Beauty and the Assassin

by Nadia Lee

  My gosh. Now that I think back on it, we’ve only known each other for three days. But somehow it feels like a lot longer. And my gut says I can trust him to keep me safe. But how do you explain that to a freaked-out friend? She isn’t going to understand what I’m feeling. She hasn’t met him and is basing her fears on assumptions.

  After a moment of consideration, I type my reply.

  –Me: Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. Maybe we can talk more after Roy’s taken care of.

  –Courtney: Okay. You owe me all the stories!

  –Me: Deal.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tolyan

  I spin a knife while reading the texts that arrived on Angelika’s phone.

  Courtney Young. She’s contacting awfully fast. Her previous contacts were more spaced apart—at least four weeks or longer. This time? Only a few days.

  I pull up information on Ben Gibson. The name is common, so it requires some cross-referencing to ensure he’s crossed paths with both the little fawn and Courtney.

  But soon I have him. Twenty-six years old. Working for Amazon in Seattle. Parents retired and living in Hawaii. One sister, married and living in Vancouver. He has no reason to be in Philadelphia to see Courtney, unless he has a thing for hanging out with petty criminals.

  But I doubt that. He’s clean-cut. A good Catholic boy who never misses Sunday mass.

  He probably wasn’t in Philadelphia to attend a mass with Courtney.

  She appears to be Angelika’s friend. But something about her bugs me. Not the way Angelika does, like a small pearl underneath a mattress. But more like a splinter that’s managed to push its way under my thumbnail.

  My phone rings, and I glance at the screen. Antoine Boucher. The head of Dominic King’s security.

  What does he want? We don’t have a “call each other on Sunday to shoot the shit” kind of relationship.

  “Tolyan.”

  “You’re dating?” His incredulous voice booms from the speaker. That annoyingly pretentious British accent of his is slightly less pronounced, though.

  Is that the official story about me and Angelika? Not that I object. It’s more palatable than the truth—that she’s a desperate damsel in distress, and I’m using her as bait without her knowledge. I imagine she’s grateful for it, actually. So long as she’s my bait, she’s protected.

  “I don’t know why you’re showing such an interest in my personal life,” I say. “Aren’t you supposed to be working today? Or are you too busy licking the feet of your pregnant wife?”

  He ignores me. “I’m never too busy to work. Elizabeth asked me to stay home, since Kristen’s been feeling sick recently.”

  “And you listened to Lizochka.” That’s the difference between us. He listens to Lizochka’s wishes. Not me. I don’t compromise on her security.

  “She said you’d be joining her,” he informs me.

  “And what does that have to do with you calling and asking me about my personal life?” Antoine and I speak to each other and cooperate when Lizochka and Dominic are together, as there is a need to coordinate security teams. But otherwise, I prefer not to interact or work with him. Not because he’s bad at his job. He just isn’t as good as me.

  “I need to create a dossier on your girlfriend,” he says.

  “Says who?”

  “Dominic.”

  “Tell him I don’t work for him and he needs to mind his own business.” Just because he’s one of the Four doesn’t mean I need to tolerate him. I still haven’t forgiven him for hurting Lizochka. I don’t give a damn if there was a misunderstanding. It is his fault for misunderstanding without gathering all the facts. If he crosses the line—or does anything to make Lizochka unhappy—I’m going to go with my first gut feeling when he reappeared in Lizochka’s life and make sure nobody ever finds his body.

  “Normally, I would, but Elizabeth seems fond of her. He’s worried.”

  Ungrateful, ignorant little asshole. “Does he think I’m as sloppy as him? That I would let someone get close to Lizochka without vetting them first?”

  “You don’t have to be insulting.” Antoine sounds offended, but he should be more selective about whom he becomes friends with.

  “Facts aren’t insults. His underestimating me is.”

  “Look, I’m not asking for your permission. This is just a courtesy notification. So you don’t get upset when you see that people are digging into her past.” His tone is as conciliatory as he can make it, given the circumstances.

