Page 40 of Perfect Vengeance

Gina tossed a balled-up piece of foil onto the table. “We’ll make sure it doesn’t.”

“What if it does? No, wait. Let me guess.” The redhead held up her hand. “As always, Jack, if you or any of your special team are caught, the United States government will disavow any knowledge of your existence. This tape will self-destruct in five seconds.”

He snorted at the Mission Impossible reference. “Tom Cruise, I’m not.”

Annabelle’s surly expression lightened until the edges of her mouth quirked. Finally, a thaw in her prickly disposition.

He pulled a combination earpiece-microphone from his jacket pocket. “We should go over a few more things before we head out, communication being the first.” He tossed the combo kit with its mini power box and wire attachment onto the glass-topped coffee table. “I know you have your own rigs, but mine have a secure channel allocated solely to the FBI and used only for undercover ops. No one else can break into this channel or hear us.”

Gina picked up the kit and unwound the wire coiled around the battery box.

“I’ll help you hook it up before we head out.”

She nodded, and he turned to address the other women, who seemed to have put their antipathy toward him aside and were now listening intently. They might hate his guts, but beneath that veneer of pampered richness, they had a professional side that took over when there was work to be done. Yesterday, he’d admired that same quality in Gina. Her lightning-fast assessment of Psycho’s house and security system was balls-on accurate, and her detailed drawings had impressed the heck out of him.

“Both vehicles,” he continued, “will have a hand radio set to the same frequency as the transmitter Gina will wear. She and I will be in my truck with Kinsey. Margo and Annabelle in the rental. Margo and Annabelle will run countersurveillance along the street behind the house. Kinsey will take the street in front of the house and pick us up when we come out.”

He dug into his other jacket pocket, fumbling with his injured hand until he pulled out a small gray plastic box. Using his thumb, he flipped open the hinged lid, exposing the slim, black pea-sized device nestled in a piece of foam padding. He gave it a quick inspection and was about to close the lid.

Gina edged forward on the sofa. “Is that the bug you’re going to plant?”

“Yes.” He handed her the box. “You can take it out, just be careful with it.”

She plucked the bug from the padding and held it under the lamp on the end table.

“How does it work?” Annabelle eyed the gadget with curiosity. “It’s so small.”

“True, but in this case”—he flashed Kinsey a quick smile—“size doesn’t matter. This little beauty can pick up a whisper thirty feet away.”

“Wow.” Annabelle nudged Gina’s shoulder and held out her hand. “Let me see.” Gina stuck the device back into the padding and handed her the tiny box. “How long does the battery last?”

“There is no battery. I’ll wire it into the internet cable to power up.”

Annabelle passed the bug to Kinsey. “Is there a tape recorder inside here too?”

“No, that would require too large a device, something that could easily be seen and too difficult to retrieve.” He was surprised at the redhead’s sudden shift from nagging to interested.

Margo examined the bug next. “Then how do you record conversations?”

“This bug detects sound and transmits conversation off-site via microwave signals to a nearby tower. From there, the signal is sent to another location where it’s recorded.”

“Amazing.” Annabelle eyed him with fascination, no longer intent on cutting him up for shark bait. “Just like in the movies.”

“Annabelle is our resident Hollywood expert,” Kinsey explained, tucking her long dark braids behind her ears. “She’s seen The Untouchables at least ten times. Elliot Ness is her idol, and she’s in love with Kevin Costner.”

Jack grimaced. Kevin Costner was only an actor. Hardly the real thing.

“Please.” She waved her hand at him. “Call me Anna.”

Gina groaned. “Oh, brother.”

Anna inched forward. “I realize you can’t reveal too much information, but what kinds of things do you hope to record with this bug?”

“General intel, evidence of crimes committed by any mobster, particularly Franco and Tino Falzone.”

“Ahhh.” Anna nodded. “But why don’t you just plant a bug in Franco’s or Tino’s house?”

“I would if I could. I don’t have PC—probable cause—to plant devices in their homes.”