I leaned back against the leather seats and tried to relax. The music was too bright, though, and the buzzing edge of the synthesizers got on my nerves. It was like listening to a fucking swarm of bees. “Hot enough for you, Ed?”
A flash of movement in the side view mirror caught my eye: Christina removing her sweatshirt. She was wearing one of the white tank tops. My mouth went dry. It was the twin of the one I'd ripped off her body last night.
My cock jumped to attention, like this was fucking roll call for it. Images began to flood my brain, a mixture of real and fantasy, I began to sweat. “Yeah.” Stop thinking about that. I shifted in my seat, pinning it under my belt so the bulge wouldn't be obvious.
Shannon shut off the heater. “Good.” I glared at her. She rewarded me with a saucy smile. “Wouldn't want you to catch cold.”
Or anything else.
We stopped at a small warehouse. “Here we are!” That damned music finally turned off. Too little, too late. I could already feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. My cock returned to where it was supposed to be when I stood up, and I breathed out a little, mopping my forehead with the back of my hand.
“I got a car all lined up for you, Ed,” she was saying. “And a gun, and a phone, and a couple other things you asked for.” She paused at the threshold of the other room. “About the wire transfer — ”
“You got the money?”
“Yes, but isn't it a little too — ”
“I paid you what I owe.”
“It's your money.” She shrugged her shoulders and sashayed away while I waited for a bottle of aspirin to fall from the sky. Christina stumbled out of the car, looking shaken.
“Ed?”
“She thinks my name is Edward. You are not to tell her otherwise.”
She nodded dizzily, leaning back against the car. “Anything else I should know?”
“Your parents are being chased by mobsters. I'm your bodyguard. Don't tell me you get carsick.”
“I don't, usually. Where are we?” I watched her take in the residential/light commercial area, all of it shrouded in a thin haze of vapor. Her frown deepened. “Is this Seattle?”
“We're in the suburbs. Shannon's giving us a car.”
“Lending,” Shannon corrected, as we stepped into the room. She turned and her smile faltered for a brief instant, flicking to my hand around her wrist, before returning at twice the wattage. “You scratch up the paint job and I'll kill you.”
“Try it. I'll have you on the floor in two seconds.”
“Mm,” she purred. “Sounds fun. Is that a date?”
“No.” I gave her a look she pretended not to see. “I'm driving.”
The rain had abated to a light drizzle by the time we got into the more heavily populated areas. I was grateful for the downpour — anyone following us would be hindered by the rain and the Sniper would have trouble orchestrating another photo shoot in inclement weather, though the tenacious little bastard probably had a waterproof camera.
The city was lit up by neon, blurring in the misty darkness, giving the shopfronts a frosty glow. I watched the girl. She never took her eyes from the window. Once, she made an appreciative sound and started to say, “Oh, look at tha — ” before flushing uncomfortably and falling silent. I wondered what she'd seen that caught her eye.
“Nice area, isn't it?” Shannon piped up. There was savage proprietorship in her voice, as if in her mind she not only owned this part of the city, but was responsible for its creation, as well. “It's one of the more upscale areas,” she added, as we pulled up to her apartment. “We don't have anything like Saks Fifth Avenue” — she laughed deprecatingly — “but if you want to shop in the city, this is as close as you get.”
But while expensive — city housing wasn't cheap — her place, and the surrounding area, weren't quite upscale. Definitely looked as though it'd seen a roach or three in its time. I popped the lock and Shannon sighed. “You're not going to walk me to my front door?”
“I have to watch the girl. This is an upscale area, remember? You won't get mugged.”
“It's dark,” Shannon said. “And the girl's not going anywhere.”
“She is right here,” Christina said, sounding irritated. “And she has a name.”
“You're eighteen, honey. You can't play by yourself for a few minutes?”
