by Lee Winter
Alison’s face reddened. “God, I’m so sorry. I thought…”
“I know what you thought. And that’s not something I’m interested in. With anyone.”
They were still inches apart. Natalya should have pushed her away and stepped back by now. Alison’s warm breath feathered across her skin and Natalya’s gaze traced the perfect bow-shape of her lips. As she admired them analytically for their geometric perfection and the way the edges turned up pleasantly, something stirred inside, and her breath quickened.
Oh good grief, no. Not over the little mouse! That was insane.
Alison obviously decided to be bold and try again. She pushed closer to Natalya and lifted her chin again.
Natalya sighed, which halted the movement, doubt once more flashing across Alison’s features, along with embarrassment. Natalya’s exhalation dusted the fine hairs on the soft face upturned before hers.
So trusting. It would be so easy. She could almost taste the most alluring essence there ever was, the thing she so rarely encountered, and it drew her like a siren’s song.
Innocence.
Natalya’s gaze traced Alison’s mouth. So tempting. Did virtue and goodness have an actual taste? What it would be like, taking her right here, against this sorry excuse of a car, that perfectly proper skirt of hers rucked up? She hissed in a breath at the thought. She briefly closed her eyes, stilling her breath, calling on her well of discipline.
“Are you curious, at least?” Alison asked with a thick voice. “About what you and I would be like?”
“We’re such opposites,” Natalya said. “We’d only cancel each other out. We’d self-destruct.”
Alison gave a tiny laugh. “What a way to go. And that wasn’t a no.”
She pressed herself against Natalya, a plea for more. “You’re so beautiful,” Alison said, her hands dropping to Natalya’s hips.
Alison’s fingers pulled their bodies closer until all Natalya felt was a wall of soft heat.
“Natalya. Please?”
Please. She’d heard the word “please” many times over the years. Begging. Begging her not to kill them. The timbre was even the same. An edge of desperation, with the faintest sliver of hope. She had ignored them all. Because that was what she did. She was Requiem. And Requiem killed.
This would never be right. This was her target, for god’s sake. She abruptly pushed Ryan away.
“I can’t,” Natalya said coolly. “No…just, no.”
“Damn,” Alison said quietly. “I’ve made a fool of myself.”
She moved away, to the driver’s side of her car. “I get it,” she added. “It’s okay. I mean, look at you and look at me.” She gave a strangled laugh and shook her head.
“Alison.”
“No, it’s fine. You probably have your pick of people. Anyone in the world would want you. And I’m just Alison, the idiot who amuses you with her bizarre musical tastes.”
She got inside and slammed her car door.
Natalya stared after her, robbed of words, as the little yellow car pulled away. If only she knew who the real target of derision should be.
She was still standing there minutes later, unmoving, as the rain continued to fall.
Chapter 8
Natalya had never hated herself more as she headed home. She threw her keys onto the side table instead of hanging them up. She kicked her heels off and slammed her cello case against the wall, then bit her lip regretfully, tracing her fingers over the instrument. She’d never done that before. Never.
Nor had she made this call before. Not once in twenty-four years. She paced her home, stared at her fish tanks, then paced some more, waiting for her mobile phone’s security mechanism to kick in and leapfrog the call halfway around the world and back.
Her associate picked up on the first ring. “Req? This is a surprise,” she said. “You’ve taken care of Viktor already?”
“No,” Natalya said. “It’s the other job. I need to know why.”
“Ryan? They paid big money for no questions.”
“Then refund some. I want answers.”
“Why? You’ve never cared before. Why now?”
“She’s unusual.”
“I’m well aware. I told you that, if you recall. But even so, asking questions is not in your job description. You were trained better than that. Now unless you need more information to do your job, there’s nothing more I can tell you.”
Natalya stalked over to her freezer and pulled out her vodka bottle and a chilled glass. “In order to do this job I have to know what she did and who she did it to.”
There was a long pause.
