Hunting The Kobra

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  “My German isn’t up to it this morning,” Quinn told Aslan. “Could I please just have tea and some toast?”

  Aslan spoke to the maid, who smiled at Quinn and went away.

  “I also told her to bring the new bottle of preserves and some cheese. You need protein.”

  Cheese seemed manageable, at least.

  Aslan was still staring at the pendant. Quinn cleared her throat. “It was just habit,” she said softly. “I’ve put it on so many times before, you see.”

  “It was your favorite necklace…” He seemed pleased.

  The tea and toast arrived, with a small plate holding slices of cheese of different varieties, including a soft cheese which she discovered was warm.

  Quinn concentrated on the tea, though. She was parched.

  Still, Aslan did not move.

  Quinn remembered he had said he was about to leave, yet he was studying her.

  Quinn put down her teacup, her heart giving a funny little jerk. It hurried on, hurting. She was afraid to look at him directly. It might prompt him to say something she didn’t want to hear.

  If she had any courage, she would leave the room.

  “Quinn,” he said.

  Quinn sighed. She made herself look at him.

  “Are you afraid of me?”

  Quinn swallowed. “Yes.”

  “You shouldn’t be. I would never hurt you.” His gaze was calm and steady. His green eyes were warm. He was the charming man she had first met.

  He leaned back in the chair as if he was trying to minimize whatever threat she felt. He wore a striped business shirt, and the heavy watch peaked out from under his cuff. His tie matched the handkerchief in the pocket of the jacket which hung over the back of his chair. He was urbane and seemed to understand far too much about her. What right did a man like him have to be so empathetic?

  “Do you believe me when I say that?” he asked her.

  Quinn put her fingertips to her temples, her elbows on the table. “I want to,” she told him. “Only you loved Denis, and Denis…”

  “He died because of me, is what you will not say,” he finished.

  She flinched.

  “I have loved two people in my life,” Aslan said. “Denis was one. And there was another, a long time ago.”

  Quinn’s breath caught. Was he talking about the Kobra? Was that the connection?

  Aslan continued speaking in his low, rumbling voice. “I thought that, after Denis, there would be no one else for me. Now I wonder if I have yet a third chance. Since you arrived, you have been a lucky charm, Quinn. I suspect I have opened up your life, too.”

  She could not dispute him. He had widened and enriched her life in so many unexpected ways. Dancing was the least of it.

  “We are good for each other, Quinn. I would like to find a way for you to not be afraid of me anymore.”

  She dropped her hands. “If you want me to not be afraid of you, then you should not have told me who you really are.”

  He considered her for a long moment. “Perhaps,” he said. “Even someone like me grows weary of the lies. You lived a lie all your life, too. Only, in the last two weeks you have not. You have been yourself and you like it.”

  Quinn sighed. “Yes.”

  Aslan nodded. “I want that same freedom.” His voice was so low, Quinn thought she had imagined him saying it.

  She looked at him, startled. “Denis didn’t know what you are…” It all came together in a rush. She sat up straighter, her chest aching.

  Aslan met her gaze. He wasn’t denying it.

  “That’s why Denis came to America, isn’t it?” Quinn put her hand to her chest, pressing in where the ache was worst. “You told him and he couldn’t handle it.”

  Pain shadowed his eyes. “For years I let him believe I was just a businessman, an entrepreneur with international interests.” He grimaced. “He thought I was English. I didn’t have the courage to tell him the truth. The longer he stayed with me, the harder it grew.”

  “Until you couldn’t stand the lies anymore,” Quinn guessed.

  Aslan sighed. His gaze shifted from her face. He looked toward the window. “For a while after I told him, I believe Denis genuinely hated me. Then he said he was picking up the contract for a professorship in the States. Boston. That was when I knew he would never accept me. Not the real me.”

  Quinn reached for her teacup. She didn’t want tea. She didn’t want to eat, either. She rubbed her temples again. “He never spoke about you…but you know that. He would never speak about Austria at all. He refused to consider coming to Vienna even for a vacation.”

