The Spy with the Silver Lining Page 6

  “Does that feel like nothing, mon coeur?”

  The fact that she had turned him on sent an alarming shiver throughout Ruza’s slender body. She didn’t recognize it for what it was at first—it had been years since she had felt sexually hungry. Not since Jacko, Cassie’s father.

  The very idea that this stranger had awakened her and trespassed on Jacko’s memory enraged her. Those emotions were sacred, and she protested the moment with a fit of screaming.

  “Bon Dieu, Cookie…my poor ears.”

  It was the last thing he said before Saber Lazie took Ruza’s face in his hands and shut her up with a kiss, unaware that he had trespassed further on sacred ground.

  Chapter 6

  When Polax called, Merrick was on his way home from his office. Alone in his black Corvette, he reached for his private phone inside his jacket pocket.

  “You have an update already?”

  “Not an update. More like a new problem. Are you clear to talk?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Your man didn’t show at the airport, and Balasi is on the run. She claims Petrov is already hot on her heels. I thought you said Fourtier was reliable.”

  Merrick slid in and out of traffic as he contemplated Polax’s news. “Pierce is a damn good operative. If he didn’t show there was a good reason. I’ll find out what that is and call you back.”

  “Do it immediately. Balasi isn’t happy, and while I’m not in the business of soothing ruffled feathers, she is the key to pulling off this mission. I was candid with you about everything. Balasi is more than just a sexy spy. She has to come out of this on top. I thought I made myself clear on that.”

  “You did, and I understand completely.”

  “When she called she demanded I fly her and Ruza out of there. She also wants Fourtier’s hide tanned and turned into a pair of shoes.”

  “I’ll check out this recent glitch and call you back.”

  “I’ll be anxious to hear how Fourtier explains not showing up at the airport. It better be damn good, or I’ll personally buy those shoes and wear his hide.”

  When Polax disconnected, Merrick swore, then punched in Pierce’s number. When Pierce didn’t answer his phone, Merrick swore again. He’d wait an hour and if he still couldn’t reach him, he would have to recruit another operative to follow up on the situation, because Polax was right. They couldn’t afford for anything to go wrong.

  He had met IsaDora, the head of Quest, only once, and she had made quite an impression. She wouldn’t have approved this mission, and for that reason they needed to keep her in the dark until this was all over.

  That meant Pierce better get Casmir Balasi turned around in a hurry. If that required a little ass-kissing, he’d better pucker up.

  Casmir descended the stairs into a secret world she couldn’t have dreamed up with a hit of cocaine and a whiskey chaser.

  She had been in gambling dens from Istanbul to Cairo, human action houses in Singapore. She’d even spent some time in a harem in the Arabian desert. But she had never seen a gaming den like this one.

  Beneath the sleazy bar was an island of concrete surrounded by water. A game room was what Pierce had said. There were four ten-foot-wide levels that circled the arena, each level lined with tables and chairs where the spectators could drink, make wagers and cheer on their favorite fool.

  Casmir took in every aspect of the deadly playing field as Pierce nudged her forward.

  “Nothing to say?”

  She turned and glared at him.

  He returned a grin. “Over here, amant. You can cheer on your boyfriend from the front row.”

  He took her arm and led her up six steps to a table. Surrounding the first level was a three-foot railing. The black filigree iron rail had been installed to keep the onlookers from toppling into the water—though if you had a death wish you could easily climb over it to play double jeopardy with the reptiles she now saw waiting for their next meal to drop.

  He said as he seated her, “A front-row seat for a woman used to being in the middle of the action.”

  “This is crazy. You’re actually going to fight Parnel out there?” She pointed to the fifteen-foot-square cement slab that rose out of the water four feet.

  “That’s right.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  When she had no answer for him, he took a step back and peeled off his brown T-shirt. She had secretly admitted that his body was fit, but now she could see that what she’d first thought was above average was honed perfection—every muscle he owned defined and accounted for.

