by Sable Jordan
Kizzie snorted. “That ain’t us.”
“Us…” He repeated the word like he enjoyed the taste. A dangerously slow smile crept across his face. “What is ‘us?’” Pursed lips and narrowed gaze were Kizzie’s response. “Of all my subs, you’re the most challenging.”
“Because I’m not your sub.”
His brow furrowed a touch then relaxed. “You know what I mea—”
“I know what you said, Duquesne. And what you said is what you meant. That ain’t us. There is no ‘us.’ The Lifestyle, your lifestyle, not for me. Three reasons—no particular order: you’re a criminal, you’re married, and I like my sex regular.”
“With just a little bit of pain?” Xander asked, forefinger and thumb an inch apart. He narrowed the gap, shook his head, then widened the distance a bit…a bit more… a little more, and then he had both hands three feet apart and spreading with no stopping in sight.
Kizzie puffed out her cheeks and shifted in the chair. “Can we get a plan together? Hate to be a spoilsport, but when you and Nikolay Sokoviev started this steaming pile—”
“You want to do safe.” A million images bombarded her at the same time, and she breathed a laugh through her nose. His scarred brow went up. “Do tell.”
“Years ago, I was on an op…” Kizzie trailed off, seeing the events play out clearly in her head and wondering why she felt compelled to tell any of this to one Xander Duquesne. “FUBAR from go…things happened—”
Better to thrust her first time in Belém soundly from her mind.
Meeting Xander’s gaze, she gave a smile that curved her mouth but didn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s just say, based on my line of work ‘safe’ isn’t something I do.”
“That kind of danger’s safe for you. And what’s more, it’s easy. You have the formula: recon, strategize, execute.” Xander leaned back in his chair, confidence in his easy demeanor. “I’m talking my kind of dangerous, Kizzie. Unpredictable. The kind you want but have been running from since the first moment I saw you.” He tore off a hunk of crusty bread and set it close enough for her to reach it.
“I don’t do safe, and I don’t run.”
“Tell me about your last boyfriend.”
Frowning, Kizzie drew her head back at the unexpected change in topic. “What, you want to play twenty questions now? How was the wedding, Xander? I’m simply crushed I didn’t get my invite. Where should I send the gravy boat?”
“Three questions, that don’t involve Harvey. Plenty of time for that when we get on the ground.”
“I want to be prepared when we get on the ground. Harvey, Duquesne. That’s why I’m here, not for an episode of This is Your Life, m’kay? So talk.”
Xander folded his arms over his chest.
He wasn’t talking.
Fine by her. Hell, he could have let her sleep until they landed. Kizzie bit into the bread. Xander watched and waited, the only sound the whirring of the plane’s engines.
Minutes ticked by. Kizzie crossed her arms over her chest, mimicking his stance. Xander lifted a brow. She pursed her lips.
More waiting.
Xander kept his steady gaze on her, those chocolate orbs darkening the longer the silence stretched. And the longer it stretched, the more anxious Kizzie became. She sucked at this game as a kid, and apparently hadn’t gotten any better at it with time. A stand off wouldn’t get her anywhere. She should have let him choke on his silence, but if they were going to work together again, one of them would have to give.
“Why would I give up more personal info than what you already have?” Kizzie asked, breaking the stalemate. “What did my dossier say about my last boyfriend?”
“I’m asking you.”
She rolled her eyes and exhaled deeply. “Guess it doesn’t matter.” A small smile on her lips, she stared off into space. “He was…a real prince of a guy, from Philly. Sexy, I mean really sexy—”
“You can leave that part out,” Xander interjected.
“—high energy, charismatic, you know the type. Had they lived, I don’t think my parents would’ve approved…guess all parents are like that, right?” She flicked her gaze to his long enough to catch him nod in agreement, looked away.
“Anyhow,” Kizzie sucked in a shaky breath, “he had a lot going for him: basketball, hangin’ out with his friends, the usual. I was young enough to believe in forever.” She rocked her head side to side. “Things got…turned upside down. He got into a fight with some neighborhood kids, and his mom thought it would be best for him to move to Cali—”
Xander threw his head back and laughed. “Are you really feeding me lines from Fresh Prince of Bel Air?” Kizzie shrugged, took another sip of her coffee. “Tell me about your real boyfriend.”
