by Kim Fielding
When Reid caught sight of him, an eyebrow flew up. “Wow.”
“Impressed wow or judgmental one?”
“Surprised. But also impressed. You look great.” Reid looked down at himself as if suddenly doubting his own look. Which he shouldn’t have, because he was as delicious as always.
“I don’t really dress up all that often. I used to, back when I first made it big. I had a bunch of money burning a hole in my pocket, and all those designer threads were so shiny compared to the polyester and denim my parents used to buy me from Svoboda Ranch and Home.”
The corner of Reid’s mouth turned up. “Peril’s not a hotbed of high fashion?”
“That depends on how you feel about Wrangler jeans and Justin boots.” Jaxon shrugged. “But you know what? I’m most comfy in jeans and a tee. So that’s what I usually stick to. I bet you were born in a suit.”
Reid’s expression darkened. “No, I wasn’t. You ready to go?”
“I guess so.”
Halyna collected them soon after. She wore a slinky evening gown the color of a summer sky, but her smiles seemed brittle.
“Is something wrong?” Jaxon asked as she led them down the hotel hallway.
“No, of course not. Everyone is ready. It is excellent banquet.”
“Will the prime minister be there?” Reid’s face didn’t show whatever he hoped the answer would be.
“No,” she said. “He is very busy. He sends his regrets to Mr. Powers.”
Jaxon nodded. He was fine with Talmirov’s absence, although he wasn’t exactly thrilled about hanging out with all of the dictator’s buddies either. He hoped this would be a short event.
After they went down the stairs and passed the front desk, Jaxon noticed an unusually large number of men slouching in the lobby with cigarettes and suspicious stares. Military types with guns flanked the front door. Halyna guided them instead through a set of double doors, down a short corridor, and into a room resembling every hotel meeting space on the planet: moveable walls, ugly carpet, and chandeliers that gave off a markedly jaundiced light. Stackable chairs surrounded a dozen cloth-draped round tables, while a long rectangular table dominated the front of the room. Almost every seat was occupied by men in suits and uniforms and their more colorfully dressed wives, and every person in the place turned to face Jaxon and his party as they entered. After a brief pause, the attendees clapped.
Jaxon executed an awkward little bow and then allowed Halyna to tow him to the long table. When they got there, Reid was consigned to the nearest round table while Jaxon was directed to a chair at the middle of the rectangle. “I prefer my assistant nearby,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound like a kid clinging to his parents on the first day of kindergarten.
“Do not worry,” Halyna said. “Albina and I will translate for you.” She waved at the spot next to Jaxon’s, where Albina waited in a silver dress and smiled brightly at them.
“But my assistant—”
“It’s okay,” Reid interrupted, although he looked displeased. He sat down where assigned, between a portly gray-haired man and a tiny woman with an elaborate hairdo. And really, it wasn’t that far from Jaxon, who’d have a clear view of Reid from his own spot. Jaxon still didn’t like it.
Halyna introduced Jaxon to the other people at the table of honor, all of whom seemed to be deputy ministers of some kind, and when Jaxon sat, she took the chair on the other side of him.
“How come Mariya has to miss out on the festivities?” Jaxon asked, reaching for his glass of water.
The two guides exchanged worried glances before Albina answered. “Unfortunately, she is ill and cannot join us.”
She’d seemed fine the previous day, but some things could come on quickly. Jaxon pictured her sitting at home in pajamas with a cup of her herbal tea and a good book, and he was a little envious. He’d rather be puking into a toilet than sitting in this room. “Sorry to hear that. I hope she feels better soon.”
Halyna and Albina answered with smiles that seemed more nervous than sincere. Before Jaxon could figure out why, one of the deputy ministers stood and clinked a spoon against his water glass. Then he gave a long, boring speech about the wonders of Vasnytsian traditional music and dance. Next came a different guy’s speech about the wonders of Vasnytsian history, then one about the wonders of Vasnytsian government, and so on. Albina and Halyna took turns whispering translations into Jaxon’s ear, but he didn’t pay much attention. Mostly he watched Reid, who appeared uneasy. Was he having second thoughts about their bathroom tryst?
