Sarah kicked Michaela out early the next morning, just in time to get ready for work.

Michaela went home and slept for a few hours, and after getting up went in to the Agency to read the new file again. There wasn't much to go on with this case, so she rang the contact number given in the file, and left a message asking to meet.

~

She was changing for the evening job when the secure mobile buzzed on the bed. She recognised the caller ID. 'Hello.'

'You left a message?' The voice was cautious. Female, young-sounding.

'Yep, thanks for ringing. Just on my way somewhere, though.'

'You wanted to meet.'

'I think it'd be helpful.'

'Makes sense. When are you free?'

'About eleven tonight.' The fact that her new case was a woman intrigued Michaela. 'I'll text you, if that's not too late?'

'Good, no, that's fine.' The voice paused. 'Thanks.'

Michaela was intrigued by the genuine gratitude, as well. 'No problem. See you later.'

~

Once at the location of the take-out, a private club, Michaela scoped it, then made herself unobtrusive amongst the other waitresses. Steve's tame supervisor acknowledged her with a quick nod.

The hit was straightforward, just a matter of subtly slipping some powder from a sachet in her skirt pocket into the man's glass of whiskey after the meal. The drug was fast-acting, left little trace, and made the whole thing feel like heartburn.

When she could, she slipped away from the event and out of a back door, pulling a denim jacket on over her blouse. Within minutes, she was a safe distance away from the building, on the anonymous streets of the city.

Looking at her watch, she noticed with pleasure that she was earlier than she'd expected. She paused on a corner and texted the mysterious number from earlier. The contact replied with a street name and the instruction to be there forty minutes later.

~

The rendez-vous was about ten minutes away. Michaela strolled leisurely in that direction and still had time for a drink in a bar.

Heading back outside to wait, she calculated that, by now, her target from earlier should be feeling slightly queasy. She took up a position in a sheltered doorway opposite the bar. A few cars passed along the road, but only one parked up: a grey Peugeot hatchback, but she couldn't see the driver clearly.

Her work phone buzzed. Grey Peugeot when you're ready. Make it like we know each other

She slipped out of the doorway carefully and strolled up the road, then crossed behind the car. The driver was in a coat and scarf, and there was just the hint of long hair under the cap. Michaela moved confidently but with all her peripheral senses alert, around the car and up to the kerbside door. She tapped the window lightly and slid quickly into the passenger seat. 'Hi.'

'Hi', said the driver, already engaging the gearstick. 'Sorry about this.' She gunned the engine and pulled out, accelerating to the end of the road. She just managed to slip through the changing lights, and drove confidently, if too fast, for a while. Michaela stayed quiet, assuming the woman would talk in time. She also noted their route, just in case. Mainly, she wondered how her target that night was doing: he'd be getting indigestion now, and hopefully thinking about getting a taxi. With luck, he'd get home and be found the next day.

After about ten minutes, the driver pulled into the small car park behind a smart block of flats in a converted warehouse. She cut the engine. There was a streetlight nearby, but Michaela stayed alert. The woman turned and tugged her scarf down. 'Sorry about this. Do you recognise me?'

Michaela look carefully: good-looking rather than pretty, mid-twenties; attractive dark eyes and smooth olive skin; wide, sensual mouth; tall and slim, with a good figure under the nice coat. She hesitated. The woman took off her cap and shook her luxuriously curly brown hair out. A faint glimmer of recognition (or certainly interest) stirred in Michaela, but she shook her head. 'Sorry. Should I?'

The woman shrugged. 'Doesn't matter. Some people do, some don't.' She bit a nail. 'What do you know?'

'About this case? Not a lot. The file was pretty vague.' Michaela shifted in her seat to face the woman as best she could, and moved her bag from her lap to put it down by her feet. She smiled while looking around quickly. 'I hope I can help, though.' As far as she could tell, the other parked cars nearby were unoccupied.

The young woman seemed to take her in properly for the first time, running her eyes quickly over Michaela's neat hair and smart blouse, her legs below the short black skirt. 'Where have you been? You look like a waitress.'

'Cover for a slightly different job, but that's the effect I was going for.'

'What do you mean?'

Michaela sighed internally. She disliked talking about her work, even to clients. 'I was...tidying up a loose end for someone.'

'As a waitress?'

'Mm-hmm.' Michaela smiled. She realised the woman was taking her in fully and unhurriedly. 'It was a posh dinner,' she explained, liking the woman's gaze. 'This was the best way to be discreet.'

