SCARLET by Jessica Drew Part 7 Sam continues onwards to Rome to find Antoinette, only to have his world come crashing down when he uncovers more information about the swap. * * * * * * * * * *

Lorenzo de Luca found his grandmother’s handbag on the kitchen side and pulled fifty euros worth of notes from her purse. He could already hear her shrieking from the living room.

“Don’t be spending it on drugs, you hear? We need groceries! I swear if your grandfather were still alive he’d knock some sense into you.” Her Italian was old school, bringing an added harshness to her words.

“Lay off Nonna, I’ve got this, okay?”

Lorenzo pocketed the money and stormed out of the apartment, heading out onto the streets. The truth was he’d been off the drugs for months now. He was through with stealing from his grandmother, yet still she wouldn’t trust him. Still she would pour over the grocery receipt and count up the change to make sure he hadn’t pocketed any of it. To be honest he couldn’t blame her, given his past history. He just needed a chance to prove himself that was all.

Above him the leaves rustled in the trees that lined the suburban streets of his home town, located just outside of Rome. The Sun was now low in the sky as the afternoon marched onwards towards evening.

Lorenzo planted his hands deep into his pockets, walking fast with his head cast downwards, his shoulders bent. There were a couple of blocks he had to cross that were still largely controlled by his old gang. They hadn’t taken too kindly to him turning over a new leaf and the last time he’d run into them he’d had the shit kicked out of him.

And they’d taken the grocery money…

Lorenzo decided instead to take a shortcut through the residential building site, slipping between a well-used gap in the rusted wire fence. He’d be able to cut through to the town centre without too much trouble.

Things had begun to change for Lorenzo after the funeral. His grandfather had been a pillar of the community, and the love and support offered by the church’s congregation had really surprised him. They had taken Lorenzo under their wing, pointing him in the direction of support groups to help get his life back on track.

Lorenzo fingered the small silver pendant of the Madonna, that hung on a chain around his neck. He’d even begun to attend church every Sunday with his Nonna, though he wasn’t quite sure if he was yet a believer. If there truly was an all-powerful and loving God, if there were such things as angels and archangels, then why was there so much suffering in the world? And why would he get mugged for his grocery money when he was trying so hard to turn things around?

Lorenzo was relieved when he finally emerged at the other side of the estate, re-joining the busier streets of the town centre. He jogged across the road, heading towards the mini-market, but was startled by the sudden howl of a car horn. He turned, dodging out of the way just in time, as a white sports car skidded, narrowly avoiding him.

Lorenzo cursed in his finest Italian.

It was probably some flash asshole, wanting to drive through the more deprived areas so that he could lord it up over the peasants. He watched as the car indicated, its powerful engine growling as it pulled up by the sidewalk. The driver side door swung open.

Lorenzo was fired up and strode over to the car, ready to have it out with its reckless driver.

What he saw next startled him.

It was an Angel.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam Fields swung his long bare legs elegantly from the car, making sure to keep them together so as not to flash his panties to the increasing number of onlookers that had gathered around. As he stood, he smoothed his short ruffled skirt. He flicked his tied blonde hair back over his right shoulder, causing it to glint golden in the rays of the setting Sun.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” Sam hurried over to the young man, still barefoot, his breasts bouncing from under his pastel pink top. The boy was around eighteen or nineteen, tall and slim, his dark hair shaved close to match his neatly trimmed facial hair. He wore baggy slacks and a white vest top over his toned upper body.

Sam stared up at him, waiting for a response, though he seemed to be in a daze, staring back at him with a stupefied look of wonder. Sam quickly looked down at his own body, wondering if he’d accidentally tucked his skirt into his panties, or something equally embarrassing. Everything checked out. He tried again, waving his hand in front of the dumbstruck boy.

“Hello?”

“You… are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he answered at last with an Italian accent.

Sam was unsure how to respond and lowered his gaze, shuffling his bare feet. “Are you sure I didn’t hit you?”

“You are an angel from heaven!” The young man took Sam’s slender right hand, clasping it between his palms. “It is a sign!”

Sam looked around awkwardly at the parade of onlookers. They whispered to each other in Italian, some looking at him, some at the car. Some of the more daring individuals had come closer to inspect the Lamborghini, running their hands along its body work, as if to check it was real. Despite the Lamborghini’s rather dishevelled appearance, it was still an uncommon enough sight in the small town to draw attention. Much like Sam himself, it would seem.

“Look, you’ve got me all wrong.” Sam pulled his hand away. “I’ve got to get going… I’m sorry I startled you… I haven’t quite got used to driving with this… with this car.”

Sam knew that any delay would only increase the chances of him being found by Rivers and the Agency. Since leaving Civitavecchia, Sam had discovered Rivers’ cell phone in the car and quickly realised that they would be able to track him from its signal. Sam had hurriedly turned the phone off and then veered off into some of the quieter suburban streets on his way to Rome, rather than keeping to the more obvious Autostrada.

Sam turned, sweeping a strand of loose hair from his cheek as he slipped gracefully back into the driver’s seat of the Lamborghini. He reached up, pulling the wing door back down behind him, the excitement of the crowd reducing to a dim murmur behind him.

“Oh!” Sam gasped, bringing a hand to his chest as the young man helped himself to the passenger side of the car, slipping into the low-set leather seat beside him. “What are you doing?” Sam quickly demanded in his feminine French accented voice.

“I cannot let you go, my angel. We were meant to meet like this, I am sure of it!” Sam watched as he absently rubbed at a silver pendant that hung around his neck.

This was the last thing he needed.

“Look… I’m no angel. In fact, I’m in a lot of people’s bad books at the moment.”

“Just like Lorenzo here! I have plenty of books myself. I am thinking we are here to help each other.”

Sam sighed, placing his slender hands on the steering wheel, wondering if the Agency ever came up with an ejector seat for the vehicle. He glanced up at the rear view mirror, catching sight of his blue-eyed reflection, his mascara covered eye lashes fluttering as he blinked.

It was actually kind of amusing how men just seemed to fall over themselves when presented with an attractive woman. He’d been just as guilty of doing it himself over the years. And it all came down to sex. It was that vain shred of hope that the woman in question would not consider you pandering and pathetic, and instead decide to drop her panties for you. Now that Sam was on the receiving end of the attention, it seemed pretty ridiculous.

