Free Whirlwind by Joseph Garber Page B

closed her eyes, swallowing hard.
    Mitch sat on the bed. He’d removed his boots, but nothing else. “My, my. You sure are a pretty thing.”
    Shivering, she took a step forward, a reluctant actor in an unwanted spotlight. “Awww …” She flopped down on the bed and steeled herself for a role she did not wish to play. “You’re sweet. Bet your kisses are pretty sweet too.” She knew she sounded forced and stilted.
    Apparently Mitch did not notice the insincerity in her every word. “Well now, there’s only one way you can find out about that.”
    She feigned a cat purr sound, fumbling at her belt as she did. “Lemme … lemme get into nothin’ comfy before we start. Gee, Mitch, you know it sure is hot. You got AC ‘round here somewhere?”
    “That I do. It ain’t worth much, though.”
    “Be a doll and turn it on. Then you get to turn me on.” He’d want to hear a giggle now. She did her best.
    Mitch walked to the window, flicking a switch on an antiquated air conditioner. Irina unbuckled her belt and unfastened the button on her Levi’s. As Mitch ambled smiling to the bed, she slurred, “Aw, damn! Zipper’s stuck.” Then in the teasing tones of a little girl, “You know how to get a zipper unstuck, Mitch? Do you, huh?”
    “I believe I can handle that.” His smile widened. Reaching the edge of the bed, he began to bend at the waist. He was where she wanted him, and in the posture she desired. She lashed out her foot, a soccer kick aimed at his groin.
    Badly mended leg. Pudgy belly. It made no difference. Mitch remained what he’d been all his life, an athlete. A bad fall from a bad horse had cost him his career, but not his reflexes. He pirouetted to the right, dancing backward. Irina’s kick cut empty air.
    “Well, hell,” he sighed, giving her a look that, surprisingly, was not angry. “I sorta been expectin’ sum thing like that, but, you know, I was genuinely hopin’ I was wrong.”
    Irina again played peek-a-boo with her hair. “Aw, I was only funnin’.”
    “Nah. You can drop the drunk act now. I didn’t much believe it in the first place.”
    “Not drunk. Jus’ a little tipsy.” She opened her eyes wide, showed all the blue she had. It produced no effect.
    Mitch put his hands on his hips, watching her with genuine sadness. “Soon as I smelled your breath back in the parking lot, I got a mite suspicious. Didn’t seem like you’d been drinkin’ all night long.”
    “Gargle. I gotta gargle every time I give a blow job. Had to gargle six times lass night.”
    He gave her a melancholy little smile. “That’s a right good line, ma’am, but it ain’t gonna work with a man like me.”
    Irina said nothing, although she thought much. Force was out of the question. She was strong, but he was stronger. And as swift as she was, he, quite obviously, was swifter. The only advantage she had was tucked beneath her pullover, snuggled in the small of her back. She wasn’t sure she could pull the trigger if it came to that.
    Mitch did not glower and did not frown. He merely looked sorrowful. “You wanna tell me what this is all about. I mean before I call the law or somethin’. If you got yourself a story, and if it’s true, now’d be the time to tell me.”
    “I am a Russian spy,” she said flatly. “The FSB the Federal Security Bureau that is what the KGB calls itself now.”
    “Right.” Disgust and disappointment in his voice.
    “My real name is Irina Kolodenkova, and I’m “
    The phone was on top of a lopsided dresser. Mitch stepped backward, his hand behind him reaching for it. Irina snapped the Tokarev up, both hands around the grip. “No!”
    Mitch stopped dead in his tracks. “Lady, whatever your name is, I ain’t got nothin’ worth stealin’. Which makes me wonder just why in the hell you picked me for your sucker in the first place.”
    “Take off your pants.”
    “Ain’t a-gonna do that.”
    Irina squeezed the trigger. The telephone turned to shrapnel.
    Mitch