Making Him Want It 2 -- Callie's Secret: Conning the Billionaire

Conning the Billionaire

By Mercy Walker

Copyright 2012. All Rights Reserved.

Kindle Edition

1

“We thought you’d never come home,” the older man said,
holstering his gun and then picking up a mug of coffee.  “You forgot the device…that was sloppy.”

I felt a red thread of annoyance flare through the cold grip of fear the sight of them caused me.  But then I concentrated on that thin flare of anger and felt something slide away, like the panel of a slideshow, and my cover was just suddenly gone.

Goodbye Callie Thornton, hello…well, let me introduce myself before we go any further. 

I’m Callie Monroe:  Professional
assassin,
industrial spy, grifter, sometimes bodyguard and highly trained mercenary.  And no
,
you can’t hire me…you couldn’t afford me.

I wasn’t exaggerating about the two men standing before me, sipping coffee.  They are the two most dangerous men I’ve ever met.  They can kill someone faster than almost anyone I know…but not as fast as I can.  But they both have talents and skills that make them invaluable to most any operation.  That’s why we partnered up about five years ago.

But you can only trust a couple mercenaries so far.  That’s why
,
though they have guns and the element of surprise
on their side
, I still ha
d
the drop on them.  I
’d
set
tear
gas charges throughout the apartment, just waiting for me to touch a button on my keychain to activate them.  One is located right atop my coffee machine
: a cute little teddy bear, with glasses.

Plus I have a gun stashed behind hidden panels throughout the apartment as well.  They probably already searched the place—I would—but I know they wouldn’t know what to look for.  They’re highly trained mercs
with Special Forces training.

My training…well, let’s just say, my pay
-
grade is a little higher than that, and I started my training from before I could walk.

But that’s a really long story, and the two men
with their eyes glued on me
weren’t supposed to be here.  And if there’s one thing I hate are deviations to my plans.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, cracking my neck and then dropping my dry cleaning and my
purse
on the nearest piece of furniture
—I kept my keys in hand
.  I walked across the apartment, entered my kitchenette and poured myself a cup of coffee: I used my
So You Want Me to Hurt You?
Hello Kitty mug.  She was dressed in a leather bustier, sexy black panties, garters and hose, and was wielding a cat-o-nines whip.

Hello Kitty was the shit…

“As I said, you didn’t wear the device on your…date.” Kroner, the older man said.  “So we had no idea how things were going.”

The younger one, Mitch, leered as he said, “From the look of her, I’d say she did better than was expected.” He clucked his tongue admonishingly.  “But I thought the plan was to whet his appetite, but to play the chaste virgin?”

“Plans change,” I said, rummaging through my refrigerator: I was starving!

“My son is right,” Kroner said.

Oh, yeah…these two are a father/son act.  And they’re more than a little scary…and are all too similar.  I know from experience, in the biblical sense.

No, not at the same time!  That would be…okay, it would have been interesting.  But that was before we joined forces.  Now we were purely business associates…but sometimes Mitch forgot.

Kroner continued.  “We sent in two different
freelancers
in the last
two
months, Bella and Celine, and he ignored
them
both.”

I knew Bella and Celine.  One a blonde, the other
with
hair the color of
coal—
both tall, supermodel beautiful, and both oozed sex like perfume.  That’s why I’d decided to go in as a bookish wallflower. 

“Your point?”

There came that smile again.  I’d prefer it if he’d
at least
try
to make it
reach his eyes.  But he was what he was, a sociopath…but at least he could cover it up when we were around a mark, or civilians he didn’t want to send screaming for help.
 

“Why did you change the plan?”

Aha!  I found some left over lamb curry from the little Indian joint down the street.
 
I popped the to-go box in the microwave and then gave Kroner my best shy school girl look.

“I made first
contact;
the setup went better than I’d planned
.  S
o I let things go at their own pace. 
W
hat of it?”

“Risky,” he said, no inflection to his voice.

“A calculated one, yes…but not only wouldn’t the man take his hands off me, but he went out of his way to pick me up and bring me home
this morning
.”

Both men stiffened and then glanced in unison at the kitchen window.

“He changed his schedule for you?”  Mitch said.

I nodded.  “Little old me.  He seems unable to control himself around me.”

Kroner’s smile almost touched his eyes.  “Then you’ve done well.  You always manage to surprise me.”

I stared into his eyes and held his gaze for a few beats.  “You should be used to that by now.”

Mitch cleared his throat.  “Not to interrupt this…but is there a second date scheduled?”

I didn’t even look at him.  “Tonight.  He asked me if I had a passport.”

Mitch leered again.  “So he’s going for the globe
-
hopping thing…probably a private jet.  Do you think he’ll want to join the Mile High Club?”