Sam knew that he wouldn’t have much luck trying to forcefully evict Lorenzo from the car, but he had come to realise that he held a different kind of power now as a woman. It was the same subtle power that had spared his life several times on the yacht, and that had enabled him to escape from Rivers back in Civitavecchia. He looked over to Lorenzo, who fidgeted excitedly in his seat, his eyes darting. Sam drew a deep breath, his chest swelling beneath his pastel pink top.

“Okay, Lorenzo… Maybe you’re right. Maybe we can help each other.” Sam fixed Lorenzo with a half-smile as he turned the ignition.

* * * * * * * * * *

As they drove, Sam could not help but look out at the run-down buildings that made up the small town. It certainly wouldn’t have made the holiday brochures, despite its proximity to Rome. He knew neighborhoods like this back in Philadelphia. Kids growing up there barely had a chance against the gangs and drug culture that pervaded.

Sam glanced over at Lorenzo who seemed to have grown fascinated with the car, working the electric windows, the radio, even the heated seats - like a child with a new toy. Sam still wasn’t quite sure how he had ended up with the strange young Italian in his car, but he had the beginnings of a plan to use the situation to his advantage.

“How much money have you got on you?” Sam asked, checking his rear view mirror as he joined the main flow of traffic heading further in towards the centre of Rome.

“Fifty euros but… you do not have to sell your body to me.”

“What?” Sam could feel his cheeks blush. “No, not me, the car!”

“The car?”

“I’ll sell you the car for whatever you’ve got on you.” Sam glanced down at Rivers’ cell phone, which still sat inactive in its cradle on the dashboard.

“Why would you do that? The car must be worth thousands.”

“Try a couple of hundred thousand…”

“Mio dio!” Lorenzo sat back in his seat. Sam could sense that he was making some calculations in his head about his potential investment.

The Lamborghini slowed as it began to get bogged down in the infamous traffic of Rome. They had reached the “Ring”, the circular motorway that ran around the entire circumference of Rome. Mopeds and motorbikes wound their way expertly through as car horns honked loudly in frustration. The streetlights were now lit and Sam could see the glow of the European city ahead of him. As the car came to an inevitable halt, Sam turned in his seat, pulling the seatbelt out away from his chest.

“There’s one catch… The car is hot.”

“Hot?”

Sam fixed his eyes on Lorenzo. “Real hot.” He leant forwards and pressed the power button on Rivers’ cell phone. The touch screen flashed into life as network connections began to re-establish.

“There are people after me that I need to get rid of. They can track the car from this.” Sam tapped the cell phone with the long fingernail of an index finger, his pink nail polish now faded and chipped in places. He looked back to Lorenzo, making sure the young man was following what he was saying. “If you can drive north, lead them away from Rome…”

“Are they dangerous?”

“No, no. Once they realise it’s not me, they’ll leave you alone.” Sam kept his soft feminine voice deliberately calm.

“And then the car is mine?”

“Absolutely.”

There was a pause as Lorenzo weighed up his options. It didn’t take him long. He set the euros down onto the dashboard.

* * * * * * * * * *

Lorenzo de Luca stood patiently on the street-lit sidewalk, looking up at the tall, imposing architecture surrounding him. He hadn’t travelled into Rome in a while. Not since his thieving days when the subways and underpasses would prove a prime hunting ground. That seemed like a long time ago now.

He looked back to the Lamborghini Gallardo, marvelling at its slick contours. He’d only ever seen something like this in magazines, and now it was his! Sure, it was dirty and a deep key scratch ran along the driver-side door, but other than that it was perfect.

Of course, he knew he wouldn’t keep it. The first chance he had, he would sell it to a dealer he knew. The money he would get would easily pay off Nonna’s mortgage on the apartment, with money left over to donate to the Church. He couldn’t wait to tell his grandmother the good news!

Lorenzo hummed a tune, snapping his fingers as he buoyantly walked back around to the driver side door. He found his Angel struggling to pull a case from the small storage area behind the driver seat. From where she was bent over, Lorenzo was afforded a glimpse of her lower buttocks and a hint of a pale lilac thong.

He glanced skywards, shaking his finger. He knew it was a test.

Once upon a time he would have be in there like a shot, making some lewd comment, perhaps even daring to lift her skirt up further.

“Here, let me get that for you.” Lorenzo stepped forward.

His Angel moved to one side, her heels clicking as she smoothed her skirt, her beautiful face staring up at him.

“Thanks…”

Her voice was like silk. She seemed embarrassed to be asking for help, which only served to endear her to him even more. Lorenzo reached into the back seat and easily hefted a pair of black cases from the back out onto the street.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam stood on the sidewalk, the evening breeze playing at his bare thighs, teasing up under his skirt, making it feel colder than it really was. He rubbed at his slender arms, his white high heeled sandals clicking beneath him as he tried to warm himself.

Sam watched as Lorenzo started the Lamborghini, a broad smile spreading across his face as he took delight in the roar of the powerful engine.

Although Sam would argue against Lorenzo’s divine explanation for their meeting, it had certainly proved to be a fortuitous encounter. Sam now held enough money in his feminine hand to check into a cheap hotel room for the night. Meanwhile, Lorenzo would lead Rivers and Tanner on a wild goose chase as they dutifully traced Rivers’ now active cell phone signal.

What’s more, Sam had found a pair of equipment cases in the back of the car. Hopefully there would be something there that he could use to help him track Scarlet. Sam still had little idea as to what he would do next now that he had arrived in Rome. He was, after all, making it up as he went along.

“I am sure we will meet again my angel, but until then will you honor me with a parting kiss?” Lorenzo smiled up at Sam from the open window of the car.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Now you’re pushing your luck. Next time, okay?”

“I will hold you to it. Ciao!”

Sam watched as the engine of the Lamborghini revved up, the exhaust vibrating. Lorenzo waved an arm out of the window as he disappeared off down the busy street.

Sam drew a breath, his shoulders dropping. He turned, looking up to the façade of a tall, crumbling building. It seemed to loom over him, making him feel small and claustrophobic.