At long last, the speeches ended and food appeared. Although the meal was bland—chicken, rolls, and some kind of cooked greens—it at least wasn’t drowning in butter and cream. Jaxon ate politely and sipped at a glass of red wine, relieved to learn that he wasn’t expected to make conversation. In fact, he wasn’t sure why he was there at all. Maybe just as proof of Talmirov’s power. After all, the prime minister had managed to drag a rock star to his isolated little country.
There was apple cake for dessert, along with more wine. And just when Jaxon was hoping the banquet might be over, more people gave speeches. Eventually Albina informed Jaxon that he was supposed to say something too. Despite the fact that he was a singer, not a public speaker, he stood and managed a few phrases of appreciation for Vasnytsian hospitality. Halyna translated, and the crowd seemed pleased. They smiled and clapped, at any rate.
Finally the informal portion of the evening arrived. While the guides kept Jaxon tethered to his chair, the guests took turns approaching him, each offering a few words. He felt like a prince receiving supplicants, and he was strongly tempted to throw ironic glances at Reid, who hovered close by.
“Your music is very interesting,” announced an attractive young woman with a much older husband. She spoke English—a nice change—but was flirting openly enough to make Jaxon uncomfortable and bring a scowl to her husband’s face.
Jaxon gave her a professional smile, the one he used for the hundredth person to ask him for a selfie while he was trying to take a morning run. “Thank you. I hope you enjoyed the concert.”
“Oh, yes, very much.” She began to rhapsodize about her favorite songs, but Jaxon just nodded whenever she paused. His main attention was still on Reid, who’d just accepted a glass of wine from a waiter. Jaxon didn’t know if that was a good sign or bad; Reid had been sticking to water all night.
Fortunately, the woman’s husband soon dragged her away, and Reid stepped in before anyone could take her place. “How are you holding up?” he asked Jaxon.
“Okay.”
“Your throat’s not sore?”
Something in Reid’s tone signaled that he was offering an escape; Jaxon latched on immediately. “Actually, it kind of is. Scratchy.”
Reid set his wineglass down and leaned across the table. “Let me see,” he ordered.
A little weird to be playing doctor now, but Jaxon obediently opened wide. Reid peered inside. “Tsk,” Reid said, shaking his head. “It’s red. You need to rest it. Maybe we can get more of that tea from Mariya.”
Halyna was thin-lipped. “Mariya is ill.”
“Oh,” said Reid. But he appeared a bit shaken. “Well anyway, Jaxon needs to rest now before he damages his vocal cords.”
Although Jaxon’s vocal cords were just fine, he nodded his agreement. “I do.” He tried to inject a bit of hoarseness into it.
“I think perhaps guests expected Mr. Powers to sing,” said Albina with a frown.
Reid shook his head. “Then they’ll be disappointed. He’s still recovering from the concert yesterday and can’t put more stress on his throat.”
“Just one song?”
“No, not even one. He’s done enough with all the talking tonight.”
In truth, Jaxon wouldn’t have objected to a short set; it was preferable to making a speech, at least. But he was enjoying this little battle of wills, with Albina scowling furiously and Reid as implacable as a mountain. Halyna, like Jaxon, remai
ned a spectator.
“These are very important people,” Albina said.
“Jaxon Powers is also very important. I won’t allow him to be injured just to entertain some dignitaries.” They were arguing in English, possibly for Jaxon’s benefit but more likely so that few of the bystanders would understand. But quite a few people were watching, and none of them could have mistaken Albina and Reid’s body language.
At this point Jaxon could have just marched out of the room, but he was trapped between Halyna and Albina. He couldn’t get out without pushing one of them aside, and that seemed excessively rude. Besides, he trusted Reid to free him soon.
Albina was clearly considering new ways to state her case. When she realized her wineglass was empty, she picked up Reid’s, defiantly drank it dry, and slammed it down onto the tablecloth. “Prime Minister Talmirov will be displeased.”
