Scarlet prowled the hotel bar, scanning the patrons for her target. Not the man she was going to kill. At least, not the man she was being paid to kill, but who knew where the evening might end up. Either way, she had found him. Dark hair, firm physique, piercing blue eyes. Her intentions for this man were more lascivious than homicidal. With a strut, she was Shadi, the easy-going blonde seductress.
All the important work for tonight's job was done already. Shadi was her go-to when she needed to seduce a target she stood out too much otherwise, but tonight she would work for an alibi. After all, she didn't need to be in the same room as her target, and being seen chatting up a handsome man at the bar at the time of death would distance her from suspicion.
Her dress wasn't too scandalous tonight. After all, this was a classy place, not some sleazy club full of half-naked dancers and free-flowing drugs. Her black leather dress clung to her figure, but didn't show much skin, especially paired with her thigh-high boots. Though, the peaking window of creamy cleavage couldn't be called modest.
"This seat taken?" she asked, her voice tinged with a note of hope as she held his gaze. Her free hand grazed the back of his chair, not touching him, but close enough to feel her body heat. Still, she had to be careful not to come on too strong. He might worry that she was her target. The errant thought brought a small giggle to her lips, an act she hoped he would take for flirtation as she slid into her seat.
"Shadi," she introduced, embracing the mask as she offered her hand. "I hope I am not bothering you. It's just the thought of spending the evening alone seems like such a waste."<|im_end|>
His target was getting suspicious. That wasn't a surprise. Cienor Jissard was a dangerous combination of highly skilled and highly paranoid, which is why the man was still loose. He'd stated a jump ahead for three years and four sectors, and now he'd wormed his way into the inner circle of the Sector Governor. It would be necessary to throw Cienor’s suspicions off before he woke up in an iso-cube. If he woke up at all. Because if Cienor persuaded Governor Berick that he was, say, a Separatist agent well, the Governor might just arrange to have him killed.
He fidgeted with the titanium cufflinks in his cream-colored shirt, flicked imaginary lint from his gray sleeve, and sighed. Undercover improvisation was dangerous. But not improvising could be fatal. So what could he do to stay within his established identity and still throw suspicion off?
This seat taken?
The voice, a smooth contralto, came from behind, accompanied by a gentle wash of displaced air that carried a subtle scent. He couldn't place it, but it seemed floral.
Not at all, he replied, rising and pulling out the chair. The woman, a well-built blonde in a damn sexy black dress, slid into the chair with a casual grace and extended a hand.
Shadi, she smiled. I hope I am not bothering you. It's just the thought of spending the evening alone seems like such a waste.
Smiling in return, he caught her hand by the fingers and raised it to his lips. No bother at all, a gentleman, he replied with a twinkle in his eyes, must always stand ready to rescue a lady in distress.
He chuckled as he released her hand, amused by the realization that the perfect way to throw off suspicion had just arrived. Harlan Kwan-Don, he said, offering his name in return. And quite seriously, the house wine is nothing special, but the pulkay is excellent.<|im_end|>