Tourists come from all over the world to see New York, all kinds of people, looking for the quintessential American experience. Who doesn’t like a good steak? Maybe it works. Mitch had tried to get Sadie to go there, but as part of her new plan to live a more balanced life she was sticking to a plant- based diet. But tonight she would go there for Cassy.
As Sadie looked at the mock saloon-door entrance, she screwed up her mouth. Maybe Jimmy’s was just what it appeared to be, another popular restaurant, not a front for a group of foreign wing-nuts. It didn’t look like a trap.
But she was alone.
And he was an assassin.
She could swallow her nervousness, but her mind would not quit. What was she doing confronting the man alone? But the thought of losing Cassy refocused her. She had to meet the drone-master.
Sadie scanned the street one last time. The first thing she learned in the spook business was to expect the unexpected. Did the KOTL have real estate in New York? Possibly. There were so many holes in the information Cole sent her, anything was possible.
Cole. If she were a good girl, she would tell him what she was about to do, but Sadie was not a good girl. Never had been. The image of Sebastian tied to her bed, naked, flickered in her mind’s eye. No she wasn’t a good girl.
She checked her phone. No calls. 6:55 p.m. Her warning voice screamed at her to stop, but she walked through the door anyway.
Light from the city streamed through the wall of windows in the narrow room. It smelled of beer and people—lots and lots of people—as if it hadn’t been aired for months. An old-fashioned, wooden bar looking worn and well-used, framed the back wall. They probably scavenged it from the set of a Western movie. A well-known, country singer Frankie somebody, sang about his unfaithful lover over speakers mounted on the walls.
Sadie took inventory: fifteen small, wooden tables, forty people drinking, mostly beer in large mugs. The patrons came in all colors, textures and styles—a hodgepodge of humanity. It was so all-American-freaking normal and down-home rowdy it prickled her skin.
“Grub upstairs,” read the sign hung on the far wall, to the side of the bar. Where was her cowboy hat when she needed one? Smiling at her own joke she slipped up the stairs to the second floor with her right hand resting on her gun stashed in her purse.
The second floor smelled of steaks sizzling on the grill. The tables covered in plastic red checkered tablecloths were set off in booths for privacy. Kitchen relics from the last century sat on a high ledge that lined two walls. Below them hung large Norman Rockwell prints of an America everyone wished they lived in, but no one ever had.
In one corner, a young man in denim from head to foot and really cool, cowboy boots, strummed a guitar and sang about making love in his pick-up, his twangy voice barely audible over the chatter of the patrons and the clanging sounds of the kitchen. With the two exits firmly etched in her mind, she tightened her grip on the gun and looked closer at faces.
There were lots of smiling faces and she filed each one into her memory. Then her eyes locked on the man sitting in the corner staring back at her. She nodded at him.
He nodded back.
How do cowboys say, “Bingo?”
Her throat narrowed. But she didn’t care. She needed answers.
Cole wouldn’t want her meeting an assassin, alone. His sweet, southern drawl would flow over two words: “suicide mission.” Well, screw him.
Sebastian definitely wouldn’t want her here without him either. He’d be cursing in Dutch right about now. He had to get over it. This meeting was all hers.
Lifting her chin high, she strode across the room.
When she neared his table, he stood and she took a good look at the man who tried to kill her. Mediterranean coloring, a stocky build, dark and murky eyes that showed little emotion. He stood shorter than her, maybe five ten, and wore an expensive, white, dress shirt, perfectly pressed, and black CK slacks. The tilt of his head screamed, “Entitled.” He reached his hand out to her. “Leon Krykos the Fourth. Please, sit.”
The fourth? Her gut twisted. Over her ten years working as a spy, she had encountered many challenges, played a chameleon a million times over and told hundreds of lies. For that matter, her entire life had become one enormous lie made up of little lies. She had become a living, Russian babushka doll, with layer upon layer of deception. But no deception she had created came near to what she had to do this time. She had to get the better of this man. Cassy’s life depended on her manipulation skills. It was no longer a game to beat the bad guy. It was a game to save her dog. She swallowed.