“Then you can send him our regrets. Tell him Jaxon is also a busy man who can’t afford to be laid up. Not only does he have another concert, but when he gets back to the States, he has a record to finish.”
But Albina didn’t budge. With a determined expression, Reid stomped around the table and got in Albina’s face. She was tall, especially in heels, but he was taller still, and broader. To her credit, she didn’t back down. “Mr. Stanfill, you are being unreasonable.”
“I’m doing my job.”
For several moments, Reid and Albina stared each other down in silence. Then she glanced around and, noticing the audience, sighed in resignation. “Perhaps we can….” Her sentence trailed off and she held a palm to her forehead.
Reid’s aggressive stance changed immediately and he took a step closer. “Albina? What’s wrong?”
“I… I can’t….” She muttered something in Vasnytsian and staggered back, almost crashing into Jaxon. When she reached for the table for support, she knocked over Jaxon’s half-full glass, sending a small flood of bloodred wine over the cloth and onto the carpet. Jaxon and Reid both reached out to steady her, but she clutched her stomach and doubled over. Her breathing sounded harsh and rapid. With a loud gasp, she collapsed completely, landing facedown near the wall. Reid knelt and turned her over, tightening his jaw when he saw her cherry-red face.
Reid looked up at Jaxon. “I’m so sorry, Jax. But you’ll be safe.” Then he shot to his feet, pushed past several dignitaries, and ran out a back door.
Chapter Nine
FOR a long, shuddery moment, complete stillness filled the banquet hall. Jaxon remained frozen with Albina motionless at his feet. Then someone in uniform barked at him in Vasnytsian and pushed him aside to get to Albina. Jaxon shot a desperate look at Halyna, but her eyes were saucer-wide and both hands covered her mouth. No help from that quarter.
He swore, took a few deep breaths, and sprinted after Reid.
The exit led to a dark, narrow corridor. A right turn, Jaxon was fairly certain, would take him toward the lobby, while turning left meant heading toward an unassuming door. Guessing that Reid wanted to avoid the crowd in the lobby, Jaxon turned left. He was wearing those damn boots with heels, and Reid had a good head start. But Jaxon was still fast, and when he burst through the door and into an alley, he saw Reid just disappearing around the far corner.
Silently cursing every heavy meal he’d been forced to consume over the past few days, Jaxon pressed himself harder and picked up speed.
Three blocks later, he’d nearly caught up. But suddenly Reid spun around, a knife in one hand, the blade glittering in the moonlight.
“Reid!” Jaxon cried, skidding to a halt.
After a half beat, Reid tucked the knife away. Their heavy breathing echoed on the deserted street. “Go back!” Reid growled.
“No.”
Snarling, Reid surged forward, grabbed Jaxon’s arm, and dragged him into a space between two buildings, not even wide enough to be an alley. Jaxon had no idea what purpose it might have served five hundred years earlier when this part of the city was built, but now it contained tattered pieces of paper and a few plastic bags.
Reid pushed Jaxon against a stone wall and stood chest to chest, but this time no kisses ensued. “This isn’t a game, Jaxon. You need to go back.”
“What the fuck’s going on?”
“Poison.”
“What?”
Reid made an animal noise and punched the wall next to Jaxon. “Cyanide. Albina drank my wine and got the cyanide meant for me.”
An image flashed into Jaxon’s mind, as clear as a photo: Reid sprawled unmoving on the banquet room’s ugly carpet, his chest still and his face bright red. Jaxon’s stomach tightened and he clutched Reid’s shoulders. “W-why was there cyanide in your wine?” The ground seemed to be tilting beneath him, and it wasn’t just the recent dash that made it hard to breathe.
Then Reid shocked him further by leaning against him and resting his head on Jaxon’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” Reid whispered. “Lies. Half-truths. God, I’m so sorry.”
“So be honest with me now.”
With a deep sigh, Reid pulled away. “I can’t. Look, you’re safe. You’re too high profile for them to target. Go back to the hotel. Tell them you couldn’t find me. Pretend you believe them when they say Albina choked to death or died of an embolism.”
