by Sonya Clark
“What does that even mean? Who else would it be?”
“Hayes says—”
“Hayes! Are you out of your fucking mind, talking about stuff like this with him? Go ahead and play footsy with him if you must but don’t tell him all our fucking secrets!”
Nate said, “Who’s Hayes?”
“Maybe it’s the hot scruffy guy she took home with her the other night.” Calla flashed her a teasing smile.
Tuyet seethed quietly for a moment, grateful to the others for jumping into the conversation.
“There was a hot scruffy guy?” Lizzie sighed. “I never get to do anything fun anymore.”
“Absolutely not,” Vadim said. “He doesn’t come anywhere near this. In fact, you need to send him back where he came from. Now.”
“It’s under control,” Tuyet said. That was a great big lie, but what Vadim didn’t know wouldn’t give him more to scream about.
“Under control?” He waved his hands in the air. “She says it’s under control. Well then, in that case I won’t worry about a fucking government agent military superspy whatever-the-fuck-you-people-are nosing around my underground.”
Calla snickered, quickly cutting it off after a scathing look from Vadim. Lizzie patted his hand. “Be mindful of your blood pressure, dear.” This time Calla made no effort to stifle her laughter.
“Don’t make fun of me, you harridan.” He gestured at Tuyet while looking at Lizzie. “Does this really sound like a good idea to you?”
Lizzie said, “I trust Tuyet implicitly.”
Calla cleared her throat. “Me too.” She gave Tuyet a thumbs-up and mouthed hot scruff.
Vadim looked to Nate. “I’m looking to you to be the voice of reason here. Don’t fail me.”
Nate shrugged. “She says it’s under control, it’s under control.”
“Fucking hell.” For added measure, Vadim threw in a few Russian curse words.
Tuyet stood and gathered her things. Staying too long would give Vadim a chance to ask questions. Since she didn’t have answers, she didn’t want that to happen. “I’ll be in touch.”
“You’ve really lost it this time,” Vadim said. “Totally lost your fucking mind.”
Lizzie reached into her bag and brought out a small notebook and pen. “How many times have you said the word fuck in this meeting?”
Tuyet escaped before she could be drawn into more of Vadim’s drama. She hurried through the tunnels, eager to be back aboveground. The absurdly high temperatures of late summer broiled the stagnant air. Baked concrete and asphalt radiated heat even through the soles of her shoes. Tuyet stayed alert in the crowd out of habit rather than any true concern. The police presence was moderate, but unless someone sought out their attention with stupid behavior, the cops tended to mind their own business when out on routine patrol. In these temperatures it was too much work to do more than look menacing in their heavy black urban-tactical uniforms. Just in case, she had an app on her phone tuned to scrambled police frequencies that would alert her in the event of a raid near her location.
An early version of that app had already been in existence when she joined the Rangers, but Halif perfected it during their years as part of Ranger Team Six. It was nice to have that level of magic tech working for her again, instead of being something she had to dodge. Thoughts of Halif led to complicated questions with no easy answers. Turning away from the subject entirely was preferable, but that wasn’t an option.
Hayes was making emotional decisions instead of thinking about what was best for him, and for his career. As much as she wanted to scoff at that career, she couldn’t. He’d wanted it too much and worked too hard to get it. Tuyet had never had a choice about serving in the Rangers. Once a magic-tech-capable witch was identified, life as they knew it was over. The scouts had methods to take them out of zones in ways that would ensure no one looked for them, usually a fake prison sentence or even death. A witch with the capability became a Ranger, but that was actually a small number. Most worked in the labs. Plenty couldn’t handle it and wound up in prison or dead for real.
That was how she was taken from Gehenna, half-dead and crazed from a toxic mix of nightshade and other drugs. She didn’t so much volunteer for the Rangers as choose not to die. Hayes had signed on the dotted line and loved every minute of it. But then, he hadn’t felt like he was betraying his own people by working for their oppressors. To him it was an adventure. To her it was a stain she still hadn’t been able to scrub off her soul.
She kept trying though. As hard as she could.
Rather than head home, she took the subway to Midtown. She was tired of Hayes showing up at her apartment, so she’d located his hotel. Let him see how annoying it was to have someone drop in unannounced. An alley with no CCTV cameras gave her a chance to slip on the glamoured bracelet.
One of the best tricks she’d learned in Ranger training was to walk right into a place like she belonged there. Tuyet did just that at the hotel, making her way to his room with no hesitation. As usual, the simple subterfuge worked. No one stopped her to ask for ID or a room key.
Once she reached his door, she angled her body close to the key-card scanner so nothing could be seen. An easy bit of trancehacking overrode the scanner and the door opened with a little pop.
Hayes stood with his back to her at a glass door leading to a balcony. Her breath caught at the sight of his hair—now short and dark. He was wearing his bracelet. A thrill shot through her. “Mr. Jones.”
