Black Widow. Cliff Ryder

like her brother.

      2

      New York City

      “Does he follow you everywhere?”

      Kate Cochran looked at her companion and smiled. “Are you referring to my bodyguard?”

      “I am,” Gunter Hirschvogel admitted. He claimed to be in his late forties, but Kate knew from his file that he was in his early sixties. However, trim and fit as he was, tanned and dark-haired, he got away with the lie almost effortlessly.

      His suit was handmade Italian. The plastic surgery didn’t show except for a little around the eyes, which no one would have faulted him for. Eyes were important. Especially for someone who’d made their wealth by getting other people to trust him.

      “He goes with me most places,” Kate responded. She knew she looked elegant in her dark blue evening gown. Her wrap pulled everything together, and she’d turned heads most of the night. That had been enjoyable.

      “When we get to my apartment,” Hirschvogel said, “where will he be then?”

      “Comfortable, I hope,” Kate answered.

      Hirschvogel laughed. “Perhaps we could send him down to the bar.”

      Kate looked over her shoulder at Jacob Marrs, the man they were discussing. “I don’t think he’d like being that far away from me. He takes his job very seriously.”

      “I don’t see how any man would want to be far from you,” Hirschvogel said.

      “Thank you,” Kate said as if flattered by the comment. Only the years of doing espionage work in the field kept her in character. She detested men like Hirschvogel.

      “However, I do have another possible solution.” Hirschvogel removed his electronic keycard from inside his jacket. “Perhaps we could put him with my security people.”

      Kate glanced back at the two men who had accompanied Hirschvogel to the museum earlier. Older than Jake, both wore cruelty and dispassion like armor.

      “It’s a shame one of us doesn’t have another bodyguard,” Kate said. “Then they’d have a fourth for bridge.”

      “Actually, I have a houseman.” Hirschvogel opened the door, stepped inside and waved toward another man standing just inside the apartment foyer.

      Kate cursed silently. Events could get very dicey in the apartment. If Hirschvogel found out who she was, and who and what she represented, he would probably try to kill her.

      “Good evening, Mr. Hirshvogel.” The houseman was in his late forties. No emotion showed in his pale blue eyes. “Good evening, miss.” He didn’t offer to take her wrap or his employer’s coat. That would have slowed his reflexes and filled his hands.

      “I have him,” the calm voice of Kate’s support technician reported. “Friedrich Moews. This guy’s a killer, Kate.”

      The transmission came from the receiver/transmitter built into Kate’s left earring. It was state-of-the-art, complete with encryption encoding. Agents had wired a repeater inside the building earlier that afternoon. The delicate necklace at the hollow of her throat held a wireless camera.

      Jake wore an earring that made him privy to the same communications stream Kate received. The top button on his jacket concealed a tiny camera.

      Kate tapped her bracelet once for yes to let everyone know she’d heard the message. When switched on, the bracelet doubled as a Morse-code key and held a wide-angle lens for scanning documents and transmitting via wireless Internet.

      Hirschvogel turned to Jake. “While I’m entertaining Ms. Danvers, perhaps you’d like to spend your time with my security staff.”

      Jake shifted his gaze to Kate and lifted an inquisitive eyebrow.

      “Go,” Kate said. “Enjoy yourself. If I need anything, you’ll know.”

      “She won’t need anything I can’t give her,” Hirschvogel said lasciviously.

      “Wow,” tech support said. “Is this guy confident or what?”

      Only Kate noticed the twitch of Jake’s lips that betrayed a stillborn grin. He nodded and followed the other men through another doorway.

      “You have a big apartment,” Kate said appreciatively as Hirschvogel led her into the living room, with its obviously expensive furniture and artwork. A large plasma-screen television hung inert on the wall.

      “I have forty-five hundred square feet,” Hirschvogel bragged as he took her elbow and walked her to the wet bar in the corner. “Would you like wine?” He pulled open a door. “I have a selection.”

      “White, please. I’ll trust your judgment.” Kate left his side and wandered around the big room. She tried to map the apartment’s interior in her mind. There was a master bedroom and two smaller bedrooms to house the security guards. In addition to the four in the apartment now, Hirschvogel had four others who worked rotating shifts to give himself a constant human shield.

      Hirschvogel poured wine and brought a glass to her.

      With a twist of her wrist, Kate tapped her bracelet, sending out a string of Morse code to Jake. They were up against the clock. Events were already in motion in Istanbul, and if they didn’t find the information they needed, a lot of people were going to be dead within the hour.

      “So,” Hirschvogel said smoothly, “what line of business are you in?”

      Kate smiled at him. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

      Hirschvogel guffawed. “You’re a fan of spy movies?”

      “Somewhat,” Kate admitted. She looked at Hirschvogel.

      Suddenly gunfire cracked in the other room. He started to go forward, but stopped immediately when Kate reached under her dress and pulled out the small, two-shot derringer she’d holstered to her thigh. At first his attention was caught by the expanse of thigh she flashed, but then he quickly focused on the pistol in her fist.

      “Don’t move,” she told him as she aimed at the center of his chest.

      3

      London, England

      Samantha Rhys-Jones pulled her Jaguar XKE to a stop in front of the office building and looked around. The neighborhood was an old one, but it had been given several face-lifts since it had first been built. The unadorned buildings stood like regimental soldiers.

      Back in its heyday, Fleet Street served as home to London’s journalists. These days law offices, temp agencies and pubs that serviced the needs of both populated the area.

      Comings and goings at all hours of the day kept the neighborhood busy. That alone proved sufficient reason to choose the neighborhood for the meet.

      Headlights flashed at the end of the street as a decrepit cargo van rounded the corner and came toward her. With her eyes on the van, Samantha pressed a hidden release on the console between the seats. A panel popped open to reveal a Walther P99 chambered in .40 caliber. She favored the weapon because it was easy to conceal, fit her hands well and had good knock-down power.

      She took the gun from its hiding place and placed it in her lap. Despite her experience, she found her heart rate elevated and her mouth dry. She was nervous, but not panicked.

      “Indigo,” tech support called over the earwig she wore.

      “Yes,” Samantha said calmly.

      “Clockwork has a visual on you.”

      The van flashed its lights on and off.

      “Understood,” Samantha said. “I’ll talk to you again once we’re inside.” She dropped the Walther into her coat pocket and switched off the Jaguar’s engine. Then she climbed out to meet the van’s