Authors: Cat Adams
“Gift from Vicki,” I admitted.
He shook his head and passed the knife back with what was almost reverence. “Keep those out of sight if you can. Don’t want to invite trouble.”
I just nodded my assent and thought about the possibility of trouble. Something about this job was bugging me. (Other than the obvious demon thing.) It wasn’t obvious, just a pebble in your shoe kind of thing. Bob had said he didn’t like the guy who’d interviewed him. I couldn’t say I disagreed. The guy I’d talked to had been vague about details of the job to the point of being coy. I don’t
like
coy. He’d answered my questions in ways that really didn’t tell me much of anything. I’d come damned close to rejecting the job.
And then there was the fact that I suspected I might have been chosen just because I was a woman, to force Rezza into toeing his father’s progressive line.
Don’t get me wrong, there are cases when a woman is specifically needed—you get a female client, she needs someone who can check out the ladies’ room without problems, go into dressing rooms. But that wasn’t what this was supposed to be.
“I feel better knowing you’re here.” Bob admitted quietly.
“Back atcha, big guy.”
The elevator bell rang. We stepped inside the elegantly appointed cabin. Pressing the button for the top floor, I turned to face the front as the doors whooshed smoothly closed. When they reopened I stepped into an expansive living space. One entire wall was a bank of windows, open to show a panoramic view of the city lights sparkling below.
Stupid. Unless those windows were bulletproof, I could see three perfect spots for a sniper’s roost, and that was without really trying. I thought about the demon again. What if he was in the room with us already? I needed to figure out a way to check each person. I couldn’t do it openly for fear of a violent reaction with possible hostages. But leaking a little holy water onto my palm and then shaking hands with everyone would just make it look like I had sweaty palms.
“You’re early.” The retainer repeated his earlier complaint. In photographs in my research file, he was always just a pace behind the king, always with the same dour expression. I turned to face him, keeping my expression neutral. He stepped away from a group of men standing by the bar. His voice was disapproving. I’d thought that the photos just made him look cranky, but they’d only captured the real him. I immediately felt sorry for whoever his significant other might be.
Standing at about five nine, he was a little bit shorter than me. I could tell he didn’t like it. He was apparently used to looking down that beakish nose and glaring with those beady black eyes until the person opposing him backed down. If that’s what he wanted, he’d picked the wrong girl. I wouldn’t start trouble. Certainly not with a client. But I wouldn’t grovel or toady, either. Wouldn’t be much use as a bodyguard if I did. I gave him the pleasant, not-quite-blank expression I reserve for difficult clients. He didn’t seem to like that, either. Sometimes, you just can’t win. I held out my water-soaked hand. He looked at it like it was a distasteful bug.
Crap. Now what?
I lowered my hand after a few awkward moments. There would be other opportunities before we left. “I came in a little ahead of time to check the perimeter, meet up with the other guards, find out who’s going to be in charge, and iron out the details.” I sounded polite, professional, without even a hint of irritation or sarcasm. My gran would be so proud.
“
I
will be in charge.”
The man who glided away from the bar spoke with a hint of an accent and more than a hint of condescension. I recognized him from his pictures. The prince was six two and slender, he moved with a sleek grace that should have been effeminate but wasn’t. He was wearing gray dress slacks with a cream-colored silk shirt that had enough buttons left open to expose a lightly muscled but hairless chest. His light brown curls were artfully mussed; his dark eyes narrowed with appraisal as he looked me over from head to foot. He kept his hands clasped behind his back.
“Ultimately, of course”—I gave a respectful nod—“but generally with a multiperson team, there’s a coordinator the other guards report to. I was wondering who that was going to be.”
He stopped, barely two inches away from me. I think he expected me to react. He was obviously used to women reacting sexually and men backing down. I didn’t do either. I simply stood my ground, pleasant and impassive, waiting for him to respond. I was pretty sure I knew what he was going to say. But maybe I was wrong. Surely he wasn’t
that
much of an idiot—
“
I
will be in charge,” he repeated.
