Something Green

by London Miller

  His handler had taught him that.

  So when he had sought out the best jeweler in any market, it hadn’t been money he wanted since he had heard of Kyrnon and his reputation of being able to get his hands on just about anything.

  He’d asked for something money couldn’t buy, no matter how much he’d thrown at the owner of this statue.

  Former owner rather.

  “He got me in contact with Levinson.”

  Behind the dark shades Red wore, his brow arched high. “The jeweler?”

  Kyrnon nodded once. “One and the same. Oswald gets his share, Levinson gets this statue, and I get—”

  “A ring,” Red finished, failing to hide his smirk. “That’s the only reason your frugal ass would do any sort of transaction with him. About fucking time.”

  He couldn’t fault him for saying it because he’d been thinking it himself. Especially when he considered that as he looked around, out of all the mercenaries he’d fought beside, bled with, and came back from tragedy alongside of, he was the only one who hadn’t made it official yet.

  Not because he hadn’t wanted to—that would never be the reason—but rather because it seemed like it had been one thing after the other.

  One job turned into three.

  A weekend away turned into a month-long venture in California.

  And again.

  And again.

  And again.

  Until he’d reached the point that he couldn’t possibly wait any longer.

  Now, if everything went as planned, she’d have his name soon enough.

  Which was why things were moving as quickly as they were. Usually, he didn’t move his pieces straight away—he had to give it time for the shininess of the heist to dull and people to lose themselves in other cases instead of making what he took the priority.

  But he didn’t have the luxury of time on his hands.

  They were well outside the city proper when his phone rang with a call from Oswald, the sound tapering off after a single ring—indicating he’d arrived at the designated place.

  A private hangar on the outskirts—most notably used for those who needed to get out of the country in a hurry. Before they pulled in, he could just see the tail of a gulf stream peeking out through the open doors of the hangar.

  “Let’s try not to kill him, eh?” Kyrnon asked of Red as he opened the door. “At least not until after the transactions.”

  Ever surly, Red merely shrugged. “No promises.”

  “Neil, it’s good to see you, mate,” Kyrnon turned to greet the man as he descended the staircase of the jet, careful to mind the man’s hands as he was known to lift a wallet or two from an unsuspecting victim.

  “Been a while, hasn’t it, Celt?” he offered with a smile in return, moving to hug him, though he seemed to think better of it when Kyrnon gave him a pointed stare.

  He’d hate to have to maim him before business was done.

  When Neil looked in Red’s direction, his gaze shifted a little, unable to hide his discomfort. He tugged at the knot of his tie before he cleared his throat almost violently.

  If there was one man Neil hadn’t tried to fuck over, it was the one at his side who was known for his anger problem.

  With him, Neil made sure every transaction was right as rain.

  And when it came to doing business with Syn? He steered clear of the man entirely. He wasn’t wrong to be afraid—not when he was up against someone as deranged as Syn tended to be.

  “You’ve brought what I asked for?” Kyrnon asked, bringing the man’s attention back to him. It was for this reaction alone he’d asked Red to come along because he didn’t have the luxury to fuck about if Neil wanted to play some sort of game.

  “Only the best for you,” he said quickly, holding up the briefcase he had handcuffed to his wrist.

  First, he removed a key from his shoe and inserted it before he pressed his thumb against the left scanner, and when he drew his hand away, Kyrnon could just see the spot of blood right there in the middle.

  He certainly appreciated the security.

  From inside the case, he pulled out two rather large velvet boxes that he set aside for the moment, but the only thing Kyrnon had his eyes on was the ring box resting right there in the middle.

  Excitement churned inside him—that same thrill he got when he was sure he’d cracked another code or saw a job done.

  But this felt even better than that.

  More important.

  This was what mattered in the end.

  Because he needed the ring inside that box to make up for more than a dozen missed dates and canceled plans—for waiting until the last possible moment to do what he should have done years ago.

  “Oswald wanted me to make it clear that he only used the cleanest of diamonds, sourced through all the proper channels and all the rest.” Neil was talking, but Kyrnon hardly heard him. “Said it’s one of a kind and destroyed his plans for it so he could never make another.”

  He couldn’t wait any longer.

  Plucking the box from the middle of the briefcase, Kyrnon took one steadying breath before he popped it open.

  There were three rings in total, as he’d requested. Two were the wedding bands that would sit on either side of the last, but the third ... it was ...

  Everything he wanted.

  More with the level of detail that had been done around the hands holding up the enormous diamond in the center. How her name had been intricately woven through the veins of platinum along the sides.

  Amber was going to love it.

  “If everything is to your liking,” Neil said, his gaze on the bag Red now carried, “I’d like to have a—”

  “Hand it over, would you?” Kyrnon said, still distracted by the rings.

  He’d have plenty of time to look at them later, but for now, he checked the other two jewelry boxes for the necklace he’d also ordered as well as a tennis bracelet that would both serve a purpose later.

