Beauty and the Assassin

by Nadia Lee

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Tolyan

  I’m still deciding what I ought to feel about my sudden realization from last weekend. I wait for it to lessen, but it doesn’t. A factor that was never a part of my contingency plans is an unwelcome distraction.

  The problem is that I can’t quite settle on what to do about it.

  The only people whose feelings I care about are Lyosha and Lizochka. And I didn’t care about Lizochka’s until she offered to bring Lyosha to the U.S.—and kept her word.

  The little fawn is going to help me fulfill my son’s tenth birthday wish, but the circumstances are nothing like with Lizochka. Angelika hasn’t done anything to earn that level of devotion from me.

  So why is there this desire to care about her feelings? I try to methodically analyze what she evokes in me.

  The innocent eyes that can fire up with rage—baffled amusement. What could she do with her little fists?

  The abrupt shyness and awkwardness when offered kindness—a sliver of reluctant sympathy. Because it shows that the world hasn’t been good to her.

  The desperate attempt to hide her fear as she confronted me to help her at the garage and blackmailed me when all else seemed to fail—curiosity…mixed with a tinge of admiration at her determination…

  I cut the train of thought and shift my attention to the document on my office desk. The list of reasons for my fascination with the little fawn is too long, and it isn’t like me to dwell on a subject like this. She’s contradictory. Even when she does things I expect her to do, she inspires something inside me that’s wholly unexpected, unfamiliar and raw.

  But I can’t let any of this derail my plans. Even if it weren’t for Lyosha’s birthday wish—to punish the person responsible for killing his mother—Roy Wilks needs to go, and for the same reason Rick Owen had to go. He’s a malignant element in society, something that ought to be excised and disposed of.

  Rhonda doesn’t understand what’s on my mind. Hence she comes over to my desk at exactly two thirty p.m.—she always starts our small office celebrations at three thirty, and always wants an hour to set things up—her eyes bright with excitement, and tells me to prep for the surprise office party for Angelika’s birthday.

  She doesn’t expect much from me. She only wants me to keep my mouth shut about it—quite easy—and make sure Angelika doesn’t come anywhere near Rhonda for the next hour. Also doable.

  What Rhonda will never find out is that I’m the one who ensured she knew about Angelika’s birthday, since the little fawn’s being very quiet about it for some reason. Out of all the people in the office, Rhonda’s the most maternal and loves to plan and execute things like birthday celebrations, baby showers and Christmas parties.

  “One of these days, I’m going to plan one for you, too,” she says with a shake of her finger.

  “Mm.” She never will because she will never know my birthday. The date on my government document is fake. And I don’t do birthday celebrations, like somehow making it through another three hundred and sixty-five days is some remarkable achievement.

  At my age, and with no war and the medical technology now available, not making it through three hundred and sixty-five days would be as inexplicable as the Bermuda Triangle. Birthday celebrations belong in the Middle Ages.

  Angelika comes over from a small meeting room. She looks fresh and eager, even at two forty-five p.m. on a Friday. There’s a small smile on her full lips, and her eyes are relaxed, not a hint of tension anywhere. She looks happy, and I find myself starting to smile.

  I stop abruptly the second I realize I’m doing so. My reaction to her is no longer within the normal range. She’s bait, I remind myself. Too young and innocent for bait, but bait nonetheless. The plan is to let her go after I’m done with Roy.

  “Have you seen Rhonda?” she asks, tapping the end of a ballpoint pen on the legal pad she’s holding.

  “She’s in a meeting. What is it?”

  “I’m done with the brainstorming she asked me to do for the new daycare center, but she didn’t tell me what she wanted help with after that.”

  “Why don’t you sort her mail?” I gesture at the towering pile on Rhonda’s desk. “That would be a big help.” And will keep the little fawn occupied for at least an hour. Rhonda is lazy about her mail. Unless something is obviously urgent, she puts it off.

  Angelika blinks. “You think it’s okay to look through her stuff?”

