Dead Reckoning

by C. J. Snyder

  Off to his left he caught the flash of a blade, rammed toward his chest. Ghost swiveled at the last possible second, deflecting the main brunt of the thrust, but not all of it. Surprise and a sharp pain seared his shoulder, distracted him for a single second. No one knew better than he; that one second could be fatal.

  *** The wig with blond highlights and huge bangs helped hide Mykael’s features as she parked in the lot adjacent to The Mirage. She slipped out of the heat, into the hotel and through the casino, ignoring the tourists as they happily fed dollars into the slot machines. She sauntered out a side door and slid into the back seat of a waiting taxi.

  “Circus Circus,” she requested, slapping skinny, dark glasses over her eyes. It wasn’t her final destination. Dallas Station was. The Black Fire agent called Ghost didn’t know who he was meeting. But she knew him. Even if he ignored her demands and tried to mask his identity, she’d know his eyes anywhere. No, she wouldn’t take any chances. She never did. Peter had taught her well.

  Ghost would deny her the information she needed, even when she turned on the charm. She’d get even more charming, take him to her cabin, feed him whatever information he wanted from her, and then he’d sleep. Once that communicator was in her hands, Ice would be dead and his body would be cold long before Ghost had a chance to warn him that his file had been accessed.

  At Circus Circus, Mykael slipped a chunky diamond on her ring finger, registered, and with her room key in hand, took the elevator up to the fourth floor. Once there, she skipped down one set of stairs and changed her blond wig for a mousy brown one in the cavernous stairwell before she took the elevator back to the lobby. In the lobby, she shimmied to the rental car booth, turning heads with each swish of her hips. Twenty minutes later, a credit card receipt clutched in her hand, she dropped her overnight bag into the trunk of a mid-size sedan, took the rear exit out of the parking lot and turned onto the highway, toward the north. Mykael forced herself to relax back into the seat.

  To think, to plan, to decide the next action, that was easy. Peter had taught her everything she needed to know to succeed today. She’d taught herself how to make it happen. So why did her heart pound when she felt absolutely nothing? Why did the blood dreams wake her drenched in sweat, when all she’d done was watch it flow?

  Not all you’ve done, she reminded herself unnecessarily. She’d vowed to avenge Peter, but not just Peter. There was Melina too, and the vow she’d made to make sure no other woman had to suffer. No other children stolen from their families and turned to burros for evil men. The horror of her chosen road cloaked her nights in dark dreams, ate at her soul, but she would not stop. Not until they were all dead

  The abyss. Born the day of her sister’s death, she’d nurtured it at first. It was good, not to feel. Not to mourn. When she’d lost Peter, when her beautiful baby boy had died scarcely a month later, the yawning chasm had truly come to life, swallowed up her insides. She hadn’t struggled, merely surrendered as she’d wiped away a final tear, welcoming the absolute vacuum.

  Now, after so long, she knew better. The abyss was no simple black hole, sucking everything in without a trace. The abyss was an entity, living, breathing, demanding more and more. She wanted out. She’d avenge her family. The pain of Peter’s death, and that of their son, would be waiting, so she would grieve. But the terrible ache that gnawed inside where her emotions should have been, that awful emptiness which left her cold, always cold, would leave.

  Or swallow her whole. If it did, she’d die. Death or escape.

  Did it really matter which?

  “Not to me,” she muttered, and drove onto the acres of parking outside Dallas Station Casino. ***

  Ghost watched the knife-wielding assailant dart out the door behind him, all before the security guards noticed him. The second man was not so fortunate. Ghost had the thug out at

  his feet within two seconds. He stepped away from the scene, right hand over the wound in his left deltoid to hide the blood, if only for a moment. A quick room scan revealed the only commotion to be the security guards, as they talked to the slot machine wrestler. Their attention would move soon enough to the man on the floor, He didn’t believe in coincidence, so the would-be slot-killer had to be involved. His gaze swept the room again. There, by the registration desk, with the entire length of the casino between them—Carlos Caldera. One of only two surviving male Caldera family members, thanks to Los Cochillos. The man headed across the casino, straight toward him with four large men surrounding him.