“Enough.” I drew in a deep breath. Fuck. “I'll be right back.” I twisted the automatic locking mechanism from the keyring I'd retrieved from Shannon. “If anything happens, hit the panic button. Not that anything will.”
I slammed the door behind me, locking it manually, and walked up the steps. They were slippery from the rain. I held onto the rail as I ascended, wondering what scheme that woman had up her sleeve. Shannon didn't need help walking to her door. She'd gotten there long before me. Was already inside, in fact. I walked into the familiar hallway and said, “If you're so concerned about safety, you probably shouldn't leave your door unlocked.”
“You should have seen your face when I pulled up.” She laughed, turning around. Her shirt was unbuttoned now. “Did you really think my Mercedes was the car I'd picked out for you?”
“It's nice to see you have some sense, after all.”
She moved closer. “Aren't you going to thank me?”
I cracked a smile, amused that she'd bothered. “Thank you.”
“I didn't mean with your mouth.” She let her lips brush against mine. Her shirt fluttered to the floor. “Well. We could start with your mouth — and work our way down.”
I hadn't thought that she'd jump me in the hall, but I wasn't surprised. I wasn't pleased, either. “You almost got me fired.” I held her at arm's length. “Do you want to get me killed?”
“I didn't know you were an agent.”
“You still shouldn't. You pried into my personal life, finding out things you had no business knowing — until I was left with no choice but to tell you.”
“I missed you.” She slid her hands down my chest. I could feel her nails through the wife beater. Red polish. “I bet you missed me, too.”
“I barely thought about you.”
Shannon leaned closer, tugging at the lapels of my coat. “So cruel.”
“It comes with the job.” I pushed her away again.
“But I bet you're thinking about me now.” Her mouth covered mine, her breasts pushing against my chest. I tasted a vague sweetness from her lip gloss as she slid one of her hands down my pants. “Oh, hello.” She squeezed me and my breathing hitched. “Looks like you are.”
“Shannon. No.”
“Stay with me.” Her grip tightened and I groaned. “One night. You won't regret it.”
With effort, I said, “The girl is in the car.” I tugged her hand out of my waistband. “I'm being paid by the hour.”
“I don't remember time being an issue for you.”
She was beginning to piss me off. “The answer is no.”
“Why not? Is it the girl?” Shannon slipped her shirt back on but didn't button it. “Look, ditch the kid. Take here — wherever she needs to go. Then come back.”
“It's not her,” I said.
“Then what's the problem?” She stared at my face. “Me?”
“You're getting warmer.” I started to push past her. She halted me again.
“Why? What's wrong with me?”
“Nothing. I'm just not fucking interested.”
“Is it because you're giving it to your sweet-faced client, Ed?”
“I'm not discussing this with you.”
“Is it the schoolgirl thing?” Shannon leaned up, to reach my ear. “Is that what gets you hot? Little Miss Junior Prep flashing her panties at you?”
I yanked open the door. “Goodbye.”
“Wait.” She held her shirt closed with one hand and hurried after me. When she saw I really was leaving, her voice rose in alarm, sure to wake the neighbors. “Ed — come back, I was just teasing.” She called after me several more times. I di
dn't respond.
“I thought you weren't coming,” Christina said.
“Trust me, darlin. I almost did.”
While she was busy puzzling that one out, I switched the car into drive and sped to my apartment.
Christina:
Michael made no effort to speak to me in the car. He was breathing hard and did not look at me, but I caught a glimpse of his face in the rear view mirror. He looked mad. When we stopped outside an inconspicuous apartment complex on the other side of town, I was getting antsy.
“I'm on the third floor.” He handed me a key. “Fourteen C.”
“By myself?” I repeated. “With your key?”
Michael held up a spare one. “Go,” he said hoarsely.
He didn't need to tell me twice. I went. The elevator was out of repair. I had to walk up three flights of stairs. By the third floor, I was winded. I inserted the key into the lock and opened the door. The smell of musty furniture and stale cleaner assailed my nose.