  Neil hardly had the bag unzipped before he was smiling, his eyes lighting up like it was Christmas morning. He could practically see the wheels turning in the man’s head.

  “Make sure that gets to Oswald, eh? I’d hate to have to hunt you down, boyo.”

  “I’d give Syn a day before he finds whatever hole you think to crawl into,” Red added, always willing to threaten when it called for it.

  “Of course,” Neil said, turning an interesting shade of red. “If we’re done here, I’ll just be on my way.”

  “Give Oswald my thanks,” Kyrnon tossed over his shoulder as the man walked back toward the jet.

  “So what’s that thing worth?” Red asked as they had turned to leave.

  “What’s what?”

  “That,” he said with a jerk of his head back to where Oswald was quickly climbing onto his waiting jet. “What was it worth?”

  Kyrnon traced the pad of his thumb over the ring box in his pocket, feeling the velvet. “Ten million, give or take current demand.”

  Red nodded, lips turning down a bit. “So essentially you bought a ten-million-dollar ring?”

  He hadn’t considered, in all the many weeks he’d set this up, that thought at all. “Eh, sounds right to me.”

  “What the fuck?” he asked with a glare. “You trying to make us look bad?”

  Kyrnon couldn’t help but laugh.

  2

  The green dress Kyrnon loved so much was a vintage-inspired cocktail dress she’d found in the Village during one of her many scouting—the sort of thing she could get away with because while the back was cut low enough to show off a number of the moons tattooed down her spine, the skirt was loose around her hips.

  Amber probably loved the dress as much as he did, but ... it was also freezing out with the promise of rain, and no matter what coat she wore, her legs were going to be freezing.

  But if this was the one he wanted …

  By the time five o’clock rolled around, she was dressed and just about ready to g
o, her attention on making sure the puff she had her hair in didn’t look entirely lopsided. It took careful concentration to make sure her puff was as straight as possible, and that was before she made sure the baby hairs along the front were mostly smoothed into place.

  She had just finished fluffing out the curly ends of her hair when she heard the elevator churn to life as the car headed down a floor.

  The last thing on her mind as she hurried downstairs was that they would more than likely be late to wherever it was he was taking her, but she also didn’t care because he was finally home.

  She could almost imagine what she looked like, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet as the lift stopped for several seconds before starting up again.

  It was such a little thing—the sound the elevator made as it moved and even the whistle it made when it stopped—but she never took it for granted. Because she knew he would be standing inside it.

  Hopefully safe and sound with no lasting scars on his person.

  She couldn’t help but watch as the gate lifted inch by quick inch, revealing first his shoes, then his jean-clad legs, up over a torso in an old 80s band T-shirt, before finally, the face she dreamed about.

  As soon as their eyes met, it seemed as if relief flooded him—as if he had expected her to be gone when he got back and was pleasantly surprised to actually find her there.

  She started toward him even as he dropped his bag carelessly onto the floor, reaching his arms out for her.

  The moment she was within reach, he yanked her forward and kissed her like it was the only thing in the world he wanted to do. She certainly understood the feeling.

  Amber pulled away first, smiling down at him as she realized he’d quite literally swept her off her feet. “You made it.”

  His arm tightened around her waist as he carried her through the living room until they were in the bedroom.

  Oh yeah, she definitely recognized that look on his face. “If we do any of that,” she reminded him, “we’re not going to make it to this thing on time.”

  Her protest was all words, though, because the thought of having him alone to herself was almost too good to ignore, and even as she was sure he was going exactly where her own mind had taken her, he made a low, frustrated sound before kissing her again and setting her away.

  “Now I really want to know where you’re taking me,” she called after him playfully, thinking whatever this was had to be very important because the first thing he did whenever he came home from a job was to get her in a bed as quickly as possible.

  The water turned on and off, then came the rattle of hangers before Kyrnon popped his head back out, green eyes trained on her. “I told you, it’s—”

  “A surprise,” she finished, narrowing her eyes on his face. She’d been so excited by him being home that she hadn’t given him a proper once-over. “Have you shaved?”

  Or at least, shaved by Kyrnon’s standards. From the very first day she met him, he’d had that unruly auburn colored beard that she loved as much as the man who wore it. He hid the scars on his face beneath it. And though he did his part to maintain it—making sure it was brushed and tamed, for the most part—she had never seen him cut it before.

  Sure, he still had enough facial hair for it to be considered a beard, but it was a drastic enough change that she wondered at the reason behind it.

  “Long story, lovie. I’ll tell you about it later,” he said before disappearing back into the closet.

  Strange.

  He was definitely acting strange.

  But it could also be something that happened in Prague, and he just wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. Patience had never been her strong suit.

  When she heard the shower turn on, she shook her head at the possibilities running through her mind even as she finished getting ready herself. She had only just stepped into her heels when Kyrnon came back out, his hair still shiny and damp from the shower though he’d … combed his hair?

