Death Cache (41 page)

He refused to turn around, motioning for the barkeep to refill his glass. He wasn’t drunk enough. Not even close.

“
Salmiakkikossu
,” she said, sidling up next to him, ordering a drink in perfect Finnish. “
Kaksi
.” She held up two fingers to the barman for the vodka laced with a taste of spicy, salty liquorice that he favored.

Since there were no coincidences in life—or at least his—Ivan knew she was there for him.

She turned and leaned her elbows on the bar, facing the occupants while at the same time, looking him right in the face.

Not many people could hold eye contact with him for long. She was either as tough as her head-to-toe dominatrix outfit screamed, or quite the actress.

“In the mood for some entertainment?” she purred, her English as perfect as her Finnish, though he thought he detected a slight French flavor.

He didn’t know what she was up to, but she was no hooker. For one thing, the outfit was new and there was no wear on the knees. “Not interested, honey.”

She leaned in. “I’ll make it worth your while, Ivan.” His name rolled off her red-painted lips in a sultry whisper.

There was no outward sign that her using his name impacted him in any way, but everything inside him came to full attention and all of it centered on her. Something no one willingly wished upon themselves.

There were only two reasons people sought him out. Either they wanted to kill him, or wanted him to kill for them. He was no longer for hire. There was only one mission left in his life and he knew without a doubt, it didn’t have anything to do with this leather-sheathed woman.

He drained his glass and set it on the bar with a clunk. The contents might as well have been water for all the good they did him. Instead of dulling his senses, they were suddenly firing and zapping alive others he thought long buried.

She smelled exotic and earthy with hints of rosemary, hibiscus, and citrus. Would she taste of oranges?

Interest—something he thought long dead—stirred. “Not available,” he gritted out, picking up the glass the bartender refilled, serving her drink as well.

“You’ll be up for this,” she murmured with a curve of her lips. “I know things.”

He looked at her sharper as she raised her own glass and knocked the drink back. The narrowing of her eyes was the only reaction to the fiery liquid he knew burned down her throat. A throat that was long and lovely, and emphasized by dark hair pulled back into a severe ponytail. She had hair long enough that he could wrap the strands around his hand and forearm and use it as an anchor while he—

Guilt choked him, making it hard to swallow. He didn’t want to bed her or any woman. There was a part of him that disagreed. It had been too long since he’d been lost within the warmth of a woman’s body.

His words were dangerous and grated when he was finally able to speak. “Woman, I don’t want any part of what you’re selling. Get the fuck away from me.” She needed to leave before he caved and actually took her up on her offer.

She inched into him, and his senses were swamped with the feel of her lush body against his. She looked all hard and shiny in the leather get-up, but she felt soft and comforting. Her breasts pressed against his arm, felt larger than they appeared in the tailored jacket. His eyes became riveted on the deep cleavage displayed behind the lowered metal teeth of the zipper. If she wore anything under that jacket, it wasn’t much.

“When you’ve heard what I have to say,” she breathed in his ear, “the last thing you will do is tell me to fuck off. You’ll thank me.” Her hand settled flat against his chest, and she added, her cool, citrus breath caressing him to a heightened awareness of her sexuality, “This isn’t the right place to discuss it. Finish your drink, and follow me.” She brushed her lips against his neck, and then slowly straightened away from him.

While her body was all invitation, her eyes were serious and full of intent. Her tongue circled her lips while her finger trailed down his chest to his stomach before lifting off him.

He stopped breathing even as he realized she was putting on a show for whoever watched.

“Thank you for the drink.” She turned and swayed from the bar. He couldn’t help swiveling on the barstool and watch her slow retreat. The room seemed to instantly chill as the door shut behind her.

He dragged air into his lungs and scanned the patrons of the bar, looking for anyone paying him undue attention. Everything looked as normal as it had before the mystery woman had entered. He didn’t pick up any vibes that danger lurked, and since danger was his life, he was pretty damn good at detecting a hint of risk.

He motioned for his tab and reached for the wallet he kept in the front pocket of his jacket.

The bartender handed him his credit card along with a slip to sign.

Prickles raised on the back of his neck. He hadn’t handed over his credit card. He always paid in cash when he didn’t want to be found. Credit cards left trails, and he tried his best not to leave breadcrumbs. Slowly he took the items from the barkeep, examined the card and the slip. It was his, and he had indeed bought the anonymous woman a drink. Opening his wallet, he went to replace his card and noticed a business card in place of where his card should have been tucked securely away. On the front was scrawled an address, the back nothing.

How had she done it?

He hadn’t felt a thing other than her body pressed against his.

Oh, she was good.

In all his years spying for Mother Russia, and then working as an independent, no one had ever gotten the drop on him.

Until now.

More than his interest had been piqued. He got to his feet and followed.

Yvette waited outside the tavern, antsy and doing her best to hide the need to fidget. How much time did she give him to take the bait? She couldn’t wait long. She should have dragged him out of the bar. Right, like that man would let anyone drag him anywhere. Her ego was a little bent that he hadn’t fallen for her hooker ploy. Maybe she should have popped a breath mint. She resisted the urge to do a breath check.

A scratch of a match echoed loud in the darkened alley, and the resulting flame lit a pinprick of dark shadow as a man lit a cigarette. Hard eyes regarded her as his cruel mouth puckered around the butt of the cigarette. Damn it, she knew she hadn’t lost him and his buddy in Denmark. They were getting smarter.

