“Trash chute.” Boris put down his binoculars this time. “They must have thrown both sets into it.”
“Probably. But this set was much smaller than the first. Frankly, I don’t see how they could have found them. They show no signs of having the necessary specialized equipment.”
“Friends?”
“Unknown, sir.” Harrison shrugged.
Boris frowned. Harrison’s brain was almost as sharp as his own. “What about a probe?”
“From the neighbors? One side is planning a large party and has declined to move, no matter how big the incentive. They’ve already sent out the invitations and say it would be too difficult to change the location.”
“The lazy, stupid cows!”
“The connecting room is occupied by the targets’ friends, a Texas policeman and his wife. He’s not an electronics specialist but he quickly showed signs of unease when I spoke to him. I did not want to press the subject in case Miss Livingston had mentioned the bugs to him.”
“Crap.” Boris drummed his fingers on his very expensive optics. “Can you get better gear?”
“Already on the way.”
Boris stared at the two men advancing and retreating across the floor below, flashing steel weaving a web around them. Harrison waited patiently, his eyes on their attendants, the clever man. Of course, he also knew who’d bought his probation.
“What about when they’re in public? They did march in the parade this morning.”
“We were unable to get a fix on them, sir. Our expert believes there’s too much crowd noise and background electronics to isolate them. We’re also limited in our selection of directional microphones by the need to be discreet.”
“True.”
He might have to act without solid data and he hated that. Damn, damn, damn.
“What do you know about her companion?”
Harrison, thank God, already had the answer. “He’s here on a live action role play, as Alek Alekseiovich.”
“And a very boring name.” Boris snorted in disgust. Fellow should have put more creativity into it.
“Is it, sir?” Harrison sounded genuinely fascinated for once.
“Oh yeah, it’s close to some of the names in the saga. What else?”
“There is no record of his real name anywhere. He registered for GriffinCon using only his persona and paid cash.”
“Really?” Was the man trying to hide?
“Actually, Miss Livingston paid for him with cash. He obtained cash through barter for some hair ornaments and has never paid in plastic for anything.”
“No credit cards?”
“None have been observed, sir.”
Boris sat back and stared at Harrison. That was the most unusual behavior he’d ever encountered. Everybody had credit cards these days, even if they cleared up the balance each month.
Still, the guy would have to leave a paper trail someplace else. “Hotel room or insurance?”
“He’s staying in Miss Livingston’s room. We have not yet checked the insurance policy shown on his tournament registration.”
“Do that.”
“Already in process, sir; we only hacked into that database five minutes ago.”
Boris grunted acknowledgment and scanned Danae Livingston’s companion more closely. Why would she, Miss High-and-Mighty-Spirit-of-the-Law-Contractually, go out of her way to help some dude skate through a conference without leaving a paper trail?
“He’s pulling his blows,” he muttered.
“Sir?”
He watched for a few minutes longer to gather more data.
“The approval process has three parts,” he began, still studying the man. “First you have to convince the marshals that your armor’s okay and that you’re not stupid enough to act badly.”
“Very cautious fellows, these marshals.”
Oh yeah. But they were human and humans could be bought.
“Then you duel a well-known fighter at half-speed.”
“Still proving you can behave yourself,” Harrison filled in.
“And that you can call your own blows and your opponents.”
“What?” Harrison squeaked.
Boris allowed himself to savor the first time he’d ever startled Harrison. Then he put down his glasses, satisfied with his conclusions.
“Yes, each fighter decides how severe a blow is.”
“But that means . . .” Harrison frowned, a world of implications spinning behind his pale gray eyes.
“It’s done for safety.”
“But the marshals?” Harrison’s full attention came back to him.
“Can step in, of course,” Boris purred, “should they feel the need. But that’s very, very rare.”
Harrison understood immediately, of course.
“I’ll have them all profiled immediately, sir. With special attention paid to personal weaknesses.”
“I knew I could rely on you, Harrison.” Boris folded his hands and watched his future opponent block a thrust with a lightning twist of his shield.
Harrison’s gaze followed his. “Might I venture to say, sir, that I believe you’re faster than he is?”
“Thank you. And yes, I am”—he smirked privately—“Even at times like that one, when the dude countered at full speed. However, if you continue to watch him, you’ll notice . . . Ah! See that round?”
“Where he started with his sword held high and wound up staggering back?” Harrison frowned. “I’m no expert with the sword”—he was, in fact, a third-degree karate black belt—“but didn’t he hesitate until the last second?”
“Yes, and basically lost the exchange.”
“Perhaps it’s because he’s dueling his troupe leader.”
“So? Would your sensei approve of you holding back under similar circumstances, especially when this is only for admission into the tournament?”
“Not at all.” Harrison’s answer came promptly.
Had Alekseiovich just glanced up at the stands and nearly slipped? Was he afraid of the much more powerful Boris Turner?
How very delightful. Maybe he did have time to order a pair of prostitutes before the first bout after all, even though it always took extra time to pay them off.
Boris cracked his knuckles one by one, like the way his true sword could shatter that fool’s rattan weapon.
“My guess is he’s very aware of his audience in the stands.”
