by james
“No.”
Elianya laughed and ruffled his short graying hair. “You are almost boring.”
He tapped again on the keys and picked up his camera.
Damn it, she wanted him to shoot the scenes. “I’ll pay you double what you
normally make here in three hours.”
Knowing his fees, she assumed he’d jump on that offer.
“No.”
“Over a grand an hour, Leos?” She raked her nails over his shoulder, but he shook
her off and stood. “You need to let loose some of those morals, my friend.”
His eyes didn’t stray from hers. “No, Elianya. Find another. I do this,” he
motioned to the girls sitting around props, two on the bed, another on the silk draped
floor, “but I draw the line at younger. Period.”
She huffed out a sigh. “Please, Leos?” She ran a finger up the front of his white
pullover.
“No.”
Damn. Elianya tapped her spiked heel against the floor. “It’s merely photos, Leos.
A click of the camera.”
He huffed out a breath, but he didn’t say no.
“I’ll add another five hundred an hour. That’s two G’s. Where the hell else can
you make that kind of money an hour, Leos?”
DEADLY GAMES Jaycee Clark 16
His shoulders dropped. “When?”
She smiled. “I’ll let you know tomorrow night. Probably, we shoot early on the
thirty-first, no? No, that’s tomorrow, isn’t it? Then on the first.” Elianya whispered, her
lips brushing Leos’s ear, “It’s merely a few photos, Leos. Don’t put me in a bind. I might
have to find another photographer. Then what would you do?”
He huffed a sigh out, glared at her and finally said, “What am I to do?”
“Take pictures and keep your mouth shut.”
Leos watched her, she saw the indecisiveness in his eyes, the shame. Poor ballless
wonder.
“Leave me, I have work to finish here,” he said, shoving back from the computer.
* * * *
She went by Raven, though her passport said something different. Her hotel room
was one of the nicer ones in Prague. She had arrived yesterday and had been
reacquainting herself with the old European cultural city. She only went for the best when
she was on vacation. Work, unless her cover demanded it, didn’t need to be top of the
line. Then again, she wasn’t staying in a backpacker’s hovel either. Her digital camera sat
beside her laptop, the memory card already downloaded the photo of the possible target.
He was in three-quarter profile, looking out over the busy street as he climbed
into a sleek, black BMW sedan with dark windows.
Dimitri Petrolov. Right hand man of one Viktor Hellinski, brothel owner, minor
crime boss, and God only knew what else. She pulled up a photo of Hellinski in another
window. Wanting to know everything about these two. Some marks were easy. People
rarely went for revenge anymore. She frowned and rubbed the back of her neck. These
days few knew how to successfully operate under true vengeance. People not of
Hellinki’s ilk. Hellinski was the type who had contacts, and he was, she realized as she
read further, rather high up in the whole criminal ring ladder. Which meant his best mate
was right beside him. If she took out Mr. Petrolov, she’d have to make bloody certain no
one could connect her. The backlash itself would more than likely be her head on a platter
handed to Hellinski himself.
She studied Dimitri’s picture again, wondered if that were his real name. He
didn’t look like a Dimitri. He was too … something. His dark hair was a little too long, as
if he didn’t have time to cut it, his hairline receding to ‘M’ across his forehead. Dark
eyes--blue? Black? Brown? They didn’t appear green. Man probably hit six foot, not too
muscular, but not lanky. Lithe, like the snap of a whip--lethal And since the streets had
dubbed him The Reaper, she supposed lethal fit.
Fine, he was a murderer, but then, technically so was she.
Cheekbones and jaw line were harsh and unrelieved, his lips neither too full, nor
thin. His could have been the face of a fallen angel. A dark shadow, well past fiveo’clock,
but not quiet a beard and mustache lined his jaw and upper lip. Something was
arresting about that face, yet if she saw him in a crowd, she wondered if she would have
looked at him again.
Her? Probably, but then she wasn’t exactly normal, now was she?
She picked up her pen and jotted notes down on a legal pad. One she would
destroy as she always did. There was no way anything would be traced back to her.
Though in this day and age, that was iffy, and depended on luck--whether hers or the ones
DEADLY GAMES Jaycee Clark 17
investigating were a matter of perception.
Petrolov worked for Hellinski, but she was finding out that Hellinski wasn’t easily
reached or found and owned several pieces of legitimate real estate. Must keep an excuse
to explain the income, yes? Then there was the restaurant and several nightclubs here in
Prague. Brothels in the hell-town of Cheb. And there was a woman.
Raven cropped and enlarged the photo of the blond woman standing between
Hellinksi and Dimitri. She was without question beautiful and had the same shape of eyes
as Hellinksi…. Ah. Sister. Miss Elianya Hellinski.
Did she know what her brother did?
Raven studied those eyes staring out from the photo--bloody right the woman
knew. Something in those cold eyes calculated.