Sadie looked at his outstretched hand. Did she have to shake it? The hand of a man who had tried to kill her? It looked normal enough, but the long fingers, manicured nails, and olive skin covered in curly black hair made her want to retch. She looked askance.
He let his hand fall to his side.
Fixing her eyes on his with a stare meant to be strong enough to bounce off the back of his eyeballs, Sadie sat down opposite him. She fought with the tiny muscles in her face to keep her expression emotionless. “Why do you want to kill me?”
“It’s not personal.” He shook his head with an arrogant casualness that made her want to pull her gun, shoot and ask his corpse questions. Seriously, nothing is more personal than murder.
“Why then?”
He grimaced, then looked away from her. “I have no choice.”
“I see. You have to kill me or…” She let her sentence hang between them while she studied his round brown eyes. They had orange streaks in them, but the lighter color gave them no warmth or depth. They were like sewer pits with no dimension. But they weren’t the eyes of a killer. They were more like lost, little, boy eyes renting space in the head of a man. Not a good sign. He could be less predictable than most assholes and more dangerous.
“I need to kill you quickly, or lose my future.”
“It’s about money.”
He flinched.
“Honor?”
“A bit of both, but the truth of the matter is that it doesn’t matter why I kill you, only that I do.” The cold hollowness of his voice resonated inside her. It didn’t scare Sadie. It made her friggin mad.
A young waiter in a cowboy hat arrived at their table with a tray full of steaks, salad and beer. Shifting her gaze she took in the young man: twenties, handsome in a country-singer kind of way.
“I ordered for us,” Leon said.
“You assumed I would eat with you?”
The young cowboy looked from Leon to Sadie, shrugged and put a plate of food and drinks down in front of each of them.
When the cowboy finished setting down their food and moved out of hearing range, Leon said, “I wanted us to look normal.”
“A woman and her assassin, normal?” Sadie narrowed her eyes.
“I want to make a deal with you. I have already taken the first step to show you I mean well.” He passed her his cell phone, which showed a photo of a man handing a vial to the receptionist at the Brownstone Vet Clinic. “Your dog will survive.”
Sadie’s heart burst with joy. She gave him a solid nod. This had to be the strangest negotiation in history.
“So you see I kept my end of a bargain. I promised you the antidote for poison if you showed up. You showed up and I delivered. I keep my word.” The light reflecting off the sparks of orange in his eyes made him look like a hungry animal. “Now I want to offer you a deal.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I am doing this for the KOTL.”
Sadie nodded.
“They. . .”
“Yes, I know. They protect the Emerald Tablets.” What a pile of hoo-haw with relish.
Leon tilted his head and screwed up his mouth. “Something like that. Look I don’t understand it all.”
“But you want to make me a deal on their behalf. I get that. What can I offer you?”
“They want you dead, because you’re a threat.”
She nodded and w
aited.
“You must have some information I could take to them. I wouldn’t have to kill you if you gave it to me.”
“Hmm. I could just kill you.” The words slipped right out of Sadie’s mouth. They weren’t the best ones for a negotiation. Going for the jugular was not always wise. But Sadie had never been one to want to talk things over. She liked action.
A sly-smile slid across his face. “You could. But we both know they would send another assassin and another until you’re dead.” He left his point hanging in the air like a well-poised dagger.
Sadie yawned. “This game is getting tiresome.”
The guitar player started another song. This one was louder and harder to ignore. Something about long-legged Betty.
“Do we have a deal then?”
“Possibly.” She leaned back and folded her arms in front of her. “First, tell me exactly what information you’re looking for.”
He winced.
She waited.
“Hell, if I know.”
Sadie lifted a brow
“I assumed you would know what it is.”
“Nope.”
His eyes darkened to a deathly shade of cold, like death itself. He raised his napkin to his mouth, dabbed it, then put it down. With his other hand he reached for hers.
