The Spy With the Silver Lining (11 page)

“This is a shitty game,
mon ami.
”

“I’m in agreement on that. Cass knows more about Yurii than she’s saying.”

“And it ain’t good?”

“No. I don’t think it’s good at all. Even if I can get to her within a matter of hours, I’m starting to think ten minutes in Yurii’s camp is going to be too long. You should have seen her face when she realized she was the bait. She tried to cover it up, but I could tell she was afraid. She’s an experienced agent and has been in tight spots before, but…” Pierce looked away. “Something about this doesn’t feel right.”

“Call Merrick. Tell him
dis.
Tell him how you feel.”

“Merrick deals in facts. I have no proof.”

“Can you get her out alive?”

“I have to.”

“Because it’s your job, or because you have feelings for her,
mon ami?
”

Pierce puffed a little harder on his cigarette.

“I see
da
way you look at her.
Da
Balasi women have a way of touchin’a man’s soul before he knows what happened.”

“Cass is more than a pretty face, shoes and attitude. She knows her job. She’s tough.”

“She’s tough, but she’s also a woman. They
don
see
tings da
same way a man does.
Oui,
the Balasi women are as complicated as they are beautiful, no?”

If Lazie only knew, Pierce thought. “Is the welcome party ready for Petrov’s men?”

“It’s ready.”

“Then all we have to do now is wait for them to take the bait.”

Both Lazie and Ruza had gone to bed when Pierce knocked on Casmir’s bedroom door. She answered a minute later wearing a black camisole and thong. She looked as though she’d been sleeping.

“Sorry if I woke you.”

“I wasn’t sleeping yet.”

He saw the window open. She must have noticed.

“I was hoping a breeze would find its way to the bed. It’s hot tonight.”

He walked in. “Close the door.”

She did, then slowly turned and leaned against it, giving him a two-second flash of her beautiful ass. The second thing he noticed were the bruises from the accident.

“I’ve got something for you.” He pulled a miniature tracking devices from his jeans pocket. “What will you be wearing tomorrow?”

“I don’t know.”

“Decide.”

“Now?”

“Now.” He sat down on the bed, waited.

“I put my things in your drawer. I didn’t disturb anything. Just laid them on top.” She went to the drawer and opened it.

“It’ll be hot again tomorrow. Dress for it.”

She pulled the black shift from the drawer, tossed it at him. “That’s all I have, unless you want me to wear the skirt and blouse again tomorrow. Polax didn’t pack me much.”

The dress felt expensive, and it smelled like her. Sexy and soft. Even his room was starting to smell like her.

He examined the dress. “We’ll slip the tracker in the hem.”

“Let me see it.”

He opened his hand and she took it, her fingers grazing his palm. “One little tracker. Aren’t you worried it could shut down before you rescue my ass?”

The word
ass
sent his eyes drifting to her backside. “And a beautiful ass it is.”

“You don’t have to use flattery to get me on board, Pierce. I’ve already told you I’m resigned.”

He pulled his thoughts back to the mission. “The tracker is a new design. It’s been tested out. It’s reliable.”

“It doesn’t matter how reliable it is. Yurii will find it before you find me. He knows I’m a spy now. Before I’m delivered to him, I’ll be stripped, and my clothes searched.”

“You’re sure about that.”

“I know him. He won’t ever trust me again.”

The information didn’t sit well with Pierce. He’d been on some rough missions, but he’d never had to use his body, or let someone abuse it past a damn good beating. The women of Quest gave their all, and that fact was never more evident than now.

He stood. “I’m calling Merrick and telling him the tracker will be useless. We’ll figure out something else. If not, I’ll tell him—”

He had started for the door, but before he reached it, she darted past him and flattened herself against it.

“We’ll work around it,” she said. “It’s not like I’ve never had to take off my clothes before.” She opened her hand and examined the tracker. “The problem with swallowing this is that it could be gone in forty-eight hours. It could take that long, or longer, to reach Nescosto Priyatna. Maybe—”

“Maybe what?”

“I have bruises and scratches from the accident today. More than a few. If you made an incision and put the tracker under my skin, then—”

“No.”

“No?”

Pierce shook his head, shook off the urge to touch her. “I’m not cutting into you.”

“Then I’ll have to do it myself. Of course it won’t be as neat a job. It should look like a professional sewed me back up. Like I was admitted to a hospital. You know, after the accident this afternoon.”

“I’m not carving up your flesh.”

“You want to be able to find Yurii’s hideout once I’ve been kidnapped, right? Do you have a better idea besides washing the mission?”

Pierce turned away. Thought a minute, then looked over his shoulder. “Polax is asking too much of you. I have a mind to call him up and talk to him myself.”

“And tell him what?”

“I don’t know. Two days ago you were just another agent. A mouthy bitch I wanted to strangle in Austria.”

“And now?”

“Hell, I don’t know what you are anymore. Let’s think of a better place for the tracker.”

“There is no better place than under my skin. You’ll be able to find me dead or alive. And it will ease Mama’s suffering.”

“I don’t follow.”

“You know, the family always feels better when they have a body to bury. And remember the orchids. Two dozen.”