“But….” Jaxon shook his head hard, hoping to clear it. “I don’t understand.”
“Good. Please, Jax. Go.”
“Where are you going?”
Reid rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know. I need to find a way out of the country.”
And then the realization hit. Belatedly, yes, but maybe the night’s events excused Jaxon’s slow mind. “You’re a spy!”
The look he received in response held both impatience and pity. “I’m an intelligence officer.”
Jaxon nodded. “Right. A spy. What are you spying on? Who’s trying to kill you?” Then a thought struck him. “Jesus—who are you spying for?”
“I work for the US State Department, just like I told you from the start. And I don’t want to put you in danger. Go back to the hotel.”
“You’re in danger.”
Reid twitched his shoulders impatiently. “That’s what I signed on for. It’s my job. You’re—”
“Just a guy who sings. Right.”
“Fuck!” Reid looked like he wanted to punch the wall again. “That’s not what I mean. You agreed to do a couple of concerts, which is great. You didn’t agree to put your life on the line. And I sure as hell didn’t approve of you getting involved with this end of it. Go back to the hotel.”
It was funny, but the more times Reid ordered him to leave, the less Jaxon wanted to. He crossed his arms and held his ground.
“Dammit, Jax! This isn’t—”
“A game. I know. You already said that.” And just like that, he made a decision. “I’m going with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am. I’m going to follow you. I run faster than you, even in these heels. So unless you’re planning to stab me, you’re stuck with me.”
This time Reid did punch the wall. His knuckles came away bloody. “Why the fuck are you doing this? Go back to the hotel and you’ll be safe. You can go on with your life. Go back to your fancy suites and your pretty one-night stands and your goddamn platinum records.” His voice had risen, but now he lowered it. “If you come with me, you’ll almost certainly end up dead.”
“I’ll end up dead anyway,” Jaxon replied with a small smile. “We all will, in the end. This… mission. This thing they’re trying to murder you over. Is it the right thing to do? Are you wearing a white hat?”
“There are no white hats. Just varying shades of gray.”
“Reid.”
“I… I think I’m one of the good guys.”
Jaxon nodded. “Then I’m going with you.”
“You’re not trained in any of this. You’ll just get in my way.”
Apparently Jaxon’s brain, perhaps making up for its previous lapses, had jumped a few ste
ps ahead. “No, I’ll help you. You need to flee the country, right? And great, you speak the language, good for you, but why would any Vasnytsians risk prison or worse to give you a hand? Me, on the other hand—I have fans here. I bet some of them might be willing to help me out.”
“Or not. You may be famous, but you’re not immune. If you take active steps to support me, Talmirov won’t care how many Grammys you’ve won. He’ll take you down too.”
“Could be worse,” said Jaxon, who honestly wasn’t afraid. “I could OD, or choke on my own vomit, or just croak from irrelevance while playing at the Box Butte County Fair. I’d rather be the only rock star in history who was assassinated while helping a spy.”
“That’s idiotic.” But Jaxon could tell that Reid was wavering.
“I may be idiotic, but I’m also stubborn. I’m used to getting my way.”
“This isn’t like asking for no red M&M’s backstage, Jax. It’s—”
“Life-and-death. I get it. And they were brown M&M’s. Plus there was a legit reason for Van Halen to put that in their contracts. It was a safety issue, actually.”
Reid stared at him for a moment before rolling his eyes. “They’ll be here soon. I need to get somewhere safe.”
“We need to, yes. Do you have any ideas?”
“I think,” Reid said, tugging on Jaxon’s lapel, “we need to start by blending in a little better.”
He’d said we.
Jaxon grinned.
IT was difficult to skulk through a strange city while wearing a flashy suit and high-heeled boots, but Jaxon did his best. It helped that even though it wasn’t especially late, almost all the businesses were closed for the night and few locals wandered the streets. But Jaxon and Reid still had to avoid cafés where people sat at outdoor tables or inside near the windows, nursing their coffee and smoking.
“Why are they trying to kill you?” Jaxon whispered as he and Reid crept down an alley smelling of garbage. “What’s your real mission?”