Technically, it didn’t matter. The last time she had a “boyfriend” they were both clumsy sixteen-year-olds thrust together because their best friends were dating each other, and the natural order of things mandated wheels 3 and 4 become a pair. She wasn’t even attracted to the boy. A few shy kisses, but… What was his name?
Apart from that, there’d been one guy, more infatuation than boyfriend. Considering he was her bad memory from Belém, his name she wouldn’t forget. Her personal Voldemort. She might not speak his name, but Kizzie had penned it on her shit list so long ago the ink bled through the paper. “Young and stupid. Fill in the blanks.”
“Was this at the The Point?”
“Got a hard-on for The Point, don’t you, slick?”
“I’m curious to know what made you drop out of a prestigious academy and join up with Connolly. Had to be something earth-shattering, trading a promising military career for life in the shadows.” Kizzie chuckled sardonically, and Xander added, “It’s what graduating would have guaranteed, right?”
“If you say so…” she bit off a small piece of bread, not tasting the jelly. Dropped the rest onto the table, dusted the crumbs from her fingertips. This was a bad idea.
Sipping her coffee, she glanced up to see Xander studying her openly.
“And submission. Why does that scare you so much?”
No doubt the switches were to keep her off balance, and he was doing a fine job of it. Anything that directed the conversation away from The Point was okay by her. Kizzie shook her head. “It doesn’t scare me—”
“But you’re running from it. What you’re running from and what you’re searching for are the same thing, sweetheart.”
She snorted. “God, now you sound like Jo. ‘Create your own reality, Kizzie…’” A smile flashed across her lips before she even thought to wrangle it. She chuckled through her nose. “Balance your chakras, Kizzie… You’re not what happens to you, Kizzie-bear…’”
A memory flashed: Jo peddling the bike way too fast, Kizzie standing on the pegs, screaming “faster!”
How could someone be so young and so old at the same time?
It doesn’t hurt anymore, Kizzie…
So strong and so weak?
So genius and so goddamned stupid?
“Joe… A friend of yours?”
Xander came back in focus as her memories faded. “Was.” Everything in her body felt numb, and she forced a breath to keep her heart beating. She swallowed hard, stared out the porthole opposite her seat. Nothing but darkness and clouds for miles. If she blinked, she’d see the green ribbon.
“What happened?”
Wide-eyed, Kizzie finished off the remaining coffee in her mug, keenly aware of Xander’s gaze on her. She licked the bitterness from her lips and forced the corners of her mouth up. “We came to the fork in the road.” He frowned; she spelled it out for him. “We’re not friends anymore.”
“But you were together at The Point?”
“Yup,” Kizzie said, popping the p. Arms out in front of her, she reached until her joints clicked. A deep breath and her vertebrae cracked. “So…Harvey…”
“Why aren’t you friends anymore?”
“Way more than three questions, Torquemada. The Inquisiti
on is officially over.”
The plane dipped and shuddered like it would fall from the sky. It rocked to the side a hair, the lights flickered, and then everything leveled off again.
“Why aren’t you friends?”
“You’re that kid, aren’t you? The one who sees a scab and has to pick at it? Score a point for you; you succeeded in discovering I once had a friend. Lay off, Xander.” Small solace she kept her voice level.
“Just a question.” He had his elbow propped on the armrest, thumb moving methodically over his lower lip. “I’m intrigued by you, Kizzie. I want to know what people close to you are like.”
“There aren’t people ‘close to me.’” She flexed her fingers. “Consider it a hard limit.”
Couldn’t they talk about something else? The sluggish global economy? Seeded versus seedless grapes? Myriad other topics ripe for exploration…
“Not even Connolly?”
“Bill’s a sonuvabitch.”
“A newly formed opinion?”
No. Kizzie had always known exactly what Bill Connolly was. But was she any better?
“Tell me about Joe.”
Her gaze flicked up to his. “Harvey.”
“Tell me, Kizzie,” Xander coaxed, so softly she almost did.
