Company Ink Page 13

  But when I pulled the trigger, there was a soggy clunking sound, and a bunch of black goop dribbled out of the gun’s barrel.

  “Oh, damn it. That shouldn’t have happened,” Cami said as she rushed over and grabbed the gun from my hand. She turned it around a few times and frowned as she peered into the barrel. “What’s wrong with you? You’re supposed to shoot bullets, not gunk.”

  “Maybe it has performance anxiety,” I said with a laugh.

  Marty chuckled as he approached us. “I guess you didn’t shock your gun hard enough, huh?”

  “That’s it! Marty, you’re a genius,” Cami said as she handed the gun back to me. “I just need to build a positive micro-charge into the chamber, since it uses a negative charge to rearrange the glove. Take the suit off, Roger, I can fix that in like ten minutes.”

  “Okay, okay. We’re not in that much of a hurry, though,” I said, laughing. “Shut down.”

  As I spoke the command, more white plasma infused the armor as it broke apart into separate plates again, and then drew back and collected itself into a backpack again. I slid the straps off my arms and handed it to Cami. “Thank you,” I said. “This is perfect. It’s just what I need to take on this Presley guy.”

  “You’re welcome. You can thank me properly later,” she said with a wink as she grabbed the bag and rushed off, talking to herself.

  As Marty and I watched her go, he said, “That really is an awesome suit. I want one.”

  “Well, you said she’s already making a second one, right?” I said with a grin. “You can have it. Maybe I’ll have her make one for everybody, and then Presley won’t have a snowball’s chance in hell against us.”

  “How’s it going with him, anyway?” Marty asked. “Are we still safe, relatively speaking?”

  “Yeah, so far,” I said. “He still thinks we ran off to Canada, or at least the command is still there. It’s definitely fading, so it won’t last forever. But I know we’ll be ready for him in time.”

  Just then, Skye and Amy came in the entrance that Cami had just left through. “Hey, ladies,” I said as I walked toward them with Marty in tow. “What’s up?”

  “Oh, you know. Just another day as an expert day trader, making a shitload of money,” Amy said with a grin. “But that’s not why we need to talk to you. Skye thinks she might’ve found something about Henry Aaron.”

  “That might be the best news I’ve heard all day,” I said. “What did you find?”

  Skye shrugged a little. “It’s not much. Honestly, it might be nothing,” she said, nodding at the laptop she carried in her hand. “The thing is, there’s a high-stakes poker game that’s kind of a semi-regular thing, and from what I can tell, Henry Aaron is involved somehow. Not directly, but on the backend or something. It’s a real long shot, but if you ask around, you might be able to get a line on him.”

  “Okay, I’m interested,” I said. At this point, any lead was better than what I had. “Where’s the game being held?”

  “Right here,” Skye said as she opened her laptop and turned it toward me so I could see the screen.

  I stared at the photo of a massive gold-and-rose building with a very familiar name. “The Monte Carlo, huh?” I said. “So, you want me to go to Europe.”

  “Yep. And even if the lead doesn’t pan out, you can just win the tournament,” Amy chimed in. “If I had an extra fifty million in seed money, I could turn it into a hundred times that much in about a week.” Then she winked at me.

  “Now I think I understand why you want me to go,” I said with a laugh. “What’s the setup for getting into the game?”

  Skye tapped a few keys on her laptop. “Well, it’s Texas Hold ’Em style poker, cash only, fifty players with a million-dollar buy-in and winner takes all,” she said. “But you don’t have to walk out of there with fifty million in cash, because they’ll wire the funds wherever you want. Right now, there’s only two spots left.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Want one?”

  “Hell, yeah,” I said with a grin. “Monte Carlo, here I come.”

  26

  “Oh, yeah. Now I definitely feel like James Bond,” I said, martini in hand as I stretched out naked in the soft, oversized seat of the private plane about to land in Monaco. Only Gail and I were making the trip, since I was supposed to be incognito and I thought a big entourage would kind of make me stand out. Besides, I’d wanted to spend some alone time with her for a while now.

