Mercenary

by Jennifer Blackstream

  Peasblossom slid down my shoulder and landed on the pouch around my waist. “So he works for the government, but he doesn’t work for the government.”

  “His employment is discreet,” Flint confirmed.

  I shifted uneasily in my seat, frowning as the bandages on my stomach shifted against the welts on my stomach. “What exactly is it you’re hiring me to do? If Roger is a government fixer, I have to assume he has the resources to handle problems himself.”

  “Roger’s wife, Barbara, is a friend of mine. She recently confided in me that Roger has been…having difficulty.”

  I put a hand over the zipper of the pouch, preventing Peasblossom from opening it. “Difficulty?”

  “Barbara didn’t want to give me many details. I think she hesitated even to tell me that something was amiss. All she would say is that Roger hasn’t been himself. She’s concerned that something is weighing on his mind.”

  We stopped at a red light, and Flint looked at me, his expression serious. “Roger’s job depends on his reputation. He deals with dangerous people, and he’s made powerful enemies. If anyone suspects he’s losing his edge, then he could be facing consequences much worse than losing his job.”

  “Where do I come in?” I asked.

  The light turned green and the car purred as Flint applied the faintest pressure to the gas pedal.

  Blood and bone, even his car sounds sensual.

  “I’ve managed to convince Barbara that what she needs is someone who understands the business, but isn’t in the business. She won’t trust another fixer—she’s understandably concerned about someone filching her husband’s job. But I explained to her that you are psychology’s answer to an executive consultant. I promised her you could discover the reason behind her husband’s behavior—with the utmost discretion, of course—before any serious damage could be done to Roger’s reputation.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Exactly what is it you want me to do?”

  Another red light gave Flint the chance to face me again, using that hazel stare to pin me to my seat. “I want you to use your magic to get Roger Temple to tell you what’s bothering him. And when you find out what it is, I want you to take care of it.”

  A chill ran down my spine, and I didn’t fight it when Peasblossom shoved my hand away from the pouch’s zipper and hauled it open.

  “I’m not killing anyone.” I kept my voice quiet, but firm.

  Flint made a tsking sound and eased the car through the intersection. “I’m not asking you to kill anyone. I’m asking you to help someone. Find out what’s troubling poor Roger, and help him overcome it so he can get back to work. That’s all.”

  There wasn’t a single part of me that believed the situation was as simple as Flint made it sound. “It seems to me if all you wanted was to pull information out of someone, you’re more than capable of doing that on your own.”

  “Sadly, Mr. Temple does not share his wife’s fondness for my company. He is disinclined to confide in me about his feelings on the weather, to say nothing of any personal matters.”

  “In my experience, you’re not one to let a little resistance discourage you.”

  Flint cocked his head to the side. “Interesting insight. Am I to infer that you believe the ability to seduce information out of someone is reason enough to do it, even if there are other options available?”

  I sat up straight, suddenly hyper-aware that I’d stepped into a conversational minefield. “I didn’t say anything about seduction.”

  “But isn’t that what you meant?”

  “No.”

  Even I didn’t believe me. I cleared my throat. “I’m not saying seduction should always be the first resort. I’m saying that I’m surprised you’re bringing me in on this when you didn’t need me.”

  “So I should have seduced Roger to get the information instead of having you do it—even though you’re my employee, and this is the line of work you’ve chosen for yourself.”

  Peasblossom paused with the corner of a honey packet in her teeth. Her eyes met mine, the warning in her pink gaze clear.

  “Of course not. It’s just that you’re normally somewhat of a control freak, so I’m surprised you’d involve me in this information gathering if you didn’t have to. Especially since you obviously think the information is sensitive. And let’s face it, the sidhe aren’t known for sharing information when they don’t have to.”

  I was babbling now. I could hear it, and I knew Flint heard it.

  He turned the wheel with the palm of his hand, and his car swung in a smooth motion to spill us onto a side street. “I see your logic. But if you’ll forgive me the observation, I don’t think you would have followed that same logic if you were talking to a woman. I don’t think you would suggest that seducing someone for information is more reasonable, or more expedient, than having a private investigator you’re acquainted with get the information for you.”

  I sagged in my seat. He was right. And even though part of me couldn’t help but think of all the innuendos he threw around and all the times I’d seen him use his seductiveness to sway someone, I knew he was right. I wouldn’t have made that assumption if he weren’t a man, if he weren’t leannan sidhe. I wouldn’t have considered someone’s…characteristic sexuality as an indication that they were always okay with having sex, or using sex to get what they wanted.

  “I’m sorry,” I said sincerely. “I spoke without thinking.”

  Flint shrugged. “You didn’t offend me. You hold the same opinion most people do of leannan sidhe with my particular skills.”

  It would have behooved me to let the subject go, but another question popped out before I could stop it. “Do you enjoy sex?”

  And just like that, we were back on familiar territory. Hunger sparked in Flint’s hazel eyes, turning them a golden brown. The atmosphere in the car shot up several degrees despite the AC. “Yes. I’m so pleased you’re interested.”

  All my body heat separated into three pools, one for each of my cheeks and another below my waist. I swallowed past the lump in my throat twice before I could speak. “That’s not— I meant—”

  “I know what you meant.”

