by Skye Knizley
He put the cooler on the floor between the two women and strapped it down. “No worries, Smoakie. Y’all are in for the ride of your lives. Just hang on and try to keep the kissy-face to a minimum. You might distract me.”
He winked again and closed the door. An instant later, he climbed into the pilot’s compartment and set about making ready for takeoff.
“I’m sorry about him,” Smoak said. “He really is one of the best pilots in the city.”
“I think he’s sweet,” Blaze replied.
“Hold on, ladies, here we go,” Kiril said over his shoulder.
The aircraft lurched and Smoak set about putting on her own safety harness as they taxied toward the runway. Minutes later, they were in the air, winging their way toward the coast.
Miami center was more attractive than many cities during the day. At night, it was breathtaking, lit in hues of gold and silver, shot through with pink, purple and blue. Kiril made two passes over the city at different altitudes and pointed out landmarks such as the boardwalk, Vizcaya gardens, and the Arena as he flew, his voice casual and easy.
After the second pass, he put the airplane into a steep climb, gaining altitude quickly.
“Pay attention, y’all,” he said. “We’re going to start the show. Make sure your seats are in the upright and locked position, secure your tray tables and, for God’s sake, keep your hands inside the aircraft. I already had an accident this month.”
“Funny,” Smoak said.
“Who’s kidding?” Kiril said with a smile. “Poor bastard lost a finger over Key West.”
The next fifteen minutes was better than any thrill ride in the world. In the back, the two women laughed, squealed and held onto each other for dear life as the plane dove, climbed, looped, spun and stalled, dropping out of the sky like a brick, only to climb right back up and do it again.
Kiril ended the show with an inverted stall that left the women feeling weightless in their straps as the plane fell. Weight returned as the plane rolled and recovered, low enough to leave a wake on the ocean below.
Breathless with excitement, Smoak looked over at Blaze and was surprised to find that the girl was looking at her, a radiant smile on her red lips.
“Wow,” Blaze said. “That was fantastic!”
“Thank you,” Kiril said over his shoulder.
Blaze laughed and gave Kiril a gentle slap on the back of his head. “I was talking to Kam. Turn around and drive the plane.”
“Pilots don’t get no respect,” he said.
Both women laughed and held hands, enjoying the adrenaline afterglow and the view of the city outside. After a time, Smoak opened the cooler and poured two glasses of white wine. She offered one to Blaze, who took it in her fingers and held it in front of her.
“What should we drink to?” Blaze asked.
“To tonight,” Smoak replied.
“To tonight,” Blaze declared. “May there be many more like it.”
They sipped from their glasses, savoring the fruity wine and enjoying each other’s company. When they’d finished their first glass, Smoak poured another and offered Blaze the selection of fine cheeses and exotic fruit Kiril had provided. She was surprised he had gone to so much trouble until she realized she really had been excited when she called Kir. For all his goofing around and playful banter, he was a very smart man, and he had known her since she was a teen.
She tapped him on the shoulder opposite Blaze and whispered, “Thank you.”
He smiled back with a quiet, “De nada,” and went back to his flying, taking the plane over South Beach.
“Thank you, Kam,” Blaze said. “Or should I call you Smoak?”
Smoak shrugged and sipped her wine. “You’re welcome. And you can call me either, Blaze. I answer to both.”
“Kamryn, then,” Blaze said. “For now.”
They rode in silence for a while, and the plane turned back over the glittering city, the lights from below dancing inside the aircraft. Blaze pressed the button on her harness and slid sideways until she was almost in Smoak’s lap.
“Do you like me?” she asked.
Smoak looked at Blaze’s lips, and again, felt that they needed to be kissed, hard and often.
“You know I do,” she said.
Blaze smiled and rested her chin in her palm. “No. I know we’re friends. I mean, do you like me more than that?”
Smoak let one tender finger trace the line of Blaze’s lip. It was pert, soft and trembled at her touch. “I like women, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Blaze reached out and caressed the side of Smoak’s face. “It’s what I’m asking. I wanted to know before I did this.”
