by Sue Wilder
Christan met Luca’s eyes. “What kept you?”
“Someone I saved for you.”
“Who?”
The Italian smiled. “A mercenary who’s regretting his decision right now.”
Luca opened the car door, waited while Christan and Arsen slipped inside. Then he joined them and slapped the back of the driver’s seat. The vehicle pulled away from the alley.
“How did you find him?” Christan asked in Italian.
“We had intel on two attacks scheduled for last night. They’re working with two-man teams now. A snatcher and a driver. We got the girl, but the driver got away. The snatcher wasn’t so lucky.”
Christan nodded. “What of the other attack?”
“We’re still looking for the two girls.” Luca’s voice was hard. The vehicle was merging onto the Autostrada. It rode low to the ground due to the heavy armored protection.
“Something’s changed,” the Italian continued, as the vehicle sped up. “Word on the street says their boss is impatient. Makes them sloppy.”
Christan stared out at the passing landscape. “Did you identify your snatcher?”
“A low-level assassin. He’s worked for both Six and Five. We might get more information when this guy sees you. He’s not talking much to the rest of us.”
“Where is he?”
“A farmhouse well out of town. Private.” Christan nodded without emotion. The Italian warriors understood better than most; this was a harsh world where vengeance wasn’t always swift. And an Enforcer’s justice not always blind.
They reached their destination within an hour, stood in a cellar smelling of fear and mold within five minutes. Christan recognized the man. His actions over the centuries had been unsavory and undistinguished. Rumor had it he’d been somewhere else, but now he was here, and there was not much else to do. The moment the snatcher recognized who stood in front of him, he lost whatever hope he still possessed.
“Do you know who I am?”
There was no response. The man had been stripped of all clothes except underwear. The clothes were in a pile in the corner.
Christan gestured toward Arsen, who stood at his side. “Do you know who he is? It’s his mate you’ve been hunting. I’m not saying you hunted her last night, but you’ve been hunting all our women, so the threat is the same.”
“You’re an enforcer,” the snatcher said. “He’s your second. You’ll kill me no matter what I say.”
“Perhaps. But before we do that you’re going to talk.” It was enough of a threat. The man stared at his bare knees. They were white and thin.
Christan let the man wait. “Who do you work for?”
“An intermediary.”
“This intermediary have a name?”
Silence. Christan let it go.
“What does this intermediary tell you to do?”
“We’re supposed to find a girl.”
“Just… any girl?”
Silence. This time, Christan didn’t let it go. A low moaning filled the cellar as the enforcer probed into the snatcher’s mind. The man spit blood on the dirty cellar floor.
“He told us to grab every bonded girl we came across and force her memories. That’s all I know.”
“Not all. Let’s talk about the other attack last night.”
“It must have been successful if you’re asking about it.”
“So you do know.” It was all Christan needed, a confirmation of knowledge. From there it was simple; the interrogation technique had just been demonstrated and everyone in the cellar understood how it would end. Including the snatcher tied to the chair.
“You’re a bright boy,” Christan said into the silence. “I’m sure you see your options.”
“What I see are enemies around me.” The man grew bolder, too poorly trained to moderate his emotions. “When you look around, Enforcer, what do you see?”
“A stupid man tied to a chair.”
“You sure of that?”
The snatcher was arrogant. Perhaps he’d forgotten how short life could be when an enforcer was standing in the room.
“You have enemies all around you,” he said. “Enemies who know where your friends are. Where your girl is and that she’s alone. Where his girl is, trying to hide in Florence. You can’t protect them all, not when you’re trying to protect every bonded mate we fi—”
“Hush,” Christan interrupted. “I talk and you answer. Those are the rules.”
“Fuck your rules.”
“I fuck with rules all the time.”
Silence.
“Tough guy. Especially with women.” Christan hated interrogations when they turned bad. He preferred to meet his enemies on the battlefield where the fighting was swift and clean. Digging into the depths of a depraved mind required a total lack of emotion. And there were times when Christan realized he’d committed similar sins throughout his long life, when he felt no different from the many different men tied in the many different chairs.
“That’s okay,” he said after a moment. “You don’t have to answer, nod if you like. Do you know why you’re here?”
“Yes.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
The snatcher ignored the question, spoke with the fervor of a believer. “Do you remember a cottage on the beach? That stupid cat?”
“You have something to do with that?”
“Heard you killed the man you thought did.”
“I don’t mind taking out the trash,” Christan agreed. “I’m doing some of that right now.”
“Her bedroom smelled like fresh flowers,” the man said. “Her sheets like sex. I rubbed my cock all over her pillow and then I nailed that cat to her bed.”
“I’m disappointed to hear that.” The man tied to the chair jerked beneath the sudden pain. “Who told you to kill the cat?”
“No one. They told us to have fun.”
“Are you having fun now?”
The warrior shrugged, trying to shield against the mental intrusion; Christan eased up enough to let him believe resistance was possible.
“We’ll still get the girl and she’ll squeal like her cat,” the snatcher said. “If not today, then some other day.”
“Who sent you?”
“Don’t have a name.”