A lurid neon sign hung above the entrance.

‘Albergo’

Sam recognised the Italian word for ‘hotel’, though the ‘o’ flickered, threatening to disappear altogether to the darkness.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam stumbled, at last, into the hotel room with his heavy cases, his feminine voice groaning with the effort. He felt mildly put out that the overweight guy on reception hadn’t offered to carry his cases, leaving him to struggle up the two flights of stairs alone in his high heels. He kicked the door shut behind him, searching blindly for a lamp chord. The room dimly illuminated, casting dark shadows, punctuated by the sickening pink glow of the flashing neon sign outside the window.

As it turned out, fifty euros didn’t get you very far in Rome. The room was tatty with an old musty smell, but at least he had somewhere to lay his head down for the night. Sam kicked his white heels off and fell down onto the mattress of the single bed, lying there for a few minutes as he collected his thoughts.

He had mixed feelings about leaving Rivers behind in Civitavecchia. He had been so relieved when they had reunited, but it had hurt like hell to find that Rivers had placed the Agency above their friendship. Either way, there was little to no chance of Rivers finding him now that he had sent Lorenzo off as a decoy. Yet again he was alone and would have to draw upon his own resources to get the job done.

Sam sat upright, his breasts shifting on his chest. He ran a hand up through his blonde hair and began to re-tie the pink bow that held his ponytail in place. He suspected it was too much to hope for a hairbrush from the cases he had liberated from the car.

Sam stared over to where he had unceremoniously dumped the cases onto the floor. One of them was small, made up to look like a briefcase, despite its high-tech security locking mechanism. It was the same case that Rivers had taken into the casino when they had begun their mission several days ago. Beside it lay the larger of the two cases. Sam recognised it as his own case. The only thing was, Sam’s equipment had been stolen by Antoinette, whereas the case he had dragged up two flights of stairs had been very much full…

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam pulled the larger case up onto the bed, sitting cross-legged before it, his skirt riding up. Now that he was alone, he didn’t feel the need to worry about whether or not his panties were on show. He keyed in his unlock code and swiped his thumb across the sensor. A red LED flashed, warning of an incorrect match. Sam went to try again, but stopped and looked down at his feminine hands, turning them over thoughtfully.

“Idiot,” Sam whispered to himself. “Wrong fingerprints…” Luckily, Sam had a few workarounds up his sleeve. The Agency would have revoked his access to the main network by now, but that wouldn’t stop him from hacking into a simple case.

After several minutes of using his long fingernails to press at the tiny keys, the lock clicked open and Sam gently lifted the bullet-proof Kevlar casing upwards.

“What the hell?”

Sam reached in, pulling out each of his laptops in turn. USB and network cables trailed after them. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Rivers had said that Antoinette had stolen the laptops and used them to download the Agency database. If that was correct, then why were they right here in front of him?

Sam thought back to Monaco, trying to recall all that had happened. The laptops had been missing ever since he had first awoken in Antoinette’s body.

Sam pressed the power button on each of the machines, their bright displays throwing some additional light into the dingy hotel room. While he waited for the laptops to boot, Sam turned his attention to Rivers’ briefcase. Rivers had never told him what was in there, but Sam suspected it had just been a supply of cash to use at the casino. Maybe an exploding pen if he was lucky. As Sam got to work on the electronic lock, he came to realise that there had been no sign of Rivers’ case since the swap either, though Rivers had never mentioned anything about it.

“What the hell were you up to Rivers?” Sam’s French accented voice echoed throughout the sparse room.

With an electronic beep, the case opened.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam grasped the device in his hands, being careful not to damage any of the finer circuitry with his long fingernails, as he pulled it free from the foam inlay of the briefcase.

Two small, curved paddles were joined to a central, heavy power-pack with strands of optical cables of a type that Sam had never before seen in all his years at the forefront of computing technology. Each paddle was about the size of a credit card, a little thicker maybe, with delicate electrodes woven into the surface of each. On the front of the power unit were three buttons, along with an indicator display, though they failed to respond to any input. Whatever it was, the device was dead.

Whatever it was…

Sam knew what it was. What it had to be. He just couldn’t bring himself to believe it.

He carefully laid the device down onto the bed and turned his attention back to the laptops. He leant forwards over the keyboard of one, his ponytail slipping forwards, as he used the track-pad to browse the hard-drive.

Sam had always made it his own personal habit to set up a camera wherever he and Rivers happened to camp, recording the footage straight to the laptop. After all, their equipment was of a sensitive and confidential nature, and could not be monitored in person the whole time.

Sam could feel his pulse throbbing in his ears as he found the saved footage of their hotel room in Monte Carlo. His shaking finger hovered above the keyboard.

Sam tapped the play button with his fingernail, the screen illuminating his feminine face.

* * * * * * * * * *

Three days ago…

Le Grand Casino de Monte Carlo, Monaco

“Not so fast, honey!”

Mike Rivers stood in the doorway to the hotel room, his gun aimed squarely at Antoinette Bellerose as she quickly moved to place Sam between them, a silenced pistol jabbing into the young man’s side.

“Rivers! Back off man, she’s got a gun!” Sam cried out. He looked as scared as Rivers had ever seen him, his forehead beaded with sweat.

Rivers stepped through into the room, closing the door behind him, his aim still fixed on Antoinette. Even in the crisis of the moment, Rivers could not help but be affected by her feminine beauty.

Her bright blue eyes bore into his, her long eyelashes flickering as she blinked. Her luscious ruby painted lips were slightly parted, giving her a seductive look. Her long blonde hair hung in soft waves over her bare shoulders, coming to rest over the swell of her large breasts. Rivers watched her cleavage swell with her rapid breathing. Her scarlet red dress was striking and hugged her curves and her trim, athletic waist, flaring pleasingly at her wide hips and pert rounded backside. Her bare legs looked silky smooth and seemed to go on forever, perfectly feminine, her calf muscles popping from the red high heeled sandals that she wore on her feet.

“Back off! I will put him down! Lower your gun American!” Antoinette’s French accent was strong and surprised Rivers with its simmering rage.