  But once this Presley business was over, I’d definitely be interested in taking this trip with the whole team. They’d all love it.

  Next to me and equally naked, Gail snuggled closer and sipped at her cocktail. We’d just taken advantage of the curtained back area behind the spacious seats and the wet bar to join the Mile-High Club, and now the whole cabin smelled deliciously like sex.

  “Does that make me a Bond girl?” Gail said with a tiny smile.

  “Sure, if you want to be,” I said as I slipped an arm around her. “Sounds like one of those Facebook quizzes, right? ‘Which Bond girl would you be? Answer these five questions to find out.’”

  Gail wrinkled her nose. “Well, I know which one I wouldn’t be. Definitely not Pussy Galore.”

  “Yeah, that’s not you,” I said with a smile. “You’re more of a Honey Ryder.”

  “Really? I’m not so sure I want you to be Sean Connery’s Bond,” she said, laughing a little.

  “So, you know your Bond, huh?” I grinned and sipped at the martini, enjoying how smooth it went down. The company I’d rented this Gulfstream jet from kept the bar stocked with top-shelf liquor, like the Bombay gin in my drink. They’d also handled all the details of the trip. We’d have a car waiting for us at the airport when we landed to bring us to the Monte Carlo. “Okay, how do you feel about Christmas Jones?” I said.

  “Ooh, a nuclear physicist. And that’d make you Pierce Brosnan. Not bad,” she said as she trailed a hand along my arm. “But I think I’ll take Vesper Lynd, and you can be Daniel Craig.”

  “Casino Royale. Appropriate,” I said, tossing back the rest of the martini. “Okay, Vesper, we should probably get dressed before our lovely flight attendant comes back here to refresh our drinks.”

  Gail let out a small sigh, set her cocktail aside on the table and slowly uncurled from the seat. “I suppose,” she pouted. “But it’s kinda fun being naked on a plane, you know?”

  “Definitely,” I said, watching her perfect heart-shaped ass wiggle as she walked around the seats and headed for the outfits we’d bought for the trip. I was trying to keep as many real things around as possible, just in case Presley managed to start erasing things again. Wouldn’t want to end up suddenly nude in the middle of a high-stakes poker game. I’d also brought along a briefcase with a million in cash for the tournament entry fee, and a small suitcase with the modified backpack suit and a change of clothing for each of us.

  Hopefully, I wouldn’t need the suit. But I wanted to be prepared for anything.

  After using the pen to clean us both up after a flight full of sex, I got up reluctantly and dressed in my tuxedo as Gail took her outfit behind the curtain so she could do the whole makeup and hair thing.

  That was fine though because I still had a few things to write down before we landed. Once I’d suited up, I grabbed a seat and a pad of paper, and made myself the world’s best poker player, though I did already know how to play pretty well, in addition to giving myself a few other skills, like making myself a body language and lip-reading expert as well as a master statistician. I also gave myself and Gail the ability to speak French.

  Gail emerged a few minutes later, looking absolutely drop-dead gorgeous in a form-fitting, dark green cocktail dress that flaunted all the right curves in all the right places. She smiled as she sat next to me. “Mm, you’re even sexier than Daniel Craig,” she said, licking her lips. “And believe me, that’s saying something.”

  “You’ve definitely got Vesper Lynd beat, hands-down,” I told her. “Plus, you can sp
eak French now.”

  “I can?” she said. “Pouves-vous parler Francais aussi?”

  “Oui, madam, mon Francais est magnifique,” I answered back.

  “Sacrebleu! Je sais parler Francais!” she said with excitement. “This is so cool. Can you make me speak Italian, too?”

  “You got it,” I said as I picked up the pad and wrote Gail can speak Italian.

  She gave a slow blink as the knowledge settled into her brain, and then smiled. “Ah, grazie mille. I’ve always wanted to speak more than one language.”

  “Hell, you can speak all of them if you want to,” I said with a laugh.

  “Maybe not all of them just yet,” she said as she smoothed a tiny wrinkle from her dress. “But … yes, eventually, I think I’d really enjoy that.”

