Black Tie

by Lynn Raye Harris

  “Yep.”

  Jace tapped his fingers on the arms of the chair. “Speaking of the Syndicate… any word from Calypso lately?”

  Ian tamped down any emotion lest it show on his face.

  Calypso. Now there was someone who got to him more than he liked. Dangerous assassin. Vulnerable and complicated woman. Wounded soul.

  “No.”

  Jace frowned. “Do you think she’ll be in contact? Or do you think she lied so we’d let her go?”

  Ian shrugged. After she’d shot both Colt and Jace and been captured, he’d offered her a deal. Work for him and he’d let her go. Refuse, and she’d be turned over to the CIA—and probably imprisoned.

  She’d scoffed at him, told him that she would say yes no matter what. He knew it when he’d offered. And he knew that she might not honor the agreement.

  But it was all he could do. He couldn’t see her imprisoned after what she’d been through. And if he could turn her, she’d be an invaluable asset.

  “I don’t know. She’s your sister—what do you think?”

  Jace closed his eyes for a second before opening them again and shaking his head. “I don’t know her anymore. She was a kid when I was conscripted. And then the time in the gulag…”

  Ian grimaced. He didn’t like to think of what had happened to Natasha Orlova in that prison. And yet he had a very good idea. He’d done his share of time in places like that. On assignments, deep undercover, working his angles.

  “All we can do is wait. She has to think, and she has to decide.”

  And someone had leverage over her. Leverage that she would do anything to protect. He had an idea what it might be, but he wasn’t entirely certain.

  “I hope she makes the right decision,” Jace said. “But I can’t influence her one way or the other. For all I know, I won’t ever see her again.”

  Ian arched an eyebrow. “She could be sitting at the next table in a restaurant and you wouldn’t even know it.”

  Jace laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Who would have thought she could become a master of disguise? I remember a little girl playing hide and seek and dressing up her dolls. And then a teenager experimenting with makeup. She wore too much and our mother made her take it all off.”

  “I think she’s learned a thing or two since then,” Ian replied.

  Jace’s brows drew low. “You’ll tell me if she contacts you, right?”

  Ian studied the other man for a long moment. “I will if I can.”

  Jace nodded. “Good enough.” He stood. Stretched. “I’d better get home to Maddy. It’s pizza and British murder mystery night.”

  Ian nearly laughed at how domestic Jace, one of his most lethal and complicated operators, had become. But he wouldn’t. Men like him—like Ian—had to grab their slice of normalcy wherever they could find it. And hold on tight, because you never knew when it might be snatched away.

  Been a long time since Ian had felt that ordinary.

  “Sounds like a good time. Tell Maddy I said hello.”

  Jace smiled. He looked like a very happy man. Ian was glad for that. Jace deserved it more than most.

  “I will, boss. Good night.”

  “Night.”

  Ian watched Jace walk out, then leaned back in his chair and studied the photo of Paloma Bruni and the Gemini tattoo. But he kept seeing Natasha’s face in the interview room when he’d last seen her. The fear and anger and hatred. The despair.

  He’d offered her an opportunity to get revenge on those who used her for their own ends. Those who held something precious to her.

  He was still waiting for her to take it.

  Shock coursed through Tallie’s system. Brett’s mouth pressed to hers, his kiss swift and stunning. For a moment she thought she should pull away.

  But that’s not what happened. No, she went soft, her knees weakening until she had to put her hands on his arms to hold herself up. He was still holding her chin, but not tightly. She could break away easily.

  She didn’t, though. She opened her mouth beneath his, felt the tip of his tongue dip inside, and met him softly. Tentatively.

  He stepped closer, letting go her chin, and wrapped an arm around her. She didn’t resist the firm tug of her body into his. She tipped her head back, her heart hammering as fire spread through her veins.

  Had it really been that long since she’d kissed a man? Was she that deprived that her body reacted with eager anticipation so quickly?

