Sake Bomb (8 page)

The impromptu soap opera went on with Kizzie
playing voyeur at her own torture. Xander turned to walk away, but
the woman—
his
wife
, Baldwin
—tugged him back. Mrs.
Duquesne smiled and flirted, and ultimately convinced her husband
to go with her. Xander paused half a beat and faced the car,
staring directly at Kizzie.

Her breath caught, and she froze. He was
looking for Phil obviously, but it felt like he knew she was
there.

Xander removed his phone from his pocket,
head bowed while his fingers moved over the screen. Hand at his
woman’s elbow, the Dom and
le subbie
covered the short
distance to a light-colored sedan. Xander saw his wife inside, went
around and got in the driver’s seat. Seconds later, they were
reduced to departing taillights.

The Citroën’s door opened, bringing a blast
of frigid air and intruding on Kizzie’s shock. Phil slid behind the
wheel. “Can you believe 15 Euros each for these? Highway
robbery.”

The binocs dropped into the open box of
truffles and Kizzie took the two shot glasses. Each depicted the
Eiffel Tower drawn sloppy enough for the artist to be a 3-year-old.
That Phil wanted her to believe he
had
to hunt down this
important glassware meant he thought her about as smart as one.

He handed her the tablet off the dashboard,
started the car without the battle with his conscience, and checked
the mirrors before pulling away from the curb, driving
perpendicular to the street the Duquesnes had taken.

The neighborhood flashed by outside Kizzie’s
window, one continuous blur. “Subtle as an anal probe,
handsome.”

“Don’t know what you mean, darlin’.”

* * * *

I
n hindsight, Xander
should have ordered two hot chocolates. The espresso was bound to
keep him awake, and he desperately needed sleep. He’d been running
on fumes the last couple weeks, but with so much to do, there was
no sense in believing he’d get a rest anytime soon.

He unlocked the door of her flat and Naima
sidestepped to pass him. He stopped her with an outstretched arm
and a glare. She rolled her eyes and he smirked, neither of them
speaking. He always went first—hadn’t she learned that by now?

Moving just inside the door, he disarmed the
alarm system he insisted on having installed—another point of
contention between them—and followed through with a visual check of
the place once the lights came on.

Satisfied all was well, he returned to the
living room. Naima was in the kitchen pouring water from a pitcher
taken from the fridge. By the look on her face, she wished it were
bourbon. She loved her bourbon. Couldn’t hold liquor worth a damn,
but she was a firm believer in practice making perfect and strove
for perfection as often as possible. Only one thing in the universe
could get her to give up her Wild Turkey
cold
turkey.

She came around the breakfast bar and
pressed a glass of the clear liquid into his hand.
“
Solidarité
.”

Grinning, Xander touched his tumbler to hers
and then took a swallow. Naima toed off her heels and set her glass
on a coaster on the coffee table before heading to the desk in the
corner.

“Keep kissing me like that,” Xander dropped
into the love seat, “and we’re gonna have a problem.”

“Saving yourself for marriage, are you?”
Naima asked in her lilting British accent. Still focused on the
computer, she lifted her left hand and wiggled her fingers, diamond
ring glittering. Then she slipped the ring off and tapped the
keyboard again. “ Call it incentive to stick around this time.
Honestly, what type of husband leaves his wife for months, hm?”

“What can I say? I’m a popular guy.” His
gaze swept across her body bent over the computer desk and he
bobbed his head. “You look good, Nai.”

She made a brusque sweeping gesture with her
hand. “Sweet talk will
not
get you back into my good graces.
It’ll take much more’n that.” Flash drive inserted into her
computer, Naima tapped a few keys and turned to face him, lips
pursed, one brow arched. “Who is she?”

The glass stopped halfway to his mouth.
Xander tilted his head, cocked his brow.

“The atrocious hag who’s kept you away from
me this long?” Naima marched back over to him, planted her hands on
slim hips and narrowed her dark eyes. “At your last visit, which
was
eons
ago, mind, you were late. You usually call if
you’re going to be late, but I let it go.”

“This is you letting it go?”