  I thought it sounded pretty cool too and made a mental note to give myself the ability to speak all languages soon. Maybe after we got back to the base. Right now, I wanted to focus on winning the poker tournament.

  It wasn’t long before the pilot announced we would be landing in a few minutes, and to please put our seatbelts on. The Gulfstream touched down so lightly, I hardly knew we’d hit the ground until I heard the engines winding down and felt our slowed speed. This was my first time on a private jet and I couldn’t be happier with the experience.

  In fact, I planned on getting myself one or five of these things.

  Less than an hour later, the luxury town car that had been waiting for us at the airport pulled up in front of the Monte Carlo. The tuxedoed driver got out and opened the door for me, and I climbed out with the briefcase and then held a hand out for Gail as she emerged with the suitcase.

  “Will there be anything else, sir?” the driver said in a heavy French accent.

  “Non, merci,” I said as I got my wallet out and handed him a hundred-dollar bill. “I’ll call the service when we’re ready to be picked up?”

  The driver accepted the bill with a surprised smile. “S’il vous plait, monsieur, call me personally,” he said as he swapped the tip for an elegant little business card. “My name is Valentin, and I am at your service.” He gave a slight bow.

  “Merci, Valentin,” I said as I pocketed the card.

  I offered an arm to Gail, and we headed inside to find ourselves in a massive, breathtaking lobby with gleaming marble floor, huge columns and archways, and a high vaulted ceiling with a stained-glass skylight. Crowds of elegantly dressed people filled the space, most of them talking in English, French, or a mixture of both.

  “Whoa,” Gail whispered as she clung closer to me. “This is just gorgeous! I absolutely love Europe. Okay, so where do we go?”

  “The reception desk, I think,” I said as we started to make our way through the crowds. “Skye gave me a password phrase I’m supposed to say, and a numerical code I have to use for something.”

  “How very Bond,” Gail laughed.

  We reached the desk, and the petite blonde woman who called us over beamed from behind the glossy marble counter.

  “Welcome to the Monte Carlo,” she said, her French accent light and airy, just enough to give the words a lilt. “Do you ’ave a reservation, or would you like to hear more about our available rooms?”

  “Um, I’m not sure if we need a room,” I said as I recalled the password phrase Skye had told me. “I’d like to place a bet on 49.”

  “Oh, oui, monsieur. Just one moment.” She picked up the desk phone in front of her, dialed three digits, and waited a few seconds. Then she said, “Allo, monsieur quarante-neuf est arrive.” She’d just told someone on the other end of the line that Mr. 49 had arrived.

  She paused for another few seconds, and then hung up and flashed her brilliant smile.

  “We have your room ready for you, monsieur,” she said as she produced a magnetic key card and swiped it through a machine on the desk. “You will be staying in suite 975, compliments of the hotel. Please enjoy your stay at the Monte Carlo.”

  As she held out the key card, I took it with a confused frown. “Wait, are you saying the room is free?”

  “But of course, monsieur. All of our tournament players receive free suites,” the clerk said with another bright smile. “Guest services will contact you with instructions when it is time for the tournament to begin.”

  “Okay, wow. Thank you,” I said as I pocketed the card.

  Gail thanked the clerk too, and we headed back across the lobby to where we’d passed the bank of elevators on the way to the reception desk.

  “A free suite, huh?” she said, bumping me with an elbow. “I guess you’re a real high roller now.”

  “Apparently. Comped room and everything,” I said with a grin as we turned and walked into the elevator bank. The huge nook held twelve elevator doors, six on each side, numbered one through twelve. People waited in loose groups in front of all but the number one elevator, which was completely blocked off with velvet rope dividers.

  “Looks like that one’s out of order,” I said, nodding toward the blocked elevator.

  Gail glanced over and shrugged. “At least there’s plenty more of them.”