He turned around. In addition to the darker hair, he now had green eyes instead of blue, a face that was a few degrees less handsome than his own, and he wore glasses. Real glasses with clear, nonprescription lenses. Hayes had had his vision corrected as soon as he could afford it after enlisting. The lenses of the dark wire-rimmed glasses were for show. They gave him a nerdy charm that she found almost as attractive as the real Hayes.
There was no magic that could dim the wattage of his dirty sunlight smile. He flashed it now as he strode to the center of the room. “Mrs. Jones.”
Tuyet had never really gotten the visceral impact of the phrase “bang him like a screen door in a hurricane” until just that moment. She blinked and an image burned behind her eyelids: the two of them, limbs tangled, clothes in disarray, up against that door with golden light glinting off his blond hair—his real hair, everything the real Hayes, her Dale—his blue eyes turned to hard, bright lapis.
She blinked the image away before the fantasy had a chance to get tactile. “We need to decide what to do about your colonel.”
“I can’t believe you kept the bracelet.”
Hearts didn’t really skip beats, did they? She’d have to look it up. “You kept yours too.”
He pushed the glasses up. Parts of her fluttered, parts of her clenched and some parts screamed in frustration. She said, “You said he’d want proof that I’m not here anymore. Did you have anything in mind?”
“I was thinking about the filmmaker. She basically wants an escort through the protest movement, right? So people will talk to her.”
“Uh, yeah. Why?”
“I’ve seen those protesters in action. Not the safest people to be around.”
If he would at least take off the glasses, she might be able to concentrate. “That’s why she wants me to be with her.” They hadn’t actually talked about that, but it would be the best way to handle it.
“You’ll need backup.”
That sharpened her focus. “No way.”
He moved directly in front of her. “I’m risking my career. Hell, my life. All to protect you and what you’re doing here in New Corinth. Maybe I want to see for myself what you’re doing, and why it’s worth it.”
Hadn’t she thought of almost that exact same line of reasoning? Tilt at that windmill of getting him to think for himself, show him a reality he knew little about. She wanted that. She wanted him to know that his dedication to something larger than himself had played a huge role in her decision to join the underground instead of flee the country. She wanted him to know what she was fighting for. But at the same time, she wanted him safe, and that meant as far from her and New Corinth as possible.
“I don’t know.”
“No one will know it’s me. I’ll wear the glamour. We both can. One last go-around for Mr. and Mrs. Jones.”
“We can’t do that.” Her heart sounded impossibly loud, a drum beating fast in her ears. “The video of me, remember?” She shouldn’t have worn it today. What the hell was she thinking?
“Yeah.” He nodded as he stepped closer. “I guess we can’t be those people anymore.”
No. Mr. and Mrs. Jones were in the past and had to stay there. But they couldn’t just be Dale and Tuyet either. Nothing so simple for them.
“I know some people who are excellent at glamours,” she said. Though why she said it, she couldn’t have explained. What he was proposing was not a smart idea, for all sorts of reasons.
“Sounds good. That way your filmmaker’s protected. I learn what I want to know.” He swept her hair to one side, baring skin along the column of her neck. “I’m betting we can still pass for a married couple.”
We have to pass for a married couple.
The words echoed from another time, another place. Not so very different though.
A Hong Kong luxury hotel, Victoria Harbour glittering in the night beyond the balcony.
“I know it’s awkward.”
“We’re professionals. It’s not that big a deal.” Heat flamed through her body, revealing the lie, at least to her.
“I don’t want you to think—”
“I think it’s the job.”Her fingers fumbled with the small dragon in her hand, made of red resin and bought from a street vendor. By him, for her. Just a part of their cover, he’d said. So why did she clutch it so tight, like she never wanted to let it go?
It wasn’t really Hayes. He was Mr. Jones in glasses and dark hair, husband and business partner. Green eyes. The mission.
(permission)
“We just need to make it look good. Show affection in public. That’s all.”
“In public.” She licked her lips. “Of course.”
He burned a path down her neck with his fingertips. Tuyet closed her eyes.
“It’s been a while.”
“Mmm.”
“To carry this off, we’ll need to reestablish the rapport we had when working with this cover.” The words came in a soft whisper, floating through the haze of sensation brought on by his lips so close to her skin.
“So I think we should do this in private, just this once, to sort of establish, um, a rapport. You know. And so we don’t look like two strangers kissing the first time it happens in public.” He looked past her to the sparkling lights beyond that undulated gently with the flow of the water.
“That makes sense.”
“Dale.” She raised her hand to stroke his face, her nerve endings tingling from contact with the energy emanating from the bracelet.
“I can’t stand to be called that.” He took her by the hips and turned her roughly in his arms. “Except by you.”