  The frenzied noise of the slot machines grew louder, impressions of the civilians present instantly clear. Shit. Caldera wouldn’t care where the fight went down, but Ghost did. Much closer, the guards were about finished with the slot machine assailer. If Ghost could draw Caldera and his friends into the parking lot, the casualties could be minimized. Even better if he could make sure the security guards found his attacker’s friend before Caldera and his thugs got to him. They’d give up, or at least have to find another exit.

  Ghost backed through the first row of doors, into the vestibule, where he was assaulted by a hooker. “Hey, sailor.” He tried to dodge her, but she plastered herself to his arm and slapped her own hand over his, heedless of the blood beginning to run between his fingers.

  “Sorry, I need--“ “I know just what you need. A Decoy, honey,” Mykael promised. She shoved him back against the wall in the vestibule. Lucky she’d worn the boots with the four inch heels. She remembered he was tall, just not this tall. Now if she could get him to cooperate, she might be able to get him out of this alive. Why the hell was Caldera at the hotel? Did Carlos know who she was? Was it possible he waited for her?

  No time! There wasn’t. Through the vestibule doors, she could see into the hotel, see two security guards kneeling before an unconscious man on the ground. They were between Ghost and Caldera but for how long? She yanked his jacket off his shoulders, stashed it behind a potted tree in the corner of the vestibule. Caldera would recognize his clothing. She draped her shawl over his shoulder and plastered her lips to the man called Ghost’s.

  Time…just…ceased. Her adrenalin, pumping so wildly a moment before, slowed. Her heart hiccupped. Her brain shut down. His left hand slid down her arm to her wrist. He turned her and her backside hit the wall as he pushed her hand behind her back, then trapped it there with their combined weight. Once again using his left hand, he cupped her face, tipped her head back to better fit his lips against hers. At total odds to the strength which oozed out of his pores, the kiss was soft, a gentle brush of his lips over hers, once, twice and then just the tip of his tongue, with a request.

  Mykael heard herself moan and opened her mouth to this stranger’s kiss, helpless to stop wave after wave after deluge sweeping over her body, roaring through her veins, reviving every nerve ending to a blinding awareness of the mouth moving over hers, the fingers now stroking her cheek, the rock hard wall of muscle brushing against her breasts. This touch, this kiss, this man.

  Slowly, her brain regained function, enough to realize that while his fingers still stroked her cheek, his lips no longer moved over hers, but they made their way to her ear instead. “Pleased to meet ya, Decoy,” he whispered then released her to lift her hand, tucking it between their bodies. “We’re in the middle of an ambush here.” What did he think she was? Two? She tightened the hand that still held his left shoulder, pulled him closer so she could see over his massive build. Her movements brought the back of his hand into direct contact with her right breast and Mykael’s knees weakened for a split second.

  Enough!

  “Security is hauling away the one on the floor,” she reported.

  “How about a guy with a close circle of four friends?”

  “They turned around and headed out when security found the guy on the floor.”

  His fingers moved very slowly considering the urgency of his whisper. Up over her chest, splaying slightly at her collarbones, then stroking the column of her neck up to her face,
captured once again. “So they left?” His breath mingled with hers, smelled of cinnamon. She wanted to taste him again.

  “Pulled out a few seconds later. Which is why I opted for this wall.”

  “Smart girl. Are you ready to go?” Instead of urging her through the doors, which she’d expected, he planted his lips over hers and kissed her again.

  Like before, Mykael’s brain timed out. She kissed him back, not to provide further cover, or even to encourage his charade. She kissed him back because she didn’t have a choice. Breathless in mere heartbeats, she knew she was drowning and didn’t care. Had anything ever felt like this? Tasted like this? Reverberated so deep inside it stopped time?