  “None of it is private.”

  “Okay.” She goes over to Rhonda’s desk.

  A simple matter to direct her to a time-consuming task. I turn my attention to my own newly arrived emails.

  A private courier delivery kid comes over, carrying a cardboard box tucked against his side. He takes the box in his hands, reads the label, then looks around at the desks. “Angelika Wilks… Angelika Wilks…” he mutters, scanning the area.

  Finally.

  Normally, I’d let him search for the recipient on his own, but this is Angelika. Only one person would be sending her a package. “Let me take that. She isn’t at her desk,” I say coolly.

  He hesitates briefly. “Um. It has to be signed by her.”

  “You don’t think I’m going to steal that package, do you?” I arch an eyebrow.

  The kid flushes. He’s done deliveries to the foundation, and he’s seen me many times, since I generally sign for Lizochka’s packages.

  “Well?”

  “Sorry. No, I don’t… I mean, sure.” He licks his lips nervously and gives me a handheld gadget. “Just sign here.”

  I make a straight line across the screen with my finger. He places the package on my desk and scurries off.

  Two minutes later, my other phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out.

  –Courtney: Happy birthday!

  Isn’t it interesting she’s texting right after the package arrived? Are you fishing, snitch? For all I know, she’s currently snuggling with Roy Wilks. Michigan’s not that far from Philadelphia.

  –Courtney: I hope you have an amazing celebration and everything is well.

  –Me: I will. Thanks for asking.

  –Courtney: Did you get anything nice? Especially from the guy you met?

  –Me: I did. My office is going to host a small party for me. It’s so cool. I’m also going away with my boyfriend for the weekend to celebrate. It’s going to be super romantic! Anyway, I gotta get to a meeting. Later!

  I tap the side of the phone a couple of times, then add a smiling emoji and a heart emoji.

  That done, I put the phone away and look at the label on the box. The return address is the same PO box that was on her other package—the one with her underwear inside. Roy Wilks is surprisingly consistent in some ways. It’s another way he taunts her, displaying his superiority. So what if she knows his mailing address? What can she do to stop him?

  I take the package into the supply room and pull out a box cutter from the small nook in one of the top cabinets where Patrice keeps it.

  I run the blade along the tape and open the box. Lots of packing peanuts. A colorful card with balloons that says HAPPY BIRTHDAY on the top. I flip it over.

  Angelika,

  You think you’re safe, but you aren’t. I’ll be coming for you.

  –Roy

  As threats go, this is embarrassingly third-rate. I’ll be coming for you. Such a cliché. If he’s going to come to L.A., can’t he hurry up? Hasn’t Courtney told him how happy the little fawn is? How she’s met somebody?

  Sexual dysfunction or no, Roy won’t tolerate that. Angelika isn’t supposed to meet anybody, she isn’t supposed to dream of a bright future and she most definitely isn’t supposed to feel safe or happy.

  She’s supposed to be miserable. She’s supposed to despair so much that Roy will begin to seem like a good option for her. He wants to control and humiliate her, and he wants her to want that.

  And he’s angry that she’s too strong for him to break.

  I smile. />
  Then I reach inside and find a glass jar buried underneath the peanuts. There are holes poked into the metal lid.

  I pull it out and rip the bubble wrap from around it. Headless roaches big enough to fly fill the jar almost to the top. Their legs are still squirming. Cockroaches can move without their heads for four…perhaps five days. So these are fresh zombie roaches. Shows dedication, but I doubt Roy caught them himself. He probably had somebody else do the work.

  Decapitated insects don’t bother me, even when they’re moving. They’re harmless, and the world is full of more dangerous things.

  But they would be enough to freak Angelika out. Or, honestly, most any woman.

  I dump the jar back into the box, rip the label off and run it through a document shredder. Then I retape the box and locate the shipping labels that the foundation keeps for packages. The most used ones are FRAGILE or URGENT, but there are a few others as well.