“You don’t have very much, do you?”
“Okay,” the snatcher said, seeming to understand the danger. “Maybe it was this rich guy.”
“He’s the one paying?” Because mercenaries rarely did anything without money in the bank.
“Yeah, but only if we get your girl.”
“Alive?”
“Dead is okay, too.”
“How many have you killed?” Christan asked.
No answer. Moaning filled the cellar again.
“How many?”
“We haven’t counted,” the man said, and tried to laugh until his windpipe completely closed. The snatcher struggled against the plastic ties that held his wrists, and his bare feet beat against the dirty floor. Christan released the mental pressure around the man’s throat enough for the snatcher to look into his face.
“How many?”
No answer.
Christan expected none. Without emotion, he pressed harder into the man’s mind, ripped into the memories. He didn’t need to be told how many innocents had been killed. He could see for himself. Count them. Slowly, methodically, he broke apart the images. He learned of the second attack, of the three men hiding in a warehouse outside of Florence, and the two girls they’d snatched from the street. Learned what they planned to do and where they planned to do it. Calculated the time he had before the atrocities began. Discovered the plans after those plans. Plans for Arsen’s girl. For Christan’s girl. And when he was done and the man sat screaming in the chair, Christan turned to his second.
Arsen?
Arsen didn’t have to ask. He stepped forward, placed both hands on the man’s head and twisted so swiftly no one realized an execution had occurred
until the body hit the floor. Both warriors turned and walked out of the cellar.
Someone else would clean up the mess.
CHAPTER 22
Someone was watching. Awareness prickled as Lexi stood in front of the bronze Etruscan sculpture of a wounded chimera from the 4th century BC. She’d read the details in the guidebook clutched in her hand, trying to look like every other tourist while her heart began to pound. A group of Japanese students closed in and provided cover; it was a guided tour, but at least they weren’t carrying the umbrella or the large yellow flag that marked so many tour guides throughout Florence. The guide escorted her charges into the next gallery and Lexi joined a different group crowding toward the exit. Within minutes Lexi was back outside and wincing in the bright sunlight as she hurried down the street.
Arsen stood in her path.
“Having fun, Slick?”
Her gaze narrowed as she slid to a halt.
“You here to kick my ass?”
“I thought you knew how to read.”
Lexi had no idea why she felt so bad. Maybe it was the look in Arsen’s eyes. “I came here to help.” Crossing both arms, Lexi braced. Arsen was far too good a second-in-command not to rat her out, and she expected to find Christan lurking at her back. But they were alone.
“Where is he?”
“Busy.”
Arsen had matched her stance. Lexi realized he was angry. His arms were so taut the biceps flexed, and she didn’t like the way his gaze kept moving to scan the street.
“Was that you in the museum just now, following me?”
“No.” Arsen’s expression changed, and he pulled her into an alley. A Vespa motorbike was parked at the curb with two helmets hanging from the handle bars. He thrust one in her direction.
“Put this on.”
Lexi eyed the helmet warily. “We’re going somewhere?”
Arsen was already astride the bike. From his scowl, the bike wasn’t a preferred choice for transportation. “Get on, Slick. I ain’t gonna wait all day.”
Lexi took the helmet, slid on the saddle behind him. She’d never understood why people loved Vespas until Arsen navigated through the maze of traffic with such ease, slipping between stopped vehicles and up on to the curb a few times. He doubled back twice as if making sure no one followed. Lexi held on to his waist. Soon exhilaration surpassed fear. When he turned the engine off outside a four-story stone building topped with red tile, Lexi was smiling so hard her face hurt.
“This isn’t the flat, Bucko,” she pointed out as they stood on the sidewalk. “You get lost?”
“Nope.”
“Big warrior secret?”
Arsen made a rude sound that meant he wasn’t seriously mad anymore, only a little mad, and ushered her inside. “Upstairs.”
“Who’s waiting upstairs?”
“You remember that video conference with the Italians? They told us about Dante’s girl.”
The woman’s name was Renata, and she’d been running through an outdoor market near the Piazza di San Lorenzo. Luca said they’d recovered her, but she was emotionally wounded and would need time to heal.
“Since Renata refuses to talk to us,” Arsen continued, “Christan sent me to get you. If he’d come himself and found you gone, he’d be really pissed right now.”
“But you’ll keep my secret, won’t you, Bucko?”
Arsen didn’t answer. The lobby of the building was quiet, the first landing scattered with fliers, and the stairs to the second floor were covered with clean but threadbare carpet. By the time they reached the third floor Lexi realized it was one of those old buildings that held so many memories. They were warm and comforting, traces of happy families, echoes of laughter floating through the halls. Lexi caught snatches: a transparent image of a soccer ball bouncing down the steps, children, just sitting with their legs swinging through the black iron of the railing. There were the scents of lemon, sweet basil, the murmurs of old women sitting in the doorways when it was too hot to gossip in the sun. These were the imprints she enjoyed because they held no uneasy secrets.