  He’s lucky he’s a colleague of sorts. Otherwise… I study the edge of my knife. It’s sharp enough to cut through leather. Unlike Rick Owen, I take good care of my tools. “Lizochka already has a background check—a thorough one—on the new girl because she applied for an internship position at the Pryce Family Foundation. You can tell Dominic that, and he can ask Lizochka to share what I sent her.”

  “Oh. Why didn’t you say so earlier?” I can hear the frown in his voice.

  Because it wouldn’t be believable for me to be helpful to Dominic for no reason. And I don’t want him digging around, in case he finds the connection between me and Roy Wilks. It’s none of Dominic’s business, and I don’t want anybody to inform the little fawn—even by accident—of what I’m really up to. Grateful lures are eager to cooperate. When they know they’re being used, not so much.

  It seems illogical, but people prefer to assert their will just to let everyone know they aren’t dead. That’s why they do stupid things that undermine their own self-interest, all in the name of making themselves heard. Everyone has an innate desire to be significant.

  There are few things that can suppress that urge, but one is bone-deep gratitude. Even when Angelika’s grateful, she argues, however. About moving in with me. About accepting the clothes and shoes I bought for her so she can look the part when she starts her new job.

  I’m not having Antoine ruin the delicate balance I’ve established. I really don’t want to have to hurt her to get to Roy Wilks. Nor do I want to redo my perfect plan to kill him.

  “Anything else?” I say.

  “No. That’s it. I’ll ask Elizabeth for a copy. I’m sure it will be fine.” Meaning: he won’t have to do another check of his own. He knows I’m very thorough, and doesn’t believe in duplicating work.

  I, on the other hand, always verify everything. That’s what makes him good, and me extraordinary.

  I hang up. Then, as I rub spices into a hunk of beef, I think about three possible scenarios for dealing with Roy Wilks. Lyosha made his wish when he was small, and I doubt he remembers.

  But I promised I would make his birthday wish come true. And although I won’t be able to tell him, it will be enough that I know I did it.

  I always keep my word.

  Chapter Twenty

  Angelika

  By the time I’m done putting all the new clothes away, Tolyan’s pulling a pot roast and red potatoes out of the oven. The food smells amazing. Tchaikovsky, Mussorgsky and Stravinsky are already salivating.

  “Should I set the table?” I say.

  “That would be helpful. Thanks.”

  “Thank you. I didn’t know you asked Monique to pack some exercise clothes, too,” I say.

  “You can’t run in an Armani dress,” he says. “Or you could, but…”

  “Yeah. Not the right use of the outfit.”

  He brings the food from the oven to the table and cuts the meat with precision. Every slice is so even, it looks machine-cut. The Dobermans lick their chops. Stravinsky whines.

  Tolyan serves me, then himself, then hands three thick pieces to his dogs. They gobble up the meat like they haven’t eaten in a century.

  “By the way…” I say, after a bite of the juicy meat. “I want to chip in for food and utilities while I’m staying here.”

  He washes down the meat with his usual vodka. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “I insist. You’re already going above and beyond to help me.”


  Do you know why he’s doing that? Courtney’s voice whispers in my head.

  I shove it out of my mind.

  Something in his gaze says he’s mildly amused. “Then you know I’m not doing it so you can help out with groceries and electricity.”

  “Of course not. I just… I don’t want to impose, is all. I mean, more than I already am.”

  A corner of his mouth quirks up. “You should’ve thought of that before telling me you were going to go to the police. As I recall, it was to report me for being in the vicinity of that man who tragically killed himself on Friday.”

  I squirm. The chair cushion seems to be full of small needles all of a sudden. “I didn’t really mean that. I was desperate.”

  “But you said Roy’s been threatening you for eight years now. What suddenly made you so reckless?”

  “He sent me a box at work.” My hands start shaking, and I grip my fork and knife tighter, although I can’t decide if I’m doing it to hide my reaction or because I need something that can be used as a weapon. Maybe both.

