Out-Foxxed. Debra Webb

sort of guy one wanted to run into in a dark alley. But Sabrina had figured him out long ago. He was just a big, cuddly teddy bear who could also drop a man in his tracks with nothing but his hands.

      Sabrina toed off first one Nike sneaker, then the other. “I wore them just for you, Big Hugh.”

      “Let’s move it, people,” Trainer reminded. “Time is of the essence.”

      Sabrina’s suit jacket landed on the floor atop her coat. “Yes, sir, Specialist Trainer. We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”

      “Fox is prepping now, sir,” Trainer said into the mouthpiece of his commo apparatus, ignoring Sabrina’s dig. The sir he reported to was Director Anderson Marx. Talking to the boss or not, Sabrina didn’t miss the way the corners of Trainer’s mouth quirked as he spoke. He liked it when she used that official tone with him, even if she were teasing.

      As she wiggled out of her skirt, Big Hugh gently placed a listening device into her right ear. “This will provide you with a constant feed from Trainer and our esteemed Director Marx.”

      Sabrina kicked aside her skirt and peeled off her black tights. “Give me the details,” she said to Hugh as she straightened and freed the buttons of her blouse.

      “We have Namir Stavi on the 10th floor,” he began.

      “Israeli?”

      Big Hugh nodded. “He and his wife and two children are here for the Christmas holidays. The Agency picked up on reports that an attempt would be made on Stavi’s life while he was visiting our fair city. He and his family are to be executed, and the act is to be blamed on Muslim radicals who hold American visas.”

      “Nice,” she mused. Some jerk was always trying to make someone else look bad on American soil. She could see how the press would be all over that kind of international incident, creating even more tension between the American and the Muslim communities, not to mention the Israelis. Recent events already had Israel a little sensitive where the U.S. was concerned.

      “Our polite colleagues thought they had the situation under control,” Big Hugh explained, “but somehow the time line got moved up and the assassins hit twenty-four hours early. The agents doing preliminary surveillance couldn’t move into place swiftly enough to counter the attack, so here we are.”

      By “polite colleagues,” Big Hugh meant the FBI. If he’d said our arrogant colleagues he would have meant the CIA. His reference to the Agency meant the National Security Agency, the branch of the government to which their organization was loosely attached.

      Sabrina grabbed the maid’s uniform and plunged her arms into the appropriate holes before tugging the thing over her head.

      “Pink must be your favorite color, Fox.” This remark came from Trainer. He glanced pointedly at her low-cut pink panties just as she poked her head through the neck of the uniform. “Every time I’ve seen you undress you’re wearing pink panties.”

      “That constitutes sexual harassment,” Angie warned him with a glare as she thrust the uniform’s matching cap at Sabrina. From all appearances Angie was a stern woman, stoutly built, just shy of five feet, she had a menacing stare that could wither the staunchest male attitude. She was forty-five if she was a day and mothered the whole lot of them.

      Trainer shrugged, his attention shamelessly riveted to Sabrina’s hips as she wiggled into the uniform that fit like a glove. “In my opinion, her taking off her clothes in front of me constitutes the same.”

      Sabrina turned her back to Angie for her to take care of the zipping and suggested, “Next time, you strip, too, and we’ll be even.”

      Big Hugh’s interest visibly heightened. “That sounds fair.”

      Glee glittered in Trainer’s eyes. “Fine. Next time, we’ll all just get naked together.” He directed an amused look at Angie. “Fair is fair.”

      “Like hell,” Angie muttered.

      Sabrina smoothed a pair of nude hose over her legs, then slipped her feet into the white, rubber-soled shoes. “What kind of firepower do we have?”

      Big Hugh pinned a button that declared her employee of the month on the crisply starched lapel of her uniform. “That’s so we can hear you.”

      Angie slapped a thigh holster into Hugh’s broad hand and stated, “We’ve got a .32 here.” The weapon was dropped into Sabrina’s palm next.

      Sabrina checked the .32, which was loaded.

      “That good?” Hugh asked.

      She glanced down at the thigh holster he’d just fastened into place. She sheathed the .32 there and let the skirt of her uniform slither back down over it. “Perfect.”

      “I’m definitely in the wrong line of work,” Trainer commented dryly. “I don’t even get to touch the thigh holster, much less strap it on.”

      Angie cleared her throat, drawing Sabrina’s attention back to her, and held up her hand. A lovely ring, gold with a small cluster of diamonds, sat on her palm. “Be careful with this.”

      Sabrina gingerly picked up the piece of jewelry. “Poison?”

      Angie nodded. “Stick your target good.” She pointed to what looked like an extra stone on the back of the band. “Depress this at the same time and the poison will be released.”

      Cautiously sliding the piece of lethal jewelry onto her right ring finger, Sabrina asked, “How long does it take to work?”

      “Ten seconds at most. Even a guy the size of Big Hugh will drop like a rock. But don’t miss. There’s only one dose.”

      “I assume this means that the protocol for this op is kill first and ask questions later.”

      Big Hugh nodded. “We know who set up the attack. We know the ultimate goal, leaving no reason to make this any more difficult than necessary. The enemy is totally expendable.”

      “Do we know how many bogies I’ll encounter?”

      He shook his head. “Surveillance spotted two, but there could be more we don’t know about. Control hasn’t been able to get a visual inside the room as of yet. Something about the way the duct work is set up.”

      It was always good to go into an operation with as much knowledge as possible. But some situations just didn’t allow for as much advance information as others.

      “I can’t risk arming you with anything heavier,” Angie interrupted. “They’ll most certainly pat you down.”

      Sabrina nodded. “I understand.” She turned her attention to the cleaning cart waiting by the door. “We have a passkey?”

      Angie joined Sabrina at the cart. “This is the same cart all the cleaning ladies on staff use. We’ve rigged it with enough tear gas to put down a herd of elephants, but we don’t want to go that route unless absolutely necessary. Protecting the lives of the hostages is top priority, as you know.”

      Sabrina understood. The moment the bad guys noticed anything off-kilter, the killing would begin. If they killed even one of the hostages before the gas put them down, that was one too many, and the operation would be considered a failure. A SWAT team could go in and neutralize the situation, but that wasn’t the goal here. This operation was about rescue, not extermination.

      “Room 1012.” Big Hugh provided the passkey. “We’ll be listening to every word. The cart’s rigged for sound, too. If you need us, you know what to do.”

      “And if I don’t need you,” Sabrina countered, “I’ll let you know.” These ops could get tense. She didn’t need a control team moving in if there was any chance she could recover the situation.

      “We won’t make a move without the code phrase,” he assured.

      “Let’s do this thing, then.” Sabrina grasped the handle of the cart and pushed it