A lump rose in her throat and she forced it down, shook her head.
“It can’t be that bad. Joe’s an ex? He cheated on you and you dropped out?”
Cheated?
“Yeah, okay. He cheated. I lost a friend, and this is us moving on now.”
“Nah,” Xander said. “Too simple. Bad grades?”
“I just dropped out, all right? Decided college wasn’t for me. It happens.”
“Nah. You were top of your class… Piss off one of your commanders?”
“Oh, for fuc—” She drew in a shaky breath, exhaled. “It’s over a decade ago—”
“But it still bother’s you.”
“Leave it alone, Duquesne,” she grit through clenched teeth. “You keep your secrets and I’ll keep mine.” Kizzie lifted the mug to her lips, tipping the ceramic for a swallow. None came. She stared into the empty bowl, the plane suddenly stifling.
Her palm smacked the table and she stood swiftly, muttering a curse as she tramped to the galley; snatched the still-hot carafe as soon as it was within reach. A hip canted on the counter stabilized her against the plane’s angle of descent while she poured. Didn’t even want the coffee anymore, she needed busy. Another small pocket of turbulence rocked the jet and she swayed but kept her feet.
Xander prowled up the walkway behind her, planted one hand on the counter, braced the other on the nearby divider. “I’m determined like that. It’s how I got to be who I am. We can do this hard or easy, but I’m gonna find out one of these days.”
With great care, Kizzie set the carafe down, not trusting herself to keep from launching it at him. Xander already knew key details of her life—her real name chief among them. Reason enough to strangle him in his sleep. Or right now, which proved more convenient.
“Come on, Princess.”
“Stop calling me Princ–”
“Tell me.”
Kizzie wasn’t here for Xander to dig up old bones, she was here to stop his stupidity with Harvey from creating millions of new ones. “You want to know so damn bad, use your contacts.”
Xander leaned down, bringing their eyes level. “I’m asking you, Princess.”
She paused her snappy retort, the tip of her tongue trapped between top teeth and bottom lip. This was new, someone giving Kizzie the chance to tell her side. Surely the official documents, or whatever remained of them, didn’t do that.
Damn, Brazil. No, damn Helsinki. Damn Mauritius and Xander’s stupid boat and his stupid plane that she was currently trapped in, and Connolly and… just… Damn it all! She’d kept a lid on her emotions by not dwelling on, not revisiting the past. Bringing it up wouldn’t change a thing.
Lie and be done with it.
The slow breath she pulled in was even slower on the way out.
“I didn’t leave, Xander.” He tipped his head, brow knit. Gaze boring into his, Kizzie told him the only truth she knew. “The Point left me.”
* * * *
One arm through the sleeve of her light jacket, Kizzie descended the final step, setting boots and bag on terra firma sectioned off for Haneda International Airport. It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the bright lights inside the private hangar set a good distance away from the main airstrip. Darkness hovered just outside the open doors, too afraid to cross the threshold and upset the balance but happy to watch the action going on inside.
Though well before dawn, it was still warm and somewhat humid out. Kizzie inhaled a lungful of Tokyo air, tainted as it was with the all too familiar scent of aviation fumes. Xander’s pestering about her past had finally come to an end—though her threat of gelding him might have influenced that outcome a smidge. Now she wondered what was taking Thelma and Louise so long to get this party started.
Solid footfalls sounded on the stairs behind her. Xander descended, his phone pressed to his ear, and then a new voice from the left drew Kizzie’s attention.
“No no no…” A man waved his hands as he approached, coming directly in line with Kizzie’s analysis. American. Khaki pants, horizontal creases at the upper thigh—he’d spent a long time in a chair—untucked blue shirt concealing his waist. Gun? Moderate height, rumpled brown hair finger-combed in a hurry. Had a walk on him like he’d broken a leg a time or two, maybe knee surgery. Nothing in his hands and, after another surveillance of his midsection, he didn’t appear to be packing. Not an immediate threat, but her guard stayed firmly in place.
“Stix said two,” he held up as many fingers, “two. And no mention of a woman.”
Kizzie pushed her other arm through her coat sleeve, shrugging to adjust the material on her shoulders.
