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I lower the phone to stare at her, this beautiful, strange, gifted girl with the complex history. Of course the Special Forces snapped her up. She makes the perfect soldier. And paired with that body and face, an even better spy. Who wouldn’t fall for her in a wink? I realized how dangerous she was, but I haven’t appreciated the full force of it until now. Yet there’s something vulnerable about her too, something that awakens my protective side. I can’t put my finger on it. I only know that it makes me want to lock her up in a glass cage in a very high tower, out of reach of everyone but me.
My stomach tightens when I think about how she may have used her skills in the line of duty. Not the fighting kind of skills, but the pretty little flower between her legs, the perfectly rounded breasts.
But no. Since we captured her, she hasn’t used her body to manipulate me. When we fuck, it’s raw. Pure. That kind of honesty can’t be faked.
Irrational jealousy somewhat abated, I return my attention to the report. She stayed with the Special Forces for six years and took up a job as a waitress when she resigned at the age of twenty-four. For the past five years, she’s been working on and off at several bars in Budapest. The part-time bar gigs obviously offered flexibility, as well as a means of staying legal. During that time, she made frequent trips abroad, claiming vacationing on her visas as the reason for the visits. There’s nothing that links Mina to Mink. She’s been careful.
With regards to Mink, our hackers couldn’t dig up much. Her name came up here and there, mostly in outsourced government assassinations, but there’s nothing concrete. Her jobs must’ve been strictly by word of mouth.
“I’m ready,” my little assassin says.
I look up, studying her with new admiration. What she accomplished isn’t easy. No one understands what it takes better than I do. Not for the first time, I wish things could’ve been different between us. The logical part of me knows loyalty doesn’t exist for our kind—we’re ruled by money—but the unreasonable part of me doesn’t care. It only cares that I meant little enough for her to frame me.
Sometimes, things just are what they are.
I get to my feet. “Let’s go.”
Taking the heavy case from her, I lock it in the trunk and drive us to the Hotel Paris. On the outside, the building looks like a Bohemian castle, but it only dates back to 1904.
We walk inside like we own the place. When in Rome and all that. That’s how you attract the least attention. The foyer shows the appropriate amount of luxury. I count the ceiling cameras and number of security personnel on the floor. Then I check the emergency exit and staff entrance while Mina takes what will appear to be tourist photos with my phone.
Approaching the concierge, I query the availability of the Gustave Klimt suite without asking for the price, and tip the guy. Not so outrageously as to be remembered. Just enough to sink away in the sea of the norm in his memory. Then we make our way to the bar.
We sit down at a table in the back, and I order two beers while we wait for Ilya and Anton. I use the time to send further instructions to our hackers, asking for whereabouts of Natasha Petrova, as well as her future schedule. She’s a social butterfly. It should be fairly easy to pin her down at any given time.
Mina sits quietly next to me. She hasn’t touched her beer. It’s a warm day, nice weather outside. Yet despite the sunshine, she looks pale.
I drag my beer closer. “Not thirsty?” Taking a sip, I study her carefully over the rim of my glass.
She looks at me quickly, as if she’s forgotten about my presence. No, she’ll never forget why she’s here or who she’s with. She was somewhere else, somewhere deep in her mind.
She forces a smile. “Just tired.”
The tension in my chest gives a fraction at the reasonable explanation. “It’s the drugs.” They should’ve been out of her system by now, but she’s tiny. The effect will last longer.
I order a smorgasbord and push it toward her when it arrives. At my insistence, she nibbles unenthusiastically on a tiny lox sandwich.
Just before one, Anton and Ilya walk in. They join us at our table and order beers. By the time they’ve filled me in on their observations, they’ve cleaned the plate I ordered, so I get the bar lunch next. Mina has to eat.
A brunette enters and sits down at the bar counter. She’s classically beautiful. Expensive dress. She leans over and says something to the bartender. Drumming her red fingernails on the countertop, she turns on her seat to scan the room. I pay attention, because it’s my job. Paying attention means the difference between life and death. This isn’t death. I know her type. Her gaze lands on me. She makes direct eye contact and smiles.