  Tolyan’s expression remains placid. When I don’t speak, he gestures. “Go on. What was inside it? Some sort of roadkill?”

  Shudders run through me. His guess is a good one. And I would’ve preferred that. “My underwear. He went through my stuff at home. So that’s why.”

  “Poor security at your old place,” he murmurs.

  I nod. The garage apartment has zero security. The door is flimsy. The landlord only converted it into a living space so he could make some extra cash that he doesn’t have to report to the IRS.

  “So now you understand why I said you needed to move in with me.”

  I nod again, flushing at the memory of how I initially objected to that suggestion.

  Still, that doesn’t explain why he’s helping you when he doesn’t have to.

  But do I really have to know his reason?

  His phone buzzes. He glances at it and stands up. “I need to take this. Excuse me.”

  He goes into another room, making sure I can’t hear the conversation.

  I pick at my dinner, then shake my head. I’m overthinking this because of what Courtney said. I should just accept that meeting Tolyan is the first really good thing that’s happened to me in the last eight years and be happy. Unlike Courtney, I know what’s actually going on.

  But do you?

  He comes back and sits down. “Is everything okay?” He is looking at me like he knows exactly what’s going through my mind.

  But the words get caught in my throat. It feels like if I question my good fortune, it’s all going to go away and I’m going to be back outside, alone and unprotected…

  Running again.

  I’m so, so tired of running. Tired enough that I’m willing to overlook a lot of things.

  So I just nod. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Angelika

  I take advantage of the home gym and do some treadmill jogging in the morning. I watch the dogs frolic on the vast deck while Tolyan swims in the pool.

  Holy cow. He has an amazing body. I mean, I knew there was a strong, tight physique underneath his clothes. It’s obvious in the way he moves, the way his shirt pulls across that flat waist when he turns to get something. But seeing him in nothing but black trunks is quite another.

  His body is more muscular and leaner than men a decade younger. There doesn’t seem to be an ounce on fat on him—just solid, functional muscle, like if a tree trunk suddenly decided to become a bodybuilder. The morning sun kisses the taut, lightly tanned skin of his broad shoulders, thick arms and legs, and gorgeously ridged abs.

  I lick my lips.

  And watching him cut through the water with seemingly tireless power and speed? My body temperature rises for reasons that have nothing to do with the treadmill. I chug down some cold water, but it doesn’t do anything to lower the heat curling in my belly.

  About the time I’m winding down, he pulls himself out of the pool. Water sluices off, then lingers on his skin in droplets that sparkle like diamonds. My mouth goes drier than sandpaper. I want water. And not from the bottle stuck in the treadmill holder—off his body.

  You have it bad.

  Courtney implied that he might be helping me for sex. I find myself suddenly very okay with the idea.

  Besides, the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that Courtney’s just being paranoid. She doesn’t know the full story between me and Tolyan, and I shouldn’t let what she said bother me.

  After a shower, I spend some time debating what to wear. It feels weird to be looking at all these options. For so long there were only functional, plain clothes in my closet. Now I have things I can mix and match.

  I consider for a moment. I have a shift at Coffee Heaven today. Tolyan told me to quit, but I can’t really give notice when I don’t know what’s going to happen at the internship interview. Plus, Roy never does two things back to back. He seems to enjoy giving me a false sense of security before he strikes again, so that means I should be safe for at least a couple of weeks.

  I finally settle on a coral scoop-neck top, a knee-length teal skirt and nude ballet flats with cushy soles that will work for the interview at the foundation, but are still casual enough to be okay at the café with the employee apron on.

  Once we’re done with breakfast, Tolyan says we should take his car.

  “Are you sure?” I say. “I need to go to the café after the interview, and I won’t be done with my shift until five thirty.”

  “It’s only half an hour,” he says.

  “Well… If you’re sure.”

