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Kill If You Can — Linda Moore
Synopsis
Hunter is a stripper who only dances for high networth men and women, allowing her to get inside the most exclusive events and locations in the world. She was recruited for her telepathic ability, attractiveness and rare martial arts skills. As a double secret agent, Hunter is often in compromising positions.
Her first lead assignment is to infiltrate a powerful group of billionaire men and women who own 1/3 of the worlds oil supply. They're preparing to disrupt the world economy by reducing supply of oil to major countries and preparing to eliminate another oil syndicate. Hunter's assignment is nothing, but simple. She's to get close to the billionaire group, find their plans and stop them at all cost.
STORY BEGINS
He liked seeing her like this, hair down and tousled and without her make-up. The lights of the city, filtering boldly through the limo's tinted windows, provided all the colors she needed: neon green gloss for her full lips; electric blue shadows for her half-lidded eyes. Streaks of pink and purple found their way into her glossy black hair, and her fingernails, when she raised a hand to prop up her delicate cheek, were tinted a luscious scarlet.
Always exotic, always unique, no matter where in the world they brought her.
“Do you ever regret it?” he asked quietly, his voice barely louder than the scratch of his lighter when he thumbed the flint to light his cigarette. She turned away from the window to look at him, fixing his shadowy outline with her impossibly green eyes. It wasn't necessary to explain what he meant. Even without the proper context, she always knew what he was thinking.
“No,” she murmured after a slight pause, her voice soft as silk and a fine accompaniment to her slow, cat-in-the-cream smile. “Not for an instant.”
He chuckled, blowing out a stream of silver-grey smoke and watching it vanish into the yawning, neon-colored night.
===================
“You're late,” Hunter announced from her position by the window, not bothering to turn around as Alex stumbled inside. She watched his reflection in the glass as he struggled to kick the door shut behind him, arms laden with notebooks and bags and a precariously clutched laptop. He threw her a sheepish look before dumping everything onto the small white sofa, and paused a moment to catch his breath.
“Got lost,” he explained finally. “I mean, have you actually looked at those subway maps? They're impossible! It's like … I don't know, someone opened up a can of worms over a piece of paper, or something.” He shook his head.
She sensed from long experience that he was on the verge of a full-blown rant, and " finally turning away from the window " she intervened gently, “Speaking of maps …?”
“What? Oh! Yeah, I've got it right here.” A few of his rolled papers fell onto the floor while he dug through the stash, but he left them where they rolled. Eventually, the sandy-haired boy made a triumphant sound in the back of his throat and emerged from the pile with a sheaf of paper in hand, carrying it to her small dining room table and beckoning impatiently for her to follow. The clean tatami mats felt strange against the soles of her bare feet as she padded after, the long cuffs of her jeans swishing rhythmically with each impatient stride. “You're not going to like it,” he warned as she approached, dragging her mug of green tea closer to secure one corner of the page. “The layout's completely awkward and there aren't any vents, aqueducts or anything; no exit points from the entertainment lounge either. The building's all … old.” He wrinkled his nose in horror, as though age was the worst crime anyone or anything could commit.
Hunter is a stripper who only dances for high networth men and women, allowing her to get inside the most exclusive events and locations in the world. She was recruited for her telepathic ability, attractiveness and rare martial arts skills. As a double secret agent, Hunter is often in compromising positions.
Her first lead assignment is to infiltrate a powerful group of billionaire men and women who own 1/3 of the worlds oil supply. They're preparing to disrupt the world economy by reducing supply of oil to major countries and preparing to eliminate another oil syndicate. Hunter's assignment is nothing, but simple. She's to get close to the billionaire group, find their plans and stop them at all cost.
STORY BEGINS
He liked seeing her like this, hair down and tousled and without her make-up. The lights of the city, filtering boldly through the limo's tinted windows, provided all the colors she needed: neon green gloss for her full lips; electric blue shadows for her half-lidded eyes. Streaks of pink and purple found their way into her glossy black hair, and her fingernails, when she raised a hand to prop up her delicate cheek, were tinted a luscious scarlet.
Always exotic, always unique, no matter where in the world they brought her.
“Do you ever regret it?” he asked quietly, his voice barely louder than the scratch of his lighter when he thumbed the flint to light his cigarette. She turned away from the window to look at him, fixing his shadowy outline with her impossibly green eyes. It wasn't necessary to explain what he meant. Even without the proper context, she always knew what he was thinking.
“No,” she murmured after a slight pause, her voice soft as silk and a fine accompaniment to her slow, cat-in-the-cream smile. “Not for an instant.”
He chuckled, blowing out a stream of silver-grey smoke and watching it vanish into the yawning, neon-colored night.
===================
“You're late,” Hunter announced from her position by the window, not bothering to turn around as Alex stumbled inside. She watched his reflection in the glass as he struggled to kick the door shut behind him, arms laden with notebooks and bags and a precariously clutched laptop. He threw her a sheepish look before dumping everything onto the small white sofa, and paused a moment to catch his breath.
“Got lost,” he explained finally. “I mean, have you actually looked at those subway maps? They're impossible! It's like … I don't know, someone opened up a can of worms over a piece of paper, or something.” He shook his head.
She sensed from long experience that he was on the verge of a full-blown rant, and " finally turning away from the window " she intervened gently, “Speaking of maps …?”
“What? Oh! Yeah, I've got it right here.” A few of his rolled papers fell onto the floor while he dug through the stash, but he left them where they rolled. Eventually, the sandy-haired boy made a triumphant sound in the back of his throat and emerged from the pile with a sheaf of paper in hand, carrying it to her small dining room table and beckoning impatiently for her to follow. The clean tatami mats felt strange against the soles of her bare feet as she padded after, the long cuffs of her jeans swishing rhythmically with each impatient stride. “You're not going to like it,” he warned as she approached, dragging her mug of green tea closer to secure one corner of the page. “The layout's completely awkward and there aren't any vents, aqueducts or anything; no exit points from the entertainment lounge either. The building's all … old.” He wrinkled his nose in horror, as though age was the worst crime anyone or anything could commit.
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