“You get here,” she pressed on, “something
clearly had you upset and when I ask you about it, I get typical,
tight-lipped Xander. You were so distracted, and then rushed out of
here after only
two days
! We barely had time to—”

“There’s no woman, Naima.” Xander managed
the lie for a split second. Then his lips betrayed him, curling
into a smile as thoughts of Kizzie made their daily jog through his
head.

He’d seen neither woman in months, but now
realized how alike they were. Both absolutely alluring; both
interminably stubborn. Confident. Determined. Naima was like a
shorter, British-based version of Kizzie, with a lot less sass.

The biggest difference? Naima had proven
herself trustworthy. The verdict was still out on Ms. Baldwin. One
phone call to Connolly made it perfectly clear where Kizzie’s
loyalties rested.

Still banged up just days after Sacha’s
assault, she’d grimaced and winced with every move as she packed
her duffle. Xander watched from the doorway, mood foul and anger at
DEFCON 1. It took every ounce of his control as a Dom to tamp down
the frustration, promising to contact her as soon as they got a
lead on the necklace Sumi had stolen. In return he got Kizzie’s
“yeah, right” face, chock-f of snark.

It was a cute face.

He glanced up, running dab-smack into
Naima’s scrutiny. “There’s nobody.”

“That’s pants.
Pants
!”

“What about pants?” Xander asked, completely
lost.

Naima rolled her eyes and gave a little
shake of her head. “Something the kids are saying… Though, when I
was a kid, we just called it what it was: Bullshit.

“Just then, I saw your face. Sitting here in
front of me and thinking about
her
. So ‘there’s nobody’ is
pants. Don’t pants a pantser, Xander luv.” Her thick brow arched up
further, almost daring him to say otherwise. “
Who
is she and
where
is she? If she’s got you missing time with me, I want
to check her out.” Xander held her gaze, lifting the cup to his
lips for a slow swallow of water. Naima turned her face away and
then stared at him again. With an imperious tilt of her chin she
asked, “Does she know you’re dreadful at relationships?”

An insulted V dug into his forehead. “I
wouldn’t say
dreadful
—”

“Ha!” Naima fully extended her arm, pointing
her index finger at him. “Addressing the lesser point means there
is
, in fact, another woman.” A giggle tinkled from her
throat. Taking up her water she plopped onto the couch; tucked one
foot beneath her, rocked the other on the rug-covered floor.
“What’s she like, sir?” He slid her a sideways glance and she threw
her head back, laughing hard.

As the minutes passed, she tapered to
expectant silence until her face was shy of exploding. He took
another deliberate swallow of water.

“Oh, all right. I swear the Sphinx took
lessons from you.”

Trustworthy or not, certain topics were
simply not open to discussion in he and Naima’s relationship.
Kizzie was one of them.

Xander jutted his chin toward the desk.
“They working?”

With a huff Naima stood again, going back to
the computer. “Like
you’d
create something that doesn’t
work. We’ll know in a bit.” She placed a hand on either side of the
laptop, one foot lifted so only the toes touched the floor while
she rolled the ankle side to side quickly. The movement came to an
abrupt stop. Moments later, a single nail tapped against the wooden
desk. Stopped.

“South America or Mexico.”

Xander slunk down in the seat with the
change in topic. Resting his head on the back, he sighed, feet
spread wide to balance and accommodate his new position. “Nice
places to honeymoon. Narrow it down for me a bit?”

“
Honeymoon
,” she echoed
sarcastically. She slipped the wedding ring back into place,
shifted the mouse and ejected the flash drive. “I can’t give you
details. Not yet anyway. But that was the last place he was seen.”
She handed him the storage device and he pocketed it, coming away
with his vibrating cell phone. “How’s Phil?”

“Thinks I’m going soft where you’re
concerned. Go kick his ass and save me the trouble.” Xander entered
the code to his mobile and unlocked it. He opened a text message
from the devil himself.

The first part he understood:
Keys
available.
Usual routine when they worked like this. Phil
checked them both in and left a key for each room at the front
desk. But the second part of the message—
Happy
Birthday
—confused him. He frowned; looked up when Naima spoke
again.