  We didn’t have to wait long to grab an elevator and whisk up to the ninth floor. When I opened the door to room 975, I was more or less expecting a standard hotel room. But instead it was pretty fucking amazing. It actually looked kind of like the Vegas hotel room from Rain Man, all sleek and contemporary with a glossy black floor, red leather furnished seating area, and behind it a huge raised platform in front of curved, floor-to-ceiling windows. A king-sized canopy bed stood in the center of the platform with a mirrored ceiling above it.

  “Oh my God, this is gorgeous,” Gail breathed as she walked in ahead of me, and I closed the door behind us. “Look at this place! I’m totally checking out the bathroom.”

  “Go for it,” I said as I moved toward the spacious seating area to check things out. There was a basket on the coffee table next to an ice bucket with a corked bottle and two tall, slender wine glasses. The small white card propped against the basket was printed simply with 49, so it was safe to assume it was meant for me.

  I pulled the bottle from the bucket and looked at the label, which read Champagne Dom Perignon Vintage. That was the only brand of champagne I’d ever heard of, and I knew it was expensive. They’d apparently given me the bottle free. In the basket were three kinds of caviar and something called Carr’s water biscuits, some foie gras, whatever that was, and a box of Belgian truffles. So, basically, a small, edible fortune.

  “Roger, you have to come see this,” Gail called from the bathroom doorway on the right side of the main room.

  “Sure,” I said as I replaced the champagne in the ice bucket and headed toward her. “And after I check out the bathroom, we can drink our Dom Perignon.”

  She laughed. “Seriously?”

  “Yep. That’s our complimentary bottle, right there,” I said, jerking a thumb toward the coffee table. “Plus there’s caviar and truffles, stuff like that.”

  “Wow, this place really goes all out.” Gail smiled and practically pulled me into the biggest damned bathroom I’d ever seen, done completely in marble and granite and featuring a massive, jet-black hot tub. “How about we have a nice, long soak in that while we drink Dom Perignon?”

  “Mm, perfect,” I said, slipping an arm around her waist. “But I’d like to do a little more than soak.”

  Gail flashed a seductive smile and started unbuttoning her shirt. “Me, too. I miss your dick,” she said as she reached out and grabbed it. “It’s been almost an hour.”

  As it turned out, my dick missed her, too.

  27

  Several hours later, as Gail and I were lying naked on the huge bed in front of the windows eating the last of the melt-in-your-mouth truffles, the room phone rang. I groaned a little as I reached toward the table and answered it, not sure I wanted to move yet.

  “Allo, monsieur,” a sexy female voice on the other end said. “We are now prepared to escort you to the Perra
ult Room for the tournament.”

  I held back a small sigh. Not that I wasn’t excited about the tournament, but I really, really liked this room too. “Okay, sounds good. Is someone coming here, or…?”

  “If you will please come to the lobby, monsieur, Durant will meet you at elevator number one,” the woman said. “He will escort you to your party.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “We’ll be down in a few minutes. We need to hop in the shower first.”

  “Of course. I will inform Durant,” the woman said.

  I hung up and looked at Gail. “I guess it’s show time. You know what that means, right?”

  “Yeah, it means we have to put clothes on again,” she said, sticking her tongue out as she rolled off the bed.

  I got up, took a quick shower, put the tuxedo back on, and grabbed the briefcase containing the cash for the entry fee. It didn’t take long until Gail was showered and dressed to kill in a slinky number that really showed off her curves, and for a moment, I wanted to see how much better it looked on the floor. Still, we had a job to do. We headed back to the first floor and went to the elevator with the rope barrier.

  “Maybe it’s not out of order,” I said as I looked at the closed door. This elevator was numbered like the others but didn’t have any floor indicators above it.

  “Must be a private car,” Gail smiled. “I wonder how long we’ll have to wait for Durant?”

  Just as she spoke, the elevator in front of us dinged and the doors slid open. Out stepped a slender, dark-haired man in a blue suit and white gloves, who gave us both a critical once-over before he nodded to himself and drew a slim electronic device from an inside pocket.

  “Monsieur forty-nine, welcome,” he said smoothly, stepping up to the barrier on the other side to hold the device out toward me. “Please, if you would input your tournament code?”