  Okay, so her appreciation of his body rose a few more notches. That didn’t change the fact that he was a reckless ass who smoked too much. And there was also a question of brains—if he thought there was nothing wrong with this playing field surrounded by alligators, he was past crazy.

  The knife sheathed on his belt caught her eye. It wasn’t an ordinary knife. It was longer, with a curved handle. Casmir had seen a number of unusual knives in her day, handled a few herself, but this was far different than anything she’d seen.

  Frog appeared across the water. He was standing on a man-made concrete shoreline holding on to two suspended ropes.

  He raised his hand. “Mon ami, are you ready?”

  “Oui. And your mouthy little friend?”

  “Parnel might talk too much, but he’s not a coward.”

  “Too bad for him.”

  Casmir watched Frog let go of one of the ropes. The thick coil sailed across the playing field and Pierce reached out and caught it out of the air.

  He looked back at her. “A kiss for good luck, amant?”

  “How about a promise instead? If you’re not back here in twenty minutes, I’m leaving.”

  He checked his watch, blew her a kiss, then reached a little higher on the rope and let it lift him to the railing. Balancing like a man who’d been born in a circus, his muscles flexed and straining, he swung himself over the water and dropped onto the raised slab of cement.

  He had just landed when Parnel appeared next to Frog and took the second rope. Like Pierce, he was wearing only jeans, his feet sporting leather boots. She quickly glanced at what Pierce was wearing for foot gear. It looked like he was wearing slippery-soled cowboy boots.

  Great. He would fall on his ass within seconds and be gator bait a minute later.

  She found a seat, watched as Parnel extended one of his legs as he sailed through the air toward Pierce. He was going to kick Pierce off the slab before the fight ever got started.

  She knew what she would do. She’d been trained by some of the best martial arts experts in the spy business. She watched Pierce spin right and, at the same time, reach out and grab Parnel’s foot in midair. He gave it a jerk and Parnel lost his grip on the rope. The move wasn’t pretty, but it was fast and his opponent landed hard on the cement slab.

  To Parnel’s credit, he quickly rolled and scrambled back to his feet, pulling a knife sheathed at his hip.

  The blade was long and it looked like something meant to gut one of the reptiles that were now circling the concrete slab. He flashed the knife as if taunting Pierce with it. Then he lunged forward and lashed outward, but the blade only caught air as Pierce jumped back.

  Casmir expected to see Pierce reach for his knife at that moment. She waited, but he never went for it.

  “What are you waiting for?” she yelled down at him. “Pull your knife out of your ass!”

  He turned his head in her direction, and in that second Parnel struck, taking advantage of the distraction. He lunged forward, this time drawing first blood—catching Pierce high on his muscular arm.

  He was bleeding like a stuck pig, but he never even flinched. Instead he spun in a tight circle, then kicked outward as he came around, planting his foot in Parnel’s stomach. The force lifted Parnel off his feet and he flew a good eight feet and landed on his back, close to the edge of the slab. Stunned, he seemed unable to get up.

  P
ierce was on him within seconds. He grabbed Parnel’s wrist, forced his weapon to fall out of his hand, then dropped his knee onto his chest. Suddenly a hungry alligator surfaced and Parnel must have caught sight of it. He started screaming and flaying his arms, begging for Pierce to let him up.

  Casmir had no idea what Pierce would do next. Seconds turned into a long minute. Finally he lifted his knee. She could see that words were being exchanged, then Pierce stood, grabbed one of the ropes overhead and swung back to her, dropping blood over the water from the gash on his arm.

  He reached the railing and, still holding on to the rope, balanced on it as he loomed above her. He looked like a warrior back from the battlefield.

  When he let go of the rope and dropped down beside her, Casmir didn’t say anything. She was at a loss for words.

  He looked at his watch. Said, “Six minutes to spare.”

  “Why didn’t you use your knife?”

