Free One Last Scent of Jasmine (Boone's File Book 3) by Dale Amidei Page B

making some kind of annoying noise.” Boone heard him grumble in response and then fumble for his device, which was vibrating and chirping on the hotel’s bedside table. She forced herself to swivel her head and look at the red LEDs of the clock radio on her side. It’s two thirty in the freakin’ morning. This must be some op force’s idea of psychological warfare.
    The screen of his smartphone lit up the area, and she was tempted to bury her head in his shoulder until the blaze diminished. It was not, however, going away. She felt him sit up and then swear under his breath.
    “What?” she asked. She was awake now and no longer able to pretend this was not happening. “Who is it?”
    “Direct message from InterLynk. General McAllen on the early morning express.”
    Terrence Bain Bradley. You have an account on Daddy’s system! Boone realized she should not have been surprised. Nearly everyone in her field of expertise had signed up, after her father’s way of doing things had become accepted in the community of international intelligence. “So why is he messaging you at two thirty?”
    Bradley blew a breath. “Boone, the system you oriented to at DARIUS the other day. You mentioned an airborne system utilizing directed energy?”
    “Big and bad,” she affirmed.
    “McAllen’s got a line on some Russian hijinks. They anticipate being able to swipe the technology right out of the lockbox, and it doesn’t sound like they were talking about a very long wait.”
    Boone sat up, bringing the sheets up with her for the sake of modesty. She tousled her hair and asked, “Seriously?”
    “McAllen says seriously. Sounds like an under-the-table love gift on someone’s part in the Administration.”
    Leaning her head on his shoulder, she, too, looked at his phone. “Is there any chance this is generated by an official directive, then?”
    Bradley shook his head. “Not if I haven’t heard of it.” For a moment he looked thoughtful. “No … not a chance in hell. Congress would go berserk if they even caught wind of such a thing. We should probably schedule another on-site security review in the morning. What do you think?”
    Two thirty a.m. There’s no way I am going back to sleep now . Boone sighed and bounced her naked body out of bed, to an appreciative sound from her bunkmate. “Lacking any official directive, such a thing might be the next best thing to treason, then. No time like the present, Mister Bradley, sir .” Boone lingered in front of him for a moment, just for the thrill of her exhibitionism. Nothing like full frontal nudity to gain a man’s complete attention .
    Smiling, she turned and hit the bathroom. She emerged once finished to the sight of him still sitting up in bed, tapping and swiping at the screen of his smartphone. She began pulling on her intimates followed by raven-black working clothes, from her turtleneck to stockings, riding breeches and knee boots. Her Galco rig bearing her 9mm SIG SAUER P290, “Little Swiss,” and accoutrements wrapped itself around her shoulders afterward. “Terrence, dear, whatever are you doing?”
    “Security access at DARIUS. I’ve listed your federal access card. You should have free entry to whatever door’s lock you encounter.”
    “Sweet,” she murmured. But then, Paul Kemp is a sweetheart, isn’t he. Readied, she pulled a short leather jacket over her rig, posing. “See? I’m ready for work in record time, breaking every misconception you’ve ever held.”
    Bradley sunk back down under the covers, rolling over. “You go get ‘em, Agent Hildebrandt. This bed will be warm when you get back.”
    She smirked while grabbing the small wallet holding her driver’s license, identification and other essentials. The hotel’s access card went into another pocket. “I’ll be back once I’ve seen if the guys at the DARIUS front desk are still awake.” By his muffled response she could tell Bradley was again nearly asleep. Practice makes perfect.