That was it. She couldn’t wait any longer for Ivan. She’d have to trust that he would find her calling card and feel the need to follow it up. She hurried along the waterfront at a brisk pace, ducking into a narrow side street leading toward the heart of the city and away from the harbor.

The afternoon was brisk with winter’s breath, even though it was only September. The chill was more biting with the failure of not getting Ivan ‘The Blade’ Kristoff to leave with her.

What had she expected? That he’d jump on her offer? He’d been elusive and harder to track than a human being should have been. The man wanted to stay lost. And who could blame him.

A slight scuffle behind her caught her attention. She kept walking, refusing to turn and look though the need to do so burned within her.
Mon dieu
, she needed time to talk Ivan into helping her before she had to disappear again. If they caught her, there would be no reason to keep her sister alive. She had to find Gabrielle. She needed Ivan Kristoff.

If Ivan had accompanied her out of the bar, any shadows she had would’ve retreated. They were cowards and wouldn’t attack her with a man like him by her side. One of the many reasons she’d decided to hunt him down.

He was impressive in that warrior-of-old kind of way. Granite-hard with muscle to spare and battle-scarred with a thin crisscrossing of knife cuts on his forearms, testifying to the many blade fights he’d survived. But his face…was perfect. Square jaw peppered with stubble, long aristocratic nose that had somehow never been broken, and eyes that were full of torment and the color and chill of the Baltic Sea where it was rumored he’d been born. Even squatting at the bar, he seemed to tower over the other men in the place. Maybe it was his don’t-give-a-shit attitude, or the back-away vibe that radiated off him like ice fog. Whatever it was, she needed it now.

Footsteps crunched on the gritty sidewalk, closer this time. She quickened her pace. Six inch heeled boots were not made for running. She turned the corner and bumped into a barrel of a chest carrying the stench of stale cigarettes. The barrel had arms and they grabbed hers in hands that clamped down hard enough to bruise.

Merde
. Of course they would divide and trap her.

“Going somewhere, Yvette?” The grin on his buck-tooth smile was quick to flash until she raised her knee and nailed him hard in the groin. He released her and cupped his balls on a girlish squeal.

She swiveled to run, and came up short against Bucky’s buddy, the lizard.

Buck-tooth spat out behind her in a higher than normal pitched voice. “I’m going to mess you up, bitch.”

“You can do whatever sick thing you want to her after she gives us what we need.” The second one, smarter and stealthier, didn’t bother grabbing for her. He had a gun pointed her direction instead that kept her in place well enough.

His putty-colored eyes were spaced too far apart in his pointy face, and he looked like one of those scary big-necked, massive-shouldered Komodo dragons. During the short time, when she was eight, her family had lived in Indonesia, she’d gotten separated from her nanny—she’d been good at losing them—and one had chased her up a tree. She felt just as cornered now as she did then, except she really wished she were up a tree, instead of sandwiched between these two bruisers.

“So, Yvette, you coming with us peaceful like or do we have to knock you senseless?” The lizard reached out and traced her collarbone with his chipped and dirty fingernail. She tried not to shudder at his touch.

She knew which one he’d prefer. The only way they would get her to come with them ‘peaceful like’ would be to subdue her. She wasn’t giving up yet. She had skills.

“Sorry, guys,” a voice drawled. “She’s mine for tonight. Already bought and paid for her to satisfy my needs.” Ivan stepped out of the shadows like some fallen angel ready to save her…or sentence her to a fate worse than these two.

Regardless, a wave of relief washed over her.

“Who the fuck are you?” Bucky asked, standing a little straighter.

Why hadn’t she figured out that the lizard was giving Bucky time to recover from her knee to the groin so that he didn’t have to take her on by himself?
Merde
, she should have taken off running. She locked eyes with the lizard. Right, he still had a gun on her. She wouldn’t have gotten far. Besides, she had the feeling that this man liked to play with his prey.

“Does it matter who I am?” Ivan drawled like he was already bored of their interaction.

“If you’re willing to fight for a fuck from this bitch, I’d say it does.” The lizard turned more of his attention toward Ivan and away from Yvette. Her eyes met Ivan’s from above Lizard’s cone-shaped head. Ivan cocked his brow, and she took that for a signal.

Yvette swiveled and kicked out behind her. The six inch booted heel nailed Bucky in the groin again. She’d been aiming for his large girth. Guess she needed to work on her stretches. This time he hit the ground screaming. He paused to gasp, gag, and vomit before continuing with his screaming.

A bullet ricocheted off the building across the tight alleyway as the lizard and Ivan tussled. It wasn’t really a fight. Ivan moved with speeds that should be impossible for a mere human. The gun was on the ground now. Ivan must have kicked it out of the lizard’s hand, either before or after it had gone off. Since Lizard seemed the premature ejaculation type, Yvette bet on the former.

She bent down and picked up the gun. It was heavier than she thought it would be. Not much for guns, since she’d never needed one before, but if thugs like these two were going to continue to shadow her, she might as well help herself.

“Shut him up, would you?” Ivan hollered as he parried a punch from the lizard and landed an upper cut to his solar plexus.

Yvette turned to Bucky, who still screeched like a cat in the throes of some ungodly heat. Blood seeped from the crotch of his jeans.