Chapter 6

"Drakoci? What do you mean she's in the United State? How the hell … Who helped her? Find them and bring them to me." The dark eyes of the man demanding answers raked his underling in a most unfriendly manner.

"Immediately, sir." The young man turned and collided in the doorway with a beautiful blond woman dressed in a silk trouser suit. "You're pardon, Madame," he stammered in heavily accented English before bolting past her and down the hallway.

"Diamene, what brings you here?"

"I dunno," she drawled. "Maybe I just wanted to hear your voice. You know what it does to me." She walked across the thick carpet, hips swaying, lips curved in a smile that was only for the man in front of her. "I hear you lost one of your pets." She stopped scant inches from him, her eyes traveling from his thick dark hair down his arrogant, tanned face to come to rest on the collar of his uniform. She raised her hands and placed them on his chest to either side of the row of golden buttons holding the jacket closed, a dreamy look on her heart shaped face. "Mmmm … buttons," she sighed. "And you just know what I like to do with buttons." She let the tip of her tongue show as she licked her lips and met his eyes again.

"The Drakoci is gone."

That sobered her slightly. "Hmm. Really? Now why would she wander off? It's not like you don't treat her nice, for a pet." The final words were harsh. "Oh, maybe that was it. I did try to tell you," she contined, turning away and heading for the doorway. She stopped and looked back over one shoulder, tossing the thick blond hair out of her way as she did so. "You do want me to get her, don't you?"

He crossed the room swiftly, catching her arm in his hand and turning her back toward him, crushing her in an embrace and capturing her mouth with bruising force. Her response was instant and as insistent, one foot catching his ankle as she leaned into him and brought them both crashing to the floor where their passionate embrace and activity was likely to send small tables flying while their accoutrements smashed around them.

She leaned up with a fierce grin. Grasping the bottom hem of his jacket in each hand, she gave a hard yank. Some of those pretty gold buttons parted company, leaping and spinning away across the floor. "I do so love gold," she purred as her long elegant fingers worked the rest of the confining jacket loose in a more traditional and less destructive manner. He reached for her to have his hands batted away sharply. "Not yet," she growled as she treated his shirt with great disrespect, more buttons flying. "You wear too damn many clothes." She shoved his undershirt up before applying her mouth and tongue to his faintly golden skinned belly.

Soon enough, he rolled them over, taking more command of their actions, baring her velvet skin and enjoying her shift and shiver under him. He murmured Romanian, Russian and Chinese endearments as they strove with each other. She caught a small, elegant vase with one hand as the occasional table in their way succumbed to being kicked. "Ming. Original. Pretty." She rolled it under the leather couch for protection as they continued.

Some time later, as she straightened her clothing and fluffed her thick tousled mane, she regarded the doorway thoughtfully. "Y'know, one of these days, we really should close the door," she murmured softly, leaned over and gently kissed a trickle of blood from the side of his mouth. "Now, where did you say Drakoci wandered off to?"

"The United States, New York," a subaltern answered, standing at attention in the doorway and completely ignoring his half naked commanding officer.

"Ah, good. I like New York."


Letitia frowned at the monitors next to the seat in which the UNCLE agent lay twitching, sweat soaking his shirt. "Dr. Clare," she called softly, alerting the scientist to a need for her presence.


"He's fighting us. I thought UNCLE agents were more vulnerable. He is … fond of his partner. This should work. But look, he is fighting the suggestions, fighting the trap."

Dr. Clare wiped away the sweat beaded on Napoleon's forehead. "This is Napoleon Solo. Hmm, perhaps we should have let you relax him before we started this. Can you feed the erotic loop into his dreams?"

Letitia's face brightened. "Ah. Of course. Mr. Solo is most susceptible to attractive females." She lifted a tape from the collection on the seat beside her, replacing one of the two subliminal feeds. She undid the bright scarf tucked under her collar like a tie and began to unbotton her uniform shirt. Already she could feel the excitement coursing through her veins as she worked the UNCLE agent out of his wet shirt.


Napoleon checked into the hotel, Denver's finest. That was going to make a dent in his expense account. For just a moment, he recalled a man taking him to task over his expenses. The familiar scent of a very specific pipe tobacco … and then it was gone and he was a New York City denizen in Denver, Colorado.