  Ghost ignored his throbbing shoulder and all common sense. The two of them were hidden from the inside of the hotel by a duo of potted palm trees, so they’d have the offense of surprise if Caldera had left one of his thugs to clean house. He took a moment to slide his hand over the soft curve of Decoy’s hip, urging her body against his own, allowing her to feel just how much of a charade this wasn’t. The softness of her skin, the pure honey of her lips, the woman felt like nothing he’d ever experienced, resurrected things he’d sworn long dead. He needed a moment more, a heartbeat to explore, just long enough to feel her hips surge forward at the intimate contact and extract another tiny moan from the back of her throat.

  That sound pulled him back. If she made another one like it, he wouldn’t be able to stop. As it was, he didn’t break contact with anything but her lips, resting his forehead on hers, the clash of their heartbeats keeping time with the swallows of air he needed desperately.

  “Damn.” He removed his left hand next, placing it palm out on the wall next to her head as punctuation for his expletive. What the hell? This was an op. The perps were escaping and he stood in the vestibule kissing a woman? Kissing Decoy? Decoy was a woman?

  “You ever try anything like that again without an invitation, it will be the last time you ever are able to try anything like that again.” Her knee grazed him, provided her exclamation point. “Are we clear?”

  Ghost pushed off the wall to get out of range of her knee and give her some space. “Ma’am. Yes, ma’am.”

  Mykael lifted up to her toes and pressed a kiss against his cheek, then another against his lips. “My car’s out here.” It seemed like a dare, like she taunted him. She slipped past him beneath his straight arm and was out the bank of doors before he could blink. It took him five giant strides to catch her. When he did, she slid her arm up around his shoulder, capturing—covering?--the whole bloody mess with her palm. He had to fight to keep his surprise from showing on his face.

  “You’re scaring me, angel.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I do.”

  He knew the moment her fingers found the knife slice not by any reaction from her but because she pressed harder on it and he nearly swore. “What the hell are you doing?” “Saving your ass.” If their location had been secure, she would have stopped to give him an incredulous stare. Instead, she slapped his hand where hers had been. “Push.” Then she unlocked the passenger door of her rental for him and crossed behind the tiny car, pulling out a packet of wet wipes to clean her fingers before she slid in behind the wheel.

  “I’ll drive,” she told him. The look on his face had her thinking maybe he wasn’t. Thinking. “Where are we going?”

  She ignored his question, started the car and hit the gas, hard. “Did you plan that little rendezvous in there?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “No.” She spun around a corner, nearly on two wheels, throwing him into the window. “How deep is the cut?”

  “Deep enough.”

  “Use your shirt. I’ll get you another when I stop to buy bandages. Do you know who it was?” “I have a couple of guesses.”

  “Who knew you were meeting me?”

  “It’s got nothing to do with you.”

  She kept her eyes fixed firmly forward. Fine with her if he wanted to believe that. She knew better. Caldera’s presence was proof enough.

  “Where are we going?” he repeated.

  Mykael gave him an icy smile. “Need to know.” She could feel the tension rise off him like steam off a hot, wet street. “You are Decoy?”

  “Yeah, Ghost, I’m Decoy.”

  His eyes narrowed. “And you’re a woman.”

  “Blood flowing north again? That’s good. What the hell were you doing at the hotel so early?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  She shrugged. None of his business. No way she would tell him Carlos Caldera was after her, not him. “Why’d you get hit?”

  “Need to know.” He sat back in his seat, but didn’t take his gaze from her face. She could feel him there, taking up too much room, too much air, just too much.

  “Was the guy on the floor the one with the knife?”

  “No. The one with the knife got away. The one on the floor was another of the ‘thugs’ I think you called them? They were not part of my plan.” “Yeah, rather put a wrinkle in mine, too. Along with you bleeding all over the carpet.” “Also not part of my plan.”

  “Do you have one? A plan,” she continued when he only stared at her.

  “We could do a repeat of the lobby. That part seemed to work well.” He gave her a grin and had her remembering. Mykael pulled into a strip mall parking lot and shut off the engine. Don’t fidget. And don’t you dare blush. The stern admonitions helped a little. She swiveled in her seat to face him. “What the hell is going on? There wasn’t supposed to be blood, this is a rendezvous. Or at least that’s what we agreed to.” Was he really Ghost? Could someone--Carlos Caldera?--have sent an imposter to lure her into a trap? She had a gun out of her boot and trained on him from her waist before he could blink. “Therefore. Who are you, and I repeat, what the hell is going on?”