After a moment, the woman shrugged. 'Discreet is good.' She held out a hand. 'Victoria da Sousa.'

'Michaela Engel.' The two women shook hands, and Michaela liked the confidence of Victoria's grip. She also knew she knew the name, from the news maybe. 'Um, don't tell me...' She slowly released Victoria's hand while she thought. 'Oh, yes. Tennis. You got to Wimbledon last year.'

'I went out at the beginning of the second week.' Victoria shrugged, matter-of-factly. 'I get by.' She looked at her hands quickly. 'Perhaps I should say, I got by.'

'Why, what's the problem?'

'I'm being pressured to throw games. I've always refused, but they're very insistent.' She sighed. 'And unpleasant.'

'Rigged betting?'

Victoria nodded. Michaela spotted a hint of fear in her eyes and reached out to take her hand for a moment, squeezing it in a gesture of support. Victoria squeezed back instinctively and sighed again, then told Michaela the full extent of the pressure she was under: a syndicate of dodgy characters, with links both to several major businesses involved in the sport, and some elements of organised crime; a carefully organised approach to certain players, stretching across at least three continents and involving some top seeds as well as those lower down, and which had been several years in the planning; influence on several important tournaments...

Michaela listened quietly, and quite liked the trust and friendliness that was implied by the fact that Victoria was still holding her hand. Her arm was at a slightly awkward angle, though, so she shifted more towards Victoria and gently moved her wrist to rest their hands on her clasped knees. 'So...have you been to the authorities?'

Victoria shook her head. 'I'm not sure who to go to. Some of them are probably involved.' Unthinkingly, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the windscreen, she rubbed the back of Michaela's hand with her thumb.

Michaela wished she wasn't so aware of the nice feeling that gave her, and of the warm pressure of Victoria's fingers on her knees. Ever since her massive crush on the netball captain at school, she'd had a real thing for athletic girls. And Victoria had very, very nice hands. She took a deep breath and re-focused. 'And you've never got caught up in it?'

Victoria shook her head. She explained that about two years ago she actually won a game she'd been expected to lose, accidentally helping the betting syndicate, and since then the syndicate had made a couple of approaches. Then a year ago, she'd managed to lose a game through sheer incompetence and the effect of a bad wrist sustained during training. This had lost the betting ring a substantial amount of money, as they'd bribed the other girl to lose, and ever since Victoria had felt them step up the pressure.

'Why come to us?' Michaela was keen not to be too distracted by the feel of Victoria's hand through her tights, but unable to resist taking advantage. She shifted her legs slightly, so that she could press the inside of her other knee lightly against Victoria's fingers. She held her breath and enjoyed the situation for a moment.

Victoria slowly withdrew her hand from Michaela's, as if suddenly realising where it was. Michaela tried not to feel disappointed, as Victoria buried her hand in her dark curls instead. 'I'm not sure,' the sportswoman admitted. 'I have a file, dates and stats and so on, of games I suspect were thrown. Names, as well. I've got a bit obsessed with it.' She grinned sheepishly. 'It would be pretty explosive, though – the evidence definitely stacks up.'

'You want me to look after it?'

'It'd be a start.' Victoria indicated the block of flats. 'At least cast an eye over it?'

The two girls got out. The car park seemed quiet, but Michaela felt uncomfortable as they hurried across to a side entrance. She wondered if Victoria was being watched.

In the flat, Victoria suddenly relaxed, offering Michaela a drink, and pouring her a glass of wine even when she refused. She showed her the file on her laptop, and they sat at the table together while Michaela scanned through parts of it.

While reading, Michaela also studied the sportswoman. She noted the Portuguese heritage in her olive skin, dark curls and lively brown eyes; she carefully (and eagerly) noted the obviously very toned figure in the vest top and expensive jeans; the checked shirt Victoria wore open on top was high quality and just highlighted her figure underneath.

Michaela reminded herself that lusting after clients was a bad idea, even if it was good fun. Under the table, she moved her leg and pushed at Victoria's knee with her own. For a moment, their knees touched lightly, then Victoria moved and Michaela crossed her legs instead.

Victoria's gaze flicked to the empty wine glasses. She stood up and looked down at Michaela, who thought she possibly also just skimmed her eyes over her crossed legs. Victoria cleared her throat. 'More wine?'

Michaela shook her head. 'Thanks, but I should be going.' She stood up reluctantly, straightening her skirt hem quickly, and tried to read Victoria's cautious expression. 'I'll be in touch tomorrow.'