“I don’t want to interfere in your business,” he said. “But this is important to the Guild.”
“I thought we established that I don’t care about the Guild,” she said.
He nodded once. Then sighed. “All right,” he said after a moment. “It’s important to me.”
She knew that. And this was where things got dicey for her. She had never made a choice like this. She had never been faced with one before.
In the past, she would have done what was best for her business and nothing more. She would have walked away from Misha, and forgotten all about him.
As if he was a man she could forget. He wasn’t. Nor could she easily walk away.
But he was asking her to take a job she didn’t plan to do. Asking her to risk her reputation for a cause she didn’t believe in.
He was asking for her help because of their relationship.
Her gaze met his.
“I’d have you tell the client that I’ll be doing the job, but if he checks on me, he’ll see that I’m part of the Guild,” Misha said. “I don’t know any other way to do this.”
“We could hand this over to your investigators and let them track him down,” she said.
Misha shook his head. “Like I said, I’d have to take it to them in person. By then, he’ll have hired someone else.”
She sighed. He was right. And she didn’t like it.
But what did it matter, really? This was a client she would never ever work for again—if this constituted working for him now. And the fact that she broke the contract—well, if she put the money in some kind of escrow, she could buy her way out of it.
No one expected rogue assassins to be ethical.
Except certain rogue assassins.
Like herself.
“How about this,” she said. “How about I accept the job, and then I travel to the Guild.”
He froze, as if she had just suggested she attack the Guild’s director. This would be his test. She was having to trust him. In return, he needed to trust her.
“You and I together bring this information to the Guild,” she said.
He was watching her warily. “Why?”
“Because it’s my experience that clients like this one watch. They monitor to see when and how the job gets done. And if they have a lot of money, they might hire one or two or even three other people to do the same work, figuring that one of them will complete the job and the others are just the cost of doing business.”
Misha rubbed a hand over his mouth. She caught the look of recognition in his eyes. He had had jobs like this as well.
“God,” he said. “This is a risk.”
“For me or you?” The question came out sharper than she intended.
He looked up at her. “For both of us.”
She felt a fury building. She made herself breathe so that it wouldn’t come out.
“I know what I’m risking,” she said. “I’m risking my reputation by taking a job I never plan to do. But what are you risking? You already asked me to join the Guild, remember? Or is that out the window now that you know I’ve been contacted to kill your director?”
“It was out the window the minute you said you weren’t interested in joining the Guild,” he said. “We don’t have visitors in the Guild. Only potential members.”
She shrugged a shoulder. “So lie.”
“I don’t lie to the Guild,” he said.
“Wow,” she muttered. “You are a straight arrow.”
“What?” Misha asked.
She shook her head. She wasn’t going to explain that. “We have a stalemate. I’m not taking the job unless I can go with you to the Guild. No one will know what happens inside. Assassins get thwarted all the time. I keep my reputation, you give everyone the proper information, and we all win. Except the client, of course.”
He was silent. That little frown he got when he was thinking had returned.
“You don’t trust me, do you?” she said. She wasn’t angry, exactly. She was disappointed. “Or rather, you do trust me. You believe I’ll finish a job that I take on, no matter what the cost.”
He looked at her. She could see the truth of her words in his gaze.
“It’s your choice,” she said and walked out of the room.
He stood in the doorway to the corridor, feeling awkward. She had gone through the kitchen door so she didn’t have to pass him.
Two plates sat on the table, a beautiful fruit salad glistening between them. Two glasses of iced tea sweated on their coasters, the ice starting to melt.
It could have been a nice meal. It should have been a nice meal.
If they had been any other couple.
She was right: he didn’t trust her. Not entirely.
And if he was wrong about her, he would be leading Kerani’s killer right into the Guild, making the assassination easy. Particularly since Kerani wanted to meet all new prospects.
Rikki wouldn’t have weapons, but she was good with her bare hands. He had seen that with Testrial. She had killed him in a matter of seconds.
It was safer not to trust her.
It was safer to go alone.
Except…
She was right about the client. Impatient rich clients often hired several people to do the same job. And in this case, that meant that others—maybe even someone inside the Guild—might try to kill Kerani.
He was going to lose precious time without Rikki.
But with Rikki…
Well, her presence might stall the impatient client, make him think that she was doing the job he had hired her for. A really smart client would have others as backup, so that they didn’t interfere with each other’s work.
Misha closed his eyes, then steeled himself. He had to apologize. He needed Rikki to do this job.
Besides, he didn’t want to leave her. Not because he didn’t trust her, but because he didn’t like being away from her. He had hated being apart earlier, when she had betrayed him to the security officer.
He would hate it worse now.
Rather than getting Rikki out of his system, all of this time, all of this lovemaking, had embedded her firmly within him, making it seem like he couldn’t be without her.
He opened his eyes. The ice was nearly melted now. The tea looked watery. He ran a hand through his hair, which was only slightly damp now, and he pivoted, stepping out of the room.
He found Rikki in her office, and thought it a good sign that she hadn’t closed the door.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. You have to go to the Guild, and you’re right, that makes me uncomfortable. You’re wrong about one thing, though.”
