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1
MAGNET
Pride? Where in the hell had that come from? It was inappropriate for me to have such feelings just because the woman seated next to me was the first to voice the question we were all thinking.
She was a fellow agent, and not the best one I’d ever worked with. Sure, she had promise if she could get out of her own way and think like a regular intelligence officer instead of a honey trap. As her commander, I could help guide her, but personal feelings had no place in our professional roles.
“I may have missed something…” she’d begun. “But Xavier was raised as a Vella. Francesca referred to him as her grandson, and he referred to Charlene Vella-Borg as his aunt. Wouldn’t it stand to reason his and Pharaoh’s mother would be related to Francesca?”
Xavier Vella, the man she referred to, had been killed in an op in Dubai after a shoot-out with several coalition agents, including my closest friend, Zeppelin, and the woman who would soon be his wife, Verity.
While it wasn’t yet confirmed, we believed Vella had traveled to Dubai to murder James Godwin, the former US ambassador to Malta, who’d been found dead the day before the shoot-out.
Nemesis, the commander of the UN Coalition Against Human Trafficking, had responded to Schön’s question simply, saying that, yes, it did stand to reason Xavier Vella could be related to Francesca and her daughter, Charlene.
If we were able to prove he was, it would be the biggest lead in the investigation thus far.
Despite my resolve not to make this personal, I still leaned over and whispered to Schön, “Well done,” trying my damnedest not to ogle her cleavage that was on full display.
It was the middle of January, one of the coldest months in Shere, England, where the coalition’s command center was located. And yet she—Schön, which meant beautiful in Swiss German—tended to wear low-cut blouses regardless of the outside temperatures. Not that indoors was much warmer. Typically, I wore a pullover to fight off the chill of the older dwelling.
“Thanks,” she replied, also in a whisper, leaning into me like I had her and making it impossible for me to keep my eyes diverted when her breasts spilled forward and I could see where they strained against her pink lace bra.
In the two months since Prisca “Schön” Baur was assigned to the UN’s Albanian task force, for which I served as commander, I’d become familiar with her vast array of brassieres. There had been many times I wondered if her choice of attire was primarily for my benefit.
However, regardless of whether her display of cleavage was intentional or not, I was her boss, and while every other man she’d ever worked with may have been eager to take advantage of what she’d “offered,” Icouldn’t. It didn’t matter that I waged a daily battle against kissing her bow-shaped lips, running my finger along the lace of every bra I caught sight of, or wrapping my arms around her and grinding my hardness between her legs.
It made me feel like a lecher—the equivalent of a dirty old man—but not because we were far apart in age. Instead, it was due to my rank versus hers.
Had I acted on my desire for Schön, I could very well face disciplinary actions should she ever accuse me of unwanted sexual attention. Not that I truly feared she would.
More, it was my job to help her realize she didn’t have to use her body to advance in her career. Her intelligence, her intuition, and her savvy should be what she relied on.
If only I could set aside my attraction and see her as a protégé or even as a younger sister. Then maybe I could be what she needed me to be—her mentor.
“Magnet, may I have a word with the two of you?” Nemesis asked when the briefing ended. “Schön, you brought up a point that was the metaphoric elephant in the room. It is imperative we seek DNA samples from both Francesca and her daughter in order to prove one way or another if Xavier ‘Sheka’ Vella and Valerie ‘Pharaoh’ Olin are a genetic match to either or both women. If so, I’m sure each of you understands what this would mean for our investigation into AMPS.”
The acronym represented one of the largest human trafficking rings in the world, one whose origins traced back decades, beginning with the man we believed had founded the organization—Salvatore “Cronos” Rávdos.
Based on Pharaoh’s assertion right before she’d died, he was her father. DNA testing showed Xavier was her brother, which meant they also shared a mother. Could either Francesca or her daughter be that woman? My gut told me it wasn’t Nonna, as everyone referred to Francesca, simply due to her age. But I had an equally difficult time believing Charlene could be, given the woman we sought was a criminal mastermind, and she was the least likely person to hold such power.
“The agents already on the island of Gozo, where Francesca and Charlene are believed to be, are both familiar to our suspects. Schön, you are not. Neither is Michelangelo. I’m sending the two of you in undercover to get close enough to the women to obtain something we can use for DNA testing.”
“What about me?” I asked.
“It isn’t necessary for you to travel with them.”
“I’d prefer to do so. Michelangelo is needed in Tropea.”
Nemesis cocked her head. “Very well. Speak with Poseidon and Ares. Delfino and Atticus are the agents I mentioned. The three of you can determine whether you want them to remain.”
I nodded, thankful Nem hadn’t confronted me as to why I insisted on deploying on this op. If she had, I don’t know what I would’ve said. My request was illogical. As much as I knew I had to keep my hands off Schön, I also knew being away from her for any length of time was something I couldn’t endure.
“Magnet?” I heard her say in a voice ladened with insecurity.
“Come with me.”
Her round eyes belied the fake smile she plastered on her face when I led her into the solarium, where she and I worked most often.