  Chapter Two

  Ghost managed a slight smile. He knew better than to risk further movement. Decoy was far too tame a name. Hellcat fit better. “You’re right, angel. We were set for a rendezvous.” “Who are you?”

  Irritation, fueled by his throbbing arm, sparked inside. He tamped it down. She had a right to be suspicious. “Ghost, at your service, ma’am. Black Fire Unit Commander. Greg.” Her eyebrows quirked together and created a rendition of a puzzled kitten. Or a tiger bent on furious inquisition. Best not to forget that. Her damn gun still threatened his future children, too.

  Wouldn’t mind making one with her. Worst of all, he could still feel her, all willing and warm. With a brain to boot. Any woman who could think that fast on her feet. . . “Your team doesn’t do names.” Suspicion and distrust coiled out from her like twin snakes ready to strike him if he gave one wrong answer. “You’re right. But I kissed you. Or rather you kissed me. That changes things in my book.” He waited, but her only reaction was a faint blush. Interesting, that blush. It stole up from the slight swell of her breasts visible at the top of her kiss-me-red tank top, past her collarbones, climbed the smooth column of her neck, and crept over her face. When the tinge of color reached her eyes, they flared to life. She’d looked something like this, back in the vestibule at the hotel. Was she softening? Did she believe him? He imagined a hiss from those twin snakes and thought not.

  “Prove it.” “Your personal ads are in my duffel. Along with my weapons. You call yourself Decoy. You requested a rendezvous with Black Fire in Reno, in Sacramento, in Salt Lake City and in Phoenix, before this one today.”

  “How do I know you’re Black Fire?” Ghost frowned. Without classified clearance, there wasn’t much he could tell her. His mind raced back through the ads, trying to figure out what she obviously already knew. “Know lots of guys who use names like Ghost?”

  “Give me your phone.” He pulled a cellphone out of his front pants’ pocket, but didn’t touch the communicator at his waist. Her eyes were glued to the high-tech device at his belt, revealing where her interest lay. Damn, but he hoped he could turn her. She had moves it took m
onths to teach a rookie.

  As if she’d read his thoughts, the gun disappeared as quickly as a cat sheathed her claws. Decoy smiled and gave him a wink as she shook her head at his proffered phone. “A girl can’t be too careful, can she?”

  “Apparently not.” Who the hell was this woman? Decoy? A woman? That messed with everything he thought he knew about today.

  “Who hit you? How bad is it?”

  “I’m guessing it was somebody’s bodyguard. What I don’t know is how he knew I’d be there.” Her eyebrows made sharp peaks on her forehead. He didn’t think he’d ever seen eyebrows that had their own language before, but hers sure did. He grabbed his shirt at the shoulder and tore off the sleeve to get a look at the knife wound. He felt her gaze on the wound with as much curiosity as he had himself. Then he could nearly sense her eyes scrape back over him before she straightened and plucked a small piece of folded paper from the wound.

  “Bet it’s not a get well card” With just the tips of her fingernails, she unfolded the note and read it aloud before he realized what she held, or what she intended. “Settling an old score.” Not very helpful. He grabbed the bloody note and shoved it into his shirt pocket. She faced forward without another word. The car thrummed to life and Decoy pulled into traffic. “I’ll hit Wal-Mart. Shouldn’t take more than ten minutes to get us there.”

  Not a trace of anything in her voice. No anxiety, no worry, no anything. Obviously Decoy was good at—at whatever she did. What did she do? Who did she work for? That one was more important. His taste of that pretty mouth also had him fantasizing about what else she was good at.

  Had to be the blood loss making him want fantasies with Decoy. He hadn’t experienced a fantasy like her in years. Decades, actually. His brain shut off that pathway automatically, as it always did. Ghost didn’t do fantasies. Sexual or otherwise. Greg Lassiter didn’t either.