Confusion burst through her. Azami gripped Frankie tightly, fisting his belt, as shock poured through her. The man wore Whitney’s face, but no way was that him. She’d recognize his scent and would recognize the energy surrounding him anywhere. The real Whitney felt “mad” to her. Insane. This man had to be a patsy, a double, someone placed here to draw her out, and she’d nearly fallen for it. She continued to stumble along with Frankie, bile in her throat as she realized she’d nearly blown everything in her eagerness to kill Whitney.

The men’s room was looming close. Now she had to get back to her table and recover her purse and get the original job done. Furious with herself, she flicked a slight kick to the back of Frankie’s knee as he took a step forward. He stumbled and both of them went down in a tangle of arms and legs. Azami cried out, a pitiful sob, and rolled away from Frankie. She was going to have to incapacitate him without appearing to do so, return to the table, collect her purse, and ensure Melanie’s death without drawing any suspicion to her.

She glanced toward Whitney’s table. He was talking to the bodyguard on his left. Her heart jumped again. Could she be wrong? She hadn’t seen him in years, not since the trauma of her childhood. In profile this man looked exactly like Whitney, even to the curious reptilian way he moved his head. She couldn’t make a mistake and kill an innocent man. He might be duped into posing as Whitney without knowing just what Whitney was like. Most people didn’t know.

Several waiters rushed toward the couple on the floor. Frankie moaned and started to sit up, the effects of the drug making his mind slow and fuzzy. He looked very drunk. She sat, trying to look dignified and offended. The bodyguard Whitney had spoken with loomed over her, offering his hand.

“Frank, on your feet, now.” His voice was filled with authority. “And start drinking coffee.” He pulled Azami to her feet and dusted her off before the waiters got to her. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Are you all right?”

“She’s a f**kin’ escort,” Frankie hissed, slurring his words.

“Most of the women in here right now are,” the man snapped. “Go back to your table and we’ll deal with this later.”

Whitney would never have sent someone to rescue a woman, especially one he would consider a whore. She tugged her dress down and smoothed back her hair, trying to look as if she was affronted.

“I’m leaving. I just need to get my purse,” she said, loud enough for the waiter to hear. “I’ve never been treated like this before.” She pushed through the little knot of men and stormed past Whitney’s table without glancing at him. She was certain the man was nothing more than a double.

“You’d better handle this, Frank,” the bodyguard commanded.

Frank stumbled after her, apologizing as he caught up with her. “I don’t know what got into me, Lila,” he said, but his eyes burned with anger. “Stay and finish your dinner at least.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” she said, loud enough for Melanie and Sheila to overhear. “And I want to leave.”

Frank caught her wrist and twisted hard. “You little bitch,” he hissed. “I paid for you. You’re going to sit in that chair and eat your food and smile at me and when we leave here, I’m going to teach you a lesson you’re never going to forget.”

She knew Melanie and Sheila overheard him. Both of them giggled like schoolgirls. Azami teetered back toward their table, stumbling when Frank yanked her, knocking into Melanie as she did so.

Melanie shoved her hard back toward Frank. “You’re not much of a man if you can’t handle that,” she taunted, deliberately fanning Frank’s anger.

Azami moved with blurring speed, sliding one hand over Melanie’s arm as she stumbled back into Frank, her hands so fast, neither Melanie nor Sheila saw her.

Melanie scowled and rubbed her forearm. “Women like that give me the creeps.”

“She’s just making a living, Mel,” Sheila pointed out. “Just like us. If you hadn’t helped me, that could have been me.”

Melanie nudged her with a little grin. “But you like sex. You would have gone into the men’s room with him.”

Both women burst out laughing. “Bitch,” Sheila said.

Azami settled into her seat and brushed back her hair with a shaking hand, looking up at Frank imploringly through long lashes. “I just wish to go home.”

“Well, you’re not going home. You’re going to do what I tell you to do.” He pulled out his cell phone and, staring into her eyes, spoke into the phone. “Yeah, buddy. It’s me. You feel like partying with a little china doll tonight?”

Azami thought it was a miracle she managed not to roll her eyes. She was Japanese, not Chinese.

“Yeah, I got one that needs a little lesson in manners. I want her f**ked up and begging to do anything I tell her by the time we’re through. Are you in?”

Azami took a sip of her wine. She thought about making another scene, throwing the wine in his face, and stalking out. She knew she could get away with it, and it was what she should do. The poison absorbing into Melanie’s skin right now would take time to work. She’d be long gone when Melanie died, and no one would connect her to the woman’s death, but now Frankie boy had just managed to bring her nasty little temper out.

There were several women in the room from the escort service she’d used for her cover. Any one of them could have drawn Frank as their customer for the evening. She knew it was a hazard of their business, but still, the man was in serious need of a lesson in manners.

“We’ll meet you out in the alley behind the restaurant. It will be fun.” Frank snapped his phone closed and grinned at her. “Won’t it, little china doll? We’ll have a fun time partying. You’ll like my buddy, Ross. He’s has a thing for women like you.”