  She gripped hard muscles beneath his jacket. He was tall and big and she felt protected standing in his embrace.

  But then his hands settled on her shoulders and he gently pushed her back, breaking the kiss between them. His green eyes seemed troubled.

  “I’m sorry. That was over the line.”

  Tallie darted her tongue over her lips. “I, um, I’m sorry too.”

  “For what? I’m the one who kissed you.”

  “I kissed you back.”

  He grinned. She liked the way he looked when he smiled. It transformed him from cool and serious protector to the kind of guy she might meet at an event. Safe. Harmless. And oh so handsome.

  “You did, didn’t you?”

  Her heart thumped. “I did.”

  He bent down and picked up the satchel she’d dropped, slung it over his shoulder with the black duffel. Then he took her hand in his, his warm fingers giving her courage.

  “Come on, Tallie Grant. We’ve got a long walk across a sleepy city ahead.”

  “Do you think anyone will follow us?”

  “Not if I can help it. And I can. I’m pretty good at this kind of thing. Just do what I tell you, like I said. I’ll get you out of this. Soon you’ll be back home, playing fetch with your new dog, and forgetting you ever met me.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s possible,” she said. “Forgetting you, I mean.”

  He gave her hand a quick squeeze, then led her out the door and down through the halls and rooms of the palazzo until they slipped out a side door—and into a dark passageway.

  Tallie’s heart raced as they plunged into utter darkness. It smelled like mud and the sea and she moved a little closer to Brett. He stopped and squeezed her hand again.

  “I have to get a light so I’m going to let go of your hand.”

  Tallie nearly whimpered, then swallowed it down and grabbed onto his jacket with her other hand. “Okay.”

  She told herself he wasn’t going to leave her there alone, but she still felt better holding onto him. He dropped her hand and a moment later a light switched on, revealing damp brick on the walls and arching above their head. The tunnel was rounded and disappeared into blackness.

  “It’s a bolthole,” Brett said. “It leads through the buildings nearby, concealed in the walls, and spills out into a side street far enough from the palazzo that anyone watching for movement won’t see us leaving.”

  She tried to imagine these shadowy watchers, what they could want. The thought made her shiver and she pulled the jacket tighter. “Clever,” she said.

  “I guess Venice wasn’t always a happy tourist mecca,” he said with a quiet laugh. “Noblemen sometimes needed to get out of Dodge.”

  “Dodge?”

  “Old Western movie reference. Never mind. Let’s go. It’s narrow in places, so it’s best if you follow. Hang onto my jacket if it makes you more comfortable.”

  “I plan to. I’m not very good in dark places. Especially not after…” She had to draw in a deep breath to calm her nerves. Snatches of the past week had been popping into her mind with more frequency than she liked. She remembered long stretches of utter blackness and the feel of cloth around her face.

  A hood. She could still feel the scratchy heat of it sometimes. The way her breath had filled it and made her hot and a little dizzy.

  “It’ll be okay. I’m not leaving you in here.”

  “I know.”

  He gave her another quick kiss, no tongue this time, and her lips tingled with the imprint of
his mouth on hers. If he’d meant to distract her, he’d done a good job of it.

  They emerged onto a quiet street, and then made their way through a deserted plaza, moving quickly and quietly through the city. A full moon had risen in the sky and hung over the city like a sentinel, illuminating the streets and buildings with pale light.

  Tallie wished she could take her time and study the architecture, the crumbling facades and plentiful plazas with their churches. Venice was an art city, filled with Renaissance master paintings, and a part of her wanted to explore every tiny church and grand palazzo in search of them.

  Another part wanted to get the hell out of there and never return. She suspected that part would quiet eventually, and she would be back again. Not alone, never that, but someday she’d return. Maybe with a lover.

  Awareness of the man walking beside her crept through her then. He’d kissed her twice now, and both times had jolted her more deeply than she’d expected. She wanted to kiss him again, see how it affected her a third time.