“Not if I put you down first.” Rivers let his aim drop and he fired, the silencer barrel of his handgun muting the noise down to a high-pitched ‘thwip’. The tranquilizer dart hit Sam squarely in the side and his eyes rolled back, his body slumping. Antoinette was taken by surprise and found herself unable to support Sam’s limp body with her one free arm.

Her only protection slid helplessly out of her grasp.

Rivers fired again, hitting Antoinette just above the naval. She fought it, struggling to bring her gun to bear, but it fell from her hand. Her legs buckled from under her and she fell. Rivers quickly stepped forwards, catching her. He felt her large breasts pressing against his chest as her eyes closed, succumbing to the effects of the tranquilizer.

Rivers lifted the young woman from under her arms, quickly bringing her up onto the bed nearest to the window. One of her high heels slipped from her slender foot, falling to the floor. He reached down, bringing her legs round so that she lay flat on her back.

He watched as her breasts rose and fell with her breathing. Her short dress had ridden up revealing an enticing glimpse of her lacy red thong. Rivers let his gaze linger on her feminine body for a moment, before turning his attentions to Sam.

He crouched down and, with some effort, pulled Sam’s sleeping body up onto the adjacent bed. He straightened his now creased dinner jacket, a little out of breath from the exertion.

Rivers checked them both again. There had been a healthy dose of tranquilizer in each dart, probably enough to put them out for at least an hour.

Satisfied, he knelt down, reaching under one of the beds, sliding out his briefcase.

* * * * * * * * * *

Rivers rubbed at his stubble-flecked cheek as he stared down at the device, nestled within the foam inlay of his Agency supplied briefcase. He still couldn’t quite believe that something so compact could do what the Agency said it would, despite having witnessed the results back at the lab several months ago.

He carefully pulled the battery pack free and set it down onto the carpeted floor between the two beds. It was heavy, despite its small size. It had to be given the amount of power it would be required to produce. He next unloaded the two small paddles, coiling the strands of optical cable beside each one.

Rivers glanced back to the hotel room door. He had, set before him, one of the most confidential pieces of technology on the planet. Something that not even Sam could be brought in on. It had to be worth millions and he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone might burst in at any moment to claim it as their own.

He began to uncoil the optical cable joined to the first paddle, trailing it over to the bed that Antoinette lay on. He wiped blonde hair away from her pretty face and carefully placed the adhesive paddle across her forehead, just as he had been shown. He paused as Antoinette murmured a little in her sleep.

Rivers froze, his mind racing as he struggled to stay focused. He kept thinking ahead, to how everything would play out, finding it difficult to concentrate on the here and now.

He shook his head and took the second paddle, bringing it to Sam’s bed. He used the cuff of his sleeve to wipe the sweat from Sam’s brow before delicately placing it into position.

He stood back and drew a breath.

This was it.

It was time.

* * * * * * * * * *

Rivers flicked the switch of the central power pack, watching as it hummed ominously into life, its display screen lighting up with an unearthly green glow.

“Okay,” Rivers whispered aloud to himself, “Green’s good. We like green.”

He began to tap at the control buttons. He didn’t even pretend to understand how it worked, or exactly what the controls did. He had simply rehearsed with one of the scientists until he’d got the procedure down. Once it was set up, the rest was pretty much an automated process.

The hum of the power unit changed pitch as the electrodes within each paddle began to crackle with unseen electricity, establishing an invisible connection with each participant’s brainwaves.

At least that was the theory.

All Rivers had to go on was a progress bar on the unit’s built-in LED display. He carefully adjusted the cabling, making sure there were no kinks in the wiring. It blew his mind to think that everything Sam was, everything he knew, was now being transmitted down these tiny wires and fed into Antoinette’s body. In return, Antoinette’s consciousness was fed along the return route to Sam’s body.

Rivers was startled as Antoinette’s arm suddenly twitched, but it was something he had been told to expect. It was just an involuntary muscle spasm as various electrodes in the brain fired off.

He concentrated on the LED display. Rivers had been told to keep an eye on the data transmission levels. Any sudden spikes had to be manually corrected for. Failure to do so could disrupt the data flow - memories, intellect, even sexuality — they could all end up confused and merged with the wrong individual. Rivers couldn’t help but smile to himself, remembering what had happened back at the Agency labs…

Sam’s body jerked, causing Rivers to look up.

He was fine.

If it was even still him in there…

Rivers stood up, gripping the base of his back as he stretched away the tension from being hunched over. He glanced over at the bed to his left, finding himself distracted by Antoinette’s sleeping body. His eyes wandered over her feminine curves, watching as her cleavage swelled beneath her tight fitting dress, before lowering his gaze downwards, to the hint of exposed panty between her legs.

Rivers stepped closer. The red thong was delicately patterned with lace and was almost see-through. He could just make out the slight shadow of her pubic hair and the line of her split beneath the revealing lingerie.

Rivers looked back to the LED read-out on the power unit.

“Shit!”

He quickly knelt back down in front of the device, adjusting the impedance, to compensate for the sudden spike in data flow.

“Isn’t this thing supposed to beep or something when that happens?”

Rivers watched, breathing a sigh of relief as the levels quickly returned to normal. It had only been for a couple of seconds.

There was no harm done.

* * * * * * * * * *

Rivers carefully set the device back into the custom-made, padded briefcase. The battery pack felt hot to touch and was now fully exhausted. It was designed with only enough charge for one attempt, so it had come as a relief when the LED panel had indicated a ‘successful transference’.

Successful transference…

That was something he would expect from sending an email, rather than the mind-boggling feat of neuro-engineering that had just taken place.

Rivers clicked the case shut, the security lock beeping softly. He reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone and dialled swiftly.

“Tanner? I’m ready for the pick-up. Meet me outside the elevators on the tenth floor.”

“Understood.”

Rivers snapped the phone shut, slipping it back into his pocket as he walked slowly over to where Antoinette lay on the bed. Or her body at least. He reached down, sweeping a strand of blonde hair away from her soft cheek.

“You okay in there Sam?”

She lay motionless, her breathing slow but steady.

