Beauty and the Assassin

by Nadia Lee

  “I didn’t say you couldn’t. I said move in, not be imprisoned.”

  I inhale shakily. That makes me feel a bit better. “Okay. Um. I guess I need to go to my place and grab my things, then.”

  “That won’t be necessary, especially if your stuff is anything like what you had on earlier.”

  “I can’t go around in nothing but sheets.” My clothes are cheap, but they’re better than bedsheets, for sure.

  “Obviously.”

  At least he’s not totally unreasonable.

  He continues, “You said he’s going to come and kill you himself when you’re at your happiest, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So. We will give this man what he wants, so he’ll come out to play.”

  My mouth dries at the notion of Roy not just coming to Los Angeles, but coming close enough to kill me, like he said. I run sweat-dampened palms over the sheet. “But how does that help?”

  “Where is your stepbrother now?”

  “I…don’t know.”

  “Precisely.” Tolyan gives me a beatific smile. “You can’t stop him if he’s far, far away, little fawn.”

  Did he just call me a little fawn? It sounds oddly intimate and sweet, and makes my insides flutter.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.”

  Chapter Ten

  Angelika

  Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe.

  Tolyan said it with a faint smile, and his voice was soft and low. But it sounded like a vow.

  And it’s the most wonderful thing anybody has said to me in a long, long time. My entire body sags and the air tastes sweeter and…freer. I realize a huge weight has been lifted.

  The skin around my eyes heats, and I bury my face in my hands as tears pour down.

  I know the struggle isn’t over. Roy is still out there. But now I’m not alone. And that means everything to me.

  I hear chair legs moving on the marble floor. A moment later, a warm hand rests on my shoulder.

  “Kleenex,” Tolyan says.

  The Dobermans whine and lick my arms and hands and rub against my legs, as though they’re trying to comfort me with their bodies. I wipe my face with my hands, then use the Kleenex to dry my face and blow my nose.

  “Sorry,” I say, my voice nasal. “I don’t mean to cry. I’m just so relieved.”

  “You don’t have to hold back,” Tolyan says. “If you want to cry, cry.”

  I can’t think of a time somebody told me to cry if that’s what I wanted. Most say, “Don’t cry,” or “Don’t be sad,” or “It’s all going to work out.”

  “I don’t want to make you feel bad,” I say finally. It’s terribly important that Tolyan knows I don’t want to burden him with my emotional issues, on top of stopping Roy, which he already agreed to.

  “Only a weak man feels bad when a woman cries.”

  I stare at him. I’ve never heard a man say that. Ever.

  “A strong man bears her tears. Then—if he so wishes—he eliminates the source of her distress.”

  His coolly confident tone says he is easily capable of the latter. If this were some other guy, I might think he was bragging, but Tolyan is no braggart. I’ve seen him in action. His dogs offer him absolute obedience. He can slip in and out of somebody’s home undetected…and do things that most people can’t do.

  He doesn’t care what people think of him. He doesn’t care about meeting expectations, either. He can be cruel and cold to a seemingly distressed woman, and can be surprisingly kind to a waiter.

  He’s arrogant. Snobbish. But affectionate and firm with his dogs. Protective when he wants to be.

  There are a lot of contradictions, and honestly speaking, I shouldn’t feel safe with him. He could change at any moment and show his cruel side.

  But I do.

  “Want some ice cream?” he asks. “It usually makes women feel better. I’d offer vodka, but…”

  “Ice cream would be wonderful,” I say with a teary smile. “Thank you. And can I ask you something?”

  “Of course,” he says, going to the kitchen.

  “What’s with that spring thing you were squeezing?”

  “It’s a valve spring. From a car engine. In my line of work, it’s important to have a strong grip.” He brings me a bowl of ice cream drizzled with chocolate syrup. The syrup is an unexpected touch. He doesn’t seem like he’d be the fussy type with something like dessert.

  After handing me the ice cream and a spoon, he drinks more vodka and absent-mindedly pets his dogs.