“He’s prickly lately, inn’e? Don’t know how
you two get on so well without wanting to kill each other.” Xander
snorted, returning the phone to his breast pocket as Naima
continued, voice a little uncertain. “Plus he abhors the notion of
you and I… So,” a heavy exhale, “are we still on for—”

“After what you just told me?”

“‘Fraid you might say that.” Naima brought
her fingernail to her teeth, then dropped her hand. Her voice
cracked when she spoke. “I can still do this, Xander. I know we
didn’t plan for this, and I know I screwed it all up—”

“Come here.” Setting the cup on the floor,
Xander pushed out of the chair as Naima came closer. She gave him
her back and he rested his hands on her shoulders. “You didn’t
screw up. Some things just can’t be planned for.”

She sighed with relief when he worked his
thumbs on either side of her neck. All knots, and not in a good
way. Xander drew the zipper of her dress down to the base of her
spine. “I have the dates, Nai, and the tech should be working. You
don’t have to be there.”

“But
I’m
the connection to the wife.
It’ll be odd if I’m not there. Besides, I leave you alone again
you’ll find yet
another
woman...” Her voice regained some of
its cool, but he knew it was forced. She shook her head and
laughed. “One moment of infidelity I might forgive. No way you fool
me twice.”

He gripped her shoulders and turned her to
face him, deep voice soft and sincere. “I’m serious, Naima. I’m
more concerned with keeping you safe.” A quick glance down at the
slight curve of her belly and he added, “Both of you.”

Standing so close gave him a direct view
into the depths of her eyes, and for the first time he saw a
glimmer of fear in her usually stoic gaze. Her nose twitched, eyes
glistened with moisture she wouldn’t let fall. She was afraid. She
had every right to be.

He swallowed a curse and dipped low to kiss
her temple before tucking her against his chest. Her arms snaked
around his waist in response, holding on tight. She’d been dealing
with this on her own, and he should have been there. Not that it
would change anything. She’d still be pregnant, still wondering
about the next move.

“Keeping me locked up in this box won’t make
me any safer. Just…don’t make your mind up yet. I can still—”

“Do this. I heard. We have a little time to
think it over, okay?” he whispered, stroking his palm up and down
her back. “Don’t have to do it tonight.”

“You
are
going soft,” Naima mumbled
into his shirt.

Maybe he was. It was in Xander’s nature to
keep his people safe; had already lost someone who meant something
to him. He wasn’t up for a repeat performance again in this
lifetime, especially not with a woman carrying a child. “I
know.”

She sniffed, inhaled a shaky breath to get
the trembles under control. “And you’re horrible at this, aren’t
you?”

“Almost as
dreadful
as you are.”

Naima coughed a laugh and he smiled. He
didn’t let go until she nodded, just a slight motion, and pulled
back a bit, staring straight ahead. “I know…” Her eyes darted away.
He tipped her chin up with his knuckle and she started again. “Go
on and go. Just…hormones… I’ll be fine.”

In spite of her delicate looks, Naima was
always rock solid. Now she looked to be on the verge of falling
apart. Her gaze came back soft and watery, unfocused, and when she
couldn’t look at him any longer, her eyes closed, tears squeezing
out from the corners.

Xander touched a soft kiss to the corner of
her mouth. Then he took her hand and lead her to the bedroom.

I
f Kizzie’s eyelids
weighed a grain of sand combined, she’d still have a hard time
lifting them. Dozing on the plane didn’t happen, too keyed up with
the hunt for Harvey. That was the only reason her belly went all
topsy-turvy while the 757 ate up airspace between Brazil and
France. Anyone who thought otherwise could kiss her ass.

Relief had flooded her when she and Phil
finally made it to the quaint, nondescript motel. He’d seen her to
her room, pointed out his, and then left her to her own
devices.

The usual checks went into play: Check for
exits, check for bugs—both the technical and the legged
varieties—stash a few weapons and the like. Then she called to
pester Fletcher about the kid on Sanzio Galletti’s phone. No
progress yet.

Those few tasks weren’t enough to dissipate
the energy roiling through her, so she’d taken a walk. It helped a
good deal toward wearing her out, and now the hot shower was slowly
lulling her to sleep; erasing the image of Xander and his wife in
the final scene of a cheddar-stuffed romantic comedy.