* * * * * * * * * *

Rivers groaned as he pulled Sam’s body along the hotel corridor, tightly holding his arm around his neck, struggling to keep him upright. Sam’s head swung, his unkempt hair draping across his forehead. He had started to come round a little, his lips murmuring, his feet making unconscious efforts to walk beside Rivers.

Her.

He had to keep reminding himself that it wasn’t Sam.

It was now Antoinette.

The metallic elevator door chimed open and Rivers all but dropped Sam’s body into the waiting arms of Tanner and Willis.

“Good work, sir.” Tanner pulled Sam’s arm around his shoulder as Willis did the same, the two men supporting his weight between them. The Black Ops specialists were dressed in matching tuxedos, making them appear, Rivers thought, like some double act at an awards show.

Rivers rubbed at his shoulder, glad to be free of the weight of Sam’s body. “Okay, everything is to go as we planned okay? Get her… get him to the bunker, keep him locked up till I get there.”

“He doesn’t look like he’ll pose much of a problem.” Willis looked down at the young man’s slender frame.

“Don’t be fooled. He’s a Scarlet agent. Highly dangerous. Remember that, okay?”

Tanner smirked, “I think we can take him if he steps out of line.”

Rivers quickly pointed a warning finger. “Don’t touch him, understand?” He stepped back out of the elevator, watching as Sam’s eyelids briefly flickered.

“Should we give him another shot?” Tanner asked, straightening his back to better support his share of the weight.

“Wait till you get him in the jeep. He can just about walk now. Anyone looking would just think he had too much to drink.”

Tanner nodded. The elevator juddered as the doors began to slide shut. Rivers kept his gaze fixed on Sam as if taking a mental snapshot to remember him by.

And then he was gone.

Rivers rubbed at the back of his neck, standing alone now in the corridor, listening to the mechanical whir of the elevator as it descended. He wasn’t convinced that handing Antoinette over to Tanner and the Bravo team boys was such a good idea, especially as they couldn’t be told about the swap that had just taken place.

Rivers returned to the hotel room, swiping his key card against the electronic lock. As he entered, his attention was drawn once again to the bed where Antoinette’s body lay. He could see her beginning to stir and knew that he had to work fast before she woke up.

Before Sam woke up…

And then all hell would break lose.

* * * * * * * * * *

Rome, Italy

Now.

Sam watched as the recorded footage from the casino reached the end of its run, the computer screen politely prompting if he would like to view again.

No he didn’t want to fucking view it again.

Sam shrieked, his feminine voice piercing the air as he threw the laptop in frustration. It clattered loudly against the cheap wooden floorboards of the hotel room.

He sat on the bed, his head in his hands, his shoulders beginning to heave as he broke into a sob.

Sam had watched in horror as the silent movie had played out - of Rivers using the device to swap his mind into Antoinette’s female body. Rivers and the fucking Agency had done this to him on purpose! Everything he’d been through, all the fear and confusion he’d felt… All of it had been carefully planned out by the Agency all along.

Sam felt his whole body grow cold and he shivered, rubbing at his bare slender arms. He rubbed tears from his eyes and looked down at his feminine body, his breasts shifting with his staccato breathing, remembering cruelly how he had been made to submit his body to Carlos and Maria Ramirez.

He shifted his legs, standing up, raking his fingernails over his breasts, then down at his waist, ignoring the pain, pinching at his tight flesh as if he were trapped within a bodysuit that he desperately wanted to pull off.

He staggered towards the window, his fist raised, wanting to strike with all his fury, but instead he slumped helplessly against the glass.

Sam watched as rain began to lance down onto the window from the night sky above, trickling down the pane as his tears dripped from his cheeks.

He closed his eyes, the glass of the window pane cool against his forehead. The neon glow from the hotel sign outside fractured through beads of rain water, bathing Sam in specks of pink light.

He sniffed, opening his eyes again, looking down towards the lights of a small jazz club across the street. He felt like he didn’t even have a purpose anymore. He’d escaped from Rivers and made it to Rome, but for what? Rivers had lied about Antoinette stealing Sam’s laptops and so had likely lied about where she was as well.

Sam wished he could just switch off and stop thinking.

What he really needed was a drink.

* * * * * * * * * *

The rain torrented down onto the streets of Rome, the droplets forming sharp daggers as they hit the ground, running into wide puddles that reflected the street lights above.

A pair of white high-heeled sandals clicked rapidly, darting across the road.

Sam ran, his arms swaying wide at his hips for balance. His bare legs slid one in front of the other and his breasts gently jolted from within his pink top and satin brassiere.

He skidded to a halt, his heels cluttering as he ducked under the safety of an archway. He turned back, wiping rain water and strands of loose hair from his forehead, watching as a sheet of rain descended down onto the streets.

Sam turned back towards the unassuming entrance of the jazz bar, which proudly displayed a poster of its star attraction, a French chanteuse by the name of “Brigitte Lavelle”. He pushed the door inwards, finding a set of small stone steps leading downwards. Bursts of music spilled up from the basement bar below.

Sam tugged at his sodden pink top, pulling it away from his breasts, his wet skin feeling clammy. He looked down at his high-heeled feet, being careful to turn them to the side as he descended so that he did not slip.

The click of his heels echoed loudly throughout the narrow passageway.

* * * * * * * * * *

A burly pair of bouncers in dark leather jackets stood menacingly at the bottom of the stone steps, their arms folded, the lights from the club reflecting off of their matching shaved heads. They stared silently down at Sam as he nervously approached. He fully expected to be turned away, or asked for the entrance money that he didn’t have, but instead they smiled, stepping to one side to let him past.

Sam walked quickly through, a hand resting just above his chest, his ruffled white skirt bouncing at his hips. The club was small and dimly lit, bookended by the stage and bar, with wooden tables and booths set out inbetween. Each table held a candle-lit lantern at its centre, adding to the atmosphere provided by the bare stonework of the walls.

Sam felt self-conscious being out in such a public place, but was relieved to find it fairly quiet with only small pockets of people, mostly couples, scattered around. He looked over to the stage, watching as a small band began to tune up, bursts of saxophone and brushed drum beats cutting through the soft chatter of the audience.

“Benvenuti… Welcome.”