  “Since you’re going to be here, you should know their names. This is Tchaikovsky. He’s the oldest and most disciplined.”

  “Hi, Tchaikovsky.” I offer him my hand.

  He comes over and puts his paw on my palm, and we shake. That done, he sniffs, then licks me, his tongue warm, damp and quick.

  “He’s really sweet,” I say, petting him gently.

  “He is. He’s also the most vicious of the trio.” Tolyan gestures at the darkest of the three. “That is Mussorgsky. Slightly lazy, and bossy with Stravinsky, who is the youngest. He likes to chase after small animals, but I’ve trained that out of him, so he only does it when he’s been given permission.”

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Mussorgsky, say hello to Angelika.”

  The dog whines and places his head on my lap. I scratch him behind his ears. “I thought it was a thing not to clip Doberman’s ears.”

  “Some also don’t dock their tails, either. Or offer them a protective collar,” Tolyan says. “People are welcome to do whatever they want with their animals. I prefer not to leave my pets with an unnecessary vulnerability.”

  Vulnerability? “I don’t think the word ‘vulnerable’ can apply to your dogs.”

  He smiles. “Because I don’t let them be vulnerable. Many think dogs have the upper hand because they have teeth, but that isn’t the case. People can grab them by their ears or their tails in a fight. Or try to choke the animal. Mine? Nobody can hurt them like that.” He leans forward and cradles Tchaikovsky’s face between his hands. “Isn’t that right, my little angel?”

  Tchaikovsky whines happily and licks Tolyan like he’s made of candy. Tolyan’s eyes narrow, and he gives a small hum of pleasure. He murmurs something in Russian and pats the dog on the back a few times.

  Finally, he pulls back and gestures at the smallest of the group. “Smallest” being a relative term. He’s gotta weigh a good seventy to eighty pounds of pure muscle. “That’s Stravinsky. He likes to show off, and he likes to scare you. He thinks it’s funny. Don’t let him do that, because if he thinks he can get you, he’ll try over and over again.”

  I look at the dog with a small, slightly red spot under his left eye. His name seems familiar, then I remember he’s the dog whose name Tolyan called when the flasher incident happened. The one that snapped at the man’s dick and made him pee.

  I say hello. Stravinsky mock-snaps at my hand, and Tolyan whistles sharply. “Stravinsky, no.”

  He whines a little, then licks my hand, as though apologizing.

  “It’s okay.” I pet him. “You were awesome when you scared that creep.”

  “Anyway, they won’t attack you, since they know you belong here now. If, for whatever reason, I’m not around but the dogs are, you point at the intruder and command them to attack.”

  “Got it.” I continue to pet the Dobermans because they keep demanding my attention. “By the way, do you have nicknames for them? Their names are a mouthful.”

  “No.” He looks at me like I just said the sun orbits the moon. “They’re named after three of the greatest Russian composers. Butchering the names would be disrespectful.”

  “Okay.” No disrespecting Tolyan’s favorite composers. Or his dogs.

  “Go shower.” He tilts his chin in the direction of the room I came out of. “The en-suite bathroom has your clothes.”

  Whaaat? All this time I’ve been wondering about my clothes, and they�
�ve been just sitting in the bathroom? Why didn’t he just say that instead of being difficult about it?

  “It’s amusing to watch your reaction, little fawn.” He smiles.

  “Well, I’m glad I’m so entertaining.”

  “Why else do you think I’ve decided to do something about your stepbrother?”

  Right. Tolyan promised to keep me safe. I can’t forget that. “You want me to put on clown makeup? I could do that, too.”

  He smiles. “I don’t like clowns. And you’re too pretty to cover up with white paint and a cherry nose.”

  Heat flames my face. From the unguarded way he tossed the compliment out, I don’t know if he meant to say that out loud. I remember the way he dissed the redhead at the hotel. She was fully made-up and decked out in gorgeous designer clothes.

  For some reason, I feel like giggling like a silly teen. I press my lips together to maintain my dignity. “No weird makeup, then.”

