Assassins in Love (34 page)

At least, the privacy of their naked bodies. She was certain her DNA had been scanned, her health monitored. Whoever ran this security system probably knew about the carefully hidden burn scar on her hand, and the mended bones in her body from that horrible night so long ago.

The night she had met Misha.

She sighed and grabbed the only loose weave top that fit her. The drawstring pants seemed to be one size, and fortunately they were long enough for her. She slipped the provided sandals on her feet.

Now there really was no way to hide a weapon, unless she had shoved one in a body cavity. And given the kinds of searches the Guild tech had just given her, someone would have found that weapon too.

Rather than reassuring her, the huge search had made her even more nervous.

She emerged to find Misha waiting for her. He was wearing something similar, but on him, it looked natural. The clothing made him seem more relaxed, even though she could still feel the tension radiating off him.

His hair was tousled, like it often was in bed, and through the weave of the shirt, she could see his beautifully muscled chest. She wanted to run her hand along it, feel the contrast of the weave against the smoothness of his skin.

But then, she always wanted to touch him. It amazed her that this feeling never went away.

He took her hand and gave her a comforting smile.

“Ready for the Guild?” he asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said. Fortunately he didn’t ask how ready that was. Because she felt like a kid on her first day of school—terrified, out of her depth, and just a little bit trapped.

But she wasn’t a kid. She was an adult, who could handle herself.

Even if, without her weapons, her clothing, and her identification, she felt more like a penitent than a person.

More like a prisoner than one of the best assassins in the sector.

“Then let’s go,” he said and led her out of the tiny room, and into the Guild proper.

They stepped into a sun-baked courtyard filled with greenery. The air was fresh, and it smelled of a dozen different kinds of flowers. Everywhere that Rikki looked, she could see green plants cascading over carefully manicured dirt paths. Benches were scattered throughout, and the plants themselves were structured so that they would cover an area, and reveal another.

The walls around her were tall enough that she couldn’t see over them. They were made up of buildings that hooked together like row houses and they seemed to go on for miles. Some buildings appeared to stand alone. Arches made of stone and covered with ivy separated those buildings from some others, creating new paths off to the side.

She got the impression of a lot of space, a lot of land, and a lot of power.

There was also a timelessness here, as if time had stopped the moment she and Misha emerged in the courtyard.

“Wow.” A voice came from one of the trees. A female voice, rich and throaty. “Did you sell your firstborn, Misha?”

Misha frowned in the direction of the voice. He was looking down, so Rikki did too. A tiny woman stood between three trees, their leaves practically covering her. She came up to the middle of Rikki’s chest, and she was so thin that Rikki could probably lift her with one hand.

“Shut up, Hazel,” Misha said.

“I mean it, Mish. How’d you get a stranger in so deep?” The woman took a step out, her hands clasped behind her back.

Rikki could see the muscles in the woman’s arms. She could also see the fondness that Misha had for her. It softened his features, made him almost smile.

“You know better than I do, Hazel,” he said, “and don’t pretend that you don’t.”

She grinned, then extended her hand to Rikki. “Hazel Sanchez.”

Rikki took her hand. Hazel’s grip was hard, her handshake so firm it nearly hurt. Rikki matched strength for strength.

“Rikki Bastogne,” she said, feeling odd as she gave her real name. But they had to know it anyway.

“I hope you’ll forgive me,” Hazel said, “but I’m supposed to baby-sit while Misha explains why he brought a stranger here.”

“See?” Misha said, more to Rikki than to Hazel. “I told you she knew.”

Hazel’s expression changed. She looked very serious. “I don’t though. You have more upper level mojo than I thought, Mish.”

“You think that’s what it is?”

She shrugged. “I’m on probation, remember? They don’t tell me nothing.”

He laughed, probably because he was supposed to, since his laugh sounded a little odd. Rikki had never heard that laugh before. And she felt uncomfortable because he didn’t explain anything to her.

He wouldn’t tell her what Hazel Sanchez meant to him, nor did he tell her what probation meant. Or why Hazel seemed so calm about that probation.

“Except you know where I’m supposed to go, right?” he asked Hazel.

“You know where you’re going,” she said with a grin.

Rikki watched, feeling separated from them both. She had never seen this side of Misha before. She was beginning to think she hadn’t seen most sides of him, that he was a stranger to her.

“You know what I mean,” Misha said to Hazel.

“You know what
I
mean,” she said.

He made a face, but it was a pretend-exasperated face. He clearly liked this woman. He was flirting with her.

That jealousy that Rikki had teased Misha about a week or so back flared in her. He had had a relationship with Hazel, one that predated his with Rikki. She had a hunch they had never been lovers, but they had an easy friendship, one that spoke of history together, and she envied that.

Hazel stopped smiling first. Then she tilted her head to the left and said to Misha, “You’re heading to the office. You need to explain yourself, my friend.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Misha said. Then, to Rikki’s surprise, he put a hand on her shoulder and leaned into her, kissing her quickly on the lips.

It was casual, it was comfortable, and it calmed her.

“I’ll be right back,” he said and headed down one of the paths. “Be good.”

Like she could be anything else. She was trapped inside a compound with people who didn’t trust her.

It was pretty here. It smelled of flowers.

And it was about as close to hell as she had ever come.

The office was Misha’s least favorite place in the Guild. The building itself was about half a mile from the spot where he had left Rikki, which was irritating in and of itself. He walked as fast as he could along the path; he would have jogged, but he thought it might make him look desperate.

