Kiss the Enemy (Slye Temp) (4 page)

Coming from Snake Eyes, that was high praise.

He continued. “This brother in New York needed time to make some inquiries, which was why I didn’t call you until now. I just hung up with him. He didn’t have a lot of information, but what he did have is quite valuable. The Banker
is
here in the US, but I don’t know why. Yet. However he’s meeting with an operator—a mercenary with the skills for whatever the Banker has in mind. We have one shot at finding him before he finds us. The location where the Banker will meet with the merc is being passed off at a nightclub in San Francisco.”

“When?”

“Tonight.”

She’d have to hand this intel over to Sabrina. “Where?”

His chuckle was dark and deadly. “You know as much as you need to know right now. I’m not risking anyone screwing this up before you have a chance to take your shot. Call me when you reach San Francisco.”

If she stepped outside this building, she’d become a fugitive. Sabrina would take a bullet for any one of her team, but when she warned she’d report Margaux to law enforcement she meant it.

“If you can’t do this, say so now, Duke, so I can make other arrangements.”

He’d find another assassin, who might or might not succeed, and with no motivation beyond money.

Margaux closed her eyes and considered the end result of defying Sabrina, but it didn’t matter. She’d brought death to Nanci’s door, but she could stop it from reaching Sabrina and the team. “I can do it.”

CHAPTER 3

The elevator doors parted, exposing the Trophy Room, one of San Francisco’s best-kept secrets.

Logan Baklanov stepped forward and scanned the space. A pair of  sultry female twins in ocean-blue gowns were playing a piano and alto saxophone. Both of their faces were uncovered. No Venetian-style mask like the other women in the room wore. Subdued lighting meant to flatter the clientele gave the upscale décor  a warm glow.

An inviting setting to some.

All the makings of a death trap to Logan.

Limited exit strategies. No way for any of his team to get close enough to back up him and his partner. He couldn’t bring in a weapon, but that didn’t concern him much.

There were plenty of ways to kill a person.

Staying in character as the bodyguard, Logan stepped aside and nodded at Jamie “Nitro” Johnson that he could exit the elevator.

Decked out in a custom black suit and tan silk shirt tailored to his muscular body, Nitro played the role of cocksure Dragan Stoli, or Mr. D as he would be addressed here, right down to his swagger.

As of right now, Nitro
was
Dragan.

Dragan paused as though observing the dazzling assortment of around fifty women mixed in with twelve men wearing power attitudes.

Logan stifled a snort.

If these men were truly powerful, they wouldn’t risk
anyone
knowing they shopped in a high-end meat market. These were power-wannabes who rolled in the high seven-figures playground, but a step below the top dogs in their world.

They wanted a safe place to play and prime selection.

Dragan took his time, turning his head with an admiring smile on his lips. He was actually taking stock of the layout through a pair of five-hundred-dollar sunglasses that were tinted just enough to hide his eyes, but allow clear vision.

Logan was doing the same from behind a pair of iconic-looking Oakleys most people associated with modern security.

Once Dragan had drawn a gaggle of attention from the pool of beauties, he strode confidently toward three women holding martini glasses. Cookie cutter babes, all dressed in designer chic right down to exquisite jeweled and feathered masks that covered the top halves of their faces.

The Trophy Room was a private—and secret—venue owned by three international businessmen. Their hand-selected stable of women were brought in from all over the world, including some from this country.

The mask indicated availability.

Once a deal was struck, the mask came off, which prevented confusion and allowed the predatorial male to show off his “catch.”

Dragan spoke with a smooth Russian accent. “Good evening, ladies.”

While Logan’s partner did his job of making an entrance and charming the women, Logan moved to a quiet spot at the end of the thirty-foot black granite bar. He picked a position close enough to keep an eye on Dragan’s back and observe the room at the same time.

The Banker had said to arrive early and his woman would contact Dragan before 0030 hours. But the bastard wouldn’t commit to a code message that would have made it simple to confirm who the correct woman was. The Banker was known for playing games until you were accepted inside his circle of mercenaries. He felt that any operative worth his salt should be able to spot a contact inside a room full of prostitutes.