“They were specific,” her associate said. “Don’t ask, don’t tell. If it helps, I know the job was external to the families but it still came via them. It was one of Santos’s men who passed it along to me on behalf of the client. That’s all I know.”
“That’s not good enough.” Natalya gave the liquid in her glass an agitated swirl. “Not this time.”
“And again, Req, I have to ask: Why? What’s different?”
“She is,” Natalya said and lifted the drink to her lips. The bite was sharp and she immediately relaxed into it, enjoying the burn. She swallowed. “She’s an innocent. I’ve been following her. She looks after her sick mother, for God’s sake. Gave up her dream career and her dog to do the noble thing. The woman pushes paperwork around all day and actually thinks she’s daring for loving Harry fucking Partch.”
“Is that her boyfriend? I thought she was single?”
Natalya snorted derisively. “You are a complete Philistine.”
“Is that any way to talk to your mother?”
Natalya rolled her eyes at the thick sarcasm. “Step mother. And even then only for two years before you decided the heady life of a crime boss’s wife suited you far more than mundane suburbia with us.”
“Oh please. Remember who you’re talking to. We both know you don’t have a mundane bone in your body and never did. Your father, on the other hand, with all his tiresome adherence to Russian military precision–”
“Lola,” Natalya warned. “Don’t start. Now get me more.”
“Just tell me why. Are you going soft now? Is that what this is? Ah. I just looked up Mr Partch. So you like that she’s into music? That it?”
“Harry Partch is the absence of music.”
“Req, this is business. You’re better than this. I never thought we’d ever have to have this talk. Your reputation is all about supreme efficiency and ruthlessness. You get cold feet on even one job, and everyone will assume you’re unreliable. How many times have I heard you rant about the rest? ‘Unprofessional, flawed sacks of humanity’, you called them. Don’t let this target get under your skin. The deal was a no-questions-asked hit. That won’t change. So get focused. Stay focused. Then do your damned job.”
The phone went dead.
Natalya stared morosely at it. She angrily slammed her glass onto the table.
Lola was right. She wondered how she’d let a little mouse make her question everything. She never felt much of anything when she dispatched the others. She made sure she didn’t. It was all business. So why did she care now? Who was Alison Ryan in the scheme of things? No one. Even Ryan herself believed it.
She was no one.
Natalya sipped her vodka and finally faced what she had been avoiding all night: It would be different, looking into this one’s eyes as the light died from them.
Her guts tightened at the thought and she resented the sickening sensation. Resented the hell out of the fact that she gave Ryan a second thought at all.
Lola hadn’t lied about how her reputation would suffer, bailing on a job. Natalya was better than this. She was a professional. She would do her damn job. And she wouldn’t think of inviting lips and trusting blue eyes. Wouldn’t recall how tempting that innocence had been, coming at her in waves, daring her to slam Ryan’s back against that ugly car bonnet, hike up her skirt, slide her fingers up those soft w
hite thighs, and fuck her into next week.
She definitely wouldn’t think about how it would feel to make her moan. Make her sigh. Make her whisper Natalya’s name. How good it could be to show her the art of pleasuring the human body. She’d watch her as she came, as she trembled and cried out. As she kissed her.
Natalya’s breath caught.
Kissed her?
Shit.
She slammed down the rest of her drink and then, with shaking hands, washed the glass and dried it over and over until it shone. Her hands were aching and red. Still she continued, drying and drying. It was a comforting motion and it blocked out the other thing.
Part of her was furious that she even had to block it out at all.
She finally exhaled and slapped the glass down on the counter, then headed for her rehearsal room, angry and dismayed. There would be no more of this…fraternisation. Talking to Ryan…to the prey. None of that. Never again.
This was business. All business.