“Whatever Mr. Sinclair wants…” and I finally looked at him, giving him an overtly satisfied look.

His eyes blazed and his mouth set in anger.  I’d hit the mark with that one.

“Children,” Kroner sighed.  “Do try to get along.”

I smiled at Mitch, never wavering my gaze. 

“He started it,” I said with faux petulance.

“Never the less...there’s work to be done.”  He gave me a withering, tired glance.  “I imagine you still won’t wear the device.”

“Won’t do you any good once we’re in the air…not to mention I’ll probably be naked soon after.”

I could hear a low growl come from Mitch.

“Very well,
” Kroner said.  “W
e’ll wait patiently for you to contact us once you’re back.”  He
poured the rest of his coffee down the sink and rinsed out the mug before setting it to dry on the drain board.  “But don’t keep us waiting too long.”

Kroner swept majestically from my apartment, leaving Mitch and I alone.

Mitch moved cautiously, but still in my direction
, and
stopped less than a foot away from me. 

“You look good out of the whore clothes and makeup.”

My microwave dinged.  I smiled all the brighter.  “You should catch up with daddy, Mitchell…” I knew he hated his full name
—m
ade him feel like a kid.  “Wouldn’t want to keep him waiting
…plus
you’re ruining my appetite.”

“Bitch,” he growled, and then exited my apartment, showing me his back the whole way. 

He’d
left his coffee for me to clean up.
 
I threw the mug away.

*****

Having the boys show up unannounced set me on edge.  So it took me a while to slide back into my cover persona.  But once I’d checked all my hidden fire arms, and taken anot
her, not as thrilling shower, Callie Thornton came to life while I defused my dark red curls.

I knew she was in place when I felt my stomach go all tingly, like a freaking school girl
at the thought of Gabriel Sinclair
.

I mentally checked that I’d shaved my legs, I’d brushed my teeth, and was now trying to tame my hair.  But when I looked in the mirror of the bathroom, I saw that I’d whipped my tresses into complete submission.  I’d decided to wear my hair down this time, and I looked good enough to shoot a Pantene commercial.

So I took a brush and
messed up
my perfectly quaffed curls a bit.  Couldn’t have me looking too good.

Then I went and looked in my closet for something sexy but comfortable.  My stomach tingled, and things much lower tightened just thinking about being alone with Gabriel again.

That’s more like it…

I picked out a nice silk top, and a skirt that wasn’t too form-fitting, and then some mules with a low heel.  But before the clothes went on, I went to my underwear drawer and looked over what I had clean.  Some
g
ranny panties: nope.  A studded leather thong with a matching bra…and the nipples where cut out of them—definitely no…and
where the hell had they come from?
  A lacey black bra with matching thong panties—very nice, but I’d worn lace last night. 

Finally I pulled out a shiny blue
satin
bra and thong set
.  They weren’t really supper fancy, but I knew that when I put them on they looked pretty damned good on my curves—and the color was good against my skin.

Okay…all set.  I pulled on the bra and panties, but decided to wait on the rest of the ensemble.  I had about two hours to kill, and I still had no idea where Gabriel was taking me.  I needed to pack a travel bag, just in case. 

And my passport.

I pulled my perfect fake US passport out of my everyday purse and gave it a casual once over.  Mitch may have many faults, but forgery
wasn’t
one of them.
The passport was a work of art.

I bristled just thinking about Mitch.  I should
n’t
be thinking about anything non-Callie Thornton.  It was imperative that I sink back into her persona completely.  I couldn’t let even the most covert of
out of character
expression cross my face.

I’d learned these lessons when I
was a child, from my mother. 

Alexandra Cordova was a born and bred con
artist.  She came from a long line of gr
i
fters dating back to Romanian gypsies.  Her own childhood had been spent in a gated community in the more affluent suburbs of New York.  There she was school
ed
and trained to one day work in the family business
: t
aking the rich and the stupid for every cent she could. 

Be it long con or short,
my
mother was a natural from the start.  And she’d schooled
me
well.  Method actors didn’t have shit on Alexandra when it came to technique.  She literally became her cover—
there was
no other way to put it.

But that didn’t mean that she couldn’t pull a gun and put it to someone’s head in the blink of an eye, if her cover was blown.

My dad
, Gordon Monroe
…well, he had been CIA counter intelligence, and had been all over
the world: a
n operative in Europe, Russia,
and the
Middle East before the Gulf War. 
In the twilight of his tenure with the CIA
he’d been reassigned to help the FBI catch an illusive band of con artists that were cutting a swath through Florida, but were connected to similar crimes in ten states, including Alaska.