  She looked at Aslan, who was still not meeting her gaze. “He was so bitter and I never understood why, until just now.” She hesitated. “They say hate is the other side of love. If he truly despised you, then he wouldn’t have hated you. He would have been indifferent. Denis was anything but indifferent about his life in Austria. He would never talk about it, yet it hung over us.”

  “For that, I am sorry,” Aslan said. “It may sound odd, but I would have preferred him to be happy, even if it wasn’t with me.”

  Quinn drew in a deep breath and let it out. The exhalation seemed to vent the last of her regret for Denis’s passing. “I feel as though I didn’t really know him at all.”

  “I suspect that if Denis was still alive, he would say the same thing about you. I, on the other hand, do know you. I understand you and what drives you.”

  Quinn could not dispute that, either.

  Aslan glanced at his watch and got to his feet. He picked up the jacket and slid it on. “You do not have to answer now,” he said. “But I would like you to consider having dinner with me.” His gaze met hers. “Tell me you will consider it. Please.”

  “I will consider it,” Quinn made herself say.

  He didn’t smile or show any reaction. He simply nodded. “When you are ready, let me know.”

  When he had left, Quinn wrapped her arms around her and held her elbows. It was warm in the dining room, yet she was cold.

  She didn’t finish her breakfast. Not even the tea.

  She had not eaten a proper meal in too many days. Only a few hours later, Quinn was starving. It didn’t matter that her conscience was beating her up, or that every time she thought of Aslan, she felt nauseous. Her body was rebelling because of the lack of calories. She had to eat and she could think of nothing else.

  However, it was midmorning and as usual, everyone who lived in the house had gone about their business for the day. She was likely alone here and would be for many hours yet. Lunch was three hours away.

  Quinn emerged from her bedroom and went down to the main floor. She was unfamiliar with the back of the house so she followed the sound of dishes clacking and murmurs. She found herself in a big kitchen with commercial fittings and three people hurrying about.

  Quinn dredged up the German phrases she had been learning. The maid who had served her breakfast came over to her with a small smile and said something in German.

  Quinn shook her head. “Something to eat?” she said in slow German.

  As she spoke, the back door was thrust open. Bright sunlight spilled inside, along with a billow of crisp, snowy air.

  Everyone looked up as Toni stalked in to the kitchen. She wore boots which came over her knees, skintight pants and a black mojo jacket with gold zippers. Her sunglasses were mirrored and she did not take them off. She was a walking cliché. Despite that, Quinn shivered.

  Toni came to a halt as the door slammed shut behind her, cutting off the light and the cold. She put her hand on her hip and her chin turned, taking in Quinn where she stood at the counter with the maid.

  Quinn couldn’t help it. She shrank back.

  It was the wrong move to make.

  Toni took off her sunglasses and toss them on the nearest counter. She pushed her sleeves up her arms, over her elbows. “Do you know what I have been doing this morning?” she said, her voice low.

  Quinn shook he
r head.

  “I have been standing in line at the opera house to buy stupid fucking ball tickets…for you.”

  Quinn flinched. Aslan must have contacted Toni immediately after their conversation at breakfast. Toni was his de facto Chief of Staff.

  “You do like him,” Quinn breathed.

  It was absolutely the wrong thing to say. Toni’s face worked with fury. Before Quinn could react, Toni threw herself at her. The staff hopped out of the way with little shrieks, as Toni’s hands came around Quinn’s neck.

  They fell back. Quinn’s spine ground up against the counter. Her back creaked. The pressure on her throat was the real threat, though.

  She gripped Toni’s wrists and tried to tear her hands from her throat. “You don’t understand!” she squeaked.

  “I understand perfectly well,” Toni hissed. Despite the fury in her eyes, she looked almost happy.

  With a jolt, Quinn realized Toni was enjoying herself. She liked giving out pain. She liked to see her victims’ fear.

  Quinn reached behind her, her hand flailing as she searched for anything to use as a weapon against Toni. There was nothing within reach. Then she found a rough handle and picked it up. The weight and balance told her she was holding a cast iron skillet.

  Did she dare?

  She looked into Toni’s eyes and knew the woman could kill her.