The gorgeous flame-haired woman leaned forward and kissed Smoak. Smoak blinked in surprise but didn’t resist, her mind kicking her because making out with a client was just wrong.
Smoak touched her lips, surprised at the tingle she felt from that one delicious kiss.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” Blaze said.
She started to pull away, but Smoak caught her wrist and pulled her back until they were face to face.
“Yes you should,” she said. She ran a gentle hand through Blaze’s hair, watching how it spilled like flame over her fingers. “You definitely should have.”
She pulled Blaze to her and kissed her, brushing her lips over Blaze’s at first, then teasing her, then ravishing her with a rising passion that left them both panting and glowing in the distant light.
“You hardly know me,” Blaze whispered.
Smoak ran a finger down Blaze’s delicate neck. “And you barely know me. But we share the same feelings, the same desire. That’s enough to get us started.”
Blaze shivered at Smoak’s touch and fell forward into Smoak’s arms, her tongue snaking over Smoak’s slender neck and along her jaw, making her whimper and bury her face in Blaze’s hair.
Smoak loved the way Blaze smelled, the sweet scent of vanilla mixed with the candy of her lips, a scent that made her want to devour every inch of the gorgeous woman. She held Blaze close, relishing the feelings rising in her breast. She’d been with women, but she hadn’t really held one in years. Lust and blossoming love were two very different sensations.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Kiril called. “But we’re on final approach. I need y’all to stop eating each other, so I can get this bird on the ground in one piece.”
Blaze released Smoak and glared at Kiril. “There isn’t any eating going on, at least not yet.”
“Figure of speech, doll,” Kiril said. “No offense meant.”
Blaze made to move back to her seat, but Smoak held her tight. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
Blaze smiled back and snuggled into Smoak’s arms. They watched each other instead of the landing and neither missed a thing.
Dawn came early, the bright yellow sun of a new day bathing Blaze’s apartment in its golden glow. Smoak and Blaze lay on the sofa in a pile of arms and legs, a bottle of wine and a half-eaten bar of dark chocolate lying beside them. The pair had spent most of the night cuddling, kissing, talking and sharing their pasts with one another.
Smoak had learned that Blaze had grown up in multiple foster homes and had found them to be loving and caring people. The problem in most cases had been her. She and Rayne were often separated, and both would act out in an effort to get to see each other. Blaze had even stolen a car in an effort to be with her sister.
When they weren’t together, she turned to her music, locking herself away and losing herself in the warmth of her guitar. She’d done her first concert when she was fifteen and knew then and there she wanted to be a musician. She’d told Rayne, who’d promised they would be together and she would find a way to make both their dreams come true.
Smoak had told Blaze about her own childhood, growing up in a family that barely noticed she existed, being beaten and how she’d been saved by her best friend, whom she had known since she was eight. She also told her an abridged version of her
time in the military, focusing on her training and more common missions and skipping over her special assignments with General Chandler. Most of them were still classified, and no one would believe they’d ever happened, anyway.
She’d gone on to explain how she had left the military with a small retirement that she supplemented with dancing and what she called “odd jobs” that sometimes required her to be away overnight.
By the time they had finished swapping kisses and sharing stories, it was well after two in the morning, and the pair had simply drifted off together.
Smoak watched Blaze wake, her green eyes opening and focusing on her first with a hint of confusion then with the glitter of recognition.
“Good morning, you,” Smoak said.
“Good morning yourself,” Blaze replied. “What time is it?”
Smoak glanced at the wall. “A little after seven. Do you have class today?”
“Yes, for most of the morning. I’ll have to get cleaned up soon if I’m going to make it on time. I can skip…”
Smoak shook her head. “No skipping, I know how important your music is to you, and I have work to do anyway. We can hook up later today, if you want.”
Blaze smiled and kissed the tip of Smoak’s nose. “Of course I want to, but for now, you have to let me up. I have to pee.”
