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13

STAR

“PA is officially locked in the bathroom stall with an explosive case of diarrhea.”

“Good,” I muttered at Dead To Me, gently tugging on the blonde wig I wore as I strolled through David Foundry’s office with all the confidence of someone who belonged there.

“Should be inconvenienced for at least forty minutes.”

“Jesus, how much ex-lax did you put in her coffee order?”

D chuckled in my ear. “You don’t want to know.”

Grimacing, I said, “You should have just dosed Foundry and Smythe with that. It would have helped?—”

“Ew, I’m not dealing with two hostages who have the shits!”

I forced myself not to smile but it was damn hard.

I continued as if D hadn't interrupted, “—but I looked at her schedule and I don’t think she knew Smythe was in the building anyway. She was supposed to be having lunch with her son.”

“I saw that,” Conor chimed in. “But I thought it was best for her to be incapacitated too just in case she decided she needed to come back early.

“Be grateful they’re corrupt motherfuckers who evade their guards. Otherwise, they'd be shitting their pants as well.”

“Right,” I muttered, “shut up now. I’m heading in.”

“I’m shutting up. But Troy and I are waiting around the corner so don’t worry, we’ll be there the second you hit 911.”

“Conor, you ready to reroute the emergency call?”

“Yup.”

I smiled at the sound of his calm confidence, feeling absurdly content because he was in on the job with us when this half of my life had always been a secret from any relationships I’d had—even Maverick.

“Is this the wrong time to tell you that blonde hair suits you?”

Lips twitching, I didn’t answer him, but with a gentle knock on the door, I waited to be granted entry to the AG’s office.

“Come in,” Foundry called out. As I stepped inside, I watched his head tilt to the side as he peered at me. “You’re new. Where’s Anna?”

“She had to step out, sir. Stomach troubles.”

His mouth curved down at the corners as he glanced at his guest, obviously unhappy with that PG version of Anna’s current digestive issues.

With one hand in the file folder I was holding, I moved over to his side and pretended to drop it onto the desk. A cascade of documents tumbled toward the surface, making Foundry jump in surprise and Smythe glower at me.

“I’m so sorry, sir!” I said breathily. “I didn’t mean?—”

“Just get out,” Foundry grumbled as I started collecting the papers with one hand, and with the other, I jabbed him with the hypodermic needle in his nape. He yelped and twisted around to scowl at me, but my hands were loaded with documents.

I held them to my chest and began scurrying out as he spat, “You useless bitch. Get me Anna! Where the hell is Anna?”

By the last half of his sentence, his words were slurring and Smythe cried, “David! Are you okay? What’s wrong?” To me, he snapped, “He’s having some kind of seizure!”

I hurried back to the desk.

When David started seizing in earnest, I reached for the phone and started jabbing the buttons for 911.

That was when Smythe caught my wrist. “What are you doing?”

“I’m calling for an ambulance!”

His fingers tightened around the fragile bones of the joint he was trying to restrain me with.

Pretending to be in pain, I moaned and struggled against his hold. “What are you doing, sir?”

“Who are you?” Smythe snarled.

“I’m Star, sir,” I cried. “I’m just a temp!”

“You did this.” He waved his other hand at Foundry who was starting to vomit over the papers I’d spilled and which I’d failed to collect.

“No! I-I just needed a signature. Please, let me call for an ambulance!”

He dragged me over to him and shook me. “More like the cops. You’re a murderer.”

“He’s not dead yet,” I shrieked, but I knew the face of greed too well to register his satisfaction at the situation.

That was when I let the remaining papers in my hand fall to the floor and with them, the charade. As quick as death, I delved into my pocket and reached for the second syringe.

He fought hard, I had to give him that. When he saw what was in my hand, he spat, “You bitch.”

I winked at him. “You’ve no idea.”

Smythe went for my throat, but I blocked him and kicked him between the legs before I grabbed his balls in my fist and made a eunuch out of him.

As he proved he had the singing range of a mezzo-soprano, I broke free of his grip on my wrist and thrust the needle into his throat.

Staggering to his knees, I watched as the same symptoms afflicted him.

“Fucking…,” he slurred. “…cunt.”

“My favorite label,” I drawled with a smug smirk before I rounded the desk again and picked up the phone. “Dialing 911 now.”

“Redirecting,” Conor rumbled. “And recording.”

“I need an ambulance!” I cried out like I was panicked.

Troy, on the other end, sounding bored as fuck, went through the rigmarole with me and, a few moments later, declared, “An ambulance has been dispatched, ma’am.”

The outer office wasn’t bustling because Foundry had two . One where his PA sat and the other was loaded with secondary staff.

Retreating to Anna’s desk, I pulled out a black body bag that I’d stored there after she’d darted to the restroom and returned to the office where I hauled Smythe into the covering first.

Huffing at his weight, I muttered, “It’s a good thing I started training for this shit again.”

Conor snorted. “Is there a ‘haul a dead body around’ program at the gym that I missed?”

“Technically, they’re not dead, just a deadweight,” I panted. “Okay, Smythe’s in the bag, D.” I pulled his body away from the door and tucked him into the corner. “Tell me when you’re about to leave the elevator.”

“Will do,” D agreed. “We’re just pulling up now.”

“Good.” Calmly, I studied the outer door, just waiting for someone to burst in and uncover what I was doing. But it seemed Anna had everyone suitably terrified of trespassing because no one even knocked.

“Exiting elevator in three, two, one…”

Nodding to myself, I rushed over to the second door and pulled it open, shrieking, “Where are the EMTs?”

Most of the ten-strong team were out on their lunch break, but two turned to stare at me just as D called, “We’re here, ma’am. Please, step aside!”

As they bustled forward into the office, I started sobbing when the first woman approached me.

“What happened?” she cried, standing on her tiptoes to peer over my shoulder as I blockaded the door.

I hurled myself into her chest and started wailing like I was traumatized.

“Jesus, you should have gone into acting,” Conor muttered in my ear, but I ignored him, too engrossed in the role that would keep the front office distracted as the ‘EMTs’ worked on Foundry.

Within twenty minutes, Foundry was declared dead, his ‘corpse’ was carefully loaded into the body bag with Smythe, and they were both on the stretcher that D and Troy wheeled out of the building.

In the time that it took for the staff to make it back from their lunch break, their boss had died and he had been taken to the morgue.

Amid the chaos, I slipped out of the office and reverted to my regular brown hair in the restroom which, courtesy of Anna, stank like the pit of hell.

Tucked away in a stall, I removed my makeup and changed my clothes quickly. Not just because I needed out of there, stat, but because that ex-lax and its results were potent as fuck.

By the time I was in the elevator, I was relieved to be inhaling non-tainted air, and I was smiling to myself at a job well done.