  I slap a bright red label on top of the box: HAZARDOUS MATERIAL. It even has a skull and crossbones underneath, for those who can’t read the warning.

  I take the package back to my desk and leave it in my drawer. I’ll get rid of it later, quietly. Today’s Angelika’s birthday. And nothing is going to mar it.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Angelika

  As I sort through Rhonda’s mail, I start to think that maybe Roy isn’t going to send me anything. He always sends something gross and nerve-racking on my birthday. The “presents” are to remind me that he hasn’t forgotten about me, and that I’m not safe. How can I be, when he finds me no matter where I go?

  Normally, his presents arrive in the morning. But nothing’s come so far. There was one time when the present came after lunch, but it’s almost three now. I doubt it’s going to come.

  Or maybe he’s sent it to the café. If so, he would’ve been informed by the fancy private courier he uses that I’m not there anymore. If he tries to send it to my place, that isn’t going to work either, since I moved in with Tolyan.

  Maybe Roy’s going to realize he’s lost me. I let out a shaky breath as the thought flares brightly in my heart.

  I pray he accepts that and moves on, even though a tiny, pessimistic part of me says it’s highly unlikely.

  “My goodness, you didn’t have to do that,” Rhonda says as she comes over to her desk.

  “It’s no big deal. I’ve sorted them by project and urgency.”

  “Thank you.” She beams. “Going through the mail isn’t my favorite activity. Wanna grab some coffee?”

  I smile back. It’s so easy to be friendly with the people at the foundation. Given the tight security in the building, Roy can’t just send somebody in to see who I’m close to. Within these walls, at least, I’m free to interact with people the way I want. “Sure.”

  The break room has an awesome espresso machine. The beans are also excellent. Their aroma alone makes me perk up. Apparently, Elizabeth is a huge coffee fan.

  When we enter the room, loud pops burst in the air, and confetti flutters around. I flinch, surprised and blinking at the popping sound that reminds me a little of gunshots I heard when I lived in a cheap part of Chicago five years back.

  “Happy birthday!” Rhonda hugs me as the people in the office clap and cheer.

  I stare, stunned that they know because I never said a word about it, and pleasantly surprised that they decided to do something. I haven’t seen any parties at the office. But then, I haven’t been here very long.

  “Happy birthday to you!” Elizabeth starts singing, and people join in. Tolyan watches the celebration with a pleased gleam in his pale eyes.

  Maybe he doesn’t sing. He seems good at everything—cooking, running, swimming, security, dealing with his dogs. This could be one thing he can’t do.

  Still, I wish I could hear him sing “Happy Birthday” and hate it that I cling to such a childish desire when I already have an entire office celebrating. It’s been so long since anybody cared about my day—in a good way—and Tolyan not singing isn’t a big deal. Shouldn’t be a big deal.

  “Make a wish!” Patrice says, gesturing at the cake and the lit candles.

  I smile, feeling like a star, and blow them out, my hands clasped tightly at my chest.

  Please, please give me a happy ending.

  Everyone claps, and I straighten up. Sparkling cider and soft drinks are served, along with slices of cake for all. Some reach for coffee. I smile and nod as people wish me happy birthday. Tolyan doesn’t make a move toward me. He stays in the same corner and sips his coffee, his eyes following me over the rim of his mug.

  So I go over to him. “Hey!”

  “Hello.”

  “Some party, eh?”

  He nods.

  “Got something to say to me?” I’m fishing, but sometimes a girl’s gotta be proactive to get what she wants.

  “How’s the cake?” he asks.

  “Good,” I say. “So… Anything else?”

  He looks at me dispassionately for a moment. “How’s the cider?”

  I study him, disappointment welling at his ridiculous obtuseness. Then I notice the amusement in his eyes, and I shake my head. “You’re awful.”

  “For wanting to know how the cake is?”

  I don’t respond. He isn’t fooling me with his innocent act. In the last few weeks I’ve learned that he’s a master of feigning obliviousness when he doesn’t want to do something. The thing is, even when you know he’s faking it, you can’t do anything about it. The man is like an old silverback gorilla set in its ways.