“Send it over,” Xander said, so close to her ear she flinched. She hadn’t noticed him slip up behind her. His leather duffel landed next to hers and he brushed her hands away from her collar. Pulling her trapped hair out from beneath it, he curled his fingers in the mass and gave it a quick tug, just hard enough to make her scalp tingle. A shiver slithered down her spine, and then he brushed by, heading toward the man now scowling in their direction.
“Calm down, Freddy. I adjusted for Gigi.” He tossed her a winked, then shook the man’s hand.
“Frederick.” A glare at Xander, a glance at Kizzie, and then Freddy slid something into his pocket. “Where’s Phillip. He’s—”
“Gonna forget about the cargo I hauled all the way from St. Germaine if you keep it up, Freddy.” Phil came down the steps carrying a the world’s smallest cardboard box, the sight of which made Freddy’s eyes widen. Something between ecstasy and relief crossed his features. He reached for it; Phil jerked away and removed the lid.
“What is this thing?” He plucked a ceramic object from the cotton batting and held it between two fingers, twisting it to and fro.
Freddy sucked in a quick breath, hands up as though ready to catch his priceless piece should it fall. “That thing is only the culmination of perfection. The final piece in a series entitled Ma Petite Beauté!”
“It’s got ‘little’ going for it,” Phil said.
“It’s ugly,” Xander offered.
“It’s art,” Freddy insisted. He spun toward Kizzie. “Gigi, is it? I can’t expect two Neanderthals to understand. What do you think?”
All eyes shifted to her: Freddy’s gaze fixed, Phil’s aloof, Xander’s twinkling. Kizzie blinked. Were they really having a fine art discussion in a private hangar in Tokyo?
“Uh…” Kizzie screwed up her face to keep from laughing, studied the miniature from one angle and then the other. A thoughtful “Hm…” before she decided, “Exquisite, Frederick. The curves, the…obvious detail the artist put into this rendering. Anyone with eyes can see this for the masterpiece it is. Utterly remarkable.”
; “Thank you,” Freddy said, his tone equal parts exasperation and satisfaction. He rolled his eyes. “Neanderthals…”
“Savages,” Kizzie agreed enthusiastically, flashing a smile at Xander.
Freddy reached for the piece and Phil pulled it away. Huffing, Freddy peeled six bills off the wad he’d just received and exchanged them for his ‘art.’ Phil shook his head, said, “Neanderthal tax,” and Freddy ripped off six more.
Wad a little lighter, Freddy snatched his prize away and slammed the lid into place. “Customs is handled, keys are in the car. Leave your weapons on the plane—strict anti-gun laws here. It’d be a mess trying to get you out of prison for something you won’t need.” Without another word he stalked off as quickly as his leg would allow.
“Exquisite?” Xander asked when Freddy was out of earshot. The brow with the scar Kizzie found so damn sexy lifted. “Curves?”
“Looks like a dirt mound. But we really don’t have time to chit chat about dubious art over tea with Freddy who, incidentally, seems far too sensitive to be associated with the likes of you. Did we stop off in Tokyo just to bring him an overpriced lump? I thought the hit from the necklace came in from Shimoda. That’s over a hundred miles away. Plenty of airports closer.”
Xander turned to Phil. “You didn’t tell her? I told you to tell her.”
“‘Tell me?’”
“I thought you should do the honors,” Phil said, shrugging.
She turned to Phil. “Tell me what?”
Xander chafed his hand over his face and groaned. “You’re killin’ me, Phil…”
Phil laughed and took his phone from his pocket. “Hey, I’m still sore about the twenty grand she cost me.” He grinned at Kizzie, handed the device to Xander.
Kizzie crossed her arms over her chest and let them go back and forth while murmuring over the cell phone, completely oblivious to her presence. The roar and whine of a jet engine indicated a plane had landed.
She waited.
A take-off and a touch-down later, she was all waited out. “Should I guess, or you want to save time and just tell me what the hell’s going on?” Another withering glance at Phil and Xander turned the phone so Kizzie could see the picture filling the display. The same picture Phil had sent her, still just as blurry. This was the delay? “I’ve seen it already. Phil—”