  Quinn swung the skillet, smashing it against the side of Toni’s head.

  It was a partial blow. Toni’s arm was in the way and the skillet only deflected off her head. Toni staggered back, shaking her head. She put her fingers to her head and looked at them. They were bloody.

  She screamed. It was a scream of outrage, of defiance, filled with anger.

  Then the taller woman launched herself at Quinn again. Quinn sidestepped and ducked under her reaching arms. She couldn’t afford to let Toni grasp her throat again.

  Toni flexed and snatched Quinn’s arm, her reactions as quick as a cat. Then she spun hard, bringing Quinn with her. She released Quinn’s arm.

  Quinn flew across the kitchen to slam against the big commercial range. Her hand landed on the hot plate and she screamed as she threw her body away from the heat.

  As she spun away, Toni came up to her again. This time she had the skillet in her hand. The skillet whistled through the air and Quinn ducked, another cry stuck in her throat.

  Toni had been expecting her to duck. Even as the skillet whistled over the top of her head, Toni’s other fist smacked into Quinn’s face.

  Quinn fell to the floor on her hands and knees. She was blinded by the flare of pain in her face and blinked to clear her vision.

  Before her sight could come together, Toni kicked her. Toni’s boot buried into the soft tissue just beneath her ribs. Quinn fell on the floor. She curled up, her knees and her arms protecting her belly.

  She groaned, feeling sick. She didn’t know if she could take another one of those. It felt as though Toni had put her full weight into the kick. She couldn’t breathe properly. She panted in shallow sips.

  Toni shrieked. It was a sound of frustration which made Quinn force her chin up and blink to clear her vision, so she could see what was happening.

  Noah had Toni pressed up against the white tiles, his forearm locked against her throat. He stared into her eyes. “Take a breath. Take a breath and back off.”

  Toni struggled, the fury in her eyes making her look unhinged. She would kill Noah if he let her go. She kicked and flailed.

  Noah pressed harder against her throat. The lack of air made her movements slow. She hissed at him with the last of her breath. Noah backed off the pressure on her throat.

  She sucked in a breath and scowled at him.

  “I don’t know what you were thinking,” Noah said. His voice was low, calm. “I don’t want to know. If you believe Aslan will let you get away with hurting Quinn, then you have misjudged him. Are you listening, Toni?”

  Toni swallowed and licked her lips. The fury in her eyes was draining. “He is mine.” Her voice was hoarse because of the pressure Noah had put on her throat.

  Noah shook his head. “I told you, I don’t care why you did this. Think it through, Toni. I am trying to help you.”

  Comprehension returned to Toni’s eyes. She was still angry, but she was processing now. She swallowed again.

  “I suggest you catch a flight up to Innsbruck and stay there for Christmas. Think things through,” Noah said. “Tell Aslan whatever you want. Tell him you are taking me-time. I don’t care. And tell him once you are back in Innsbruck.”

  “How dare you!” She hissed it, her fury building. “You are trying to kick me out of this house? Do you know who you are talking to?”

  “No,” Noah said gently, as if he was speaking to a small child. “Listen to me. You can’t stay in this house, anymore. Not now.” He glanced over his shoulder at Quinn. Then back at Toni. “Do you understand?”

  Toni licked her lips, her gaze flickering over Noah’s face. “If I don’t go, you’ll tell Aslan,” she said, her tone bitter.

  “I won’t need to. Look at her. You think Aslan won’t figure it out? You must get yourself far away from him until he calms down.” He considered her for a moment longer. “I can stand here all day if I must. I’m not moving, until you understand that one way or another, you are leaving this house. Go to Innsbruck. Don’t go to Innsbruck. I don’t care. If you have the sense of a peahen, you will leave Vienna, at least for a few days.”

  Toni gave a growl in the back of her throat.

  “Can I let you go?” Noah said.

  The fury drained from her all at once. She sagged. Then she nodded.

  Noah let her go. He stepped back. He was still wary. He didn’t take his gaze from her.

  Toni lifted her hand to her head one more time and hissed as her fingers came away bloody. She glared at Quinn.