They reached the top floor, and Dante met them at the entrance to the flat. Lexi was directed one way while Arsen and Dante disappeared in another. She found Renata waiting on a balcony filled with plants, red geraniums, ferns, something trailing over the ornate black railing. The sudden sprays of green reminded Lexi that the old town of Florence was a city made of stone. Stone buildings on narrow stone streets. Only the formal tourist gardens held trees. It was the absence of trees Lexi felt the most.
Two padded iron chairs were arranged around a table set with glasses of lemonade. Renata sat in one chair. Lexi slid back the other chair. Renata looked younger than expected, but perhaps the photos had aged her. Or the look of terror that had been in her eyes. When the woman spoke, it was in English.
“You have memory lines?”
“Yes.”
“Mind if I check?”
Lexi allowed Renata to take her wrist and hold it in the light. Two lines glimmered in the sun.
“You haven’t recovered many memories,” the woman said as she released Lexi’s hand.
“Does it matter?”
“I can’t expect you to understand if you haven’t remembered enough to know.”
“I understand what it’s like to have the dreams,” Lexi said. “That should be enough.”
Renata’s face tightened. Her right hand held a tracery of memory lines that looked like a spider’s web. The woman sipped at the lemonade and Lexi felt precious time tick by until Renata returned the glass to the table.
“What do you know about warriors?” Renata asked.
“I came to Italy with them.”
“Do you know what they are?”
“Yes.”
“Can you accept that?”
“I’m trying,” Lexi answered truthfully.
Renata’s gaze centered on the red geraniums where a bee darted through the curling petals. The buzz was distinctive and blended with the sound of nearby traffic. The heat of early afternoon was beginning to shimmer; all of the shutters on the upper windows were closed.
“Tell me about your dreams,” the woman said.
Lexi hadn’t expected the request. For a moment she felt reluctant, then spoke clinically as if describing a location to a client.
“The night terrors are of short duration. They’re full of violence. Overwhelming grief. It takes a long time to… shake the fear, and then I’m afraid to sleep.”
Renata nodded. “Dante helps me recognize the difference between the night terrors and the past life dreams. Does your mate do that?”
Lexi stared at the plants edging the balcony and said yes, Christan did. She didn’t elaborate.
“But you’re lucky.” Renata was staring at the bee as it moved from flower to flower. “You haven’t had many past life dreams.”
“Why am I lucky, Renata?”
The woman looked at Lexi. “You can taste the food, yes?” Lexi nodded. Renata shrugged. “You don’t want those dreams.”
Lexi remembered the dream of Gaia, trembling in a man’s arms. The sense of longing and loss. The touch and the taste. Sunlight cast hard shadows and Lexi shivered despite the heat. Recalling the purpose for this visit, sitting on this little balcony, Lexi leaned forward and asked, “Can you tell me about an American girl named Katerina Varga?”
The report compiled by the Italians revealed the long friendship between the two women. They had remained in touch for years. Were probably still in touch. Renata stared impassively. “Why are you interested?”
“We think she’s in danger.”
“She already knows.”
“Your warrior protects you, doesn’t he, Renata? Kat’s warrior wants to protect her, too.”
“I doubt he’ll find her. She doesn’t wish to be found, but she definitely doesn’t want to be found by him.”
“Why?”
“Because of the Agreement. You’re one of us. You know.”
>
“Perhaps I don’t understand, Renata,” Lexi said. “Why does the Agreement alarm you?”
“If they find you, they claim you, and you become a used thing, not even in control of your own choices. The only way to be safe is not to be caught.”
“Is that what Katerina is doing, hiding so she can’t be caught?”
“He traps her. We’re all trapped.”
Renata’s eyes were bright with moisture and her expression vacant, as if she was tangled in her own skittering thoughts. It was clear, now, that she’d been broken in a way that crushed the heart. Lexi felt a wave of compassion.
“Your English is excellent,” she said, moving the conversation in a safer direction. Renata seemed to refocus on the geraniums. The woman was fragile and violently strong at the same time.
“I lived in England for several years,” Renata said. “That’s where I met Katerina. Why she came to Italy.”
“To see you and for her research?”
“Yes.”
“Did you teach her Italian?”
“I helped with pronunciation. She speaks like a woman from Florence, now, not Rome. She’s very good with languages.”
Lexi leaned forward, placed her hand on Renata’s arm and took one more chance. “Do you know where Katerina is? If she’s having dreams like you have, like I have, I can help her.” Lexi paused. “Will you help your friend?”
Renata’s eyes tracked another bee as it flirted with the red flowers. The woman was so silent, Lexi thought she was lost again, running alone, down an alley in her memory. But when Renata refocused, her eyes were dark and clear.
“She likes a little cafe by the museum where you were today.”
“The Museo Archeologico?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.” Lexi thought about that spider’s web and wondered what other spies were out there, since she hadn’t told Renata where she’d been before coming to this flat. “Will you talk to me again, Renata?”
Dante appeared. His hands curved around Renata’s thin shoulders and the woman rose, allowing him to guide her back into the darkened interior without giving an answer. Lexi closed her eyes, then got to her feet and followed Arsen to the Vespa.
CHAPTER 23