She placed her hand on his chest. His heart pounded beneath. Sandalwood cologne, gun oil from cleaning his weapons and a scent that was uniquely him made for a heady mix. She inhaled, wanting more of that scent, wanting it to be a part of her own. He tipped her chin up. Their eyes met and she wanted his to be blue, wanted his true face, but this was all she could have so she would take it.
Slowly, he lowered his lips to hers. The faintest brush of contact at first, barely there. Even so, it burned. Sweet, delicious fire spread from the delicate skin of her lips in a slow wave to the rest of her. She wanted to fall into that fire, let it consume her. Burn her down to ash and remake her into something new.
Hayes crushed his mouth to hers. Brutal, unrelenting, full of years of pent-up desire. She answered it with her own. Every word they couldn’t say, every emotion they couldn’t act on, every wish, every want—it all poured out through the kiss. His touch licked flame across her skin even through clothing. She sank into the heat, clung to his warmth.
If this was all they could have, she would take it.
He broke away abruptly, putting a foot of space between them as he held up one finger. “Sorry about that.” He moved farther away, running his hands through newly cropped hair.
Tuyet shivered, her body flashing hot and cold. “Are you really?”
“Maybe you’re right.” He sat on the bed, removed his bracelet and dropped it onto the mattress. “I never know what the hell I’m doing with you.”
She wanted to take off her own glamour, climb into his lap and kiss him until neither one of them cared who they were. But she stood frozen in place. Why wouldn’t he look at her? “Dale?”
“You need to go.”
Bewildered, hurt, she swallowed the instinct to demand why and turned to leave.
“You need to go, or you need to take that glamour off and stay.” He looked up, blue eyes burning with an intensity that scared her.
Stolen kisses, she could handle. She’d walked away from that before, though it had been the hardest thing she’d ever done. It couldn’t go further than that between them. There would be no walking away from that, not for her. Three years ago he’d made a choice. She wouldn’t ask him to make that choice again, and she wouldn’t set herself up for worse heartbreak than what she had coming.
Walking away from him once had ripped her heart to pieces. Doing it a second time, well, she might as well throw the damn thing away for all it would be worth.
None of her thoughts would translate into words. She opened her mouth, trying to speak anyway, and nothing came. So she hurried out the door. Took the stairs to avoid people and give herself time to get under control. By the time she reached the lobby, she was calm, moving like she owned every inch of ground she walked on. The glamour camouflaged her looks. Years of control hid the rest.
No one could see her running, always running, never slowing down. No one could see the firewall she’d spent most of her life building around the core of who she was, so secure even she wasn’t sure what was inside anymore. No one could see Tuyet Caron, and that was just fine by her.
Chapter Thirteen
Hayes hadn’t had a reason to pull an all-nighter since he’d started driving a desk. His eyes felt full of grit. His face itched where new stubble had already come in, making him regret shaving his beard the day before. At least his newly short hair didn’t look like a wet bird’s nest. He hung the fluffy hotel towel on the rack and left the steam-filled bathroom.
Once dressed he took a cup of coffee and his tablet to the balcony to go over his notes. He’d spent all night researching the particulars of New Corinth City Ordinance 88257. A councilman at large had introduced it for a vote, but it was written by a team of lawyers at a think tank funded by many of the corporate entitie
s that expressed public support for it. Most were regional firms. The largest of those was Jennings AgriCorp. A few of the companies had ties to the region and city but were headquartered elsewhere. Two of those he was familiar with. Denton Industries had built much of the heavy farming machinery his father spent his life working on. Tennant Media Group was the biggest news networks in the country.
TMG had affiliates in every major city, both television and internet. Masters of tabloid-style reporting, their ratings were huge, both the national channel and local stations. The company’s online sites were the most widely read. Two years ago they’d bought their first social network and it was rumored they wanted more. They didn’t own any internet service providers, but they dominated in content creation. The flow of information in the United States wasn’t controlled by the government no matter what the country’s few dissidents liked to claim. It was controlled by TMG.
And for whatever reason, TMG had supported the ordinance. As soon as it was made public, both the local affiliates and the national divisions painted the law in the rosiest terms possible. A good portion of his sleepless night had been spent searching through TMG coverage of New Corinth in general and the ordinance specifically. He found no mentions of the weekly protests or any other disturbances in the city.
The big media companies in magic-friendly nations all had witches on staff for various purposes. Some were employed for mundane jobs, some performed witchcraft. Trancehackers were routinely used in the event of emergencies to keep lines of communication open. In the previous typhoon season, trancehackers for Hong Kong media had coordinated with the local government to keep citizens apprised of weather updates and shelter locations as the power grid fluctuated in the worst of the storms. To date it had been the most organized and effective such occurrence, and it had made headlines in every magic-friendly country. The United Kingdom and the European Union both were working to put similar plans in place.
