Jessica thanked her lucky stars for her near-bottomless expense account, then shuddered at the thought of the interview she was going to have with her controller when this was over. The room was tiny, but the furnishings were old-world lavish and the night's stay had a price-tag to match. There were tapestries on the walls and heavy brocade curtains at the french doors (or were they just doors here) onto the tiny balcony. The carpet was thick and luxurious and reminded her of the scene from Die Hard where Bruce Willis learns to make fists with his toes. She heaved a sigh. No time for that now.
She slung her battered carry on bag onto the hand-stitched, quilted bed-spread and thumbed the tumblers of the combination lock. Flipping the bag open she pondered her options. In the bag she had a small but specialised make-up kit; a black lycra cat suit, complete with mask and gloves; a lightweight crumple-resistant business suit, hopelessly crumpled; the indispensible little black cocktail dress; a pair of stylish black pumps, with a reinforced titanium low-rise spike heel; a couple of changes of basic underwear; a set of seduction lingerie including regular and fishnet stockings; a coil of light but strong silk rope and basic toiletries. That, what she had on her, and the contents of the room were all she had to work with.
Remierre was in one of the deluxe suites upstairs, but might not be for long. She had to come up with a plan. She kicked off the sneakers she had worn on the plane, then stripped off her sweater, shirt and jeans, dumping them unceremoniously on the floor. She stood for a moment in her bra and panties, looking at herself in the dresser mirror. With one hand she scrunched her hair up on top of her head, cocking it to one side. Hmm.
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