Free Undercover Nightingale by Wendy Rosnau

interest?”
    “I’m on a recovery mission. Stolen data from the SDECE.”
    “Who’s the brunette with the sweet mouth, and what does she have to do with it?”
    “Her name’s Allegra, but I don’t know how she figures in yet.”
    “At least the working conditions aren’t too painful.”
    Ash smiled. “I’ll admit that she’s easy on the eyes.” He explained the subterfuge that had gone on in the bar. He might have tried to explain it too much by the look on Sly’s face—his grin never wavered. He finished with, “She claims she’s Filip’s woman.”
    “You don’t buy it?”
    “Petrov’s gay. At least that’s what it says in his profile.”
    “Maybe he likes variety in his bed.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “What makes you say that?”
    “Just a feeling.”
    It was more than a feeling, but Ash wasn’t going to go into that with Sly until he tested out his theory first. He’d learned something in the bar, and it would require a little experiment later.
    Sly asked, “What about this stolen data?”
    “A rogue agent at the SDECE sold them out. The disk is full of access codes. Stillman thinks Filip is here to have Casso Salavich decode the information. I’m suppose to infiltrate Salavich’s organization, locate the data before it can be deciphered, then run down Jazmin Grant and bring both back to Stillman.”
    “Grant? Didn’t she die at Nescosto?”
    “Stillman thinks she’s alive, and I’m starting to believe that he’s right. I think she’s here.”
    “Here?”
    “I think Grant could be this afternoon’s shooter, and the tail Allegra picked up that followed her into the bar in the lobby. I wanted to flag you, but I couldn’t chance blowing my cover. Why she’s here, I don’t know. Maybe she’s trying to get the disk back, or maybe she was double-crossed. I won’t know that until I find her.”
    “If Petrov has the data on him—”
    “He doesn’t. I checked.”
    “Could it have been destroyed when his car blew up this afternoon?”
    “It’s possible, but for now, I’ve got to believe it’s still out there.”
    “How does Stillman plan for you to get inside Salavich’s organization? When I was at Ballvaro this afternoon, I counted over two dozen guards. The grounds are pruned lean—that means there are surveillance cameras. Damn hard to get in without being seen or setting off an alarm.”
    “Somehow Stillman learned who I am.”
    “What do you mean, who you are?”
    “Before Onyxx, I was someone else.”
    “Weren’t we all.”
    “I changed my name when I came to Onyxx. It wouldn’t have worked any other way. I’m the son of Estabon Toriago. My father controlled eighty percent of the drug traffic in Mexico before his death. When you talk to Merrick tell him that Marco Toriago has risen from the ashes and is about to get back in the drug trade with Casso Salavich. At least that’s my cover.”
    Sly joined Ash against the wall in the alley and lit a cigarette. “Is that why you were there this afternoon?”
    “I called him when I arrived yesterday. He invited me to Ballvaro for a meeting.”
    “Then all hell broke loose with the shooter.”
    “That’s right.”
    Sly dug in his pocket and pulled out an electronic tracker. “Can you plant this bug on Petrov? That way we can keep him close.”
    “I don’t need it. I’ve already tagged him. But he won’t be leaving the hotel too soon. He can’t even get out of bed right now. Still, if and when he does, we’ll be able to follow his every move.”
    “What room are you in?”
    “811. And you?”
    “412.”
    “Stay out of sight, and I’ll contact you when I know something.”
    “Who’s your friend?”
    “You mean Naldo? He’s my cousin. I needed some backup. He’s posing as my chauffeur. He’s cool under fire.” Ash grinned. “But I guess I should have known that Merrick wouldn’t leave me out in the cold. I’m glad you’re here. Do me a favor and run a check on Jazmin Grant. Stillman gave