by Jaycee Clark
Elianya stood looking out at the crowd below, the few straggling up the staircase, those surrounding the small tables talking and laughing of whatever people talked and laughed about. Perhaps that table there was talking about their day, the group of ladies laughing about men? Though really, what was to laugh about men? Men were really such sad creatures.
Women, women were the strong ones and always had been. She knew that, hell, she proved it. The group of young boys pointed to the girls at the next table before leaning close to one another and laughing. Another man pinched a woman’s ass.
Here it was almost midnight and the place was still on a good leg. Give it another hour and things would deteriorate. There had been sex under the stairs, she knew, she’d done it with several of Viktor’s guards, heavy petting under a table, drugs passed as if they were candy.
To some it may seem wild and vice-ridden. She saw the potential for more. Prague was still such a simple city, its old world charm, friendly attitude, belied by the nightlife fun many could have, that many sought.
A shame she hadn’t moved to Amsterdam years ago. But business was business and though she might better feel at home in the Netherlands city, she also knew the need would grow and spread. Why open shop when there were already plenty saturating the market? No, she waited. Waited here, learned her brother’s contacts and used them when the time came.
She almost smiled.
Turning, she saw her brother watched her. “What?”
He tilted his head, his gaze running over her, his hands laced over his middle. “What happened to you? Where did I go wrong, Elianya?”
She frowned as if confused and cocked her head. “What are you talking about, Viktor?”
Stupid man.
She inched closer to him, and closer.
He shook his head. And she burst into tears.
“You think there is something wrong with me. I know it. I always knew it,” she sobbed.
The look of confusion on his face, the wrinkled brow almost made her smile.
“I should just kill myself and save everyone the trouble,” she muttered, pointing the blade at her wrist.
Viktor reached for the knife, and when he did, she grabbed hold of his hand and looked into his eyes. “Please, please help me, Viktor.”
His eyes narrowed and she brought the knife up, plunged it into his gut. He gasped. She twisted the blade and shoved him back into his chair. Leaning close she whispered, “There is no helping me. I only want what you have, brother and promiňte,” she said, apologizing. “But, I have to kill you. I’m sure you understand. It’s just business after all, and be honest, you ordered my own kill.”
His eyes widened and blood pooled at his mouth. He tried to reach out to his desk. She stabbed his arm, excitement coursing through her. Many believed stabbing was a man’s sport, but she was finding she liked it.
Freud would undoubtedly argue, but really, what did a knife have to do with a penis. It was merely a weapon. One she found she liked.
“Now, now, you don’t want it to end too soon. I have a present for you, after all.” She turned his chair to face the computer, but left him away from the desk so he would not be able to hit the alarm he’d installed. With a few quick taps on the keys she opened her own file. “Now look here, Viktor. You remember that man you trust so much with all your business . . .” A photograph of Dimitri Petrolov popped on-screen. Then it faded into another photo of him but with different hair, then again into another man with a blond beard. The pictures changed from one to another until she clicked the cursor on her favorite.
She watched her brother blink, cough. “What . . . is . . . this?”
“This is my parting gift to you. You might not know these, all these are the same man. Can you guess who?” She glanced at him, saw more blood pooling at his mouth. “No, guess not. Mr. Petrolov, or whoever he claims to be, is a mirror.” She walked behind his chair. The metallic scent of blood teased her nose. Leaning close, she said, “An illusion. My sources tell me he’s with a government agency. Either the Americans or Brits. Very sketchy.” She chuckled. “Of course, I plan to uncover all the truth.” His complexion had gone white, and rage glittered in his eyes. She laughed. “You want another secret? Some of your hits he never even carried out. He faked them.” She licked his ear, then whispered, “He lied to you and he betrayed you.”
She straightened, saw the blood on her white gloves, and plunged the blade into the side of his neck while he was too busy studying the photo of the man in black fatigues with an assault rifle.
Standing behind and to the side of him, she jerked the letter opener free. Blood splattered across her white-gloved hand and shot in a stream across to their right, arcing across the wall. She tossed the letter opener into his lap, hurried around the desk, pulled off her stained leather gloves. Carefully, she dropped them into her purse and donned her white coat. Looking at her hands, she noted they were mostly clean, and with the sleeves of the coat, no one could see the sleeves of her suit. At the doorway she paused, checking her reflection in the mirror. Her braid was still in place. She pursed her lips and wiped a small red speckle off her cheek. She grinned and then chuckled.
In the mirror she could see her brother’s body twitch. Stupid devil. His problem with her had been that he’d always underestimated her. The room reeked of blood and she turned.
The letter opener had slid in so easily after the first break of skin. She’d always loved the feel of a blade, the warmth of blood. A shiver danced down her back.
Shrugging, she walked to the corner of the room and pressed the hidden button in the light sconce. A small panel opened. She opened her purse, took out her key ring complete with the little flashlight attachment, and pressed the center, lighting the dark passage beyond. Elianya stepped through, pressed the switch on this side, the door swooshing shut behind her.