Sam turned to see a middle-aged man in a dark suit leaning up against the bar. He peered over his tinted glasses at Sam, tapping his right hand against the counter of the bar.

“Oh, uh, thank you…” Sam replied in his soft voice, reaching up to stroke a strand of wet hair back behind his ear.

“Some weather we are having, huh? Are you here to see Brigitte?” His Italian accented voice was deep and gravelly. He smiled at Sam, chewing casually at the end of a cocktail stick.

“Brigitte?” Sam remembered the poster he had seen outside. “Oh, yes. I’m a fan.”

“Hmm, at least that’s somebody. She has a hard time pulling a crowd as you can see.” The man gestured to the meagre gathering of people. “My name is Julius, I own the club.”

Sam smiled awkwardly, taking his offered hand, surprised as he pulled Sam’s hand to his lips, kissing his feminine fingers.

“Come let me get you a table.” Julius made a show of holding Sam’s hand, leading him to one of the empty booths. Sam didn’t know quite what to make of it and had no choice but to follow his lead, teetering after him in his high heels.

Sam ran his hands over his round backside, smoothing his skirt as he slid into the empty booth.

“Now, what would this beautiful lady like to drink?”

Sam looked away embarrassed, “Oh, I haven’t really got much money on me, I just came for the music.”

“It’s on the house. Anything you want.” Julius gestured to the bar, pointing with his half-chewed cocktail stick.

Sam’s natural instinct was to ask for a beer - preferably American - but instead, he remembered how he had enjoyed the taste of the wine on Carlos Ramirez’s yacht.

“I’ll have a glass of red wine... Thank you.”

“Ah, red! Red for passion!” Julius chuckled as he turned and headed back to the bar, clapping his hands together to get the attention of the bartender.

Sam sighed, leaning back against the padded seating of the booth. Free entry and free drinks? That certainly wasn’t bad going, but then again his wet clothing may have had something to do with it. Sam looked down, embarrassed to see the damp fabric of his pink top clinging tightly to the shapely outline of his 34D breasts.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam brought the glass to his lips, sipping at the Italian red wine. He closed his eyes, letting the fruity flavor fill his mouth before swallowing.

Sam’s mascara covered lashes fluttered open. He reached out with his slender hand and topped up the glass with the bottle that Julius had been generous enough to leave on the table for him. The wine had certainly gone a long way towards helping to warm him up, as well as relax him.

Sam slipped is right leg over his left, pulling the hem of his white skirt over his thigh. He reached around behind his head and pulled free the pink ribbon that held his hair, letting it fall freely over his shoulders and back. He was glad to be free of the aching tug of his ponytail, plus it would help to dry the last of the rainwater from his blonde hair.

Sam had sat hunched, keeping his head down so as not to draw attention to himself, but the warm glow of the wine had now begun to ease his self-consciousness. He sat back, looking around the club, his attention drawn to a young couple that were sat at a nearby table, talking and laughing, enjoying one another’s company.

He felt jealous, wishing he was back in Philadelphia with Lenore, perhaps taking in a show followed by a romantic meal. Then afterwards they would take a slow walk home, before slipping between the bed sheets together for some fantastic sex. Sam absently squeezed his thighs together, becoming aware of the vacancy between his legs, the brush of his satin thong against his female loins. He was disheartened to realise that he would not be able to satisfy Lenore in his current state.

Sam continued to watch the couple. The young man slipped an arm around his girlfriend, his strong arm pulling her closer.

Comforting her.

Protecting her.

The girl leant into his embrace, her eyes closing, looking content.

Sam found his own slender hands sliding up to his bare arms, caressing them gently.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam watched as Brigitte Lavelle took to the stage. She was a slender attractive woman, only a little older than he was, with short black hair cut into a bob that displayed her graceful neck and slender shoulders. She wore a shiny black dress that sparkled under the lights, as if a thousand tiny diamonds were woven into the fabric.

She moved in high heels with a graceful sensuality, sliding up to the microphone, her crimson lips smiling warmly as the band kicked in behind her. Her singing voice was like tinkling chime bells, soft and feminine.

Sam drained the last of the red wine from his glass, the bottle now half empty. He could feel his head swimming. It was just enough to enable him to forget where he was.

Who he was…

Instead, Sam found himself relaxing into the music. He closed his eyes, his head gently swaying in time with the beat, letting Brigitte’s song fill his senses. Although it was a jazz-flavored cover version, reworked into something slower and more sensual, Sam came to feel as though he recognised the song. Something he’d heard long ago in his youth.

His mind drifted as he swayed with the music, his eyes still closed, remembering where he had heard the song before. He could picture a small house. Somewhere remote out in the country. Somewhere safe and comforting.

Sam heard a second feminine voice begin to sing, soft and gentle, harmonizing with Brigitte:

“Quand il me prend dans ses bras,
Il me parle tout bas
Je vois la vie en rose.”

Sam’s eyes flickered open, realising that the second voice had been his.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam staggered through into the toilets, his heels cluttering against the tiled floor as he struggled to stay upright. He had enjoyed the performance and had managed to consume the majority of a bottle of red wine to himself, resulting in an inevitable effect on his bladder, as well as his balance.

He watched as a man turned his head from the urinal, smiling as he looked Sam up and down, not even breaking his stream.

The man’s gaze made Sam look downwards to his own body, at the cleavage that swelled from his pink vest top, his white ruffled skirt that hugged his wide hips, and his long bare legs accentuated by the white high-heeled sandals that he wore.

“Oh,” Sam found himself giggling with the alcohol, “My mistake. You see… I used to be a man, but some asshole did this to me…”

Sam turned, using the wall for support as he made his way back out of the men’s room. He found the adjacent door to the “ladies” and tapped the symbol on the door with his fingernail.

“The one with the skirt. That’s the one I need.”

Sam’s heels clicked as he woozily made his way through into the ladies toilet, finding it empty, giving him a choice of cubicles. He opted for the one furthest from the door and hurried over, pulling the door shut behind him, sliding the latch across.

Sam lifted his skirt, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his lilac satin panties, tugging them down to his ankles. Holding his skirt above his waist, he sat his rounded feminine backside down onto the cold toilet seat. He kept his thighs together, but found that his high heels elevated his legs, causing him to angle his legs outwards below the knees, his thong stretching out between his ankles. Given his desperation, he did not need to wait for very long and soon heard the tinkling sound of his rill as he relieved himself.