  They didn’t encounter many people as they walked, but there were a few here and there. When they walked onto the Rialto bridge, Tallie wanted to stop and stare at the Grand Canal from this vantage point, but there was no time.

  The shops lining the bridge were shuttered tight, but there were a few people standing and gazing at the sights. Tallie and Brett didn’t pause at all, walking up to the peak of the bridge and down the other side, through the market with its empty stalls that would begin to fill soon, and deep into the city with its maze of streets.

  They moved farther from the touristed areas, into the quieter residential quarter of Santa Croce—as Brett informed her when she commented on the lack of touristy stores—walking over bridges that seemed to appear out of nowhere, across canals, through archways in buildings and onto yet more cobbled side streets.

  Eventually, Brett opened a gate and they slipped into a courtyard. There was a light burning in the ground floor window of a three story building. Brett tapped on the door. A moment later it jerked open and a small woman stood there, staring at them.

  “Come in,” she said, turning and disappearing inside.

  Brett took Tallie’s hand and pulled her in behind him, keeping his body between hers and the hallway they’d stepped into. Protecting her from any danger that might be there.

  “You’re safe here,” the woman said in accented English. “My name is Giana. I’ve known Ian for a very long time. I’m alive because of him. He has my utmost loyalty.”

  Tallie frowned, wondering who this Ian character was. But she felt the easing of tension in Brett’s body at the woman’s words. Not completely, though. She didn’t think he ever relaxed entirely. She peeked around him, but she couldn’t see Giana very well. She was just out of sight.

  “No offense, signora, but you would say that even if you weren’t loyal to him. Especially so, I imagine.”

  Giana laughed, her voice smoky. “Yes, of course I would. But I owe him a debt far greater than I care to explain to you. Call him. I will wait.”

  “I intend to.” Brett took out his phone and dialed. “Boss? I’m here with Giana. Sure.”

  He handed the phone to the woman and a stream of Italian issued forth. Then she laughed. “Grazie, bello. Ciao.”

  She handed the phone back to Brett.

  “Thanks, boss. Talk to you at the next check in.” He pocketed the phone. “You have papers for me.”

  “Si.” Giana handed Brett a thick envelope. “Your companion is Tiffany Newport. Your wife. She is Canadian.”

  Tallie stiffened. She was a Canadian? Married to Brett? Why? And wasn’t his name Wheeler? Or had that been a lie?

  Brett opened the envelope and shuffled through the papers. Tallie heard the jingle of a key. She stepped out from behind him and thrust herself into view. Giana looked her up and down, dark eyes assessing as Tallie studied her in return. She hadn’t gotten a good look when the woman had been silhouetted in the door and then blocked by Brett.

  She was older, maybe in her sixties, with brown hair streaked with gray that she’d piled onto her head in a loose bun. She had deep grooves on either side of her mouth, probably from sucking on the cigarettes that lay on a nearby table.

  “You are even prettier than your photo,” she said. “Remarkable eyes.”

  “Thank you.” Because what else could she say?

  Brett was holding a car key, a passport, and some other papers. “The car is in the Piazzale Roma or the Tronchetto?”

  “The Piazzale Roma. On the third floor. Take the elevator up, turn left when you exit, and go twenty spaces. A gray BMW X5.”

  “Grazie, Giana.”

  “Prego.” She smiled at them. “Would you like a coffee before you go? Perhaps a small bite?”

  Brett looked at his watch. Tallie didn’t wear a watch, though she’d been wishing for one lately. She was accustomed to checking her cell phone for the time, except she’d been without it for at least a week now. It was odd not to have it. She reached for it several times a day before remembering.

  “Thank you, but I think we’d better be going,” he said.

  “Of course.” Her gaze came to rest on Tallie. “You will be fine with this man. He is like Ian. They never quit. Never. Safe journey to you both.”

  Brett’s fingers threaded through hers, anchoring her to his side. “Thank you. For everything,” he said to Giana.