Chapter 9
Requiem crossed the Railway Parade railway line and turned into Seaford North Reserve, a small suburban oval just north of Frankston. She parked her Ninja out of sight, under a row of trees, and locked her helmet on the bike’s side clip. She had dressed for her environment. Fitted jeans, brown boots, a white T-shirt with a long-sleeve, pale blue shirt over the top. Suburban mum, with just a hint of assassin.
Well, she was dressed as close as she could manage to the stereotype without throwing up a bit in her mouth. Her hair was in a long no-nonsense plait.
She stealthily scouted the edges of the area. It was now Saturday. She had gone two days without replying to Ryan’s messages. Those texts hadn’t alluded to their near kiss nor their not-date at all. They’d been funny and light, and had included four more links for her to try—experimental music from Ryan’s short list.
She hadn’t clicked on any of them.
One of her best-paid informants told her that Viktor Raven was dedicated to his daughter, who, it turned out, was a soccer player for a team here today. Her informant had failed to produce a name for the girl because Raven protected her identity too well. So far all her source could supply was a blurry, black-and-white, long-distance photo from behind the unnamed child leaving a soccer game. That was fine, though—it wasn’t the girl she was after.
Of course, if Raven had any brains at all, logic dictated he’d remain far, far away from here right now. But, human nature being what it was, she suspected the man, like most flawed humans, would be weak when it came to his offspring.
And so, here Requiem sat, watching the Dandenong Rampagers take on the Frankston Fillies. Frankston was killing them. And, as the Under-14 teams pelted down the ground, it quickly became clear why.
“Chandra! Front pocket, shadow No. 31.”
A woman in shorts and a white T-shirt, the word “COACH” emblazoned on the back in enormous letters, was at the far end of the ground. She faced away from Requiem for most of the game, hunched over a small whiteboard. The woman missed nothing. Every quarter, she stood in the middle of a huddle of teens with her blue cap and large, wide sunglasses as she explained their next moves. The girls nodded along, their heads bobbing earnestly.
The coach’s plays were like a chess game and behind every play was a clever tactic that had been well thought out ahead of time. She frowned each time she heard her shout. It seemed familiar—which was absurd. Who did she know who coached junior soccer?
A girl with a brown ponytail shot another goal, her third, and the coach clapped. “Good girl!”
The game was over at noon—to the Dandenong players’ relief. The star of the Frankston team ran over and hugged the coach with more than passing familiarity. The coach nodded, pointed towards the car park, and then began heading towards it herself. Halfway across the pitch, she glanced towards Requiem’s position.
And that’s when she inhaled sharply. Great. So now her target was a kids’ soccer coach? Her eyes flicked around for an escape route, hoping to slip away unseen.
Ryan had stopped walking and was staring in her direction in surprise. She lifted her hand and waved furiously, a smile splitting her face.
Requiem inwardly groaned.
Oh joy. The woman thought she was here for her.
Requiem debated leaving anyway. But that wouldn’t solve her pressing Viktor situation. Shrugging off her alter-ego with some effort, Natalya affixed a neutral expression and sauntered over.
Ryan continued walking until she reached a station wagon. She began squeezing sporting gear into the back. Given the car’s array of macho Melbourne Storm rugby league stickers plastered along the rear window, Natalya guessed it was borrowed.
“How did you know I’d be here?” Ryan asked when Natalya reached her, as she crammed the gear in. “Well, however you figured it out, I’m really glad you are.”
“Need a hand?” Natalya said, sidestepping the question as Ryan pushed a washing basket full of soccer balls into the rear. One escaped and bounced towards Natalya.
She stopped it with her foot and then flicked it with her toe back towards the car. In one bounce it landed inside.
Ryan gave her an impressed look. “Wow. I could use you on my wing.”
“Somehow, I don’t think you need any help. How long have you coached?”
“I just do it occasionally, when the Fillies’ coach can’t. He’s on his honeymoon right now.”
“I’d think he’d be feeling a bit threatened by that score line. Five nil?”
Ryan shrugged modestly. “Score is irrelevant. They’re just little girls. I’m teaching them teamwork. That matters more than anything else.”