“It has been a long time since I’ve met anyone of his caliber, sir.” Harrison’s jaw tightened.
“That brute is essentially Miss Livingston’s bodyguard. One way or another, I will speak to her and she will write my book. Nobody, but nobody, is allowed to refuse a deal with Boris Turner or I wouldn’t have my business. If he doesn’t understand that, then he simply has to leave the scene, one way or another.”
“It will be a pleasure to assist you, sir.”
SEVEN
“You’re limping!” accused Danae. Of all the stubborn, thick headed beasts on this earth, men were surely the worst. “You can’t tell me that a man who danced for hours last night walks like this. This is not your normal gait.”
Alekhsiy raised an eyebrow at her and followed her into the hotel lobby.
“And a one, and a two, and a—” he chanted, swaying his hips in one of the dances she’d taught him and deliberately emphasizing the syncopated beat.
She choked back a laugh. Vikings—or, more accurately, northern Torhtremer generals—had never been idolized for their ability to cha cha cha. In fact, anyone who’d seen six feet four of muscle, covered with chain mail and bedecked with sword and dagger, would probably have run shrieking to see him swivel his hips to an imaginary beat.
Or grabbed him for a taste.
“Any injury left untreated will only grow worse.” She forced herself back to her original topic.
“Sweeting, let us first celebrate your award for a beautiful hall costume and my acceptance as a warrior of GriffinCon.” He scooped her into his arm, a
nd neatly dodged a trio of peacock-blue clad Kyristari troopers from the Varrain universe clustered around a virulently green Incredible Hulk.
“With a drink in the bar? You need a long, hot bath.” Besides, she’d much rather wait to snuggle him until his armor convinced itself to do the silk thing again, rather than being woven steel rings. They’d already privately stowed his shield into the proper pouch and told Kyle they’d sent it back to the hotel with friends. “Your opponent thwacked you a good one across your thigh. Do you think a dancer doesn’t notice these things?”
He broke stride at the bar’s edge and shot her a slightly sheepish look. “I didn’t expect how much force it would take for the required laming blow to send me to my knees.”
“Do you mean Kyle surprised you?” Surely he had far more combat experience than her friend did. And the smith was even afraid of spiders, although everybody had their phobias.
Like the rest of the hotel bars and restaurants, this one looked down and across the hotel lobby’s multiple terraces, which were filled with hundreds of people. Above them, an enormous Lucite sail pulsed green and yellow, while a huge TV showed the latest images from GriffinCon. Smaller TV screens were scattered around the edges, offering updates on schedule or prizes won. Bartenders strutted and posed, pouring drinks like works of art. Their clientele was an even more widely varied cross-section of humanity than the rest of GriffinCon, ranging from T-shirts and jeans to those so heavily costumed it wasn’t clear how they sat down, mixed with expressions ranging from harried and sleepless to dazed bemusement. Mental attitude, as ever, had nothing to do with the amount or quality of clothing.
“Somewhat.” Alekhsiy shrugged. “The business of fighting from the ground is a new one for me.”
Her mouth rounded into an O. “He did surprise you! Just wait until I tell Nora.” She chortled softly
“We need to find a private table.” A muscle ticked in his cheek and he surveyed the golden room. Suddenly he came up onto his toes and then cut through the crowd, taking ruthless advantage of his height and intimidating presence. They slid into a small booth moments ahead of the next contender.
“Poor darling, you really don’t want to go back to the room, do you?” Danae cooed and petted his thigh out of sight and under the chain mail.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “Will you take shameless advantage of me here, my lady?”
“Certainly I will.” She batted her eyes at him and widened her grip. Could she find where he’d been hurt? Maybe a little massage would help.
Or maybe a little foreplay would be better. Just a little more to the center and up a little higher, under the crease of his mail to where his cock nestled.
“Minx,” he said feelingly and wrapped his fingers around her wrist. “There.”
Ah, he wanted his bruise attended to instead. Well, that was certainly much more acceptable in public. She rubbed it gently, concentrating on healing thoughts.
The enormous sail, three stories high, rippled like a black and white test pattern—or an Arctic snowstorm—and filled the bar with shadows.
“Can we be overheard?” Danae asked softly.
“Eavesdroppers?” Alekhsiy responded, equally quiet. He shook his head. “Not a chance. Whether they try to listen or watch, my armor will protect us and punish them.”
“With what? Another electric shock?”
“No, I suspect it destroyed the bugs because it knew not what else to do. Instead it will visit the spies with a hangover, stronger and faster depending on how mightily they strive to watch me. Their heads will ache and their stomachs knot until they cannot concentrate. It is akin to that suffered by those who have indulged in riotous liquors for far too long.”
“Is it very bad?”
“They will seek their chamber pots for hours if they hunt me too fiercely.” His blue eyes were clear and calm as his sword’s razor-sharp edge. “It can kill.”
“You’re joking.” A deadly spell? Here and now, next to her? Her fingers flexed with the need to either push him away or pull him closer and explore more of the chain mail she’d thought she understood.
“I tested a general’s tolerance once as a cadet.”
“Once, huh?”
“Only once.” He raised an eyebrow at her and she swallowed hard.