  “Once you’re dressed, come on out. We have to discuss a plan.”

  “A plan?”

  “You don’t think Roy can be stopped without a plan, do you?” He points a finger at me. “Remember, you’re to do as I say. So go.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Tolyan

  Angelika trots to her room, still clutching her sheet. Although I want to tell her exactly what the plan is and her role in it, she’ll be more comfortable after she’s clean and dressed in a freshly laundered outfit. I washed her clothes while she was asleep—she’s going to need something clean to wear tomorrow, and I have no intention of taking her to her garage apartment so she can pack her things. Her things are so old and worn-out that not even the homeless would wear them.

  I’m sure she’ll object. People always resist when they’re forced into doing something they don’t want to do. That’s why they always ask for advice, but never take it because it isn’t what they want to hear. They want to be told they don’t have to change a thing, and everything will somehow still work out exactly the way they want.

  Even Angelika isn’t immune to that impulse. She thinks she’s in control, in charge. Or at least she’d like to believe that even as her world is falling apart around her. Kidnapping her was my way of demonstrating how little control she has, even though she thinks she’s the one who initiated the confrontation in the foundation’s garage.

  While Angelika’s in the shower, I give my babies some dog treats, which are gobbled up with gusto. “You’ve been good boys.”

  Tchaikovsky and Stravinsky wander off to the living room, but Mussorgsky tries to follow me into the kitchen. I shake a finger at him, and he lowers his head and joins the other Dobermans.

  I put the apron back on, stick a Bluetooth earpiece in and call Lizochka. I wish I could do one of the top items on my list myself, but I’m smart enough to acknowledge my limitations. It’s important that it’s done right—I can’t have her dressed in subpar, unfashionable clothes if I want Roy to be pissed enough over the fact that her life has changed for the better that he has to come to L.A.—and I can think of nobody else to entrust it to than Lizochka.

  The phone rings while I start clearing the table. It’s best to use time productively.

  Lizochka picks up fast, as though she’s been waiting for my call.

  “Hello,” she says, her voice as warm as usual. “I thought you might reach out.”

  “Hmm. Why is that?” I rinse the plates and utensils and place them in the dishwasher. Then I start hand-washing the vodka glass. No matter what the detergent commercials say, every time I put my vodka glasses in the dishwasher, they come out with a white film over them. It wouldn’t bother most people, but it bothers me. Makes me think of strychnine paste.

  “Jason came home safely yesterday, and Thomas is so happy. I thought you might be interested to know that.”

  She isn’t saying what she really wants to say, but she knows what I did. Or at least she suspects I had something to do with Jason’s derelict father’s suicide. But she isn’t going to probe. She knows better.

  “Glad to hear it,” I say, scrubbing the grill. “Thomas is a good child. Deserves the best.” The best protection my love and loyalty can give. I rinse the black metal, inspect it to make sure it’s clean, then run a towel over it.

  “He sure does. But I have a feeling you didn’t call just for that.”

  “Perceptive, as usual.”

  “We’ve known each other for a long time.”

  “Yes.” Over a decade. “I have a favor to ask.”

  “Oh?” She perks up. “A favor? For real?”

  “Why do you sound so excited?”

  “Because you never ask for favors. From anybody.”

  “You just want me to owe you one.”

  “Nooooo! I owe you so many, I can’t even. Come on! I’ve been waiting for you to ask for something. You didn’t even ask me to write a letter of recommendation for Lyosha’s college applications. I was hurt.”

  “You offered before I could ask,” I point out. I don’t tell her if she hadn’t offered, I wouldn’t have asked, since it never crossed my mind. Lyosha’s a big boy. He knows who he can contact for recommendation letters. I only look into the part of his life that requires inspection. Like who he’s hanging out with, who his professors are.

  “Only because you were taking too long to ask.”

  I shake my head and decide not to bother reminding her she offered on the first day of his senior year. “Anyway, this favor. It must be done tomorrow. And by you.”

  “Why me?”

  “Because I don’t trust anyone else to dress her.”