“Does it?” Natalya asked. “I’d have thought individuality would be a more important lesson. Especially at this age, when they’re facing peer pressure.”
Ryan shook her head. “Please. Society’s already too me-me-me. What they pick up here is stuff they can’t learn easily elsewhere.”
She paused and looked at Natalya. “You look really nice,” she said. “Although I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the sight of you in jeans.”
“Oh?” Natalya said, glancing down at herself. Surely she didn’t stand out too much?
“Yeah. You’re so naturally elegant, and yet this is so casual. It’s like seeing Aphrodite in her gym clothes or something.”
“I’m no goddess. Not even close.”
“No,” Ryan agreed, with a small smile, “but you create music like one. And you could pass for one if you could be bothered. On the flip side, goddesses have all those annoying fan girls, don’t they? How irritating for them,” she said lightly, lips twisting. “Hey, hand me that bag?”
Natalya passed over a sports bag, which was duly wedged into the boot, as she processed Ryan’s self-deprecation.
So, she had decided Natalya thought Ryan was just some fan who had been swatted aside as irritating?
Actually, the masses desperate for selfies and autographs were the true irritation for artists, because they sought a slice of one’s fame and made no true effort to understand that their object of devotion was real. The celebrity was seen as little more than a commodity to be collected, traded, and ultimately discarded when they disappointed. Their heroes were not even human, just “perfect” or “flawless.”
Until they weren’t.
The little mouse had never done that with her. She seemed to have no interest in Natalya’s fame at all. She was entirely focused on knowing Natalya herself. So, no, she was not irritating. Quite the opposite.
And that was the problem.
Natalya could tell her that, of course, but what was the point? Ryan was still her target. Natalya was supposed to be keeping her distance from her, not worrying about boosting her self-confidence.
The car boot was slammed shut. Ryan glanced around, her star player catching her eye in the distance. She waved to the girl who was talking to her friends. The teenager began to trot over.
“Want a bite to eat?” Ryan asked. �
��Almost lunch time. I’ve worked up an appetite. You can explain why you’ve been ignoring my musical masterpieces.”
Natalya couldn’t read her expression through the dark sunglasses.
“I’ve been busy practising music that sounds actually musical,” Natalya said. “Not the sound a mechanic makes when he drops his wrench.”
Her gaze darted back to the clusters of parents and children on the sidelines. It looked like her primary target was a no-show. So much for family ties. She wondered whether Ryan knew which girl playing today had a father with such a distinctive name as Viktor Raven? As a coach, she well might. Her racing mind perked up at the thought. Perhaps this wasn’t a bust after all.
“But yes,” Natalya said with forced brightness. “Lunch.”
“Great!” Alison smiled at her and sounded relieved. “Right, hang on, I have to talk to Hailey.”
She walked off and was soon in conversation with the girl she’d waved over.
Natalya contemplated their surroundings. They were miles from anywhere, in a part of town not exactly known for its fine eateries. Lord only knew where lunch would be.
“Okay, I’m ready,” Ryan said after jogging back to her. “Hope you don’t mind but I have to babysit Hailey today as her dad couldn’t make it. But I can assure you she’s pretty amusing company. Thirteen years old and absolutely no censor button.”
Natalya paused. A girl with a missing father? And Natalya was looking for one? It could just be a coincidence but still…
“No problem at all,” she said and smiled. “Kids and I get on just fine.” Well, almost true. She had talked to a child once. It had not run away.
Alison shot her a sceptical look. “Um, okay. After that, well, I’m all yours.” Her smile was hesitant and guarded. Natalya couldn’t blame her given how they’d left things.
“Burgers all right?” Ryan asked. “They’re gourmet if that helps. There’s a Hamburger Heaven over the road and up a bit on Station St. We can walk across from here.”
Natalya quashed her initial response and nodded tightly again. Dear God. Hamburger Heaven? What insanity was this?
