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22
Deacon
My muscles coiled. Shoulders tightened. Fingers hovered over the gun that I kept close during trips. The woman in the shadows was neither a friend nor a foe, which made her ten times more dangerous.
“Rhia.” The name slipped out automatically. Like a cube of ice sliding down the tongue.
Her lips curled up in a smirk. “You might want to hang up.”
I realized that my phone was still connected to the island, to Angel. Scrambling for the phone instead of the gun, I ended the video call.
The beep shattered the silence in the hotel room.
I hadn’t told Angel goodbye. She would have questions, but at least she would not be privy to this side of my life.
“What are you doing here?” I demanded.
Rhia’s flowered dress swayed around her knees as she walked to the sliding glass doors and peered at the light-studded city. “You didn’t get the penthouse? Why? You can afford it.”
“I prefer to lay low.”
“Because of guilt?”
“Because a white man showing up suddenly and throwing his money around for a penthouse suite attracts too much attention.”
“You may be right.” Rhia patted her elaborately coiled bun. A heavy accent bit into her words. “Forgive me. It’s been a while since I’ve been on the ground with an operative.”
I eyed her warily. My fingers hovered over the gun now. “What do you want?”
“You’ve still got it, Deacon. I must admit.”
I stiffened.
Rhia turned to me, a satisfied smile on her red-stained lips. “I worried that you would not be able to succeed on a mission like this.”
“The target was easy to deceive. He was… lonely.”
“And you cured him of that. Permanently.”
I ground my teeth together. It was a job, but it had not been pleasant. “What. Do. You. Want?”
“To talk.”
“We could have done so over the phone.” I jerked my chin in the direction of the burner sitting on the nightstand.
“Yes,” she tutted, “but that would have been so cold and impersonal.”
“Leave.”
“Are you upset, Deacon?” Her heels clicked against the tiles as she strode closer. “I thought you’d like a visit. Doesn’t it remind you of old times?”
I sprang out of bed, landed on my toes and pointed my gun at her head. Rhia watched me with an amused smile. Her brown eyes remained stony, eyelashes didn’t so much as flicker. For a moment, I wondered if she was even human.
“If I remember right,” she stared me down, her voice incurring a dangerous tinge, “your previous handler often met you in hotel rooms just like this.”
My hand shook.
“What did you do together, Deacon?” Rhia arched an eyebrow at the bed. “Could I have a demonstration? Maybe you and I can make our own little Reid. ”