Odd, that he would want to connect with her, but maybe he needed that physical connection to seal the deal. Sadie left her hand on the table, allowing his hairy hand to cover it. His skin felt clammy at first and then she felt a sharp prick.
“Ouch.” She pulled her hand back. A single drop of blood dribbled on top of her skin. She rubbed at it. Looking up she saw his smile widen.
Her body started trembling. Her head felt heavy as if a toxic mixture of tar had been poured into it and the dark mass trickled into every corner of her mind and then her body. The room spun. Painful spasms gripped her stomach. What had he given her? She stood up to make an escape. Her legs shook and she couldn’t get her balance. She tried to scream, but she had no voice. Her legs gave way and she collapsed to the floor.
The spinning room turned black.
***
Sebastian couldn’t believe Sadie left him naked, chained to her bed. He pulled and pulled on the handcuffs, until his arms hurt like hell. He took a breath and kept pulling until his wrists bled and the pain reached a level that calmed his mind.
He grunted. Sadie would pay for this. He shook his wrists. Made of steel, the cuffs weren’t breakable and the fucking bed poles were just as strong. He was stuck. Godverdomme.
The handcuff keys sat on the bedside table within his reach, if he had free arms. His cell phone lay tucked in the pocket of his jeans, which were on the floor, also out of reach. Should he scream for help? The windows and door were closed and locked. No one would hear him.
Fucked. He had to face it. He was fucked.
The room still smelled of Sadie’s strawberry shampoo, which only made his predicament worse. He groaned. “All is fair in love and doggy-whatever,” be damned. Pulling on the cuffs again, he called out in pain.
What the hell was Sadie up to? He pulled again on his cuffs and the pain in his wrists increased. Probably meeting someone… He paused on that thought. Probably meeting the idiot who poisoned Cassy. And tried to kill her. He growled.
She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t be so crazy as to meet with the assassin. He groaned again.
He had grown closer to Sadie than to anyone else in the world. That was what he’d been trying to tell her. When he held her in his arms and her heart beat against his, he felt like they were one. It didn’t matter how silly that sounded. It’s what he felt. As if they had become connected, heart, mind and soul.
And that mind connection could really suck. Sadie had gone out on her own mission to capture the assassin. Alone.
He had to get out of there. Had to go to her. Get her out of danger. He pulled again on the cuffs and cried out in pain. Sweat poured from his skin. How could he protect her?
Closing his eyes he focused on escape. There had to be a way. In his mind he created the image of how he would do it. There had to be a way.
He took a deep breath and silently counted: een, twee, drie. When he hit drie, with all his energy he pulled on the headboard, and at the same time swung his legs up and over like a gymnast. His weight tipped the bed thirty degrees before it fell back into place. Maybe he could make his plan work. He tried again, and made it to forty five degrees. The third time he made it to fifty five degrees and the bed hovered vertical in the air for a couple of seconds, before it flipped onto its side and his feet hit the ground. Success.
He grunted. If they were going to stay together, Sadie would have to learn to behave. There had to be ground rules in a partnership. Like you don’t leave your lover butt-naked, chained to the bed. Especially when danger neared. Godverdomme.
What next Houdini?
There was no way he could make it through the door with the bed on his back. For that matter, there was no way he could unlock the door without hands. He stepped to his jeans, sweat pouring off him and dripping onto the floor. He stood on one leg of his pants with one foot and with the toes of the other nudged the cell phone out of the back pocket. His shoulders ached from the strain of carrying the bed, but he focused on his mission. After several minutes, he freed the cell phone.
A gleeful moment of triumph flew through his body for a whole seconds and then stopped.
How the hell could he use the phone? Big men have big toes and he had little dexterity in them. He pointed his big toe as if he were a gorilla attempting to dance a ballet and tried to hit the keys. The funny tone that came from the mobile indicated he had succeeded in hitting several numbers at once.