She had her legs tucked under her as she sat on that love seat. She put her arm on the back of the love seat, pretending a relaxation that the tautness in her muscles belied.
“What would that be?” she asked coldly.
“It’s still your choice.” He held up a hand so that she didn’t interrupt. “I know that on your own, you wouldn’t take this job. But that’s not the choice. The choice is between helping me and by extension, helping a woman you never met, or simply doing nothing. Not helping at all.”
Rikki’s expression seemed serene. He couldn’t keep his gaze on her face. He watched those muscles, so tight, the only thing that gave an indication of how tense she actually was.
“And if I don’t take the job?” she asked. “Then what?”
He shrugged. “Whatever you were planning to do.”
“You would go to the Guild.”
He nodded.
“Alone.”
He nodded again. What could he say? “We could try to get as much information as possible here.”
“We have nothing new.”
For the first time, he noted another tablet beside her. So she had been checking on the client, trying to see if he had given more hints to his identity or whereabouts.
“The only way to get something new,” she said, “is to start a money trail. And the only way to do that is to take the job.”
Misha stared at her. He wasn’t going to push her. He wanted her beside him. He wanted her to help him. Hell, he wanted her to have the exact same priorities he did, all the damn time, because he wanted to be with her.
But she didn’t. Her refusal to be part of the Guild proved that.
“If I do this,” she said, “you have to trust me. You have to let me into the Guild.”
“Even if you decide not to join?” he asked.
“Even then,” she said.
Such a risk. He would be betraying the Guild by bringing her in. But he might be betraying the Guild even more by refusing to act quickly on this threat to Kerani.
“All right,” he said.
“All right?” she said, sounding surprised.
“All right,” he said again. “We’ll do it your way.”
Until they got to the Guild. And then, whether she liked it or not, he would be in charge.
He would have to be.
Or Rikki might not get out alive.
They traveled back to Prospera on the Mariposa Starlines, only this time, Rikki got to be the wealthy traveler and Misha was her boy toy. They spent a lot of time in their expensive suite, and when they weren’t doing what a wealthy woman and her boy toy usually did, they were trying to find out as much as they could about the client.
Rikki had never done most of her research naked before. She and Misha would make love, do a little work, and then venture onto the ship itself. She had bought a new wardrobe specifically for this—a lot of dresses, loose clothing, and expensive jewelry. She also wore some spectacular gowns, since she and Misha went to the ballroom almost every night.
They couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and they didn’t need to. She wanted the client to think she was using a man as cover. She even insisted that Misha not work that hard at hiding his identity. It gave her trip even more credence if she was seducing a member of the Assassins Guild.
And he willingly complied.
What little research they could do didn’t yield much. Shortly after Rikki agreed to the contract, half the fee got deposited into the account she indicated. She couldn’t track the money, which was unusual. She lost its trail in a different account each time she tried.
She finally decided that she had made enough attempts: any more and she would look really suspicious to the client, whose name she still didn’t know. No matter how she tried to track him down, she couldn’t find much.
But, like Misha, she wasn’t an expert in investigation. They would leave the discovery to the Guild investigators. Instead, she “researched” the target.
The cover story that the client had set up for the target was surprisingly thin. She had to work hard not to puncture through it. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to.
Most of the deaths that the client had flagged as egregious had thin covers as well. They were usually people connected with the Rovers, which led Rikki to believe that her client was as well.
He had probably gotten her name through the Rovers or seen her work when she was with them.
This confirmed what Misha had said about the Rovers targeting the Guild. What better thing to do than put the Guild in disarray by killing its leader? Misha had said that the Guild had survived such a killing before, but Rikki suspected it had caused turmoil. And sometimes turmoil was all an outsider needed to gain access and control.
Maybe this plan was why Jack was so disgusted with the Rovers. But wouldn’t he tell her if he knew? Although he didn’t realize how deeply she was involved with Misha, so maybe Jack wouldn’t have said a word.
She wondered what he’d think of her at the moment. Would he wonder if, indeed, she was working for the Rovers and didn’t quite realize it? She wondered if she was. She wished she could check with Jack, but she had promised Misha that she would let his people handle the investigation once they delivered the information to the Guild.
The trip had gotten a bit strange, however. Even when she didn’t think about the surreal part of actually living her cover.
She and Misha were in the ballroom, dancing a waltz, just like they had on their very first trip. So much was similar: apparently the ballrooms on the newer ships were exact replicas of each other. The huge room, the black and white and silver decor, the live orchestra.
Misha had protested the dancing at first, saying he didn’t enjoy it. But she wanted them to be seen, and she figured that dancing was as good a way—if not a better way—than eating in all the various restaurants or frequenting the casino.
If she hadn’t been attracted to Misha, she would have suggested the other venues, like she had with Testrial. The less she had to touch Testrial, the better off she had been.
But she loved touching Misha, and she loved dancing with him, particularly when he was dressed so perfectly. She had ostentatiously bought his clothes for him, having the ship’s tailor make him several formal suits, all with long coats that went to his knees, flaring pants, and tight-fitting shirts with buttons that began in the middle of his chest.
If she was going to pay for a boy-toy’s wardrobe, then he was going to look like a boy-toy, no matter how much it embarrassed him.