  She gasps. “Her?”

  People say Lizochka’s difficult to understand or get to know because she’s always wearing a gracious mask, but that’s because they’re blind idiots. She’s more transparent than the vodka glass I just washed.

  “Not a girlfriend,” I say flatly.

  “Mm-hmm. And who’s paying for this shopping?”

  “I am, but only because she’s my responsibility.” I don’t want somebody else dressing my little fawn. Lizochka’s only there to help her select the right outfit. If it were left up to me, I’d pick up underwear and some tops and skirts. But of course women need more than that.

  “I’m totally free tomorrow to help your lady friend,” Lizochka says.

  “Excellent. To thank you, I’ll buy you a new pair of shoes or something.” She loves shoes. She has only two feet, but enough shoes for a millipede.

  “No, no, I’ll just use Dominic’s card if I see something I like.” Dominic’s her husband. They’ve been together for five years. It’s still my firm belief that he doesn’t deserve her. I only tolerate him because she loves him and he seems to make her happy. Otherwise, I would’ve had him die in some sort of idiotic accident only a half-wit would get into. I wouldn’t want to engineer some tragic accident because then he might linger in her mind for too long. People tend to overlook flaws in the dead, especially the tragically dead. And Lizochka is tender-hearted enough to do exactly that.

  “Good. And there’s one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “For the internship position for this year. I know we haven’t filled it yet.”

  “No. I’m having trouble picking someone. The résumés look okay…but they’re just okay. They all understand our mission intellectually, but I don’t think they know, in their hearts, why what we do is important.” And Lizochka wants nothing less than a candidate who is extraordinary. Inspiring. Nobody’s quite sure what she’s looking for because she can be whimsical in her HR decisions, but she’s never hired the wrong people.

  “I have a candidate in mind,” I say. “It would mean a great deal if you could hire her if nobody’s already caught your attention.”

  “Is this the lady whose shopping you’re paying for?”

  “Yes.” No point in denying it. She’ll find out soon enough anyway.

  “Well, have her submit a résumé, and I’ll need to interview her. If she doe
sn’t meet the minimum requirement, I can’t hire her for a paid position, not even for you. And the foundation has never had unpaid interns. I don’t want to set a precedent or we’ll have dozens of kids in here.”

  I tap the counter, thinking. This is unexpected. If the little fawn can’t intern at the foundation, it complicates things. She isn’t going to quit working.

  On the other hand, Lizochka takes running the Pryce Family Foundation quite seriously, which is one of many reasons I hold her in high regard. Clearly, this is my mistake. I should’ve anticipated this kind of a response.

  “But if I can’t hire her as an intern after the interview, I could take her on as my personal assistant and train her,” Lizochka offers. “That way, the money would come out of my own personal funds, and the foundation can still do its mission within its budget.”

  She’s trying to help, but if the fawn becomes Lizochka’s PA, she’ll be following Lizochka around everywhere, even to her mansion, to run errands and so on. Which means our schedules will become complicated, and I might not be able to watch her all the time.

  I’m not making the same mistake I made with Lizochka’s safety five years ago. It almost got her killed. But I have a better idea.

  “Actually, if you can’t make her an intern after the interview, hire her to be my assistant at the foundation.” If I have my own PA, it’s going to look odd. But nobody will bat an eye if Lizochka hires her to be my helper. “And I’ll pay her salary.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” Lizochka says. “I haven’t said I’m not hiring her. She might just impress me. One step at a time. Let’s get her dressed first.”

  The little fawn might knock Lizochka off her feet. On top of that, Lizochka has never met somebody whose suffering she doesn’t want to do something about. She will definitely feel strongly about Angelika’s situation, especially given the drama she had with her own creepy stalker. “I’ll be at your place at ten.”

  “You’re coming with us?” she says.

  Yes. “No. Just dropping her off at your place. Unless you prefer that I take her to the mall.”

  “No, no, no, bring her to me. And we’ll have the most fabulous time shopping. With your credit card.”