Chapter 1

1

Darren Sumner knew there was only one reason he drew the Halloween assignment—he looked damned good in a dress. Better than anybody else, including the female agents. Once he got over the initial shock of seeing himself in the mirror, he didn’t even mind that he was given one of the most stressful assignments of the entire year based on how great his legs looked in a leather mini and a pair of heels. He could have done without the bra, but Jasmine insisted he needed to have a bust, or it wouldn’t matter how much he showed off his gams. They were trying to make him look as authentic as possible, after all.

The tight blouse, leather mini, high heels, and realistic breasts weren’t just for a laugh. It was imperative as few people as possible recognized Darren, and nobody could recognize him as an operative. Theoretically, a man working a dangerous, life or death situation, would not be dressed to kill in a highly-cut yet coy skirt. As his commanding officer, Jasmine was horrified at the logic when they first brainstormed the idea. She had been even more put out when she learned that they couldn’t just send one of the female agents in to do the job. It needed to be Darren, and he needed to look like a young woman.

At least half the people at the party knew Darren, but they had been fooled when he walked in the door. Nobody looked at him with even a glimmer of recognition. He had quietly passed his invitation to the doorman, who gave him a narrow-eyed, curious once-over before nodding him into the mansion. The massive house was lit up brighter than a Christmas tree, and the floors and walls throbbed with the combined force of hundreds of hidden speakers. Normally on an assignment, Darren would spend the first thirty minutes sniffing around, getting the lay of the land. But he knew the mansion well. Almost as well as he knew his own house. Which left him to keep an eye out for the man he had come for.

He had a little under eight hours to locate and neutralize his target. Darren thought that would be a neat trick, since he was only armed with one gun and a small knife, he had no back-up at the party, and his profile of the target was incomplete at best. He had a physical description, a name, and a list of known associates, but it was a Halloween party. The target would be wearing a disguise, and whether it was a simple Halloween costume or an elaborate ruse to keep an operative like Darren from finding him, the effect would be the same.

Each step he took clicked sharply against the marble floor. There was a reason Jasmine never wore heels, and it had nothing to do with how uncomfortable they were. She couldn’t very well sneak up on somebody when every step was broadcast. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to do too much lurking. Or running. He walked comfortably enough, but running was out of the question. So many things were out of the question when dressed in women’s clothing. The more time he spent in his costume, the more his respect for Jasmine grew.

He staked out a corner of the main foyer, holding a drink like a shield in front of his face, and watching the steady stream of people in and out of the front and side doors. Later, he would find a new spot out in the garden, but he couldn’t find fault with the corner he had claimed as his own. It afforded him a view of most of the guests and the main exits.

If things had been different, Darren wouldn’t have been there, invitation be damned. He spent his Halloweens with a group of college buddies who always knew how to put on a party. By this time of the evening, they’d already be drunk. On real alcohol. Not the light frou-frou drinks currently being circulated by strikingly dignified young men in black suits. On the other hand, his buddies never dressed up for Halloween. Especially not in such elaborate and clearly expensive costumes. There wasn’t a drop of fake blood in the room, but what the guests lacked in gore, they made up in pure style.

He felt stupid in his cat ears. Jasmine had assured him that the Catwoman look was common for women from every walk of life, but clearly he should have been wearing a ball gown from the nineteenth century, or some slinky designer number. Or a school girl costume. That had been one of his options, but he had drawn the line there. It just seemed too…kinky. But stupid cat ears and a stupid felt tail hadn’t seemed too bad, and he’d thought the black makeup on his nose and the drawn-on whiskers near his mouth were quite fetching. Now he thought he just looked cheap. If he could toss away the “costume” and just be himself in drag, he’d impress far more people.