Smoak laughed and sat up, letting Blaze off the sofa. She watched Blaze’s rear as she walked away and couldn’t help smiling to herself. Blaze was beautiful, smart, funny and, most important of all, she was interested in more than Smoak as a dancer. Blaze couldn’t care less if she was a dancer or a street mime as long as she was happy.
Smoak stood and moved to the window to look out at the morning sun. It had risen like a pink and yellow jewel, its light making the city shine as if Gaia herself had just given it a last polish.
The morning warmth and her happy glow were spoiled by a hint of darkness below. A black Ford Escalade was parked on the street outside the apartment. To most people, it wouldn’t have been worth noticing, but the pile of cigarette butts on the ground outside the driver’s door indicated it had been there for some time. She watched it for a moment, then turned for the door, pausing only long enough to write her number on a sticky note and leave it on Blaze’s phone with a note.
Had to go.
Call me when you get out of class
K
She took the stairs to the lobby and exited through the pool area. Once outside, she climbed the fence and dropped down behind a parked car, where she could get a better view of the parked Ford. She could see someone inside. He was male, with wide shoulders and hair that spilled over his shoulders.
Smoak hurried up to the SUV and climbed in behind the driver.
“Hi!” she said. “I saw you sitting out here and just couldn’t resist popping in to ask you what you’re doing.”
The man jumped in his seat and turned. “Get out of my car.”
“Not until you tell me why you’re watching my friend’s apartment,” Smoak replied.
“None of your business. Get out or I’ll drag you out.”
Smoak leaned forward in her seat and stared into the man’s grey eyes. “Why are you watching Blaze?”
The man pulled a pistol and pointed it at Smoak. “Last chance. Get out and forget you saw me.”
Smoak moved in a blur, her right hand gripping the slide of the pistol, tripping the release and pulling the slide off in a practiced motion that left the man’s weapon useless.
“Beretta M9,” she said. “I’ve been carrying one for years. It’s a good weapon, but the slide is stupid-easy to remove if you know how. It’s also the favored weapon of most ex-military. You’re not watching her. You’re watching me. Why?”
“General Chandler ordered me to keep tabs on you after you and Warrant Officer Higgins almost got killed yesterday,” he replied. “Can I have my slide back, please?”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” Smoak said. “And I don’t need John looking over my shoulder. Fuck off.”
“I have my orders, ma’am,” the man replied.
“And I’m telling you to go away. I don’t answer to John anymore, and you have no official orders. Don’t follow me and don’t bother Blaze.” She opened the door and started out of the vehicle.
“And if I do?” the man asked.
Smoak turned back. “I’ll send a bouquet to your hospital room.” She slammed the door behind her and vanished into morning traffic.
Ashley was up by 7:00 a.m. as she always was. She had an alarm clock, but the flashing lights always made her feel like she woke up inside a disco ball. Over time, she’d just gotten used to waking up when she wanted, and her internal clock hadn’t failed her yet.
She was stiff and sore from the previous day’s activities, and the bump on her head from Stepan’s gun felt like it was the size of a Zeppelin, but she was happy to be alive and facing another day.
She climbed out of bed and spent ten minutes stretching herself back into some semblance of humanity before leaving her room in search of Smoak. She found her friend’s room and the office empty. Not unusual, considering what Smoak did for a living, but worth checking. She found a text message on her phone sent that morning: Safe. On my way to Sunny Isles to see if anyone recognizes Stepan. Call later.
“Oh, good, you’re going to go rattle some cages,” Ashley muttered. “Brilliant.”
She dressed in a pair of jeans, sneakers and a cropped USMC sweatshirt that had been attacked by scissors and no longer had any sleeves. She ran a brush through her hair and flopped on the sofa to run checks on any Russian-owned businesses that owned helicopters. It wasn’t a long list, and none of them owned a Russian helicopter, at least not legally, but she did find a plastic surgeon named Igor Frulov, who had a helipad on his office building and, by a strange coincidence, it was big enough to support an Mi-38.
