notes again. Without a glance in the direction of the shower, she dashed back to the entry door and snatched up her waiting shoes.

“Yeah.”

Vandiver’s voice. He was out of the shower and on the phone.

If he heard the click of the door latch disengaging …

His voice grew muffled.

He’d walked back into the bathroom.

Her knees wobbled just a little with relief.

She held her breath, wrapped her fingers around the door handle and pushed downward.

The click of the lock disengaging echoed like an explosion in the air.

Nora slipped into the corridor, slowly let the door close and the lock reengage. With a liberating sigh, she backed up a step.

Clear. She’d accomplished her mission.

Strong fingers wrapped around her forearm.

Her gaze collided with furious gold eyes.

Tallant dragged her several strides down the corridor before leaning his head close to hers and demanding, “What the hell were you doing in Vandiver’s room? No.” He shook his head. “I don’t even want to know.”

Busted. “Looking through his briefcase.” Sounded good. But from the ruthlessness of his grip and his continued march toward the stairwell exit, he wasn’t buying it for a second.

When he’d pushed through the stairwell door, with her in tow, he surveyed the landing as well as the stairs going in both directions. Confident they were alone, he pointed an outraged face at hers. “I don’t know what the hell you were thinking, but we had this talk, Friedman.”

They had indeed.

“And I clearly remember thinking it was totally ridiculous at the time.” Not the right thing to say, judging by the way his jaw clamped hard and his lips thinned into a flat line of fury.

He was totally ticked off.

The cool tile floor beneath her bare feet served as a harsh reminder that she had taken a huge risk.

He would likely report her to his superiors. Who would in turn convey the entire incident to her boss, Jim Colby.

She was dead.

The great idea didn’t seem so great at the moment. Except she had accomplished her goal … assuming he gave her the chance to explain.

“I’m lead on this assignment,” he said, his voice low and lethal. “You will follow my orders or you will go back to Chicago.”

Funny, she’d never noticed how those thick curls of his swept across his forehead. Gave him an almost boyish look. But there was nothing boyish about his grip or his gaze. He was madder than hell.

“You were tied up with the blonde,” she offered humbly, innocently. “The opportunity presented itself and I jumped at it. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?” She widened her eyes, tried her best to look sincere. “Did I misunderstand?”

“Yeah, right.” He released her arm only to grab the purse dangling from her right hand.

He opened it.

There would be no explaining that away.

“You just happened to be carrying all this—” he opened the clutch as wide as possible to display the contents for her perusal “—when that lucky break occurred?”

Nora leaned to the right and tugged one shoe on, then leaned the opposite way and pulled on the other. “I like to be prepared, Tallant. Don’t they teach you that at the Colby Agency?”

She doubted breaking and entering was a part of the orientation at the Colby Agency. The whole staff was a little uptight for Nora’s taste.

He shoved the purse back at her. “Let’s go,” he ordered.

Her gaze narrowed with suspicion. “Where?”

“Time for a conference call.”

The man didn’t waste any time. She’d give him that.

“Look here, Tallant.” She had no idea how she would do it, but she had to convince him to go with the flow on this one.

“What?” he growled.

Her purse vibrated.

Surely it was too soon for … She opened her purse, stared at the screen on her phone.

A call to Vandiver’s room phone.

Nora held up a hand for Tallant to wait as she opened her phone. Two more rings buzzed before Vandiver answered the call.

“Ten p.m. Your contact will meet you at the Parisian Hotel, under the Eiffel Tower. Bring half the cash and a photo.”

Male voice. No detectable accent.

“What does this contact look like?” Vandiver wanted to know. His voice sounded strained … nervous.

“Don’t worry,” the unidentified man said. “The contact will recognize you.”

The caller dropped off the open line.

Vandiver swore, then hung up.

Cash and a picture.

Nora closed her phone and lifted her gaze to Tallant’s. “Ten o’clock tonight. He’s bringing cash and a photo to a contact.”

Understanding dawned in her partner’s eyes.

It was going down.

And she had gotten the heads-up.

She savored his stunned expression. “That, Mr. Play-by-the-Rules, is how it’s done.”

Chapter Four

6:50 p.m.

Friedman was out of control. Ted paced his room.

His so-called partner sat on the sofa, acting as if he was the one who’d done something stupid.

For the last half hour he’d contemplated calling Victoria.

But … Friedman had garnered a major lead.

Less than twenty-four hours on-site and she had a serious lead.

He’d scarcely made any headway with the alleged mistress.

But then he hadn’t broken two laws, one being federal, in the process.

“You’re overreacting.”

When he whipped around, he fully intended to glare at her with all the frustration and impatience twisting inside him. Didn’t happen. Instead his traitorous gaze zeroed straight in on those long, toned legs, one crossed over the other, where the hem of her sleek black dress rested provocatively at the tops of her thighs.

“I am not—” with effort he shifted his focus to her face, which was every bit as distracting “—overreacting.” Ted took a breath, ordered his respiration to slow to a more reasonable rate.