All the furniture was modern, in shades of black and white with stainless steel accents. No personal touches, but the carpet looked expensive. I made my way into the kitchen. The basic appliances were shiny and new. There was a small eating area set for two with flimsy dining chairs. One of the chairs was piled high with books and folders, suggesting he didn't have much company. At least, none that ever made it as far as the kitchen.
I went back through the living room, turning around the bend that connected the living room to the kitchen and found myself in his bedroom. The obvious focal point was a large sleigh bed with black sheets. In the corner was a desk, also stacked with reading materials. Ditto the chair. I squinted at the titles. Most were reference books, but he had a couple leather-bound classics. Barely visible under the mess was an ancient set of speakers, without a single CD in sight.
I took a step back and bumped into Michael. His jacket was gone and his breathing was easier. “What do you think?”
I hesitated. “You enjoy being solitary and don't have much fun.”
He almost smiled — almost — but then it faded and his face became expressionless, even annoyed. He walked past me and started organizing some of the loose papers on his desk. “Make yourself at home. It'll take me anywhere from a few days to a week to locate your parents.”
“Where did you find her?” On a street corner somewhere?
“Shannon? Ordering equipment. It was an unusual order.”
“And you became…friends…afterwards?”
“We aren't friends.”
I stared at him as he lifted stacks of paper off the chair, keeping his back to me. I remembered Shannon's joyous reaction upon seeing him. The poisonous looks she'd shot in my direction. Why she seemed to hate me for no apparent reason. “You slept with her, didn't you?”
There was a pause. “Yes.”
That bastard.
“Don't look at me like that,” he said, without turning around. “I told her what the rules were. She didn't take me seriously.”
I felt a small trickle of pity for Shannon. Not much, though. Bitch.
“You wouldn't make the same mistake.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “You take me seriously.”
Only because I couldn't afford not to.
“Did you wear a uniform at Sacred Heart?”
It took a moment for the question to sink in. “You mean at Holy Trinity? Yeah, I did. WE all did. Most Catholic schools require them. Why?”
Michael laughed, collapsing back on the mattress. I figured that was as good a time as any to change out of the bus clothes and into the flannel pajama pants. I came out of the bathroom to find him still on the bed, no longer laughing, with his arms stretched over his head. The hem of his wife beater had lifted a few inches, revealing the twisted scar that curved around his navel and intersected with the fine line of dark hair disappearing into his waistband.
Ask him how he got it.
I looked at his face, which was set with determination and something else I couldn't quite put my finger on. Something that made all the hairs on my arms stand on end. It wasn't…sexual. Not overtly, although that was certainly part of it. Whatever the thought or emotion was, it made his eyes burn. When he spoke, his words were just as unexpected.
“Would you like to learn some self-defense?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Catharsis
Michael:
The incident with the Sniper had been an unpleasant wake-up call. Christina had spotted the man before I had but been unable to do anything. If his intentions had been hostile, we would have both been screwed. Partly, that was my fault. She was no use to me helpless and I was fully acquainted with the repercussions of getting caught unawares. I should have taught her self-defense sooner. The only reason I hadn't was because I was so used to thinking of her as the trouble-making hostage.
“You could stand to learn some basic fighting moves,” I said, sitting up. My shirt settled back into place. She looked down at the ground, some color in her face.
“Aren't you afraid I'd use them against you?”
In a different world. I could easily picture her as an IMA operative. A good one. “I said basic. I am not basic. I am advanced. Even if I taught you the moves, it is unlikely that you would be able to use them against me. Go ahead. Try to hit me.”
She looked tempted, but cautious. I watched her eyes flick to my face. “You'll hit back.”
“I won't.”
She moved closer, as I had known she would. Close enough that I could have reached out and grabbed her. I saw the muscles in her upper arms jump as she pulled back her fist — but not with enough force for a real hit. She was going to fake it, I thought. And she did. She pulled back at the last possible second and looked offended when I didn't blink.