Sheila nudged Melanie. “They’re going to hurt that girl,” she whispered.

“So what?” Melanie shrugged. “She’s probably used to it. She wouldn’t be in that business if she didn’t like it a little rough. You just told me Sam Johnson is coming home in a coffin and yet you’re all sad about a little ho. Are you going soft on me or what?”

Sheila shrugged. “I guess it reminds me of my childhood.”

“Well, stop. You’re so far above that little whore,” Melanie stated. “Do you want coffee and dessert or shall we call it a night? They have that chocolate volcano thing I love.”

“Dessert is fine,” Sheila agreed. She signaled the waiter who was hovering just to make certain Frank and Azami didn’t cause another scene. “It’s important what you do, Melanie, you know that, don’t you?”

Melanie smiled at her. “I know. Don’t worry, I’m not thinking about getting out. The money’s too good. I get paid a good salary and Whitney has my retirement set for life. One thing about working for him, he pays better than anyone I know.”

“You really have to be careful,” Sheila reiterated, afraid Melanie wasn’t listening to the warning. “We’ve lost a few people recently. I don’t want anything to happen to you. Maybe you should lie low for a while, not contact us.”

“I’m not in any danger,” Melanie said. “I work in a secure building and live in one. I don’t go out that often, and when I do, it’s usually to meet you. We’re friends. That has nothing to do with Whitney.”

“I just think it would be a good idea for you to take a few precautions,” Sheila warned. “It’s not like I have a lot of friends and now that Violet’s back in the fold, things aren’t going to go well for me. She doesn’t like women and she’s absolutely fawning over Whitney these days, like she’s mad crazy in love with him.”

“There’s always been something off about her,” Melanie said. “And you’re right to watch your back. She has a way of making people she doesn’t like disappear. Don’t get on her bad side. She’s all kitten cute to men, but pure ice and nasty with women, even in Washington, but people love her.”

“It’s her voice,” Sheila said. “I think that’s part of her enhancement. She’s one of them, you know, and for some reason, Whitney treats her differently than the others.”

“He can use her ambition,” Melanie pointed out. “But she’s dangerous, Sheila. More dangerous than Whitney. He skates around the law for the sake of advancing science for humanity and his country. Violet simply wants power. She won’t tolerate any woman around Whitney if she’s set her sights on him. Seriously, Sheila, she’s poison.”

Sheila ducked her head. “She killed the senator. She had him living like a vegetable all those months in the hopes of saving him and then she just went into his room and yanked all the equipment off of him herself. I used to feel sorry for her. I thought she really loved that man.”

“I thought so too,” Melanie said with a small frown. “I used to watch her with him and she was totally into him. She never looked at other men unless he told her to flirt with them, which, just for the record, he did. I heard him once at a party. He said to ‘go make nice’ with another senator. He wanted her to make certain the other senator sided with him on some issue. She trotted off all smiling and had the other senator eating out of her hand.”

Melanie clearly was the dominant in the relationship. Azami had studied Sheila Benet and had rarely seen her so animated with anyone. As a rule she was cool and aloof, rarely engaging even in small talk. She was Whitney’s main go-between, and Azami had hacked her computer and phone, had been in her posh apartment numerous times—even stood over her while she slept in the middle of the night.

The woman had money, but she spent little of it on anything. She wanted to belong desperately, and she’d found that belonging and sense of purpose working for Whitney. But she clearly wasn’t working for Whitney solely for the money. She wanted to keep and solidify her connection to Melanie.

Azami wondered idly how Sheila would react if she told her Melanie was already dead. There was no saving her now. Whitney and Sheila would have to recruit someone new to help murder an elite team of soldiers.

She enjoyed the salad, ignoring Frankie’s threats. The man’s head was definitely spinning now. Most of the time he just propped it up with his hands and moaned. His groin was on fire, a relentless ache that wasn’t going away any time soon and would definitely slow him down when he tried to make his move on her. She considered kicking him hard under the table and walking off, but she needed to play the entire evening out. There were a dozen escorts in the room. She might be remembered, but no one would connect her with Melanie’s death. Most likely, no one would connect the evening with Melanie’s death.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Sheila asked, her tone a little wistful.

“Not regularly. I’m looking for the right man to hook up with, someone that will be of some use to Whitney, at least whatever information I can get from him, and he’s got to be damned good in bed.” Melanie laughed. “I’m selfish, Sheila. I don’t want to have to share my apartment and time with a man. I don’t want someone permanent, so if I invest more than a night or two, he’d better have something special to offer.”

Sheila shook her head, spooning more chocolate. “Only you would say that out loud.” There was admiration in her voice.

“Well, really, I don’t need anyone. Do you want someone telling you what you can and can’t do and always questioning you on where you’re going? You call and I don’t want to bring some man along to our dinners, but he’d want to horn in.” Melanie took the spoon from Sheila and licked the chocolate off it. “That’s just not going to happen.”