Digging deeper in her search, she was surprised to find Dimitri Petrolov had only
worked with the Hellinski for a few years. About five. Moved up those ranks quickly did
he?
So where had the man been before then? Men who went by the name Reaper
didn’t just drop onto the organized crime circuit. Where did he come from?
She looked for another hour. Frowning, she read the flat report of one Dimitri
Petrolov, who hailed from Russia. But where? Russia was a big bloody country. Family?
None. Age? N/A. Raven scratched her cheek.
No one just jumped onto the scene. Was he educated? Or just a lackey?
Raven discarded that idea. A lackey didn’t join Hellinski and within two years
become his hitman, only to gain more power and the boss’ confidence in next three years.
She narrowed her eyes on Dimitri’s photo.
And why would someone want to get rid of him?
Hellinski would have his own men to take him out. Keep it in the family so to
speak. And that man, with his pale hair and amber, tilted eyes didn’t look like one to hire
a female assassin and certainly not under the name of B-Widow
Definitely a woman.
So who? A jilted lover?
Digging lower she read the material on what was known of The Reaper, who
enforced Hellinski’s hold and power. Maybe an escaped prostitute who fled out of the
stranglehold of those in charge of her?
The Reaper.
No one went against him. He, cleanly and efficiently, took care of any problems
that arose.
In the photo he was dressed in a grey pullover, black jacket, trench coat, and
pants. Man apparently liked dark colors. But then they blended well with the shadows.
Unease crawled under her skin.
Why?
He was just a mark. But reading th
e reports, she wondered. Something didn’t add
up. He should have worked for the boss longer to be this high up in power.
Digging deeper, she wanted to know more about Hellinski. Her gut tugged as it
did when she knew things were off.
What?
No real information on Petrolov--though that wasn’t too surprising--quick move
DEADLY GAMES Jaycee Clark 18
up, no friends, no associates, no family.
An idea zapped in her brain.
No, surely not.
But she’d worked both MI5 and MI6 long enough to spot the signs...
Was Dimitri Petrolov working both sides? Who the hell was he working for?
MI6? Interpol? The Americans? But if a Yank, then who the hell did he work for?
They had more agencies than Britain had historical sights. FBI? CIA? NSA? INS? DOD?
No, the thought was ludicrous.
Raven stood and paced. Pacing cleared her head and focused things for her, it
always had. And nothing in this whole entire picture was clear. She’d learned the hard
way to garner as much information before the job so that no complications arose.
And Dimitri Petrolov could be one hell of a complication. She wasn’t stupid or
psychic, but something told her to watch her step with the man.
To hell with it. Stalking back to her laptop, she hacked into her old system and
saw a file on Hellinski. Skin trafficking, drug trafficking, arms dealer. Well, he was just a
dream filled bloke wasn’t he?
She read more until her eyes started to hurt. Looking out the window at the night,
she decided to go out.
After a quick shower, she tried to decide on either the short black dress … but
then she’d have to wear the heels, which made her legs look great, but she could hardly
run in the bloody things. Boots. And if she went with the boots, then she’d wear the black
pants. Slinky lavender sweater, or as Nikko told her, slag sweater. So it drooped low
enough that anyone could see she had no real cleavage, but it bagged enough in the back
and at the waist she could easily carry a weapon--and that was all that mattered.
She shook her short-short hair dry--and decided she loved her new style. At her
scalp, she didn’t have to do anything. No styling, no drying. She looked one way then the
other. Bloody hell, it was short. Her face appeared even slimmer, her neck longer. She
smiled and slapped on enough makeup that she’d fit into the club crowd. Not that she’d
visited either Nero’s or Babylon’s, but she’d been in enough clubs over the years to know
how to dress like she wanted to be there either with someone or by herself.
Studying herself in the mirror with a critical eye, she made certain her gun wasn’t
noticeable. Her skin reflected her mixed race as did her black hair and pale green eyes.
She’d always thought her mouth a bit too lush and wide, but she knew she was pretty.
And men were rarely suspicious of a pretty woman. They saw what they wanted to see.
And it had aided her enough, she wouldn’t ignore her looks. Without a doubt, she knew
her eyes were her best feature, long lashes and the jade color contrasted glaringly with her
darkened skin tone. She had aristocratic features, as Nikko had told her time and again. A
gentle curve of jaw, high cheekbones, and straight slender nose. She was tall. But pretty
or not, she stayed in shape. Her muscles were not because of the latest bloody fashion or
health craze that gripped the masses. She’d learned long ago to protect herself. Her stint
as a constable and then in MI5 and MI6 only honed her muscles and her skills.
Knowing she’d do, she grabbed her long coat, made certain she had everything
she’d need. Passport, room key, phone, cash and her trusty little tool that would open any
new computerized lock or start a car. Lovely little bit of technology and a birthday gift
from Nikko.