“I said try to hit me. That wasn't even a try. If you're fast enough to dodge me, even I'll be impressed. I doubt that's going to happen though, but you won't know until you try, will you?”
She pulled her arm back farther. I timed it, waiting. Now. I caught her wrist before the blow could connect with my face, jerking her arm up swiftly behind her back. Heard her gasp in pain and surprise, still reeling, as I searched for the nerve in her collarbone. I pressed it.
“Ow,” she gasped, instinctively pulling backwards. Putting more strain on her arm. “Ow.”
“You get someone in this position, darlin, and they'll do anything you want to let them go.” I slid my hand down her arm, releasing her from the pin but didn't release her straightaway. “You see? You wouldn't last five minutes against me.”
She glared at me over her shoulder. “Is that a threat?”
“Only if you make it one.”
“Charming,” she spat. “You said you wouldn't hit me.”
“I didn't.”
“What was that, then?”
“One of your pressure points.”
“Is it supposed to hurt that much?”
“No pain, no gain. I can show you…more weak spots.” I kissed her neck. “I promise…I won't press them…that hard.”
I didn't see the fist coming until it was too late to avoid the undercut. I managed to dodge but couldn't evade the impending attack entirely. The blow glanced off my cheek, painful, but not enough to cause damage — thank God. Either I was getting slow, or she was a lot faster than I gave her credit for. Remembering her dash for the bathroom this morning, I suspected the latter.
My hand had already shot up to catch her wrist, almost of its own accord. I was in the defensive position, ready to deliver the single, disabling twist I'd need to crack her bones.
“What the fuck?”
“I caught you off-guard.” She had that expression that pissed me off most — lips pursed, chin up, nostrils flared. The challenging one. “Not so great, is it? You don't get to hit me, you bastard. That hurt.”
I pushed her backwards. “That was a lesson. Sparring. I know my limits. Do you?” I leaned forward, centering my weight on her pelvis, making it impossible for her
to get back up. It was one of the first nonviolent subduing methods I'd learned. “I'm stronger than you. Faster than you. I can endure more pain than you have probably ever experienced — or ever will experience — in your life. Do you really believe, for one second, you could take me?”
She squeezed her eyes shut when I whispered into her ear, “And if you tried to run from me, as many have tried, I could hunt you down. You could leave all your friends, all your worldly possessions, all of that behind. I'd still find you.”
I ran a finger down her throat until I came to the place where you can knock a man out, or even kill him. I pressed down, gently, until she began to struggle, and said, “I'm a dangerous man. I've killed before, and I'll probably kill again. You still don't get what I am. I'm an assassin. I kill on instinct. Just now, when you hit me? I almost snapped your wrist. Next time it could be your neck. Don't push me into that mode, darlin. Never forget that.”
“I haven't.”
She turned her face away, but not before I caught a glimpse of her tear-streaked face. I'd seen it when she thought I was going to shoot her, and when she thought I was going to rape her. She thought I was a monster. Mission fucking accomplished. Anger surged through me as quick and devastating as a forest fire. Then the anger burned out, spent, leaving resentment smoldering in its wake. Resentment, and something subtler: something that put pressure on my chest that was as tangible as a lead weight. I didn't want her looking at me like that. I should have — for her sake and mine — but I didn't.
God help me. God help us both.
I snapped off the light. It would be easier for her to calm down if she didn't have to look at me. I reached out, blindly, and felt for her face. She trembled, but didn't push me away. There was something childlike about her, but I couldn't put my finger on what it was, since she didn't look — or act — like one.
Is it the schoolgirl thing?
She was suddenly wearing a short plaid skirt and partially-buttoned white blouse, straddling my hips and looping her tie around the back of my neck to pull me closer. I was completely unprepared for that image and gasped involuntarily.
Cloak and Dagger (The IMA Book 1) Page 28