His red-head had pulled one over on him this time. Double-O-Red, that’s what he called her when he was angry. He’d make her pay. Oh yeah, big time. He smiled at that thought and let his body rest for a minute.
He tried pointing his toe again, and tapping the damn thing. Again his efforts resulted in a clamor of different tones. He tried again. And again. And again. With his luck he’d activate the 911 line and have to explain to them his situation. Heat rose to his face at the thought. He groaned. How could he have let this happen?
Oh yeah. He hadn’t been thinking with his brain. He clenched his jaw.
Seb looked at the phone again, a wonderful modern invention, but no use to him at that moment. He exhaled. No point in being a wimp. The phone was his best chance to get out. He tried again. And again. And then he heard a voice.
“Hello,” Seb called out. “Hello, can you hear me?”
“Buddy, you don’t sound good.” It was Xander, his best friend.
“I’m butt naked, and chained to a bed.”
Xander snickered. “Sadie?”
“Sadie.”
“You two have all the fun.” Xander laughed harder.
“She’s in trouble. I know it. I feel it. I’ve got to get to her.”
Xander stopped laughing. “Tell me where you are. I’ll get you help.”
“Sadie’s place.”
“Done.” Xander clicked off.
Now Sebastian had to wait. Wait and wonder what fucked-up mess she’d gotten herself into this time. There had to be ground rules. He’d sensed she was up to something. He should have asked her more questions before they made out. Oh yeah, Sherlock, as if that would have been possible. As soon as she touched your body you were lost.
A tingly feeling in his gut yelled at him. Sadie was in danger. He just knew it.
Godverdomme, he sucked at waiting. Seconds passed like hours. Sweat pouring from his body pooled on the hardwood floor.
Sadie. . .
12
Chapter Twelve
Even if he got free, Seb had no fucking idea where to look for Sadie.
Well that wasn’t quite true. After he lost her in Amsterdam, and then again in Egypt, he’d hatched a back-up plan. A man needed to be resourceful to stay with a woman like Sadie. Her company c
ell phone, the one she used to contact the CIA assholes had an extra chip in it she didn’t know about. Luckily the CIA techies hadn’t sniffed it out yet. It hadn’t been easy to steal and tamper with it, but he’d done it. There was more than one devious player in their relationship.
Sebastian’s friend Seamus who worked for Interpol and understood all the spy-geeky stuff, assured him it was the latest technology and virtually impossible to detect with regular sensors. Apparently, you had to know what you were looking for to find it. Anyway, it was on her cell and if he activated an app on his phone, he could find her.
His gut twisted. The weight of the bed on his back, and the strain on his shoulders from the uncomfortable position they were forced into, were nothing compared to the frustration of not being able to locate Sadie.
The two New York City policemen who came to his rescue didn’t laugh. They didn’t even ask him a lot of questions. They looked him up and then down and shrugged.
“The keys are on the bedside table.” Seb said.
The older one nodded and scooped them up in his hand. It took a minute to release him from the bed.
Sebastian thanked them, and the cops left. He heard the younger one say to his partner, “Hope she was worth it.”
After Seb pulled on his pants he checked his cell. According to the tracking app linking him to Sadie, she was in Times Square. He took the Beretta he kept in New York from the cupboard, shoved it into the back of his pants, grabbed his jacket and started running.
Ten minutes later, as he neared his destination, the signal started moving. Great, a moving target. He wiped his brow and looked around. He found himself in front of a cowboy steak joint. In New York? Why not? The red dot on his phone indicated Sadie was coming towards him.
See, Seb, life always turns around, if you give it time. He smirked. Unless you run out of time. Sadie where the hell are you?
A jingle from his phone alerted him to a text coming in. Could it be Sadie? He checked. ID: Brownstone Vet Clinic. He opened it. “The vial with the antidote was received and we gave it to Cassy as per the instructions. He’s already looking better. I’ll update you on the hour. Dr.Shned.”
Lovin' Danger: Mata Hari Series Book 4 Page 6
