Assassin’s Heart (Agents of Command #1)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

“Strip,” Jack Zheng said.

Kathleen stared at him, fighting to keep her expression neutral, fingernails digging into her palms. Jack, dressed in an expensive suit that didn’t quite fit him, pinched his mouth in impatience. She thought it a fine show of restraint that she didn’t immediately punch him in the nose.

Given he was the owner of the Imperial Silk Palace and Kathleen needed to get this job as a waitress, restraint was for the best. Still, she was applying for a waitressing job, not one of the many stripping jobs the Palace also had open. It could have been a mix-up.

“I thought this job was for a waitress?” Kathleen turned it into a question, hoping he’d find it less threatening. Men usually did, if you made yourself sound uncertain.

“So it is,” Jack replied. “And yet many of the girls quickly realize what good money they can make. And I like all of my girls to put on a good show.” The way he eyed her made her skin crawl. “Strip,” he repeated.

Kathleen dropped her gaze from him before she betrayed herself. She’d done worse things in the name of the job. This was absolutely not going down in the report, though, or she would be hearing the jibes for months. She shrugged out of her jacket, dragging her movements like she was a little reluctant.

“I haven’t got all day,” Jack said right on cue.

Deliberately biting her lip, Kathleen pulled her t-shirt over her head, bundling it in her hands as if trying to cover herself. Jack gestured, preemptively, to her jeans. After a pause, she unbuttoned them and slid them down around her ankles, stepping out of them. It left her in matching panties and bra, both black and lacy. She had been prepared for this. Even so, she hated it.

Jack’s eyes traveled over Kathleen. It wasn’t the normal way men looked at her, but it was a familiar gaze. Like she was a commodity, and he was evaluating how much he could sell her for. “Turn around.”

Once more, Kathleen thought she showed extreme restraint in not punching him in the nose. She did as asked, staring at the far wall, trying hard not to imagine which parts of her he was ogling—and trying not to imagine him pulling out a gun while her back was turned. This was definitely up there as a part of a job that she hated, but it was better than sitting by and watching, helpless. She preferred to be the one in danger.

“What’s your name?”

“Kat.”

It was mostly true. Her first name was Kathleen, but she hated being called Kat. Most officers on the job called her by her surname, Harper. For the purposes of undercover work, though, a name she’d react to automatically was important.

“All right. You start now.”

“Now?” Kathleen didn’t have to feign that surprise.

“Go and see Lisa. There’s a uniform, but there should be spares in the back room.”

Kathleen gathered her clothes and got dressed. Only once she left his office did she dare to breathe a sigh and let the excitement wash over her.

She was in.

The Imperial Silk Palace had the type of old, creaking wooden floor that other establishments might have stretched to call old-world charm. Paired with worn brass fittings that had no hope of achieving a shining state and creaking wooden chairs, it just looked dated. Even the gold curtains hanging everywhere did nothing to spruce things up.

The patrons of this strip joint weren’t here for the decor, though. The main stage was well-lit, and the brass pole at the center was the most polished thing in the entire space. There were a handful of cages away from the stage, with scantily clad dancers inside. The bar was worn and sad by comparison, which was undoubtedly why it remained dimly lit.

The decrepit state of the Palace wasn’t Kathleen’s biggest concern.

Why does no one ever talk about just how uncomfortable high heels, garters, and fish nets actually are?

The former was pinching her toes, and the latter was catching on everything from her watch to the edge of the bar each time she retrieved a drink order, and the garter…

Good grief.

Fair enough; Kathleen was in a strip joint and wearing a scantily clad outfit, but that didn’t mean every man she passed needed to reach out and snap her garter. The next one that tried it was going to get a tray in his face.

Kathleen’s growing ire must have been apparent because she felt a gentle touch at her elbow. Lisa’s smiling features looked up at her. The other waitress’ appearance lowered her tension levels. She was dressed as Kathleen was: in heels, a short black skirt, and a half-unbuttoned white shirt.

Lisa had been her shadow for the past few nights, teaching her the ropes of being a waitress in the Imperial Silk Palace. Kathleen knew only the basics about Lisa—that she had a young son, the father wasn’t in the picture, and this job was one of two she was holding down.

“They’re a lot to handle, aren’t they?” Lisa said with an understanding smile. “But most tip okay. And if they get too touchy, just call Victor. He likes to punish them.”

Kathleen followed her gaze to the unmarked VIP area that she knew hid the gambling den. She had noticed the muscular and tattooed Chinese man who guarded it immediately.