  “Because it would have been murder. Parnel’s a novice. I need a better reason to kill a man than stupidity.” He glanced at the blood covering his arm. “Next time, amant, keep that pretty mouth of yours shut. You’re enough of a distraction without it.”

  He turned and gave an upward nod to Frog, who was now helping Parnel to his feet. Then he took hold of her arm and lifted her off the chair.

  She’d taken half a dozen steps when he said, “I guess I’m the winner of the prize. It looks like you’re going home with me.”

  Pierce was on his way to Le Mystère with Casmir seated beside him in the Jeep when his phone went off. He reached for it between the seats and put it to his ear.

  “Oui.”

  “I got a call from Polax and he tells me you didn’t pick up Balasi and her mother at the airport. What the hell’s going on? She’s—”

  “Right here beside me.”

  “They’re both all right?”

  “Oui.”

  “She told Polax that Petrov has already located her. Is that true?”

  “No. It was a case of mistaken identity.”

  “Then everything’s back on track?”

  “Oui.”

  “So I can call Polax and tell him the plan still stands?”

  “Oui.”

  “You can’t talk?”

  “Oui.”

  “Call me later.”

  When Pierce disconnected, Casmir said, “Was that Merrick?”

  He glanced at her. She looked like she was sucking on a lemon. In Austria she’d had a similar look. Casmir Balasi was used to things going her way. But not this time. He was in charge of this mission, and it would be handled his way.

  He intended to share pieces of the operation as needed, but not right away. He said, “It was Merrick. You need to call Polax.”

  “And tell him I was wrong.”

  “You were wrong.”

  “You didn’t show at the airport. I wasn’t wrong about that.”

  “Petrov doesn’t know where you’re at. Polax needs to be assured of that. Mistakes were made. Let’s just—”

  “Your mistake, not mine. I was forced to do what I had to do to survive. That’s what I was trained to do. And I had my mother to think about.”

  “Enough, amant. Let’s just pull it back together for the sake of the mission.”

  “Mission?”

  “Wrong word. Vacation.”

  “This is hardly a vacation.”

  “See, we’re starting to agree already.”

  “I won’t let this go so you can look good at Onyxx. You’re the one who screwed up.”

  “When you get to know me better you’ll find out I don’t give a damn about how I look. I do what I do, and I live with the outcome.”

  “Typical man.”

  “What’s that suppose to mean?”

  “You’re the smart one, you figure it out.”

  This was going to be hell, Pierce thought. He would surely strangle her before week’s end.

  “Can we bury the hatchet?” he asked, keeping his voice level and as emotionless as possible.

  “Where do you want it? Skull, or a little lower? What do you value most? I’ll be sure to take that off first.”

  “This is bullshit.” Pierce slammed on the brakes and pulled to the side of the road. He put the Jeep into Park, then reached across her and swung open the passenger door. “Out.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Out. I’m done.”

  “Done?”

  “Done with you. Call Polax and tell him any damn thing you want. Tell him I left you stranded. Tell him I quit. Tell him you need a new bodyguard. One who’s deaf.”

  They were on a back road about three miles from Le Mystère. His home was another two miles farther south. He looked down at her feet. If she took off her shoes, and dug in her heels, she could make it in to town before dark.

  “And Mama?”

  “I’ll send her into town with Lazie. If you stay on this road, you’ll find it. Your kind always manage somehow.”

  “My kind? What’s that suppose to mean?

  “You’re a smart girl, you figure it out,” he said, tossing her words back at her. “Now move your ass.”

  “No.”

  Pierce swore, then climbed out of the Jeep. He rounded the hood and reached into the passenger side to haul her out. She had to know what was coming. Maybe that was why she pulled her gun on him. He never expected it, had been too pissed off at the moment to remember that she was a resourceful bitch.

  “Back up.”

  “Or you’ll shoot me?”

  “That would be murder. I need a better reason to kill a man than stupidity.” She tossed more of his words back at him, then aimed the gun at his right leg. “But knocking you down a notch wouldn’t cause me any sleepless nights. Doubt it?”