Apparently he
was
that much of an idiot. Oh joy. I cringed inwardly but kept my mouth shut, counting to ten so that I wouldn’t say anything stupid. I could walk away from the job, but the money was damned good and the connections were better. Any small business grows by word-of-mouth referrals. Tick him off and I could be going hungry for a long time. But it was tempting. Because his stupidity could get me killed. On the other hand, Bob was here. He’d have my back—and I’d have his. Risking my life is part of what I get paid for. And, again, I was going to be getting an almost obscene amount of money for this.
I glanced across the room to where the rest of the security team was standing. I mean, I couldn’t actually be the only person worried about this, the only one to notice the prince’s glassy, bloodshot eyes, could I? Surely
somebody
else was bothered by the situation?
Two of the guards stared past me as if I were beneath their notice. I felt my jaw clench, and had to force myself not to grind my teeth. I didn’t know either of them, which surprised me. I’m fairly well connected in the industry. I’ve worked with most of the independents at one time or another, and most of them have come to respect my abilities and treat me as an equal. I’d have bet half of what I was making that they were pissed because I was a woman. I’ve dealt with the prejudice before. You’d think I’d be used to it.
You’d be wrong.
Bob’s soft cough drew everyone’s attention while I was shaking hands with the third guard. He was clean … or at least
human.
“We checked the perimeter. There was evidence it had been broken by a demonic presence. Ms. Graves put together a temporary patch, but we need to contact the authorities.”
He said my name as if he’d never met me before tonight. I might have said something, but he gave me a quelling look. He was probably right. The prince didn’t seem the type to appreciate socializing among the staff, and it wouldn’t do to have the other guards pissed at
him,
too.
The prince’s eyes narrowed, and he gave me a long, assessing look. “My people contacted the authorities while you were on your way up.” He turned to one of the nearest retainers, a short, square man with blunt features and small dark eyes. “Jean Paul, take Josef downstairs and deal with Ms. Graves’s ‘patch.’”
The two men hustled off, not looking particularly happy. Then again, they didn’t seem the sort to be happy about much of anything. Maybe they were paid to be surly. In which case, Josef deserved a bonus.
Prince Rezza stared at me, trying to judge my reaction. I tried to keep it neutral but failed. His expression darkened. “It’s being dealt with. Satisfied?” His tone was challenging.
Not really. I’d be more satisfied when some of the militant religious were on scene. But saying that would just piss him off more. So would forcibly touching him. It might even create an international incident. We’d already started off on the wrong foot, so I kept my mouth shut and gave a curt nod.
“Good.”
The prince
hadn’t wanted to get entangled with the authorities. So we left before they arrived. I didn’t like it. Since I was the one who’d discovered the breach, I was pretty sure they’d want to talk to me, not Jean Paul. But it was made very clear that arguing would cost me the job. So I settled for leaving a business card with my cell number in case they wanted to call, along with an offer to give a statement the next day.
So, with minimal delay we had started the prince’s night on the town. Now, at 3:00
A.M.
, my shift was half-over. Thus far there had been no signs of assassins, demons, or really much of anything. Good. Even better, I’d managed to stay professional. That had been harder than I’d thought. The prince was impeccably bred, ridiculously wealthy scum. I hadn’t quite been reduced to counting the minutes till I could be away from him, but I was coming close.
We were settled in at our fourth “strip club.” I’d thought we’d reached the bottom of the barrel hours ago. I’d been overly optimistic. Apparently things can always get worse. Even the dim lighting couldn’t disguise that the place was filthy. The “dancers” had a desperation about them, the kind of fear you could almost smell in the air. Their bodies were scrawny, except for one or two who’d invested in the kind of plastic surgery that made Dolly Parton’s figure seem positively understated. None of them could afford even the cheapest beauty charms to enhance their looks magically, so all they had to work with was their own assets, and most of them had been living hard for too long. They looked rough.
The theme of this place had something to do with “pussycats.” I was able to deduce this not only because of the sign out front but also because the dancers wore cat ear headbands. The headbands were nearly their entire costumes, along with G-strings and jewelry. The G-strings were a formality so that liquor could be served. Pay enough for one of the private rooms and they could disappear just like magic. Illegal as hell, of course, but I suppose that was the point. The prince was slumming, and he seemed to be working at finding the skankiest spots in the area. Doing a damned fine job of it, too.