She walked down the hidden spiral staircase her brother had built into the wall in case the need ever arose, her heels clicking on the stairs. Place needed airing. Her nose tingled from the dust. The passage opened in an alcove in an employee area off the bar. The music thrummed through the air. She quickly closed the panel behind her and walked through the small room filled with boxes, bottles, and glasses. She pushed through the door as the bartender turned to shout at her before recognizing who it was. He nodded to her and she winked and smiled at him.
“Keep up at this pace and you’ll draw a hefty wage in tips alone, my friend.”
He grinned and set three glasses on the bar.
She strolled through the crowd without a care in the world.
Well, there was a care. His name was Dimitri Petrolov, or was at the moment.
Outside she leaned close and whispered to Ivan, “Tomorrow meet me at the regular spot.”
He smiled slowly and nodded as she walked to her car, still parked at the curb. Once inside she told her driver to head to her house in Kladno.
• • •
Raven sat in a car she stole from the car park of the hotel. It was a sporty little Audi, gray and loaded. The owner shouldn’t miss it until morning, and if it was reported before then, well, a stolen car would be nothing new.
She wasn’t about to have a cab sit here, rack up a price, and then have to explain as to why she wanted to sit here. Strangely enough people tended to remember things like that. Lights off, engine cut, she sipped the black coffee she’d picked up at a coffee bar.
She’d crossed the Vlatva River back into the Malá Strana, or Lesser Quarter. More open space and gardens over on this side. Old aristocratic homes lined the streets with the exception of a few modern additions, of which the warehouse-industrial building seemed to be. In her rearview mirror she could see the lighted walls of the castle.
There was no sign of a black BMW, but she waited anyway and was finally awarded because she’d been watching the second level.
Lights shone in the windows upstairs and shadows, silhouettes of at least two men, occasionally crossed in front of the
m. One she clearly recognized as Dimitri Petrolov’s, whether from his profile or something in his carriage, she knew not. She only knew he was inside.
So with whom was he meeting?
There. He crossed from one window to the next, turned back and back again.
Pacing, was he? Then he stopped. He stood now, in the light of the window, looking out before turning back to his guest.
Five million?
Since when did anyone in their right mind turn down five million because of a bloody instinct?
But she knew if she took the job and the money and later things arose that told her she’d made a mistake, she didn’t know if she could survive that a second time. She barely survived it the first time.
Her phone beeped. She glanced at it. Nikko.
She chose to ignore it.
Raven watched the shadows and wished she had a way of hearing what they were saying. At least she knew where to find the man.
Chapter 6
Dimitri and John climbed into his BMW after running a scanner over it. No bugs.
He opened the garage door and backed out.
As he drove away from his house, he asked, “Why Kladno?”
“I just remember a house there. A Renaissance residence she said one of her lovers had acquired for her. Since we can find no record of it, I decided we should check it out ourselves.”
This was the first he was hearing about it. Several blocks later, he checked his mirrors and saw three cars following him. He took E48 northwest out of the city.
“Why do you think this is the place?” he asked.
Cars piled up behind him. In the dark it was hard to tell if any were following him or just heading out of Prague to home, to another city, or even into Germany.
Neither he nor John talked as they drove toward the old city. The expressway was busy tonight. Cars passed him, and several he guessed were driving under the influence, even though it was prohibited. He had his expressway pass, which he always kept current. Never knew when he’d need to take a trip such as this.
The town of Kladno came into view, its lights winking in the night. An old city, it boasted a population of about eighty thousand. A big center of industry, especially coal for the Czech Republic, he knew it was a quiet historical town few sought out. In fact, he’d never done more than drive through it. There were other towns he’d visited, and preferred. Kladno, though charming with its mixture of medieval and Renaissance melding with the modern factories, had never appealed to him.
He followed John’s directions. Twice they took a wrong turn, but finally they arrived.
It was almost two in the morning when he pulled up in front of the large house on a quiet street. For all appearances, this was just the average historical town house, shaded a different color than the one next to it, but it was set behind its own iron fence and gate.
He looked around. “Does the house have a garage or a courtyard to park the car?”
A gray Audi drove passed them. He watched in the mirror as the car braked at the next intersection and turned right.
“I think there was a courtyard around back,” John said.
“This it?”
“Yes.”
“You’re certain? I don’t care to deal with the Kladno police because you think this might be the place.”
John didn’t answer as he climbed out of the car.
Dimitri looked up at the four-story house. He opened the door and climbed out of the car. Nothing moved. No one passed in front of the windows. The houses on either side were quiet and dark.
The air hung heavy with oncoming rains and the sharp smell of coal. He could hear the faint hum of the plants outside of town.
Their doors clicked in the night. He transferred his phone to vibration mode and watched as John did the same.
He pulled his SIG from his shoulder holster.
“Ready?” he asked John.
“I’ve been ready for three fucking years,” John muttered.