  “Walk out of here,” Noah warned Toni. He stood between her and where Quinn laid curled up on the linoleum.

  For a moment, it seemed Toni was still deciding if she wanted to make more of this. She glanced at Noah. Then her gaze slid to Quinn. Quinn got the sensation that if the odds were not quite so in Noah’s favor, Toni would come at her again. Only, Noah was stronger, taller and outweighed her nearly two to one, and most of it was muscle.

  Even Toni was not crazy enough to defy those sorts of odds.

  “I will not forget this, Stojanovich,” she told Noah.

  “Neither will I,” Noah said. There was a flatness about his voice which made Quinn suspect he was telling the simple truth.

  Toni stalked out of the kitchen. If it was possible for someone to trail steam, then Toni did.

  As soon as she left, Noah turned and bent over Quinn. “Can you get up?”

  “As long as I don’t have to move fast, yes.” Quinn tried to prop herself up with her hand and hissed as the burn made itself felt.

  Noah put his hand under her arm and hauled her to her feet. He lifted her hand and examined the burn. He looked at the staff gathered in the back of the kitchen, cowering together and spoke in German. Quinn heard the word for ice.

  They replied and pattered about the kitchen. As they worked, they spoke rapidly. Noah answered them back, his voice low and even. He seemed to be calming them.

  Quinn leaned against the counter and pressed her fingers into her side where Toni’s foot had landed. It throbbed at the touch. She would have a bruise there by tomorrow.

  The maid shoved a bowl at Noah. Quinn heard ice tinkle in it. He thanked her and hooked a towel off the rack on the wall. He glanced at Quinn. “Can you walk?”

  “Slowly,” she said. She took a step toward him and winced.

  “As slowly as you want,” Noah replied.

  [21]

  Later that Morning

  Quinn expected Noah to lead her into the common room, or perhaps the small dining room, which was closer. Instead, he crossed the common room and climbed the wide staircase, juggling the bowl so it didn’t spill. He
glanced behind him to see how she was managing, as Quinn took the steps one at a time. Lifting her knee hurt. Her hand throbbed. Her face felt as if it was on fire.

  It surprised her when he opened her bedroom door and stepped aside for her to enter.

  “Why here?”

  “Because the only way to stop Toni coming after you with a machete and a machine gun is to stay silent. As long as we don’t rat her out to Aslan, she will stay away. If Aslan learns what she did, she will have nothing left to lose. So you get to stay in your room for the rest of the day, and we do what we can to make sure no bruise shows on your face when you next see Aslan.”

  As he spoke, Noah put the bowl of ice on the table, unfolded the cloth and laid ice cubes along it. He folded it up again, then pulled out the chair from beneath the table and patted it.

  Quinn lowered herself onto the chair, wincing. Noah pressed the cloth against her cheek. The cold made her hiss again.

  “Hold it there, while I look at your side. It is your side, isn’t it?”

  Quinn held the cloth against her cheek. The cold hurt. She knew it was necessary to prevent swelling and minimize the bruising. She pointed to her side. “She kicked me.”

  Noah’s face grew still. Nothing showed. He nodded. “Can I lift your shirt and look?”

  “Are you a medic, too?” she asked him.

  “Not even close.” He crouched and lifted the hem of her black chiffon shirt. “I’ve had lots of experience with bruises and cuts…and other wounds.” He frowned as he peered at her side and pressed gently with his fingers. She flinched away.

  He stood. “I want to keep an eye on it for a while and see how it goes. It’s probably just a bruise. Time will tell.” He held out his hand. “Let me see the burn.”

  She lifted her other hand, palm up. He took her wrist and turned her hand so the light from the window fell on it. Then he hooked another chair out from beneath the table with his foot and sat. He picked an ice cube out of the bowl and held it against her palm.

  Quinn tried to wrench her hand out from his grip because it hurt like hell. His grip tightened, keeping her hand still. “The pain will subside in a minute,” he assured her. “Hang in there. Breathe.” He ran the ice cube directly over the burn, letting the ice-cold water from the melting cube bathe the wound.