  “What’s happening?” she asked with a surprised laugh, though she couldn’t help but appreciate the sight he made in the three-piece suit that was only missing the jacket.

  More often than not, she saw him in jeans and whatever leather jacket he was in love with at the moment, but she would never say him in a suit was an unwelcome change.

  He looked every bit the Irish gentleman he was.

  “Ah, come now, lovie. I’m starting to take offense.”

  That only managed to make her laugh louder. “The last time you went to this much trouble for your appearance, my mom came by to visit.”

  It didn’t matter that she always told him he didn’t have to go through the trouble—that her mother would love him just as he was because she loved him just as he was. But every time, without fail, he dressed up, cleaned the loft from top to bottom, and made sure never to utter a bad word in front of her.

  “I’ll have you know, your mam adores me.”

  It would be impossible not to.

  “But enough of that,” he said with a wave of his hand, “let’s talk about you in this dress.”

  “Kyrnon—”

  But he would hear none of it as he took her hand and spun her around, his whistle making her blush.

  “I’m lucky to have you,” he said once he turned her to face him once more, his expression more serious than she was expecting. “I don’t tell you that enough.”

  There were moments when he would have her in stitches from how hard he made her laugh, but then at moments like these, he rendered her mute with the things he said.

  Kyrnon was always so playful and laid-back, but when he had something important to say, he always made sure she heard him.

  “You tell me that plenty,” she responded softly, kissing his cheek. “And I love you too.”

  He looked like he wanted to say more as his gaze darted over her face, but he didn’t. He merely took her hand and walked her over to the elevator that led down to the multi-car garage beneath the loft.

  “Lady’s choice tonight,” he said with a grin, gesturing out around them to the not so small collection he’d amassed over his years as a mercenary.

  Something was definitely going on with him, she was sure, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. “Are all of these street legal?” she asked.

  He made a noise in the back of his throat before pointing at a white car all the way at the end. “Not the Valkyrie.”

  She could certainly see why it wasn’t. It looked more like a concept car than something that should be allowed on the open road. Especially with Kyrnon’s tendency to speed. “Better question, can people even buy it yet?”

  His smile was shameless. “You can’t fault a man for having friends, can you?”

  Men and their cars.

  Her eyes skipped over the first row until she reached the second and her gaze stopped on the lone army green car he had in his collection. It was a sports car—she knew that much just from looking at it—but she couldn’t begin to guess its make or model.

  The only thing she did know was that the price tag would probably be ridiculous.

  “What are the chances of you letting me drive?” she asked, turning to look at him over her shoulder.

  Kyrnon smiled, wide and bright, as he headed over to grab the key fob from the locked safe next to the door. She was almost sure as he walked toward her and leaned down to kiss her that he would finally say yes.

  But once he was a hair's breadth away from his mouth being on hers, he paused. “Not likely.”

  He was no fun at all.

  3

  Even though years had passed, Amber could still remember the first art exhibit she had ever seen.

  Back then, most of the school field trips had bored her to tears because she had never really been interested in touring the Botanical Gardens or even seeing the reptiles at the zoo. But the day Miss Turner announced the trip to the local art museum in Los Angeles, she’d run home without a thought and begged her dad to sign as s
oon as she saw him.

  She’d been curious and excited, listening with rapt ears as the curators spoke about the artists from years past.

  Seeing all of the different self-portraits and landscapes and modern art had instilled a desire in her to see her own art proudly displayed.

  That trip solidified the desire in her to learn everything she possibly could about painting and art.

  And in the twenty years since that day, she’d ventured into more than a dozen galleries, dressed up for openings and events, and had even worked in a couple of smaller galleries before she’d opened her own.

  But she didn’t think she had ever seen an exhibit quite like this.

  Tulip petals were strategically placed around the front steps leading up to Swan House—a boutique gallery in the heart of the Village—the stone sleek and shiny from the earlier showers.

  Kyrnon hadn’t told her very much about the artist who was having their showing here, and for once, she hadn’t looked it up beforehand either. She’d wanted to go in as blind as possible.

  “Watch your step there, lovie,” Kyrnon whispered next to her ear, casually lifting her over the smallest puddle she had ever seen.

  It was the little things she loved most about him.

  Little things she had never even thought of before she’d met him.

  Two attendants in sharp black suits opened the frosted glass doors ahead, both smiling as they ushered them in—and as they passed, Amber was almost sure she caught one of them giving Kyrnon a nod … as if they knew each other.

  As she glanced back at the man, she was almost positive she had seen him somewhere before, but as he disappeared when the doors closed behind them, she dismissed the thought just as quickly.

  A small gathering of people took up the middle of the floor.

  A couple, she thought from the way the woman’s arm was tucked into the crook of the man’s elbow she was walking with, passed, and again, she felt as if she had seen her before, but no matter how she tried to place her, the answer loomed just out of reach in the back of her mind.