Page 212 of The Black Trilogy

A week later, I came down to breakfast and found Black sipping an Americano as he read the paper. No cuts, no bruises, and for Black, he looked remarkably relaxed.

“How did it go?” I asked. “You know, whatever it was?”

“Problem’s dealt with.” He smiled and poured me a glass of juice. “It’s about time I bought a new car. Want to take a trip to the Porsche dealership?”

“Why not?”

That evening while Black used the gym, I ran a couple of computer searches, curiosity driving me now the past had been dredged up. My mother’s disgusting ex-boyfriend, the one who attacked me, had died of a drug overdose three years ago—there was an appeal for relatives in the local paper. Neighbours took five days to find the body, and in August that couldn’t have been pretty.

And the care worker who’d forced himself on me in the back of his ancient hatchback had, by some freakish coincidence, come to a nasty end just two days ago. His car had left the road and crashed into a ravine, and the police were searching for witnesses.

I knew they wouldn’t find any.

Black was too careful for that.

CHAPTER 25

NOW I OFFICIALLY worked at Blackwood, I spent less time learning new skills and more time consolidating existing ones. Yes, I still had to keep ridiculously fit, but it was no longer a chore. Thanks to Black and Alex, I now tackled tasks that had seemed impossible just a few short months ago with ease.

And I was onto my fourth language—Spanish—when Black asked me if I fancied spending a month in Mexico. Tanning and tequila? Too right I did.

“Sure, I’d love to. I can inflict my terrible linguistic skills on the locals. Uh, what do you need me to do? Break into somewhere? Follow someone?”

“Not exactly. It’s more of an undercover job.” When he said that, I didn’t realise he meant it literally. “We’re lending you to the CIA, and they owe a favour to the DEA, who heard about you on the grapevine and requested your assistance with a little problem. They don’t have anyone else with the right, er, attributes.”

“The DEA? What kind of problem?”

“There’s been a flood of drugs into Southern California recently. Intelligence suggests it’s coming from one particular resort on the Mexican coast, but nobody’s been able to work out how it’s getting from A to B.”

“So why send me? The closest I’ve come to the drugs trade is the odd bit of recreational use at parties.”

Black rolled his eyes at me. “Yeah. Don’t mention that. And they want you to go because none of the men working for them looks good in a bikini. They might create a distraction but not in the right way, especially as it’s a couples’ resort.”

“So basically, you’ve spent the best part of a year playing slave driver at me so I can parade around on a beach, half-naked.”

He shrugged. “Think of it as a holiday. Now, do me a favour and go pack.”

“When do we leave?”

“We don’t. I’ve got things to do here.”

“But you said—”

“I know.”

“Then who are you sending me with?”

I could deal with pretending to be Black’s girlfriend. But no way did I want to be pimped out to some government pervert with wandering hands.

“Nick Goldman. He’s an old friend, a good guy. Nate and I used to work with him when we were with the agency, and he came up through the SEALs too. We’ve been trying to convince him to join us at Blackwood, so if there’s anything you can do in that respect, I’d be grateful.”

Right. So all I had to do was pretend to be in love with a guy I’d never met, work out how illegal cargo was getting shipped into the United States, and do it well enough to convince said guy he wanted to quit his secure job with the infinite resources of the US government behind him and come to work with us.

“You don’t ask for much, do you?”

Black gave me a smile, the sly one he wore when he was cooking up a scheme. “Just remember, you don’t have to be good, but you do have to be perfect.”

When I opened the door of the government car sent to take me to the airport, Nick was already inside, phone clamped to his ear. Wow. I’d expected a middle-aged dude in an ill-fitting suit, not a young James Bond. With extra muscles. And dimples.

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