Sam sighed as he finished, pulling a couple of sheets of toilet paper from the roll, which he pressed between his legs, then let drop into the toilet. He stood back up, reaching down for his thong, tugging it back up, feeling the caress of the lingerie once more against his female loins, the string settling between his firm buttocks. He pulled his skirt back down, smoothing the ruffles out at the front and back.

Sam had taken peeing as a man for granted and found it much more of an inconvenience as a woman; having to remove clothing, having to sit down, having to dry himself. It seemed the wrong way round considering how suddenly the urge to go would take him now.

Sam unlatched the cubicle door and stepped out, sweeping loose hair from his face. His high heeled feet stepped awkwardly forwards towards the row of wash basins that ran across the opposite wall. He was surprised to find another woman standing there, leaning into the mirror above the sinks as she applied a crimson lipstick to her full lips. Sam recognised her at once.

It was Brigitte Lavelle.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Bonsoir!” Brigitte greeted Sam, her feminine face smiling back at him from the mirror. She was even more beautiful close up than she had appeared on stage. Her eyes were large and a deep blue in color, her mascara covered lashes fluttering as she blinked. Her skin was smooth and pale, her face youthful. Her short black hair framed her cheeks , luxurious and shining under the white light of the rest room. Her black dress was flecked with silver, short and figure-hugging, coming to rest just below her round, peach-shaped buttocks.

Sam staggered towards her, captivated by her natural allure. “You were amazing,” Although he slurred his words from the wine, he noticed something odd about the way he was talking, as if it wasn’t quite how he usually spoke.

“Oh, thank you!” Brigitte enthused as she wiped some stray lipstick from the corner of her mouth. “I saw you singing along. It’s always great to see someone enjoying themselves out there.”

Sam swept his blonde hair back over his shoulders as he approached the adjacent wash basin. He looked up to the mirror as he began to wash his hands. Although the beauty of his elfin, heart shaped face shone through, his hair looked a little untidy and his make-up had now either smudged or faded from the rain. He looked over to Brigitte’s reflection. She looked so elegant and refined next to him.

“Did you get caught in the rain?” Brigitte asked, sorting through her make-up bag.

“Uh, yes… I look a mess don’t I?” Sam quickly ran his hands through his long blonde hair, smoothing it out as best he could.

“It’s nothing a little make-up couldn’t fix. Here, I’ve got a spare lipstick.” Brigitte handed Sam a small, pink tube.

“Really?”

“Of course.”

Sam hesitantly took the lipstick. He had started to realise that he drew more attention to himself by not having perfect clothes, hair and make-up. Or at least with other women. He wondered whether he should start carrying a few items around with him. A hair brush, some make-up maybe… He looked over to Brigitte, noticing her black clutch-bag that seemed to have everything she needed.

Sam leant in towards the mirror, twisting the end of the lipstick tube, bringing the pale pink to his lips.

“So where in France are you from?” Brigitte turned towards Sam, a hand resting on her hip. Sam’s mind quickly raced. He was still surprised that she was being so talkative and generous towards him, considering they’d never met before. He sucked in his lips, then pouted, noticing in the mirror that they were now pink and glossy, matching his pink vest top.

“I’m from… the south…”

“Well, I guessed that from your accent, silly!” Brigitte giggled, “I’m from Marseille.” Although she needed no introduction, she offered her feminine hand to Sam. “Brigitte.”

Sam took her hand, shaking lightly. “Antoinette…” It still felt strange to offer up another name in place of his own.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Antoinette. It’s always nice to meet another French girl when out on the road. Touring can be tough when you only speak French.”

“What do you mean?” Sam handed the lipstick back to Brigitte, still conscious that there was something strange with the way he was speaking, as if different words were spilling forth from his lips.

“I mean, my Italian is coming on a little, but my manager keeps saying that if I want to make it, I need to learn English. I can manage ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’, but that’s about it. He wants to get me out to the U.K. and America. He says that’s where the big money is.”

Sam was confused. He still felt dizzy from the alcohol, so maybe he’d just heard wrong. She was speaking perfect English, how else would he be able to understand her?

“It’s hard when you’ve only got the band to talk to,” Brigitte slipped the lipstick tube back into her clutch bag. “They’re great and everything, but you know what French men are like. Sometimes I just miss a bit of female company.”

Sam shook his head, widening his eyes to try and combat the alcohol, his high-heels clicking on the floor beneath him. The more he thought about it, the more he came to realise that Brigitte’s words sounded just as odd as his had been.

“Well Antoinette, I better get back out there.” Brigitte turned, waving back at Sam, her hips swaying beneath her cocktail dress.

The rest room door thudded shut leaving him alone once more with his thoughts.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam’s heels clacked against the stone flooring of the club, his hands wide at his sides for balance. He found that his eyes needed to readjust to the relative gloom of the club, and that he could only just make out the dark shadows of other people around him.

“Pardon!”

Sam excused himself as he knocked elbows with another girl, causing her to spill her drink a little. He turned, disorientated, his hair whipping around him, the lights of the stage spinning.

He hit something.

Hard.

Solid.

Sam steadied himself, looking up, his eyes focusing on the shadow of the figure in front of him.

* * * * * * * * * *

Mike Rivers looked down at Sam, watching as his pretty feminine face struggled to comprehend, his pink-painted lips trembling as his beautiful blue eyes stared up at him.

“Pourquoi ne pas me laisser tranquille?” Sam’s feminine voice cracked with emotion as he spoke. His use of French took Rivers by surprise and he momentarily paused, watching blankly as Sam turned, making his way towards the exit, his backside twitching beneath his ruffled white skirt.

“Hey, hey!” Rivers gripped Sam’s small arm, forcefully pulling him back around. “Sam, listen I just want to talk.”

“Va-t'en!” Sam shrieked up at Rivers, trying in vain to pull free of his strong grip, his heels scuffing against the floor.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Rivers looked over as an older man pushed himself away from the bar, striding slowly over towards them. He was expensively dressed and Rivers guessed from the way the club bouncers moved in to flank him, that he was probably the owner. Rivers quickly backed down and let go of Sam’s arm.