He had a point.

It still pissed off Logan.

A muscle twitched between his shoulder blades. Would the Banker really show himself when the time came? Logan hadn’t found anyone within the Banker’s circle of resources, but the Banker had been credited with enough successful attacks to prove he hired capable muscle.

Logan knew of two mercs who’d
tried
to sign on and failed the Banker’s initial tests.

Failure coming in the form of torture, then death.

Logan’s failure would put his men at risk and leave his brother Yuri to die in a Russian prison where he was being held.
Held
was an innocuous term for what Yuri might be suffering at the moment.

Worry fisted in his gut, but Logan had to force it away and stay on task. If anything went wrong tonight, he could forget getting a second chance at a meeting, based on the Banker’s known MO. No, this was his one opportunity to capture the head of a snake that slithered through the world, leaving a swath of destruction everywhere it went.

That snake had to be handed over alive in trade for Yuri.

A woman in a sweeping, deep-blue gown strolled up to Logan. Brunette hair fell to her waist and the design on her mask matched a swirl of rhinestones down the front of her dress, drawing his eye to the cleavage on display. He had the advantage of taking her in without notice from behind his dark glasses. And she had a lot of fine real estate, but he would have expected the Banker to at least send a statuesque blonde, based on the rumors Logan’s team had leaked about Dragan’s female of choice.

Not a five-foot-four, dark-haired hooker.

Full lips painted cherry red smiled at him. “Would you like something to drink or is alcohol off limits when you’re working?”

He wasn’t picking up anything from this woman that registered needle movement on his
operative
meter. Would the Banker send a novice? Logan didn’t think so. This woman was only looking for a shortcut to the man with the money.

Dragan.

Logan kept his head turned toward Dragan, but watched her out of the corner of his eye when he answered. “No, thank you.”

Her smile slipped. She glanced over her shoulder to where Dragan held court. “I’ll have a tough time fighting my way through that crowd.” She turned back to Logan. “Tell you what. If I’m not unmasked later, want to hook up?”

Maybe he’d been wrong about her.

He gave her a second consideration. Was this one of the Banker’s famous “tests”? Logan’s heartbeat ticked up a notch. One wrong move and the Banker might pick up his toys and go home.

Logan lived and died by his gut, and right now it was telling him she was not his contact. The one thing he couldn’t afford was to be indecisive. Maintaining an unemotional face, he said, “Thank you, but no.”

She stood there a moment then smiled and shook her head as if she’d refused him, which the women could do, and walked off. She strolled up to a man who hadn’t warmed up to any woman since Logan had entered.

The brunette didn’t seem the least bit deterred.

Business as usual.

Logan stretched his arms out and crossed them over his chest, doing a covert time check as he did. Eighteen minutes to 0030.

He’d have come at the very last moment, but that would have been a risk if the Banker sent his contact early.

If one of the women around Dragan had pinged for Dragan by now, he would have given Logan “the sign” of adjusting his glasses on his face and holding his chin with his left thumb and finger.

Hadn’t happened yet.

Logan never rushed an operation, but this one had been taking too long from the first minute he’d devised it. His team had endured eleven hellish months of establishing a reputation in the underworld as a team of elite mercenaries behind two deadly attacks in Bangkok and France. They’d also eliminated the group who had actually executed those attacks.

Still no word from the Banker when Logan had put the word out he had the best team for the right money.

Then his reputation got unexpected help in the form of his team being blamed for an attack his people hadn’t committed.

Timing was everything.

The next thing he knew, the Banker was shopping for an elite mercenary group. With the groundwork Logan had laid, it was clear to anyone serious in the terror business that there was no better team on the current market than Logan’s.

The Banker clearly needed him after that failed attempt on the Pope and Vatican eight months ago.

And Logan needed the Banker.

