Rogue Commander, Leo Maloney [classic books for 11 year olds TXT] 📗

her cleavage. “Gentlemen, I would love to see your hotel room. Is it far?”

They downed their martinis as quickly as possible. But Lily glanced to the right and froze.

Two of Lukacs’s goons were moving toward her through the dancing patrons, one of them taking a wide berth to the left while the other came straight on. The crowd seemed to have gotten even larger, the music louder, but, as some dancers push together and parted, she glimpsed Lukacs and Hyo staring her way. She turned back and touched her throat.

“Blown,” she muttered.

“Pardon?” Pierre said.

“Get the hell out,” Linc said in her ear.

But it was too late. The first heavy was already beside her chair, staring down at her. She looked up. He was shaved bald and brick-faced with slitted gray eyes, and he was wearing one of those safari vests. Armed.

“My employer would like to have a word with you.” His accent was thick and Slavic.

“So sorry. My dance card’s full.”

He leaned down and gripped the back of her chair, and his face turned stony. “Now,” he growled.

“Later,” she sneered up at him. “I’m with friends.” She slipped her feet out of her heels.

He slapped the top of her head, ripping off her wig, and her red mane came tumbling out. But his look of triumph lasted only a millisecond as her left hand slammed up under his crotch. She crushed his scrotum and pulled. He screamed and folded in half. She bolted up as her chair crashed back, and she brought her right elbow down on his neck, smashing his face to the table.

She caught only a glimpse of Pierre and Antoine, recoiling from her in horror because dead on to the left, Lukacs’s second goon was roaring and pulling a handgun. But she was quicker, her right hand already under her skirt, and her commando blade spun through the air.

It pierced his throat like a laser. His head snapped back, and his trigger finger clenched. His gunshot banged and flashed as he slammed on his back, and, for an instant, the dancers around them froze as if they were playing a party game.

“ISIS!” Lily screamed as she reached behind her back, tore the bottom of her pack open, and pulled out her Walther.

The crowd panicked, yelling and running and diving. She crouched and spun to the right, where Lukacs’s third goon was already charging, a black handgun looming from his fist. She jumped up, gripped the Walther two-handed and double-tapped him with two quick shots to the face. He spun and fell as his handgun clattered away.

She saw patrons diving to the floor, the DJ girls on the stage running for cover, and Lukacs’s table flipped up on its side as cards and casino chips flew into a cloud. Another gunshot boomed, much louder than hers, and she slammed facedown on the floor behind her table where Pierre and Antoine were curled up like babies, mouths open and bug eyes staring at her in terror.

“Je suis tellement désolé!” she shouted. “Another time!”

She jumped up and sprinted for the left side exit, firing her Walther once more at the ceiling as the patrons in front of her split like sheep being charged by a frothing wolf. They were falling all over each other and streaming out toward the main entrance, as she leapt barefoot over squirming bodies. She slammed her shoulder into the exit door and tumbled out into a narrow side street.

Even then there was no time to catch her breath. She turned right and ran flat out down the sidewalk, as she unslung her pack, stuffed the Walther inside and pulled out a thick wad of Korean Won. She slowed at the corner and waved the cash at an orange taxi with “Haechi Seoul” and a cartoon polar bear stamped on its flank. It screeched to a stop. She dove in the back and stayed low. She was breathing and sweating like a marathon runner.

“Where you go?” the driver asked.

“The Hilton, and fast,” she panted. “Big tip!”

He took off. She peeked up over the back seat. Nothing. Then she straightened up and smoothed her dress and just breathed. She looked at the bottoms of her feet. Her stockings were shredded, and her right foot was bleeding. She licked her fingers and rubbed it.

“Lily, come in, for God’s sake.” It was Linc in her ear.

“Here.”

“Jesus! Didn’t you hear me begging for a sitrep?”

“I was a tad busy.”

“Are you all right?”

“Right as Korean rain.” She smiled. “Just another day at the office.”

He sounded relieved. “Okay, check in when you’re safe and sound.”

“I’m already safe,” she said as calmly as she could. “I’ll never be sound.”

Linc laughed and clicked off. She sat back in her seat and watched the nightlife lights and neon signs flash by. And she realized that since landing in Seoul, and right up until now, she hadn’t thought about Scott Renard.

Not once.

Chapter Eighteen

Dan Morgan wasn’t so smart, Alex thought—half between a realization and an accusation.

He thought he was, especially when he was making all those stupid rules around the house and lecturing everyone else because he had oh-so-much experience. Sure, he could MacGyver stuff together and think fast on his feet, but so could a plumber and a boxer. Half the time he acted like he was some Einstein genius, but in fact he just fell back on all his dumb secrets, which made him think he never had to explain a damn thing.

Whenever Alex challenged him on something he insisted she do, even after she’d started working for Zeta, he’d get that smug I-know-better look on his face and utter that expression she’d come to hate: “Nike.” In other words, “Just do it.” Disgusting.

For most of her childhood she’d adored him. Then, when she found out he’d been lying her entire life, she hated his guts—for awhile. That had turned around as he’d started to accept her being an adult and, begrudgingly, a skilled operative. But right now the dislike was