“I’m getting damn tired of hearing about you dying on me.”

“Then it’s settled. You’ll plant the tracker under my skin.”

C
asmir considered where the scar should be. Pierce had said the tracker was a piece of groundbreaking technology. But her experience with technology had taught her the hard way to prepare for the worst possible scenario.

She wasn’t convinced that the tracker was failsafe, but then it didn’t need to be. It wouldn’t be there long, just long enough to give him the location of Nescosto Priyatna.

She wasn’t as good at dealing with pain as her friend Nadja. That meant it was going to take a lot of liquor before she would be able to lie still and tolerate a knife in Pierce’s hand against her flesh.

She considered the most convincing areas for a laceration caused by a freak accident—a laceration that would require stitches.

It was ironic how things happened, she thought, as she examined the dark bruise on her shoulder where her body had made contact with the Jeep’s dashboard, and another on her thigh, then the scratches on her neck.

Still undecided, she left the bedroom and found Pierce sitting in the living room in the dark, the only light the evening moon shining through a window.

He was smoking again.

She sat down in a chair across from him. “We need to do this tonight, right? If they’re coming for me tomorrow this would be the perfect time. Mama’s asleep.”

He was staring off into space. There was a whiskey bottle on the floor next to his chair.

He turned his head and looked at her. “I don’t think there will ever be a perfect time,
amant.
”

“If you can’t do it, then I will. I planned on having a few drinks before we got started, but if I’m the one handling the knife, I’ll have to be sober.”

Okay, so there would be more pain involved. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t dealt with pain in the past. She could do this.

“Give me your knife.”

He stood, and she thought he was going to pull the knife out of the sheath on his hip. Instead he said, “Not here. Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“Lazie has a flat in the Quarter in New Orleans. I’ll do it there.”

“You’re going to do it?”

“Oui.”

“In New Orleans?”

“That’s right.”

“You think I’m going to scream and cry and wake up Mama, is that it? You can gag me if you—”

“We’ll take the Eldorado. Lazie’s car has air-conditioning. I’ll tell him the plan and that we’ll be gone until noon. He can tell Ruza we left early to see to the real estate business. Get dressed.”

In a matter of minutes they were on the road to New Orleans, the air-conditioning in the Eldorado running on high. There was little conversation. They passed Le Mystère and within an hour they were in New Orleans, parking the car in an alley behind an iron gate crowded with foliage and blooming magnolias in the French Quarter.

They got out and Pierce led the way up a back stairway. It was late, but the city was still alive with music and revelry. She noted the building as she climbed the outside stairs. It was French in design and nicer than she’d expected, considering Lazie and his eccentric tastes.

She was further surprised when Pierce unlocked the flat at the top of the stairs and opened the door. He continued to lead the way, flipping on a light switch.

The flat was decorated in expensive antiques, rich velvet and thick rugs. It was spotless and smelled heavily of magnolias.

“Lazie owns this?”

“
Oui.
He also owns a home on the river.”

“The Glitterbug must be lucrative.”

“Lazie’s been an entrepreneur since he was twenty. He’s more than a bar owner. I’m going to make a phone call.”

“Who are you calling?”

“Someone I trust. I’m going to need a few things delivered.”

He was being too mysterious. Casmir shook her head. “I don’t like being the last to know how this is going to go down. I think I’ve earned the right to be your equal in this, Pierce. Partners should be equals. After all, I’m the one getting cut, and being sent off to die.”

“Would you stop saying that. Dammit, woman!”

It was the first time she had ever seen him lose his cool. He looked ready to explode, like a lit cannon with a short fuse.

“I thought you were the Sleeper. The man with no emotion. That’s what it says in your file.”

“
Oui,
me, too.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Walked to the window. After a minute, he asked, “You remember Frog?”

“Yes.”

“He and I go way back. I’m going to ask him to bring by some medical supplies. The last thing you need is an infection,
oui?
”

“You trust him?”

“I do.”

“Then call him.” Casmir made herself familiar with Lazie’s flat while Pierce made the call. She located the bathroom, a modern, almost feminine room complete with lace curtains and lavender towels. The bedroom was more masculine, still underscored with bits of feminine touches. It featured rich browns, accented with gold cords on the drapes and a gold velvet bedspread on a massive bed with an iron frame around it, draped in sheer gold curtains.

A fairy-tale bed, she thought.

Behind a set of drapes was a pair of doors leading to a balcony. She opened the doors and stepped outside. Below was a beautifully lit courtyard.

It was true that first impressions were suspect to reevaluation. Lazie was a romantic beneath his crusty eccentric exterior.

A rogue with a heart. “An interesting concept,” she whispered on the warm night breeze.

Her thoughts drifted to Pierce, and she wondered if he had a hidden side, too. Pierce Fourtier wasn’t just an Onyxx agent. He had a past, as well as a mother who had left him. But there had been no mention of his father.

Growing up she had wondered about her own father. What did he look like? Where did he come from? Mama said he had died before she was born.

The difference between her and Pierce was that Mama loved her. Loved her every minute of every day. She knew that, and more importantly, she felt it. Pierce, on the other hand, had lived a life without a mother’s love.