  “Prego,” she replied, inclining her head. They exited her house, and then she softly shut the door.

  “Brett?” Tallie said as they started down the street again.

  “Yeah?”

  “Where are we really going?”

  “The truth?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He glanced down at her as they walked. “I don’t really know.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Who is Ian?” Tallie asked once they were in the BMW and crossing the long bridge to the mainland. The instructions in the vehicle said to head for the Brenner Pass. Once there, change vehicles at a restaurant located in one of the rest areas. Brett knew which rest area, but he didn’t yet know how the change would take place. He wasn’t worried. Ian always came through.

  “He’s my boss.”

  “I guessed that back at Giana’s place when you called him boss.”

  Brett could hear the humor in her voice. He nearly laughed, but he didn’t. He was too busy glancing in the rear view and keeping on eye on their surroundings. He didn’t really think Heinrich von Kassel had deployed an extraction team to swoop in and take Tallie that quickly, but he had to stay alert and think as if it were possible.

  “Ian is the founder of Black Defense International. He’s the one who runs the show, and he’s the one who sent me to the auction in the first place.”

  Brett could say it because BDI had a public face, though their real operations were top secret.

  “I’m profoundly glad he did.”

  He glanced at Tallie. She was huddled into the seat, her blonde hair as pale as milk in the darkness. “I’m glad too.”

  “Why do I need a fake passport if we’re driving? You can cross EU borders without one. And why aren’t you taking me home? I thought that’s where we were going.”

  “I will take you home. When it’s safe. I have to rely on Ian to tell me when that is. As for the passport, it’s just for backup. If we need to fly and your replacement isn’t ready. Or if Ian decides it’s safer for you to travel under an alias until you reach home.”

  “How can anyone fake a passport these days?”

  “It’s not my area of expertise, but trust me when I tell you it happens quite often in this business. It’s definitely a specialized skill.”

  They’d matched her passport to one of his. Brett Newport was a military equipment salesman. And apparently he was newly married.

  Tallie folded her arms and gazed out the window. The first light of dawn was beginning to pinken the horizon. “I feel like I’m in a James Bond movie.”

/>   “I’m not MI6. Promise.”

  Her head turned. “No, but you’re something secretive. CIA maybe.”

  “Nope. Never even set foot in the place.” He’d wanted to be CIA at one point, but then Ian recruited him—and life hadn’t been the same. He’d worked with the CIA on various missions, but he no longer wanted to be one of them. He had more freedom working for Ian.

  “In case you can’t tell, I’m trying very hard not to panic. We aren’t going where you said we were going. I’m trusting you, but a part of me keeps asking why. I don’t really know you. You could be taking me to something worse than where you found me. I have no way of knowing what the truth really is. I’m talking it through, trying to make sense of it all.”

  Brett threw her a look. He understood her fear, but it pricked him that she could still be afraid of him. “Have you ever shot a pistol?”

  “Of course. I’m a Southern girl. My daddy, God rest his soul, was from Georgia. He believed in teaching his daughters to shoot.”

  Brett reached inside his jacket and pulled his Sig from the holster. It lay warm and heavy against his body and he felt its absence like it was a part of him. He always carried with a round in the chamber, because of the profession he was in, but he made sure the safety was on and lay the gun on the console between them. The muzzle pointed toward the dash.

  “That’s a Sig Sauer P320. It holds seventeen rounds. There’s one in the chamber, so I’d appreciate it if you don’t point it at me. But take it. Hold it. Put it in your jacket. And if you feel like I’m a threat to you at any point, defend yourself with it.”

  She put her hand on the weapon. Then she picked it up, dropped the magazine into her hand and racked the slide a few times to release the round in the chamber.

  He eyed her, impressed that she was comfortable with a gun—and that she’d managed to pull the slide. It took strength and know how, especially for a smaller person. She tried to push the round back into the magazine, but it was full.

  “You insert the mag, rack the slide, and then eject it and add another bullet?” she asked.