  The urge to turn the AC up a setting made my fingers itch, and I clasped my hands together and put them in my lap. Peasblossom slowly withdrew a second honey packet from the pouch, watching us as if she were in a movie theater and things had just gotten interesting.

  “You have arrived.”

  The electronic voice of the GPS was the most welcome sound I’d ever heard. I wilted against my door as Flint pulled into the parking lot of a small restaurant. The sign in the parking lot read Ravelli’s. “Oh, look, Peasblossom,” I said lightly. “You like Italian.”

  “I’m full,” Peasblossom moaned.

  I dropped my attention to the pouch and scowled. “I distinctly told you this morning that you weren’t getting any honey until after lunch.”

  Peasblossom licked a stripe of honey off her wrist. “You guessed wrong.”

  “You—”

  Flint’s hand closed over my shoulder, and I froze.

  “Let’s not devolve into chaos over the wee one’s honey obsession,” he said calmly. “You’re about to meet with a client. An important client. A distressed client. A modicum of civility is called for.”

  I wrinkled my nose as I picked up the sticky honey packets. Of course Flint couldn’t have a plastic bag hanging from his gear shift for trash like a normal person. “What do you do if you have to blow your nose while you’re driving? Do you just hold the tissue until you get home?”

  Flint stared at me. “I’m sorry?”

  I shook my head and dug around in the pouch for something to wrap the sticky honey packets in. “never mind.”

  He didn’t take his hand off my shoulder, even when I found a paper napkin and wrapped the honey packets in it. I ignored him as long as I could, but after I zipped up the pouch, there was nothing else to do but meet his eyes.

  “You asked
me if I’m staying in the apartment with you.” He nodded toward the restaurant. “If you don’t conduct yourself like a professional in there—which means no digging around in that bottomless trash can around your waist or arguing with your familiar—then I promise you, you won’t like the answer.”

  I blinked. “You’re threatening to stay with me if I don’t impress the client.”

  “I am providing you with information that I hope will guide you in your current endeavor.”

  Peasblossom snorted. “I’m not sharing my pillow.”

  I opened the car door before Flint could respond to that with something that would twist my stomach into more knots. A snort from the backseat reminded me that Scath was still with me, and I paused to let her weave through the seats and climb out of the car. It I weren’t so busy shaking off the watery feeling in my knees, I might have had the presence of mind to enjoy the uneasy look on Flint’s face as he watched the cat sith disembark.

  “Don’t forget her collar,” Peasblossom reminded me.

  I nodded and touched the thin braided thread around Scath’s neck, activating the glamour spell inside. I stood between the car and the restaurant’s front doors, hiding Scath as the magic washed over her, turning the enormous feline into a slightly smaller Italian mastiff.

  “Are you certain you can’t convince the beast to remain behind?” Flint asked. “She’s going to draw attention.”

  “A lot of people have service dogs nowadays,” I said defensively.

  Flint got out of the car and circled around to give Scath a less than enthusiastic look. “She’s huge.”

  I shrugged. “Not so big she can’t pass for a normal dog. And hiding mass gets tricky, I can only make her look so much smaller without using stronger magic.”

  “Stronger magic you’d be perfectly capable of if you weren’t so resistant to accepting my help,” Flint pointed out.

  It did not escape my notice that this was the second time today he’d hinted at a patronage, and I resisted the urge to wipe suddenly sweaty palms on my leggings.

  “We shouldn’t keep Barbara waiting,” I said, my voice almost normal.

  Thankfully, Flint agreed, and chose not to pursue the conversation. He led me into the restaurant, and the smell of marinara sauce and garlic bread mixed with the scent of silverware and cloth napkins swirled around us. It wasn’t a large restaurant, just one big room with ten booths in a half-square formation along the left wall and an equal number of small tables taking up the floor. The restaurant was nearly empty, except for a young couple sitting at a table pressed against the right wall that separated the dining room from the kitchen area.

  Barbara sat in the corner booth on the far left side of the room. Her greying brown hair was untouched by hair dye, and her makeup was so expertly done that it looked like she wasn’t wearing any at all. The smile she offered Flint as we approached was the easy smile that came from meeting a lot of people at professional gatherings—whether you were in the mood to see people or not.

  The man sitting next to her didn’t bother with a professional smile. He sat with his hands folded on the table, cold blue eyes staring at me. The black briefcase on the floor next to him said he was here on business, and the expensive grey pinstriped suit he wore said business was good.

  “She brought her lawyer?” I asked under my breath.

  “Surprised?” Flint murmured. Out loud, he said, “Barbara, how are you feeling?”

  “As well as can be expected.” She let him kiss the back of her hand, then smoothed both hands down the white sweater she wore over her navy blue dress.

  Flint slid his gaze to the man. “Mr. Drexler. Always a pleasure.”

  The lawyer looked at Flint like a man who suspected his waiter of having spit in his food and planned to sue as soon as he could prove it. “Mr. Valencia.” He turned to me, but his expression didn’t warm. “You must be Ms. Renard.”