No wonder he was so careful with his feelings and so guarded with his thoughts. But he wasn’t unfeeling. His feelings were just buried deeper than most.

Cutting into her bothered him. He had refused the idea immediately, then after conceding, he’d slipped into a somber mood.

She heard voices in the other room. Frog must have arrived. That meant Pierce would be ready for her soon. She only hoped that she was ready for him.

Pierce let the big man with the backpack slung on his shoulder into Lazie’s flat. When Frog handed him the backpack, he offered the big man a sealed white envelope.

“I appreciate your help.”

“I owe you more than a few favors. You could have killed me years ago.”

Pierce grinned. “That would have been a waste. Loyalty is hard to buy these days. You’ve always been straight with Lazie.”

“Everything you asked for is there.” Frog gestured to the bag. “You need anything else?”

“There’s an extra grand in the envelope. I’d like you to drive out to the cabin and stand watch tonight. If anyone comes nosing around let Lazie know about it.”

“And then?”

“Back him up if things get ugly.”

“I can do that. Maybe I should be working for you,
mon ami,
instead of Lazie.” He smiled. “You pay better.”

When Frog left, Pierce checked the supplies in the bag. Satisfied that everything was there, he went to Lazie’s liquor cabinet behind the bar and mixed Cass a black drink—something that would knock her off her feet in a hurry.

She’d said she could match him in a drinking contest, but he doubted that. He’d been chugging hard stuff since he was fourteen.

He heard a door open and he looked up. The first thing he noticed was that she had twisted her hair up, and that she’d kicked off the black stilettos.

She tracked across Lazie’s living room, leaving her footprints in the dense white carpet. He set her drink on the bar, and she eyed it with curiosity.

“Not a French Kiss?”

“It’s called Spy’s Demise. I thought it was fitting.”

“You’re kidding, of course. I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s for real.”

“And you would know.”

“
Oui,
I would know.”

“What’s in it?”

“Vodka, gin, rum and a few other things.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Aptly named for its knockout punch.”

“Well, before I start drinking to my…demise, we should discuss the placement of the tracker.”

Pierce poured himself a shot of whiskey. “I still think I should call Merrick and explain the situation. Maybe we could come up with—”

“I should be the one with cold feet, not you.”

“Because I’m an unfeeling asshole.”

“I may have used the word asshole once or twice since we met, but not unfeeling.”

“But that’s what you think.”

“Since when do you care what I think?”

He stepped around the bar. He was out of sorts, while she had decided to stop complaining. They were never on the same page.

Damn opposites, and probably always would be.

He went to check that the door was locked, and when he turned back he caught her sampling the drink he’d made her. She was wearing the black shift and he knew what was underneath it.

“I like lime. This is good.” She took the drink with her and curled up on the couch, hiking the dress up to her thighs. “I’ve been thinking about where I’d like my scar. You know, it’s funny, but for twenty-eight years I’ve been scar free. So I’ve been asking myself, do I want it visible, sort of a badge of courage, or should we tuck it away and keep it our little secret?”

She was too damn calm, and it was irritating the hell out of him. He was supposed to be the calm one, dammit.

He headed back to the bar and poured himself another whiskey.

“Is the whiskey to steady your hands? If not, lighten up. I don’t want a big X marking the spot.”

He tossed back the shot of whiskey, then turned around. “On your neck. Under your hair. There are scratches there from this afternoon, and a small bruise.”

“That would work.” She took a sip of her drink, then uncurled her legs and raised the shift higher. She was still wearing that damn black G-string, and it didn’t hide the dark bruise on her hip. “Or here. What do you think?”

What he thought was that he needed another poker-stiff whiskey.

“Finish the damn drink and I’ll make you another.”

“Which spot do you like better?”

Pierce didn’t answer. He made two more drinks for her in the next hour—strong enough to grow hair—and she drank the last one wearing a smile, but she didn’t look like she was going to pass out anytime soon.

He said, “Maybe you should go into the bedroom and lie down.”

“I guess that means I should lose the dress.”

She stood, swayed.

He dived at her and rescued her from landing on the floor. “It looks like one more drink and then—”

“Help me off with my dress. I’m too weak to raise my arms.”

He worked the straps down, then helped her step out of the dress. The swell of her breasts sent his heart racing. Her perfect ass and long legs had him growing a hard-on.

She leaned into him. “My head’s spinning.”

“That’s good,
amant.
That’s what we want.”

“Don’t worry, Pierce. After tonight, I’ll still love you, even if you make an X.”

She was past drunk. He held on to her, pulled her close. His body was humming, and he couldn’t have changed that fact with a bucket of ice or a hammer.

“This is crazy,” he whispered.

“What’s wrong with your voice?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

She looked up at him. “You have nice lips. Did you know that? Did Linny ever tell you that?”

“No.”

“Good. So I’m the first?”

“You’re the first.”

“Do you like my lips?”

“Very much,
amant.
”

“I like it when you call me your lover.”

“Cass…”

“Shh… It’s time to kiss me or cut me.”

She was going to hate herself in the morning if she remembered any of this.

Still wrestling with the idea of using a knife on her delicate skin, Pierce bent his head and covered her mouth with his.