“It’s nothing,” Rivers held up his hands defensively. “She’s my girlfriend. We’re just excited to see each other, that’s all.”

The man eyed Rivers cautiously as he brought a cocktail stick to his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“Ne l'écoutez pas, il n'est pas mon copain!” Sam spoke up, rubbing at his bare arm.

The man pulled the cocktail stick from his mouth, his brow furrowing.

“I’m sorry my darling, what did you say?”

“She said, you’re a very charming man, but unfortunately she’s spoken for.” Rivers quickly slipped an arm around Sam’s waist to guide him over to the privacy of one of the booths.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Concentrate. Take it slowly this time.” Rivers sat opposite Sam in the booth, leaning forwards across the table.

“Okay.” Sam closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, focusing on his words. “Why… don’t… you…fuck off!”

Rivers snapped his fingers, “And she’s back in the room!”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. He’d been exasperated to find that he’d been speaking French again, though this time it had seemed to take even longer to shake it off. He hadn’t even noticed when it had started. It was only when Julius hadn’t understood him that he had realised that something was wrong. Sam thought back to his strange conversation with Brigitte, slowly realising that he had been speaking in French the whole time…

He sat back against the backrest, folding his arms across his breasts, feeling mostly sobered now by his unwanted encounter with Rivers. “I mean it Rivers, I’ve had it okay? I’ve had it with you and the fucking Agency.” Sam could feel his voice beginning to waver once more. “I know what you did!”

“What do you mean?” Rivers’ voice was low, his smirk fading from his lips.

“The swap? You did this to me! And… and you didn’t even tell me.” Sam reached up, dabbing an index finger to his glistening eyes. “I thought we were friends!” Sam could hear his French accent coming through stronger, though thankfully still in English.

“The laptops…” Rivers leant back, rubbing at his forehead.

“Why Mike? Why?” Sam whispered, gazing down at the table.

Rivers exhaled into his cupped hands, then rubbed uneasily at the back of his head. “We shouldn’t be talking about this here. I’ve got a hotel room in town. Come back with me and I promise I’ll explain the whole thing. No more secrets.”

“How do I know you’re not gonna just hand me over to your Black Ops friend?”

“Well, because right now I’ve got him following the Lamborghini half way across Italy. The decoy trick? It was a good try. It’s just a shame that I’d come up with it first…”

Sam’s shoulders dropped. Rivers was right. Sam had just re-used the same tactic they’d used together last year to get rid of some interfering Russian agents. How could he have been so stupid?

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up about it. It fooled Tanner anyway.” Rivers placed the flat of his palms down onto the wooden table, as if finally coming clean. “So, it’s just us okay? You and me.”

“And what on Earth makes you think I would want that?” Sam stared past Rivers as a murmur of applause echoed around the club. Brigitte Lavelle had just taken to the stage for her second set.

“Because I know the location of the Agency database download, and you don’t.”

Sam’s attention snapped back to Rivers. “You mean she’s really here? In Rome?” Sam could feel his pulse beginning to rise. “I… I thought you might have made that up as well…”

“Well, hopefully she’s still here. But at least we know where to look.”

“Where?” Sam leant forwards, his natural inquisitiveness drawing him back in.

“A mansion. On the outskirts.” Rivers leant forwards, staring deep into Sam’s eyes. “So what do you say? Give me a chance to make this right again.”

Sam could feel his guard lowering as his hopes began to rise once more, but he quickly checked himself. He was supposed to be angry at Rivers, but so far wasn’t doing a very good job at it.

“I ought to knock you on your ass for what you did to me.”

“Take your best shot. I’m all yours.” Rivers leant back again, smiling broadly, his arms outstretched.

Sam paused for a moment, his pink lipstick covered lips breaking into a smile of their own.

“If you insist.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Rivers watched as Sam slid back out of the booth, smoothing his white skirt before walking off in the direction of the bar. Rivers turned his head, his gaze following the tap of Sam’s high heels, drinking in the sight of his partner’s long shapely legs and his peach of an ass.

He kept watching as Sam stopped to speak to the owner of the bar, pointing back towards Rivers, though the music from the stage prevented him from hearing what was being said.

He’d always hated jazz.

The owner looked back over at Rivers, his expression quickly darkening. What the hell had Sam just said to him? Rivers quickly pulled himself out of the booth in time to see Sam’s ruffled skirt bouncing at his hips, as he began to climb the stairs leading out of the club.

Rivers went to follow when two large men blocked his path.

* * * * * * * * * *

Sam stood outside the club, his heels slowly clacking against the sidewalk as he paced back and forth. He folded his arms across his chest, finding it helped to ward off the evening chill. At least it wasn’t raining anymore.

He looked up to the hotel across the street. To its crumbling brick work and garish neon sign. To his room on the second floor where he had discovered the transfer device and the camera footage. He still didn’t know the full story about why the Agency had done what they had, but Rivers was right, they couldn’t discuss something like that in a public place.

He still had so many questions, and like it or not, he needed Rivers to get his answers and to find Antoinette.

Sam turned at the sound of the club entrance door opening. He stood back, watching as the bouncers pulled Rivers from the stairwell. One had a firm grip on his jacket, the arm sleeve now torn along the seam. The other readied a closed fist, bringing it swiftly to Rivers’ face. Rivers flew backwards, hitting the side of a parked car before sliding down into a large puddle of rainwater.

Sam grinned and nodded a thank you to the two doormen. They chopped their hands together as if they had just finished taking out the trash, before disappearing back into the club.

Sam looked up at the star-lit night sky as he slowly made his way over to Rivers.

“I told them you tried to touch me up in the booth.”

Rivers grasped the wing mirror of the parked car, using it to pull himself upright. Sam couldn’t help but wince at the sight of his now swollen and bruised eye. His suit was torn and soaked from the wet ground, though he still tried to maintain some composure as he stood and straightened himself.

Rivers sighed, “So are we even now?”

Sam’s blonde hair gently blew in the breeze.

“Not even close.”

TO BE CONTINUED…