“Okay, you’re not joking.” She couldn’t touch it, not here, but she could ask about it. “Does it guard a large conversation with you?”
“It is far nastier the smaller the group, such as the two of us.”
Okay, that sounded closer to something like a microphone with a limited range. She understood those.
“Would you like me to order you a beer?” Danae asked softly.
“Gods, yes.” He closed his eyes, his hair spilling along the cushions. “But I can manage the phrases.”
So he could, could he? His spells had odd quirks if they could produce the names of liquid refreshments but not protect his limbs. She snorted in disgust and went back to massaging him.
Or maybe magic was intuitive, like dancing. Something that leaped into being with luck and skill and talent, rather than from a formula.
The waiter arrived and departed with their order, silent testimony that Alekhsiy could enunciate alcohols.
“What did you think of the other bouts?” she asked to change her thought’s direction. It was better than yelling at his damn spell.
“Kyle is very, very good. His archers are excellent, as are his wrestlers.”
“Oh, the karate dudes?”
“Is that what you call the style? I would like to learn it. I recognized more of the other one that your friends used.”
“Kung fu.” She nodded. “It includes a lot of schools, plus weapons.” She gently kneaded Alekhsiy under the chain mail, pressing and releasing.
He hissed softly.
“Sorry. I must have pushed a little too hard.” She stretched her palm out, crooning to him silently.
The TV screens hissed and popped.
The gold chain holding Danae’s father’s ring scratched her neck. What the hell?
She’d worn the same chain every day since she was thirteen and had slid the battered ring onto it the night before her parents’ funeral. It had taken months for all the blood and scorch marks to wash out from the accident. Some of the dents never had. She liked to think that the water of Earth’s seven seas, which it had been baptized in, had kept her safe during auditions. Her skin and bones certainly knew every kink and twist in the chain perfectly, so well that she had to consciously remember to take it off before a performance.
She used her free hand to lift it out from inside her tunic and drape it down the front, over the silk. The old diamond flashed briefly in the light, a legacy from her great-great-grandfather’s tour of duty on the China Station.
“I need to heal quickly,” Alekhsiy said under his breath and tossed back a large draught of beer.
“If Kyle’s team is so good, why?”
“Because Turner’s team is equally skilled.” He eyed her sideways. “And Turner himself is fast, very quick indeed.”
His tone sent a shiver down her spine.
“Just how speedy are we talking about, considering you’ve only seen him in a demo this morning to open the tournament?” she demanded.
“Damn near catalyst fast,” he said flatly and finished the rest of his beer. “Far quicker than I am, certainly. And the tournament is seeded so that The Northern Wastes will meet Yevgheniy’s Spears in the finals.”
“Are you sure?” she asked faintly, crushed ice having taken the place of her vertebrae.
He shot her a telling look and signaled for the waiter.
“Okay, that was a stupid question. You’ve probably come face-to-face with the Dark Warrior more often than anybody else except Mykhayl.”
The great sail went dark, followed an instant later by all the lights.
“Wretched mortals!” boomed a very deep voice from somewhere underneath their feet. And yet it seemed to echo
through their bones as if it came from everywhere and nowhere. “Welcome to my world, fools!”
Alekhsiy sprang to his feet, his axe in his hand, its blade glowing brilliantly blue.
The enemy? Here?
“Shit!” She elbowed him hard and he stowed it back in his pocket before anybody else noticed, cursing under his breath.
A man shouted and somebody else pointed to the air overhead.
Danae vaulted onto the tabletop so she could see better.
A giant alligator snapping turtle swam over their heads, uglier than sin and more powerful than the worst nightmares. Its beak alone looked large enough to swallow a man whole whenever it chose. Its edges sparkled and the building’s other side could only be faintly glimpsed through it. But when it dived onto a balcony, everybody there screamed and ran for cover.
Azherbhai? Danae’s stomach promptly converted itself into knots.
The Imperial Terrapin chuckled, infinitely old and evil. The temperature in the great lobby promptly dropped by thirty degrees. Teeth chattered amid its helpless audience.
“Begone, foul brute,” Alekhsiy shouted and ran out of the bar. “You have no place here.”
Danae dropped a couple of twenties on the table and followed him, the ring glowing softly on her chest. This was worse than performing at Lincoln Center with a drunken partner when she never knew what would happen next, only that it would probably be more appalling than the last dance step.
“Foolish ones, anything I see is mine.” Azherbhai chuckled again, chilling the air even further. “Deliver up my creature and I may choose to depart. Or perchance not.”
He circled lazily, snapping at anybody foolish enough to stand erect on an escalator. They flattened themselves, shrieking, and he laughed.
“Begone!” Alekhsiy roared from the balcony overlooking the atrium.
Oh shit, Larissa and Nora were caught on the escalator.
God willing, Alekhsiy had a plan. Danae rushed up to his side and shook her fist at Azherbhai. “Begone!”
Other people’s eyes shone and they raised their arms in defiance. “Get out of here!”
Did they think this was a game? Another lead-up to the new trailer? Well, if it got the chi flowing, who cared?
Captive Desires Page 13