Victor was on her hard-avoid list. Kathleen knew how to fight and handle herself, but Victor had the demeanor of someone who enjoyed hurting others and wasn’t picky about who was getting hurt. She didn’t much like the way he’d looked at some of the waitresses and the girls working the poles. Kathleen knew lust when she saw it. Thus far, she’d kept clear of his attention.

Fortunately, Victor was often more interested in the male patrons’ misdeeds. Kathleen was sure he liked the excuse for violence when he bodily threw them out of the Palace. It had happened a couple of times; he didn’t mind rowdy, but as soon as they risked destroying some of the cheap chairs or tables, Victor was quick to remove them.

“Thanks, Lisa,” Kathleen said. “Honestly, I think it’s just new job nerves.”

“It will get easier.”

“I’m not sure I like the idea of that.”

The thought came out before Kathleen realized how it might sound. To her relief, Lisa read it as discomfort at the situation and not a statement of intent.

“The tips are better if you smile more. Otherwise, you might have to move into another role to make ends meet.” Her eyes ticked toward the dancers spinning in the cages and then to the woman gyrating around the pole on stage.

Lisa’s eyes displayed a determination that Kathleen admired.

“I don’t think I want to go that route,” Kathleen said.

Lisa patted her arm. “Keep your distance and smile. I know you can do it, Kat.”

It was late—closer to morning than evening—by the time Kathleen left the Palace. There were a handful of cars still in the lot as she navigated quickly in her high heels toward the beat-up white Chrysler minivan she was currently driving. She had declined an escort, but kept a sharp eye out for any lingering patrons. She didn’t want anyone getting too close a look at her vehicle.

It smelled of something unpleasant inside, and she tried not to think too hard about what it was. The minivan wasn’t hers—just borrowed from the police impound lot for her cover. A broke waitress desperate enough to work in a place like this didn’t own the type of car she preferred to drive.

Trying to breathe lightly, Kathleen drove with slow deliberation. It earned her several blasts of the horn from cars zooming past, but it let her watch for tails. She was happy there were none since she was certain the minivan couldn’t do more than forty, let alone handle a corner with grace. She pulled into the parking lot of a twenty-four-seven convenience store, choosing a spot furthest from the bright lights of the store. Exiting the vehicle, she leaned against the Chrysler, retrieved a cigarette, and lit it.

Kathleen didn’t smoke, and neither did the man who crossed the lot toward her, but it was good cover. Smokers always congregated together.

“Those heels look painful,” Toshi Gibson said.

“Shut up, ass.” Kathleen wasn’t angry, and he knew it.

“It’s not my ass that’s—”

“You say another word. I’m going to put you in the dirt, Gibson.”

Gibson laughed. “Fair. I see the faux-job’s put you in a great mood.”

“I’m tired of sleazeballs and dirtbags touching my ass.”

“I would’ve offered, but my calves look terrible in heels.”

Kathleen made a show of examining him exaggeratedly. Detective Toshi Gibson looked relaxed and much younger than his thirty-three years. She suspected much of that was due to his mother’s Japanese heritage. He was blessed with a full head of thick black hair and a lean physique hidden beneath the overly large Commanders jersey he wore. When Kathleen first became his partner after joining homicide two years ago, she swore he was a great deal more stressed. She attributed that change solely to herself.

“You look terrible, full stop,” Kathleen said. “Never mind the heels.”

Gibson touched his chest in an equally over-the-top way. “You wound me, Harper. I’m definitely telling the boss you need hazard downtime after this gig’s over.”

“Don’t worry. When this gig is over, I’ll be celebrating.”

Gibson straightened, dark brown eyes narrowing. “You got proof?”

“Not yet. But I’ve made friends with the waitress who always works VIP. Should be able to get into the gambling den soon. It’s where Liang and the rest of his triad buddies hang out.”

Gibson pretended to suck in some of the smoke and coughed. “Thinking maybe I come in. Maybe play the patron for a night or two.”

“No.”

“Just to keep an eye on things.”

“I said no.” The sharpness in her tone wasn’t intentional, but Kathleen hated the implication she needed the help.

To his credit, Gibson took the tone and the response in stride. “All right. Just a thought.”

“I can handle a little sexual harassment. Not all that different from my day job.”

Gibson made a face. He covered it quickly, but Kathleen thought it was some combination of annoyance and discomfort. He didn’t like it, but it was the price of being a woman working in a male-dominated profession.

“You should get some sleep,” Gibson said, stamping out his cigarette.

“You, too. The surveillance solid?”

“Checked on the teams an hour ago. They’re running fine for now. Give them another week, and they’ll be deliriously bored.”

“That’s the job.”

“That’s the job,” Gibson echoed. “Be careful, Harper.”