by RJ Blain
“Of course, sir. Where will you hold the match?”
“Could you inquire with the First Gentleman if we can use the private gym?”
“I’ll let you know. If it’s not available, the main gym?”
“That’ll do. Thanks. Now, if we’re done discussing things in the hallway, we should continue our discussion over dinner. It’d be a shame if the food got cold after the kitchen staff’s hard work.”
In unspoken agreement, Gentry released Anatoly, Anatoly stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, and Todd herded me forward, guiding me down the hallways to the private dining room, a place I’d only seen on blueprints.
It was much smaller than I had imagined. A table seating twelve took up most of the room, barely allowing people to squeeze around the chairs. Two people waited, seated together at one end of the table. One was a woman so tiny she reminded me of a fragile porcelain doll, though her tan skin marked her as someone who spent a good deal of time outdoors. Between her dull brown hair and eyes, she gave me the feeling of someone who could be anyone.
The black man seated beside her glanced up at us, his piercing blue eyes settling on Anatoly. “I hear you got rescued by a lady today.”
Scorn laced the man’s every word, and I stood rigid, my hand dropping to my katana’s hilt. Gentry’s hand covered mine and gave a squeeze. The grizzly leaned over and whispered, “Just watch.”
I didn’t want to just watch. I wanted to hit someone, and I was frustrated enough I didn’t care who.
“Gentry doesn’t make a very pretty woman. He keeps forgetting to wear his dresses.”
Gentry sighed and released my hand. “I changed my mind. Use only the pommel, please.”
While it had been the stranger to stir my ire, I had no objections with taking my irritation out on Anatoly. Life as a tigress really agreed with me; I drove the hilt of my sword into the tiger’s stomach so fast the Secret Service agents reached for their blades. Before they could draw their weapons, I had him on the floor wheezing for breath. I stepped on his shoulder and shoved him down. I sheathed my katana.
“You’re hired,” the woman announced.
I blinked before staring at her. “What?”
Gentry laughed. “Ma’am, this is Runs Against Wind, the courier from Cheyenne, and one of the new shifters from the Starfall burst incident. She is a Siberian tigress. I’m afraid Anatoly is going out of his way to antagonize her.”
“This explains the request for the private gym. Granted, under the condition I can observe.”
“Of course.”
Who were they? Both were dressed casually, and there hadn’t been anyone else in the room with them when we had arrived, leaving us with our original quartet of Secret Service agents, who I assumed were assigned to Mayor Longfellow but could have been meant for Anatoly and Gentry.
“Sit down, please. We haven’t had a chance to have dinner yet, so I thought we’d join you, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. Runs Against Wind, you can let him up now.”
“He hasn’t apologized yet.”
“You might be standing there for a long time waiting if that’s what you’re expecting.”
“So, this is the woman who rescued you and Anatoly, Todd?” The man grinned, and his eyes warmed to a darker, friendlier blue. “I heard some interesting reports regarding her riding you into battle.”
“When a woman who has just finished stabbing through someone’s throat, using a sword she took from a grizzly bear, decides you’re transportation… it’s wise to accept her decision.” Somehow, the stallion managed to keep his tone and expression dignified.
Anatoly reached for Todd’s ankle, his fingers curled into claws. Shifting my weight on his shoulder, I stepped on his hand and pinned it to the floor. “What is wrong with you? Are you a child?”
“He’s a tiger, Miss Runs Against Wind.” The man smiled, and something about his expression sent chills shivering through me. “Felines do exactly what felines want to do, no matter how childish or nonsensical their behavior seems to be. Often, those actions mask cunning intellect. A rather dangerous combination. Anatoly is very experienced at using his childishness to mask more nefarious and clever deeds. For example, you are wearing a skirt, and he has put you in a rather compromising position.”
I looked down, and my face burned with embarrassment as I realized he had a good view of my panties. I moved my foot off his shoulder and stepped on his face. “You bastard!”
“I’m not sure that position is any better, Miss.”
I drew an inch of steel while grinding my heel against Anatoly’s forehead.
“I apologize for them, sir, ma’am,” Gentry murmured, covering my hand with his and forcing my sword back into its sheath. He grabbed me around the waist with his other arm, lifted me off my feet, and set me down beyond Anatoly’s reach. “Siberians are a rather stubborn tiger species, and we’re having trouble impressing upon her males of her kind enjoy aggressive attention.”
“No different from grizzlies,” the man acknowledged, his tone light with laughter. “Come sit with me, Miss.”