DEADLY GAMES Jaycee Clark 19
Raven left the hotel, deciding to walk a while before hailing a cab. It was
important to always know your location. A quick escape had saved her ass more times
than she cared to count.
Prague was a beautiful city. From here she could see the old town square, glowing
eerily green in the nightlights aimed at its medieval stone walls. The damp air promised
cold and wafted with the smells of people dining at the local restaurants. She heard
German as she passed a quaint little café. She thought she discerned Russian at a couple
of places as people waited to be seated. English caught her ear time and again. Overall, it
was a fairly quiet night with the exception of the two pickpockets who easily made their
marks and successfully lifted a purse and a man’s wallet.
Her phone rang.
“You taking the job?” asked a male voice, smooth and Italian as a dark rich wine.
“Nikko, luv, always so articulate.”
He didn’t answer her.
She shook her head. “I’m still deciding.”
The answering silence told her more than his words would. The man knew she
didn’t make rash decisions, but neither did she normally take so long to either accept or
reject a job.
“Problems?”
“Problems?” Hmm... “Not so much problems, no. At least I don’t believe so. Call
it more a gut feeling.”
He muttered something she couldn’t hear. “Tell me of this problem.”
“It’s not a problem.” Not yet anyway.
“Tell me, cara”
She debated. Normally, Nikko knew very little of her jobs unless she wanted him
to. Or she at least convinced herself he knew very little. But truth be known, everything
she knew, everything she did, most of it, she learned from Nikko.
“Cara….”
She sighed. “I just have a feeling the mark isn’t what he appears.”
“Is anyone?”
“I get a feeling, just a feeling that it’s deeper than him working for his boss.”
There she’d said it.
“What was the name again?”
“I didn’t give it to you.” Even as much as she trusted Nikko, she never gave him a
mark’s name. Who knew how small the world could be and she didn’t want
complications. Number one rule--no complications.
This time he sighed. “You know, you’re supposed to mellow with age.”
She watched her surroundings, noted the group of college age co-eds in front of
her. The guys were watching over the girls closely, except the one joker who seemed to
be telling the girls how they could dress sexier. She smiled when the blond turned around
and punched Mr. Laughs in the gut.
“Age? That would be you. Not me. “
“I’m relieved this is your last assignment. I’m ready for.…”
“Stop. Not the man and marriage act, Nikko. Grandbabies and the like. I don’t
want to hear it.”
DEADLY GAMES Jaycee Clark 20
“Who said it was an act?”
Instead of replying, she hung up on him. The man might know lots of things, but
some even Nikko didn’t know and if he did, well… She simply didn’t need the hassle
right now.
She hailed a black cab and climbed in.
“Do you speak English?” she asked the cabby, then thought of the phrase in
Czech. “Mluvíte anglicky?”
He turned around. “Yes.”
“Good,” she smiled. “How about th
e club Nero’s or Babylon’s Sins?”
He narrowed his eyes, and ran a quick gaze over her.
She arched a brow. She’d heard about the taxi drivers in Prague.
“Nice lady like you, might not want to visit such a club, no? More like Sunsets?
Or perhaps Roxy? Roxy is the best nightclub in Prague.”
Keeping her smile, she only said, “Nero’s.”
He shook his bald head, the lights from outside shining off it. “You pay lady.”
“Dkuji.” Then she added, “But don’t try to overcharge or keep me in the cab. I
know where the clubs are from here and you really don’t want to test me.” She met his
eyes in the mirror. “Understood?”
He nodded and pulled away from the curb.
She watched the landmarks, noted the times they turned and where. Not that she
didn’t already have a map in her head of where she wanted to go and how to get there.
The narrow medieval streets gave way to the wider modern roads, old world charm to
modern ramshackle warehouses and buildings lining the water front of the Vlatva River
She wondered if she would meet Mr. Petrolov tonight. It was time to learn his habits if he
was to be her mark, and if not…
Up to this point, if she declined a job, she simply declined the job. Something told
her this might be different.
The cab pulled up in front of a club, the red and orange lights outside gave an
eerie glow. A queue of people snaked down the side of the building, and bulging men in
tight shirts walked the edge. How many. She ran her gaze. One at the door, two more on
patrol, looking up, she searched for… There, just there, she saw the small black box of a
security camera mounted on the light pole. Strange. Gadgets were getting smaller and
smaller. No use in advertising you were watching people. Then again, most didn’t look
for the cameras and the smaller more invisible cameras were more expensive. And
probably used indoors.
The driver pulled up to the front door and she got out.
Now she wished she’d worn her slapper heels. They’d get her in faster. Bugger it.
Climbing from the cab, she overpaid the driver and told him to keep the tip
because as she figured it, he hadn’t overcharged her nor had he been stupid enough to try
and lock her in the cab.
The chilled, late October wind bit through her small coat. She pulled it tighter and