He was ticked off, that was all. As if to defy his assessment, his errant gaze wandered back to those shapely legs. Gritting his teeth, he forced his attention upward. He blinked when his eyes committed mutiny once more and stalled on her breasts, encased tightly beneath that slinky black fabric. “We have a certain standard and protocol at the Colby Agency.” He managed to look her dead in the eye at that point. “It doesn’t include breaking the law unless it’s a matter of life and death.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin in defiance. “Isn’t it? Vandiver is planning to off his wife, right?”

Another deep breath. Stay calm. He needed patience here. As much to get his head on straight as to tolerate her attitude. “But the danger is not imminent,” he countered, “and the wife is under our protection. Those terms set the tone and pacing of our movements.”

The Colby Agency had definitely broken laws in the past; just a few months ago breaking some major ones had been unavoidable. But those instances were the exception, not the rule. “As long as the goal can be accomplished the right way, that’s the way we do it,” he added.

He started pacing again, mostly to prevent staring at any part of her. Around the office she wore slacks and blouses. Not once had she worn anything that drew such attention to her … shape. Was it really necessary for her to be decked out like this now? Clearing the thoughts from his head, he said in conclusion, “I don’t understand why that concept is so difficult for you to comprehend.”

Standard field operating procedures, client relations, all of this had been gone over time and time again since the merger between the Colby Agency and the Equalizers began. Friedman seemed to be the only one who refused to embrace the ultimate objective.

She stood, planted her hands on her hips, accentuating the perfect curve from that narrow waist to gently sloping hips. “Fine,” she announced with obvious disdain. “I got it. Are we going to put together a strategy for tonight or not? Time is wasting.”

The set of those full lips told him she was only saying what he wanted to hear. She had no intention of changing her MO, any more than she planned to acquiesce to his lead.

But she was right.

Whether this involved the wife or not, Vandiver had a clandestine rendezvous tonight, and it was his and Friedman’s job to determine the nature of the meeting.

“Unless another call is intercepted,” he informed her, “we’ll attempt to get close enough to eavesdrop on Vandiver’s conversation with the contact. We’ll snap a few photos and forward those to the agency for analysis and to Rockford, in case the contact shows up at his location.”

Friedman strutted across the room to the wet bar. While Ted struggled to evict from his head the way her hips swayed, she poured herself a double shot of bourbon, neat. He opened his mouth to remind her that Colby investigators didn’t drink on the job, but she started talking first.

“That could work.” She shrugged. “But if we want to ensure success, we intercept Vandiver. I’ll act as the contact. Get the story straight from the horse’s mouth while you keep an eye out for the real contact. Distract him or her if necessary.”

She was unquestionably out of her mind. The flash of fury in her eyes warned that he’d stated the thought out loud.

“You have a better plan?” she challenged, then took a long swallow of her drink.

He crossed the room to stand in front of her, took the drink from her hand and set it aside before parking his arms over his chest to match her stance. “First of all, we’re here unarmed. We don’t know who this contact is. If he or she is local, chances are he or she is armed. In view of the fact that we haven’t been able to assess just how desperate Vandiver is, maintaining a cautionary distance is the proper step. We will prepare for that strategy.”

Though they weren’t armed with weapons, Ted was prepared with the usual intelligence-gathering equipment. All he needed was the place and time—those he had thanks to Friedman—and a proper vantage point for watching and listening. Today’s technology provided ample means to gather the necessary information without face-to-face contact.

She glared at the drink he’d set aside and then at him. “That’s an option, I suppose.” She tilted her face up to his, making him all too aware of just how close they were standing. “But I like my plan better.”

“That’s irrelevant.” He turned away, headed for the bed, where his luggage still lay unpacked, other than the black trousers and shirt he’d selected for making contact with Camille Soto. He dug through the bag and picked out the equipment they would need for tonight. Binoculars. Personal parabolic bionic ear. The lighting in the area would be sufficient so as not to require night vision.

“I should change,” she called out to him.

That would definitely make life easier for him.

He strode back to the sitting room as she reached the door. “Give me five minutes and I’ll go with you.” No way was he letting her out of his sight. She would ditch him and do this her way. He had her number already.

She leaned against the still-closed door and studied him a moment. “I had no idea, Tallant.”

Suspicion narrowed his gaze. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She lifted a shoulder and let it fall suggestively. “Considering the way you’ve been staring at my legs and breasts, I suppose seeing me naked would be entertaining for you.”

Fury tightened his jaw. Unfortunately, the images sparked by her statement tightened other areas of his anatomy. “We stick together until this is done.”

“Whatever.” She pushed off the door, executed a catwalk strut to the nearest chair and plopped down in it, stretching those long legs out in front of her.

He’d asked for that one. Shifting his focus back to business, he gathered the equipment and reached for a summer-weight black sports jacket. The super ear clipped on his belt like a cell phone. He slid the parabolic microphone into his right jacket pocket, the compact binoculars into the left.

Good to go.

He stalked right past her and all the way to the door. When he opened it and paused for her to precede him, she rolled her eyes and pushed out of the chair. He stared at the ceiling as she waltzed past him. This new turn of events was obviously a very bad cosmic joke.

Or maybe it was merely her determination to ensure he stumbled, giving her the lead.

She could forget about it.

He was in charge.

She would learn that lesson one way or another.

Her room was next door to his. She shot him a look as she inserted the key card and shoved the door inward. Something about the look in her dark eyes warned that she wasn’t giving up just yet.