She jotted down the address and texted Rock a message asking him to come get her. She packed a fresh mini-backpack while she waited, then took the elevator down to the lobby. Rock arrived a few minutes later with yet another utility vehicle, this one an olive drab Conquest Evade custom made in Canada.
“Don’t you think this is a little conspicuous?” she asked when she reached the vehicle.
“No ma’am, not considering you and Miss Kamryn were almost killed by a crazy man in a helicopter last night. This is faster and tougher than a production vehicle,” Rock said.
“Yeah, and visible at five hundred yards,” Ashley replied. “People are going to think one of the Trumps is arriving.”
She climbed into the back and sank into the luxurious leather seat, feeling like a child in the overstuffed captain’s chair. She saw Rock watching her from outside and smiled.
“Yeah, okay you’re right, it’s comfy. But I still feel silly.”
“I’d rather you feel silly than dead,” Rock replied.
The drive into the heart of the city was long. Many of the streets were under construction and had been as long as they’d lived there. The plastic surgeon’s offices were in a twenty-five story building just outside the design district. It was a massive chrome and glass affair that was open on all sides. Ashley thought it looked like a pile of tinker toys put together by someone with a terrible case of hiccups.
She instructed Rock to pull around to the service entrance at the side of the building. He drove around to the side and swung around to park next to a box truck, leaving the Evade facing the exit.
“Just in case,” Rock said with a smile.
Ashley smiled back and turned her attention to her tablet. She found the security department’s wireless network and activated a program to find the password. It took all of thirty-three seconds for the program to spit out an active password and give her full access to their network. She keyed in a series of instructions that linked to her smartphone and handed the tiny pc to Rock.
“Press this when I get to the door,” she said, pointing at a highlighted section of the screen.
Rock took the tablet in his huge hands. “Be careful.”
Ashley kissed his cheek and hopped out of the vehicle, closing the door behind her.
The side of the building, though no doubt considered the back by most people, was much like the others, save it had a sizable loading dock, much bigger than you would expect to find in a building full of doctors. Surveillance cameras covered both sides of the dock and the single service door, and she suspected that the burly man pretending to count the buns on a plastic pallet was a guard. Or the dumbest man on the planet, since he’d counted the same package of buns three times.
Ashley pulled the hood of her sweatshirt over her head and hurried up the steps to the service door. She patted her pockets theatrically when she got to the door and mimed sliding a card through the passkey slot. On cue, the magnetic lock disengaged, and Ashley passed through into a wide hallway. The loading dock door to her left was closed and sealed tight, and she could see what looked like a warehouse of sorts at the end of the corridor.
What does a doctor’s office need with a warehouse?
She proceeded down the hall and stopped at the corner. Ahead was a warehouse that contained a collection of crates of different sizes, all stacked neatly. The corridor continued to her left, toward a glass-sided security office. She moved quickly across the passage and into the warehouse, ducking behind the crates to get out of sight of the security office. A few clicks on her phone brought up the schematics she’d downloaded, and she followed them through the maze of boxes toward an exit on the far side. She crept past a row of metal doors, sealed tight with heavy steel padlocks, and paused.
The corridor beyond was clear, but that odd feeling she sometimes got was making the hair stand up on the back of her neck. She turned and looked at the nearest door, which she had taken for an ordinary storage cage. It took her a few minutes to crack the lock and remove the bar, which was heavier than it looked. She set it aside and pushed the door open. Years in the field hadn’t prepared her for what was waiting on the other side.
The room was perhaps ten feet long and four feet wide, decorated like a 1930s bedroom out of a horror novel. The wallpaper was torn and bloody, the single art deco lamp was covered in cobwebs and the bed, though perfectly made, was dirty and stained with old blood. A girl of fifteen or sixteen dressed in a torn and stained white nightgown huddled in the corner, rocking back and forth.