  Pierce knew he’d made a rare mistake. She was dead serious about shooting him. Not ending his life, but he’d go down nonetheless. He backed up, watched as she reached out and slammed the door shut, then climbed over the console and into the driver’s seat.

  Then she was speeding away from him, leaving him on the side of the road in a cloud of dust.

  He realized a moment later that his cell phone was still in the Jeep. He couldn’t even call Lazie to come get him.

  “Sonofabitch.”

  It was the beginning of a long string of crude adjectives as Pierce dug in his heels and started toward Le Mystère. Five minutes later, he flagged down Murphy Logen on his way in to Le Mystère to sell his daily catch of fish to Wanda at the Catfish Lounge.

  He was a fool if he thought she was going to let him quit. No one quit on her unless it was her idea.

  I’m done. Ha!

  He would be done when she said he was done.

  Casmir rounded a corner and saw what looked like a town. If this was Le Mystère, Mama was going to flip out. Shopping in this town, unless it was for gas and groceries, was definitely out.

  She spotted a bar that seemed to have more activity than anyplace else and pulled the Jeep into the dirt parking lot in front of the Ginger Root. Hoping that someone in this godforsaken place would know the address of Pierce Fourtier’s home, she stepped through the front door and scanned the dingy bar.

  No surprises inside: it was a carbon copy of the outside, even though the handful of lightbulbs dangling from the ceiling defused a multitude of sins. It smelled like a smoker’s heaven. A place Pierce would probably like, she thought.

  She scanned the crowd of men collected at the bar, looking for someone Pierce would know—another gypsy scum. There were several to pick from.

  She headed for the empty stool at the bar, noting there was a woman serving the crusty clientele—the only woman in the place besides herself. She was a dark-haired woman who looked to be in her thirties. A little on the short side, but what she lacked in height, she made up for in curves.

  Casmir had always been self-conscious of her slight bustline, and the point hit home as she eyed the brunette’s cleavage. She wanted to blame the
endowment on the woman’s pink two-sizes-too-small T-shirt, but fair was fair.

  “What can I gittcha?” the busty bartender asked.

  “I’ll have a…” Casmir glanced down the length of the bar as she perched herself on the stool. “A beer, I guess.”

  “On tap I got—”

  “Anything will be fine.”

  The woman stared at her, as did the men lining the bar. It was no doubt due to her European accent.

  “You lost?” the woman asked, setting the glass of beer in front of her.

  Casmir reached for the glass. “I need an address,” she began.

  “An address?”

  “Yes, a street address.”

  That brought forth a few chuckles.

  “We don’t got no street addresses around here. All the mail is dropped off over at Wanda’s. You a foreigner?”

  “I’m not local.”

  “That’s obvious, honey. You’re lost, right?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then why do you need an address?”

  The woman’s frank questions set Casmir to thinking. Polax had told her to blend in to her surroundings. It was clear she would never fit in here. Not unless she lost an eye and grew a wart. She hadn’t given it much thought until now, the disguise she would use to fit in. But by the looks she was getting she needed to come up with something fast.

  “I’m meeting my boyfriend. He lives around here.”

  That statement raised every eyebrow at the bar. Not able to take it back, Casmir produced the best suck-up smile she could muster. That was something she didn’t need to think about. The actress could charm the pants off a guard at Fort Knox.

  “Who might that be?”

  The question came from the end of the bar. Casmir stretched her neck and locked eyes with a shabbily dressed man in a ponytail wearing a leather strap around his neck with a knife dangling from it half the length of his arm.

  She hesitated, glanced down at her hand, and suddenly the perfect cover popped into her head. “My boyfriend, or maybe I should say fiancé, is from around here.” Casmir spun the diamond and ruby ring on her finger to bring attention to it. “His name is Pierce Fourtier. Ever heard of him?”