  “I am. I wish we were meeting under more pleasant circumstances.” I gestured beside me where Scath had come to a halt and stood watching Barbara with limited interest. “This is my service dog. I hope you don’t mind?”

  Barbara waved a hand without even looking at Scath. “Not a problem at all. Please sit down.” She gestured at the soda on the table. “Flint told me you’re fond of Coke, so I took the liberty of ordering one for you?”

  I smiled before I could stop myself. “Thank you.”

  She gestured to the man sitting beside her. “Mr. Drexler is my husband’s lawyer.” She gave me an embarrassed smile. “I’m afraid my husband insisted he be present. It’s no reflection on you, I hope you’re not offended?”

  “Not at all,” I assured her.

  “I’ll leave you two ladies—and gentleman—to talk,” Flint said smoothly. He looked at me. “I’m going to have a rental car delivered so you can begin work immediately if necessary. If you require anything else, call me. I won’t be far.”

  “Thank you.” It took some effort to conjure up a smile for him. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing straight up, and I didn’t know why. But a witch never questioned her instincts. I reached under my hair and tapped Peasblossom. When Barbara and her lawyer turned to watch Flint leave, the pixie slid down my back under my hair and landed on the seat beside me. A moment later, she flew off to explore.

  “Ms. Renard, I’d like to see some ID.”

  Drexler’s sharp voice made me jerk my attention back to him. “I’m sorry?”

  The lawyer tapped the table with one manicured fingernail. “Identification. Driver’s license, passport, something along those lines?”

  I glanced at Barbara. Immediately, Drexler smacked a hand on the table. “Please look at me when I’m talking to you, Ms. Renard.”

  The crack of his palm against the table startled me, and drew the attention of the couple sitting across the room. My cheeks warmed as my temper flared, but I forced myself to smile politely. It wasn’t unusual for someone seeking my services to be nervous, even paranoid. Considering my client’s background, I supposed I couldn’t really blame Mr. Drexler for being overly cautions—even if he was incredibly rude.

  “Fred, please, let us order our meals first. Surely the formalities can wait that long.” Barbara looked at me. “I’ve never been here before myself, but I’ve heard wonderful things. My friends tell me this is one of Cleveland’s hidden gems. Do you need a moment with the menu?”

  “No, I think I can order now.” I unzipped my pouch and rooted around for my passport as surreptitiously as I could. The Vanguard had a special department dedicated to providing identification to Otherworlders who wished to interact with humans on a regular basis. My identification was flawless, so the rude man could scrutinize it as much as he liked.

  The waitress stood at the only other occupied table, and Barbara waited for her to deliver fresh drinks to the couple before gesturing that we were ready to order. The pretty brunette smiled and strode over to our table as she dug her notebook and pen out of her apron pocket.

  “Hi, are you ready to order?”

  “Hi,—” Barbara glanced at the girl’s name tag—”Molly. Yes, I think we’re ready to order. I’ll have the chicken Alfredo, no salad.”

  Molly nodded and turned to me. “And you?”

  “Actually, that sounds good. But do you have a seafood Alfredo?” I asked. A knot of yarn tangled around my fingertips and I fought not to scowl as I pulled it into my lap before resuming the search for my identification.

  “We do. It has shrimp and scallops.”

  “I’ll have that.” I gritted my teeth. Why did I have Monopoly game pieces in my pouch?

  “Salad?”

  “No thank you.” I squinted into the pouch. Is that a candy Lego?

  Drexler held up a hand without sparing the waitress a look. “I’m not eating, thank you.”

  Molly wrote down our order, then retrieved the menus and disappeared through a set of doors.

  I found my passport and handed it to the waiting lawyer,
careful not to dislodge the pile of debris in my lap. “So, Barbara, Flint didn’t go into too much detail about how I can help, only that you’re worried about your husband. Can you tell me more about that?”

  Barbara stared down at the tablecloth and took a deep breath. Before she could open her mouth, Mr. Drexler raised a finger.

  “We’re not there yet, Ms. Renard,” he said. “Before we discuss any details, I need to confirm that you’re the right person for the task. This is an interview, you don’t have the job yet.” He frowned at my passport, analyzing everything from the thickness of the paper, to the color of the ink. I let him study it, using the time to shove everything back into my pouch.

  Finally, he handed it back to me. “What exactly has Mr. Valencia told you?”

  I didn’t look at him when I answered, deliberately addressing Barbara. “He said your husband works in a discreet capacity for the government helping them to maintain healthy, media-positive relationships with private military companies. My understanding is that recently he’s been feeling out of sorts. Flint suggested I might be of some help determining what it is that’s troubling him.” I glanced back at Drexler. “Discreetly, of course.”

  “And what qualifies you to help Mrs. Temple?” the lawyer said evenly. “Give me some examples, references if you can manage.”

  I was really starting to dislike Mr. Drexler.

  “I can’t give you either of those, as I have a very strict confidentiality arrangement with all my clients.” I leaned forward, holding the lawyer’s gaze and giving him a small taste of the witchy look. Some of his confidence leaked away, but he didn’t avert his eyes. “However, if you would like to inquire as to my abilities as a private investigator, you may call Anton Winters. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to speak to my skills.”