One man inside INTERPOL actually knew the truth about Logan’s team and the deadly underworld reputation he’d
created
, because Logan had carried out covert operations for that agency in the past. But he couldn’t tell his INTERPOL liaison what he was really doing this time. Not when Logan was going after someone INTERPOL wanted badly and Logan had other plans for this package.

He’d lost too many people in his life to risk any of his men who were brothers in belief. He wouldn’t have brought them on this mission if they hadn’t cornered him and demanded to be included.

If this was only about himself he’d have refused, but this was about Yuri facing a brutal death, and soon.

Eleven grueling months came down to tonight. Logan cut his eyes down at his watch. Seventeen minutes to go.

The brunette came strolling back up.

Persistent little thing. Could this
really
be the contact and he’d missed a cue?

His uninterested bodyguard expression never changed. “Can I help you?”

She smiled. “No, but I can help you.”

Dragan hadn’t given him a signal and no other woman had approached Logan, so he gave this one his full attention. He was ready to get the hell out of here as fast as he and Nitro could do so without drawing attention. Logan shifted his head to face her and allowed the hint of a smile in his expression. “In that case, I’m listening.”

CHAPTER 4

Margaux had arrived six minutes early for tonight’s meeting and taken a strategic position near the roof edge of this thirty-seven-story building. Snake Eyes finally stepped into the chilly darkness shrouding the access door ten strides away.

Should she pay him or kill him?

Tough choice.

Her ass was in a sling because of this prick, in spite of his protesting otherwise.

White LED lights spaced along the parapet offered enough light beneath the hip-high wall to traverse the outer boundary of the roof, but the snitch didn’t move another step. Predators preferred shadows. Salt-laden air rolling off San Francisco Bay blew his duster, making it snap against his legs.

He called out, “Why are you over there?”

“I like the view.
” And I might want to find out if pigs really can fly before I’m done tonight.
Margaux held her position, leaving her exposed to the midnight breeze that cut her to the bone. The damned shiny dress she wore for tonight had better be worth the effort. It barely covered the essentials.

And she meant barely. Her cashmere cape offered little additional insulation against the brittle temperatures.

He stood still as the Grim Reaper waiting for his victim to make a move. Short black hair ringed the crown of his head and a beak nose overpowered his narrow face that had picked up a few lines in forty plus years.

Vultures were more attractive.

He sounded almost amused. “I’m impressed that you know I don’t like heights.” 

If I only gave a shit about impressing you.
“We’ve played by your rules. I’m here. Time to give me the rest of the information so I can be on my way.” 

“I hear a note of hostility that I find curious since I’m here to help you.”
No, you’re not here to help me, but to help yourself to the bag-o-money at my feet that will allow you to disappear even faster if I fail to stop the Banker.
“Neither of us is here to make nice. Move this along if you want the money, and the Banker dealt with so you can live long enough to spend it.”

“I hope you’re as capable as your reputation.”

“I am.”  She hoped so, too. Her gut didn’t like any part of the game she had to play tonight. It better be worth walking away from Sabrina, who would unleash a team of elite operatives to hunt her down as soon as she found out Margaux was gone.

He studied her intensely and declared, “You’ll pass for Violet.”

“I’d better, for what I paid a makeup artist who could turn you into Brad Pitt.” Margaux could pull off masquerading as an expensive call girl, but that didn’t guarantee she wouldn’t be made if anything went wrong. “Tell me about the exits and security.”

“Again?”

“I’m paying to hear it as many times as I want.”   Margaux had too much at stake not to put Snake Eyes to the test of repeating the details while she watched for an inflection, any sign of lying.

“There is no logic in my lying to you at this point, but you
are
paying for this.” 

The secret club was in the basement level of a privately owned hotel. Affluent men, celebrities, anyone who wanted to enjoy a nightclub atmosphere could go there without worry of public exposure. The women on display were the best that money could buy, guaranteed clean and skilled in every sexual game imaginable. Three corporate power players were behind the club. They vetted members and the female entertainment, changing access codes daily to assure security.