  “I ordered that cake,” he continues. “If you said it was awful, I was going to leave a bad review on their website.”

  I smile. “It’s good.” Better than good. Any cake would’ve gotten raving praise from me because this isn’t about cake, but about the fact that Tolyan ordered it for me and I’m okay enough to celebrate my birthday. And I haven’t received anything from Roy.

  “Then I’ll leave them a nice review.”

  I give up. He’s not going to wish me happy birthday, even though he ordered the cake for the occasion. Before I can roll my eyes, Tolyan looks at his phone, then frowns slightly. “Excuse me. I need to deal with this.”

  He leaves, and the room’s energy seems to drop a notch. Or maybe it’s just me feeling the weight of disappointment that he can’t stay.

  Oh, come on, Angelika! He probably has something very urgent to do. Although his official title at the foundation is Elizabeth’s assistant, he seems to do a lot of things beyond answering her calls and managing her calendar.

  Rhonda and a bunch of women I only vaguely remember meeting come over, ostensibly to chat. What they really want is gossip about Tolyan. It’s no secret that he’s the man of mystery at the foundation. I learned that very quickly when I started my internship because everyone looked at me like I was the most popular kid in class.

  “He’s been around forever,” one says.

  “Yeah. But none of us really know him,” another one says.

  I look at her. I think she’s from accounting, although I can’t quite remember her name. So I merely smile and nod, hoping she doesn’t notice, and wait for more elaboration.

  “We know he has a son and some dogs. He’s been Elizabeth’s assistant for years, but he’s never been promoted.”

  “His son’s in college,” I point out slowly, thinking that’s probably okay to share.

  “We know that,” Rhonda says. “We just don’t know anything else about him.”

  “He’s so private. Like you need a security clearance to know more.”

  I give a polite smile, but I don’t think he’s that bad… Or is he? My smile slips as I think back on my interactions with him. I know he has an armory, although I haven’t actually seen it. He has a lot of cream of corn that’s really C-4. And his home is booby-trapped and he has a parachute you can use to jump off the balcony if anything goes wrong. Like his home getting breached—although I think chances of anything like tha
t happening are so low, I might get hit by lightning first.

  But it’s true—even though we’ve been living together for weeks, I know very little about him personally. I don’t even know if he’s been married. And there hasn’t really been a chance to find out; Tolyan is usually so aloof in his demeanor that I don’t think he appreciates personal questions.

  But does any of that really matter? I can know somebody pretty well, and they can be a literal psychopath, like Roy. No personal detail or hidden closet skeleton is going to change the fact that Tolyan’s been good to me.

  He doesn’t return for the rest of the celebration. Things eventually wind down, and I help everyone clean up. Although it’s only a little after four thirty, Elizabeth gives a big wave and says, “Have a great weekend!”

  People start to leave in twos and threes, talking about weekend plans. I walk out, wondering how serious the problem Tolyan had to take care of was.

  He’s—still?—on the phone, speaking in a low, tight voice. I let my purse hang on my arm and wait for him a few desks away so as not to eavesdrop. Even though I am curious what it’s about. His eyebrows are pinched and his mouth set in a flat line, which is very unusual. Basically, he looks like he wants to kick some ass.

  Finally, he hangs up and stands. “Ready?” he says across the desks.

  I nod, and he comes over and places a protective hand at my elbow. If I hadn’t seen his “I so wanna kick your ass” expression just moments ago, I would assume he’s a complete gentleman.

  And I feel terribly corrupted for wanting more than just an escorting touch.

  Today I’m in a sleeveless top, so we have direct contact. Hot and callused, the feel of his skin against mine is doing something wicked to my system, something that makes my pulse pick up its pace.

  “Anything you want to do for your birthday?” he asks as we climb into his SUV.

  I think for a moment. “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I haven’t celebrated it in ages.”