  “Very. Besides, your stepbrother’s favorite tactic is hit-and-run. My SUV is far better to withstand that. Also, I’m a better driver,” he says matter-of-factly.

  That he is. I remember how he drove yesterday, his eyes constantly scanning our surroundings. He’s likely to spot Roy’s goons and react faster than I would. He certainly wouldn’t freak out and lose his cool like I did on Saturday on my way to the Pryce Family Foundation.

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  The commute isn’t terribly long, considering it’s Los Angeles. The penthouse is more conveniently located than my garage apartment.

  And I do feel safe inside the car. Tolyan’s eyes constantly range back and forth, the SUV moving smoothly in the traffic. No matter how slick—or reckless—Roy’s drivers are, I just can’t picture one of them managing to hit us. Tolyan would move out of the way before that happened. Or ram them first if he had to.

  I sign in at the security desk in the massive marble-floored lobby. It reminds me of an art gallery entrance.

  I get a visitor’s pass and put it on. “The security here is really tight,” I say, looking at the turnstiles and cameras everywhere.

  “We have a couple of financial and law firms in the building. They don’t like people being able to just walk in at will. The lobby’s shut down on weekends, so no visitors.”

  We get in an elevator and go up. Financial and law firms or not, I’m sure it’s Tolyan who prefers that the security be set up like this. I wonder if there are booby traps, like in his home.

  The floor the foundation is located on is open, with lots of space and desks and chairs. Half of them are already occupied with people working busily. As we walk past, most lift their heads and say hello.

  “Who’s this?” a red-headed woman asks. She’s in her late forties or so, her eyes wide and bright behind glasses as she looks at me, then back at Tolyan.

  “Angelika Wilks. She’s a candidate for the new internship position.” Tolyan introduces me in a dry tone, like he’s reading an English textbook in front of a class.

  “Ooh, I was wondering when Elizabeth was going to fill that position.” The woman smiles. “Hi. I’m Rhonda.”

  “Angelika,” I say. “Nice to meet you.”

  We shake hands. “Welcome to the foundation,” Rhonda says.

  I shift my weight. Should I remind
her I haven’t been hired yet?

  “She hasn’t had her interview yet,” Tolyan points out, saving me from having to explain it. “She’s a candidate.”

  Rhonda sighs dramatically. “Yes, but she’s here, so I can welcome her.” She gives me a nice, motherly smile. “Good luck, dear.”

  “Thank you.” It’s impossible not to like somebody as genuinely sweet as her.

  I follow Tolyan. He points at an empty desk not too far from Rhonda’s. “That’s mine.” Unlike the other desks, most of which have pictures and potted plants, his is barren except for a phone. Without bothering to sit down, he places his laptop on the desk and hits a key on the phone.

  “Lizochka, Angelika Wilks is here for the interview.”

  “Good morning, Tolyan. Send her in, please,” comes Elizabeth’s warm voice from the speaker.

  He gestures at me to follow. I clench and unclench my hands, my fingertips cold as anxiety and pressure swell in my chest. Suddenly, I feel like a kid walking into take the SAT, except there aren’t going to be any do-overs. This is it.

  Elizabeth’s office is next to Tolyan’s desk. The door is closed. He knocks once before going inside.

  She looks up from her laptop. She’s stunning in a sky-blue dress. Unlike on Sunday, her hair’s tied up in a topknot, and huge chandelier earrings dangle from her earlobes.

  “Perfect. You’re right on time. Something to drink?” she offers as she stands and comes around a desk cluttered with piles of paper and framed photos of her family. I recognize her and Thomas. The dark-haired man with them must be the husband.

  “No, thank you. I’m good,” I say, inhaling slowly to calm my nerves.

  She gestures at the seating area. “Please, take a seat.” She looks at Tolyan. “Would you mind closing the door? Thanks.”

  He does, and then it’s just me and her in the office decorated in soft, feminine colors.

  She sits in the armchair near the couch I’ve taken. “I liked that outfit when you tried it on yesterday, but I love it today.”