• • •
Elianya shook her head, shocked at what had happened. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.
With a curse at the guards who had heard nothing and had let the bastards leave—or so they said—she paced. What the hell did she do now?
“Madam?”
She stared at the body and wondered how the hell to get out of this mess. Leave it to men to fuck things up.
“What?” she snapped. They’d have to dispose of the body, well, bodies. She wasn’t about to chance leaving the other one alive. And they had yet to find the other one.
“Explain to me again, what the hell happened?”
The guard shuffled his feet, and said, “We thought . . .” He cleared his throat.
“Yes?”
“That is, we were going to do a practice run, and—”
She held up her hand. “You wanted to make a bit of money on the side.” She pierced the idiot to the spot. “Don’t lie to me. I’ll always know. I detest liars, and lying.” Well, she did. “Doing something is not nearly as grievous an offense as lying about it.” She crossed her arms and tapped her fingernails atop her sleeves. “Remember that if you don’t want me to end your career too soon.”
She looked back to the body. Young. Too damn young to be dead, and this one would have made her so much money. Small for her teenage years, she was almost an exact replica of her much younger and alive—though hiding—sister.
So much for the shoot tonight. Damn idiots. “Do not ever again try a stunt like this.”
The girl could easily have passed as twelve, and with some digital enhancements even younger. Shit. And the girls had been such a find—hell, even a bargain at the price she obtained them at from the greedy Ukrainian relative.
“There’s someone coming, madam.”
His words jerked her back. She whirled to the doorway where the guard stood. “Who? The police?”
He shook his head. “No, your brother’s man. Petrolov.”
Her mind racing, she realized this might not be so bad. “This might work. Kill him when he gets up here.”
His eyes widened.
She walked to him, patted his cheek and said, “He’s a loose end and it’s not as if my brother will care.” She laughed to herself. The guard, a remnant of Russia’s once feared KGB, merely narrowed his green gaze at her. “Do you wish to take Petrolov’s place?” she snapped. “I assure you, if he’s here, he has an idea of what’s going on, and he won’t like it. That one will turn on those involved. You don’t want him to see you. When you’re done with him, find the other girl and bring her to me. We should probably just kill her. I want no loose ends.” She shrugged. “No, let her live. But get this place cleaned. We have another appointment scheduled for tomorrow evening.”
She grabbed the edge of the counterpane and tossed it over the girl. “Wrap the girl and bring her to my car. Quickly. We’ve got to get rid of her.”
Hurrying out of the room, she turned on the next landing and motioned for her driver to follow her. To the other guard, she said, “Grab videotapes and the folder and CPU sitting on the office desk. Get those in the car in back and be quick about it.”
She looked over the balcony into the darkened entrance below. They’d enter the house at any moment.
Did Dimitri know his boss was dead yet?
Hurrying, she hoped they wouldn’t discover her library. Damn it. With any luck, her Russian guard would follow through with his job and then she could come back here and oversee the cleanup. They all but ran down the old servants’ stairs at the back of the hallway, down to the kitchens and out into the courtyard.
The cold night air hit her in the face, damper here than it had been in Prague. She watched her driver quietly shut the trunk lid. She slid in the backseat and told the guards to go back in and finish it.
The car started and pulled into the misty night. She watched out the back window, but no one followed. No shot fired. Nothing.
Chuckling, she smiled. So damn easy.
“I
believe we should head down to Vienna. I’m in the mood for a spa. What do you think?”
“Yes, madam.”
“Of course we must first dispose of some of our cargo.”
“Yes, madam.”
So easy.
• • •
October 31, 1:56 a.m.
Raven jogged through the night, watched as the men climbed over the gate. Two of them. She’d followed them all the way from Prague and just knew she’d been made several times, but apparently not.
Lights shone upstairs, creating halos in the gathering mist.
She should just stay out here.
From her point farther down from the house, she saw a car pull out into a back alley and drive in the opposite direction of the street they were all on.
She frowned.
No way they could have gotten inside and then driven away.
She should stay out here.
The darkness swallowed her black clothing and she put her hand on her gun under her jacket. Moving quickly, she climbed the black iron fence farther down from the gate. Perched precariously on the top, she scanned the ground and shadows. Nothing moved. She jumped, landed, rolled to her feet in one fluid motion, her gun out, scanning the area around her. Bloody trees cast some deep shadows.
She hurried to the side of the house, and decided on a darkened window.
Unzipping the pack on her back, she pulled out the suction cup and diamond bit. Contraption always reminded her of geometry class and those protractors that students could use as weapons if they so chose.
The glass cut quickly away, and she unlocked the window, swinging her leg up and listening before crawling in. Place smelled like a rose garden. She wrinkled her nose.
Showtime.
• • •
Dark. So dark.
She sucked her thumb, her heart thundering in her ears.
She saw what the men did. The mean, mean men. One of them hurt her. Hurt her bad. But she’d gotten away. She didn’t like his hands.