Honestly, were I him, I’d be worried about catching something antibiotic-resistant. Of course he was too far gone to think of that sort of thing. He’d been imbibing various substances to excess since before I came on shift and was blasted out of his frigging mind. Woe to his people if he wound up their king.
I’d thought hiring me had been for publicity. But we hadn’t gone anywhere he was likely to meet paparazzi. So maybe I actually had been hired on the strength of my reputation. Whatever. If the opportunity came up to work for him again, I’d be saying no.
Bob was the only other guard who showed me any kind of respect. The other two just ignored me. I could live with that, so long as they did their jobs. Unfortunately, only one was. So, three of us stood alert for danger, ignoring what was going on behind us. Bob was to my right. Beyond him was the biggest, blackest man I’d ever seen, with skin like polished ebony. He was built like a refrigerator—an
oversized,
industrial-style refrigerator. Huge and square as he was, you would’ve expected him to be slow. Instead, he could move with the sudden grace of a hunting cat. I’d seen it when one of the bouncers made a wrong move. Blinding speed and utter ruthlessness.
I didn’t know his name. We’d finish tonight’s job and I’d never see him again. Wouldn’t break my heart, either.
The fourth “guard” was practically useless. At the prince’s demand he was taking pictures with an expensive digital camera. He was young, and green enough that he’d acceded to the prince’s wishes. Stupid. If anything went wrong, he’d be shit out of luck. The rest of us insisted on actually doing our job. At least as well as we could under the circumstances.
An attorney once told me that my business contract had more restrictive clauses than some major motion picture deals. I told him I’d learned from past experience.
If His Royal
Highness
died of a self-induced overdose, I wasn’t liable. If he caught AIDS, herpes, or anything else, I wasn’t liable. I protected him from violence. Period. End of story. My own morals would probably require me to haul his ass to the hospital if his stupidity made it necessary, but I didn’t expect it to happen. He could function even after some pretty unique drug cocktails, so he must have years of self-abuse under his belt.
I heard something behind the door to the main room. Almost in a single movement the three of us turned to face the possible threat. Bob shifted his weight, his hand hovering near the butt of his weapon.
The manager of the club stepped through the door with a bouncer at his heels. They came through at warp speed, slamming the door behind them with a level of controlled panic that made my neck hairs rise. The manager was a small man but tough looking. He had tiny, shrewd eyes and a sharp nose. But by far the most notable thing about him was his scars. A group of them ran from a mangled left ear down to and across his neck. It looked as if someone had tried to slit his throat with a beer bottle or claws.
He slid home the bolts and turned to face us. He didn’t look alarmed or afraid, more
pissed.
At his nod the bouncer crossed the room to a second door and started to use keys on a number of locks. I assumed the door led outside.
“The cops are out front.” The manager sounded disgusted. “It’s a raid. You’ve got to get out of here.”
A couple of the girls shrieked and I saw the flash of naked flesh in my peripheral vision as they scurried out from the pile of bodies to start dragging on the nearest discarded undies.
“I have diplomatic immunity.” The prince’s words were slurred, but there was no mistaking his condescending tone.
It occurred to me that the purpose of having a double had been to give the prince discretion—discretion that would be ruined if he got caught, immunity or no, but maybe he was just too stoned/drunk to care.
The manager was unimpressed. “Well,
I
don’t, asshole. And I don’t need the kind of media attention that will come with you being caught here,” he snarled, “so get the fuck out.” He pointed at the door. The bouncer opened it on cue. A dim beam of yellow light overhead revealed a narrow, filthy alley. A strong wind blew through the door, hard and cold. The stench it brought with it was horrific, even at this distance.
His Highness shrugged and seemed bored, as though this was a frequent occurrence. “Oh, very well.” I saw him pulling together his clothing with uncoordinated movements. His eyes were unfocused, but his speech wasn’t too bad. “You, and you—” He waved in the general direction of Bob and me. “Take the lead. We’ll follow.”