He was feeling desperate. He didn’t want to leave Rikki alone here, not even with Hazel. He had worked with Hazel for years, back when they were both apprentices. They had even partnered during their apprenticeship, helping each other on various jobs.

They’d been friends forever.

But he didn’t trust her. She was a screwup. This was her fifth probation in ten years. She managed to work her way out of probation, usually by doing a spectacular job on something hard, but never could maintain that level of competence long.

Right now, he wanted Rikki beside him. He didn’t want her in the hands of a screwup.

The office building was a square, five-story monstrosity. Someone had tried to design it like the other brown stone buildings of the Guild, but whoever that someone was had failed. The office looked exactly like it was—a building for bureaucrats, one that had no beauty and barely had any functionality.

The assassins who failed to survive in the outside world worked here. They’d had the training, but for one reason or another, they couldn’t handle the job itself. They “retired” inside the Guild and got to sit at desks, making life hell for everyone else.

Hazel should really have “retired” here. But she hated the office as much as Misha did, and was struggling to stay out of it as long as she possibly could.

Misha, on the other hand, had never been in danger of working here. He excelled at his job, and had from the moment he was certified.

Misha slipped in the main door, noting how much cooler the interior was than the garden. Some of that was the lack of light. This place had ceiling light so white that it seemed harsh.

Even so, they had tried to dress up the entry to make people comfortable. Tall green plants stood in corners, and blooming plants covered tables. The chairs had been both attractive and comfortable once upon a time, but were no longer. Too many nervous butts had fidgeted in those seats, too many worried people had rested their weight on their elbows on the upholstered arms.

He didn’t sit. He had never sat down here. He made a point of that.

Instead, he stood near the desk, which wasn’t a desk at all. It was a barrier separating the entry from the rest of the office complex.

He didn’t recognize the woman behind it. She was doughy from sitting too much—that often happened to the office workers, because they were no longer required to physically train, just encouraged to. Her hair was gray, and so was her skin. Even her eyes were gray, and seemed just a bit faded.

“Mikael Yurinovich Orlinski,” he said. “I had to come here to get my guest cleared.”

She nodded, without saying anything. Then she handed him a tablet. “Sign in. We’ll be with you when we can.”

He signed his name, then looked theatrically around the entry. He was the only person here. He didn’t want to tell her that he had another appointment after this. If he told the woman he was meeting with Kerani, she would think he was pulling rank, and might make him wait even longer.

But the woman ignored him, and he knew if he protested, this would take even longer than it already had.

He didn’t pace because he’d once been told that pacing in the entry was annoying. He just stood between two chairs and leaned on the only empty bit of wall space.

He crossed his arms and closed his eyes most of the way, watching the room through his eyelashes.

It only took a minute.

“Mikael Yurinovich Orlinski,” she said, as if she had a room full of people and had no idea which one he was.

He stood up, then met her gaze and smiled at her. She had opened a small door in that desk/barricade, and he walked through it.

“Room 53,” she said, without giving him instructions.

He didn’t need them. He’d been to Room 53 before. He had actually gotten lost looking for it the first time because he expected the room numbers to follow some sort of pattern.

Instead, they seemed to be random, and Room 53 was only a few yards from the front desk.

The person inside was his old sparring partner, Carl Rigley. Rigley still looked incredibly strong. He was a head taller than Misha and a bit broader. He sat on the edge of one of the biggest chairs in the room.

There were four others, as if someone was going to have a party.

Misha was surprised to see Rigley here. Rigley had been a great field operative, one of the best. He’d managed to flatten Misha half a dozen times after Misha thought his training was done.

Rigley must have seen Misha’s surprise on his face, because Rigley slapped a hand against his leg.

“Distinctive limp,” he said. “Too many visible scars that can no longer be covered up. An internal injury that we’re not really going to discuss except to say that if you hit me wrong, I’ll crater. No longer cleared for field duty. Just in case you were wondering.”

Misha grabbed one of the chairs and sat across from him. “Sorry to hear it, Carl.”

“Yeah, me too,” Rigley said. “But theoretically this is cushy.”

Misha understood the theoretically. He didn’t want to leave the field either.

“You brought us a stranger,” Rigley said.

Misha nodded. “And you let her inside the Guild. What’s with that?”

“She’s with you,” Rigley said.

“Bullshit,” Misha said. “She should’ve been stopped in one of the decon rooms if not in the station. What gives?”

“Special clearance,” Rigley said. “Besides, you said this is a matter of some urgency.”

Misha made a face. “You know who she is.”

“Yeah,” Rigley said. “Seems we had a warning about her. Someone inside the Guild wanted to see her up close and personal.”

That made Misha even more nervous. “Kerani?”

Rigley shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s not my business.”

Misha frowned. Kerani never let anyone in the Guild that easily. “Don’t you find that odd?”

“My purpose is not to question my superiors but to enforce their directives.” Rigley did not sound pleased. “I’m to find out what you and your lady friend need, and see if we can provide it.”

“What do you mean?” Misha asked.

Rigley rolled his eyes. “Either I’m not good at bureaucratic speech yet or you aren’t listening. Is she being recruited?”

“No,” Misha said.

“Then why is she here?”

“To speak to our investigative branch. We have a possible threat to the Guild that needs someone with top-notch investigative skills to look into it.”