Passionate Obsession by D.M. Mortier
Chapter Thirteen
Mac
“Giselle, I didn’t come here for this shit. You said that your agents had a lead on Mohammad Askari Sarraf.” I’d arrived at Giselle’s flat on Kensington, High Street more than twenty minutes ago and still Giselle persisted in acting as if she hadn’t called this meeting as a matter of urgency. I really wasn’t up to the usual song and dance routine that Giselle and her counterparts at MI6 usually engaged in when working with our Agency. And I sure as hell was not in the mood for Giselle and her usual games.
“Come now, Mac. I haven’t seen you in months, and this is how you greet an old friend?” Giselle sauntered slowly toward me. “At least have a drink before we have to chase that rat down another gutter hole.” She sipped from her glass of red wine and glanced meaningfully at the glass of red wine she had given me when I arrived.
Her haughty, cultured speech only annoyed me further. Giselle loved to think of herself as a femme fatale, a blonde, green-eyed beauty that few men could resist. In the years that I’ve known her, Giselle has refused to give up the notion that she and I are destined to be together. She refused to even acknowledge the idea that I no longer want her. I was long losing patience with her pointless attempts of seduction.
“I interrupted a trip with my wife to find that psychopathic bastard. I didn’t come here to socialize or have a fucking drink.” Despite my efforts to keep my voice at a normal level, I couldn’t hide my frustration on being away from Kat. I suddenly missed her so acutely I honestly thought I could smell her as though she were in the room with me. I shook my head at that fanciful thought.
“When did you get married?” I didn’t miss Giselle’s brief moment of apprehension and surprise. Her eyes narrowed before she masked it to smile demurely and reach up to touch my face.
I stepped out of her reach and glared down at her. “What the hell is this, Giselle? Do you have the information on Sarraf or not?”
She stepped back and tried to appear unaffected by my obvious rejection. Strolling across the room and then sitting in one of the armchairs in the room, she looked up at me calmly. “Of course, we have the information. Sarraf’s not going anywhere in the next twenty-four hours. Our intel is solid on that. You have time to at least act civilized, Mac, or will wifey get mad at you?” She cackled humorlessly before sobering abruptly. “I called Lincoln to meet us here when you arrived. He has the details you’re waiting for, no worries. However, there’s no reason why you can’t relax until he arrives.” She indicated another armchair in the room.
I reluctantly sat and absently sipped the red wine.
“So, what is she like?” Giselle smiled as though she didn’t have a care in the world, but I wasn’t fooled in the least. Nor was I even tempted to talk to her about Kat. Kat and the boys are my secret haven, my oasis in the dark, barren life I’ve led for over a century. There wasn’t a chance in hell I would ever share them with the likes of Giselle Cambridge.
“When did you say Lincoln will be here?” I ignored her question to ask one of my own. The lack of sleep in the past two days was starting to catch up with me. I felt dizzy and was fighting to keep my eyes open. I needed to get the intel on Sarraf and rid the world of one of the most brutal slavers in existence. For the past ten years, Sarraf and his men have raped, brutalized, and killed women and children they have captured throughout Africa, Europe, and Asia. Every time we think we are close to capturing him, he somehow gets away to continue his reign of terrorizing so many innocent victims.
“I saw a picture of her recently,” Giselle said coolly. “Can’t say I saw that coming. I had no idea you were into women of the Afro Asian persuasion. A fat Padma Lakshmi at that.”
That’s the problem with having powers that I had. You couldn’t choke a bitch without killing her in seconds. I breathed in and out slowly, fighting to remain conscious. I took another gulp of the wine, draining the glass before responding. “You’re not even worthy to say her name, much less pass judgment. It’s Padma Katia McAllister by the way.”
Giselle laughed. “That’s what I love about you, Mac. You have no clue about pop culture. Padma Lakshmi is an Indian American celebrity. Ever heard about Top Chef?” She laughed at my look of confusion. “No matter, the observation is still the same. Didn’t know you like dark skin.”
I carefully placed the empty glass on the side table before standing to leave. With a sick churning feeling in my stomach, I swayed drunkenly and was shocked when I lost my balance to crash to the carpeted floor. Everything went black.