I smoothed my skirt, circled the table, and unbuckled my sword belt, sliding the weapon beneath my assigned seat so I wouldn’t have to deal with it during dinner. I sat, aware of everyone watching me. Anatoly hopped to his feet with a grin plastered on his face.
“Anatoly, sit there,” the man ordered, pointing at the seat at the head of the table, beside the woman. “Gentry, there,” he ordered, pointing at the seat across from him. “I don’t care where the rest of you sit.”
Todd laughed and claimed the seat beside me. “If I sit here, maybe Anatoly will lose the rest of his common sense. Then I might get to watch the Secret Service subdue him. If I’d known coming here would be so entertaining, I would have visited more often.”
Anatoly mouthed something at Todd that made the stallion laugh.
The mayor claimed the seat between Gentry and Anatoly, leaving Henry to take the seat across from Todd. The mystic sighed. “I really should be helping Cleo.”
“Nonsense,” the woman replied, waving her hand dismissively. “You need to eat, too. Cleo is a darling boy, and he can handle things just fine. No need to father him. If he decides to join us, he certainly can. There are plenty of chairs.”
I tried to imagine Cleo as a darling anything and failed miserably.
“Since all of you are here, now would be a good time to handle the personal report. Todd, Gentry, explain yourselves this instant,” the woman snapped.
Her change of demeanor and the sharpness in her tone alarmed me into straightening.
Gentry cleared his throat. “Of course, Madam President.”
I sucked in a breath and choked on my own spit, the blood draining out of my face as comprehension struck me. How could the President of the United States and her husband look like normal people? I covered my face with my hands and struggled to remember how to breathe.
The clues had been there all along, from the woman’s declaration of hiring me to the deference everyone paid the pair, and I’d missed them all. I took a deep breath, held it until my lungs ached, and sighed.
“Perhaps we should give the missy here a few moments,” the First Gentleman suggested.
“By all means, continue,” I replied, and while my voice rasped, I sounded normal enough. “Don’t delay on my account. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll run along and join the regular riffraff.”
“Oh, that’s really not necessary. Relax. Take a load off. It’s rare for us to have a casual dinner, and I intend to enjoy every moment of it, after these two fine gentlemen explain to me what exactly happened today,” the President stated in a tone allowing no argument.
I swallowed my dismayed groan and peeked longingly through my fingers at the door. One of the Secret Service agents caught my eye and offered a faint smile and the tiniest of shrugs. I’m sure he meant something positive by it, but all I saw was no hope of escape, as he and his fellows guarded the onl
y way out of the room.
When it rained, it poured, and somehow, my life had become a shit storm of epic proportions.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
It took less than ten minutes for Gentry and Anatoly to brief the President and First Gentleman on the circumstances surrounding the attack in the city. When Todd gave his account, he kept his descriptions short, sweet, and to the point.
Apparently, he believed he could get away with a curtly spoken, “I kicked them while Runs Against Wind stabbed them in the face.”
In a way, his deflection worked. The undivided attention of the two most powerful people in the United States focused on me.
“Tell us what happened,” the First Gentleman demanded.
As a courier, part of my job involved being able to report on conversations and events for my clients, which blocked my hope of dodging the situation. With everyone in the room scrutinizing me and one already knowing who I was, my chances of escaping notice faded away to nothing. If I cooperated, there was a chance someone might remember something I had missed, allowing us to put an end to the attacks and retrieve the Hope Diamond.
Sometimes having ethics caused me far too much trouble.
“Gentry, Henry, and I were on route to the mayoral palace when we heard Todd. Before our departure, Gentry had loaned me and Anatoly his swords. I was on horseback on my mare while Gentry and Henry were in the carriage.”
“I was under the impression your animals were in custody here,” the President stated.
“They are. Anatoly acquired a mare for me, Madam President.”
“Details,” she ordered, her attention snapping to Anatoly.
“We were in West Virginia, and she required a horse. I purchased one for her from an associate of mine.”
“Breed, color, age? Quality?”
Anatoly scowled. “American Saddlebred, gold champagne, two years old. She’s a good horse, but young.”
“Purebred?”
“That’s what her papers say, Madam President.”
“Let me confirm I understand this. You purchased a young mare with exceptional training and gave it to Runs Against Wind, who then rode her into pitched battle with no issues. Something about this story doesn’t pan out, Anatoly.”
“She’s a very good horse.”
“From my understanding of the situation, it takes many years to condition a horse for battle situations.”
I coughed and then cleared my throat. “Madam President, if I may make a comment?”
“Speak.”
“Two years old is plenty old enough for a horse to be conditioned for battle if the trainer anticipates the horse’s purpose. Six months is sufficient to condition a horse.”
“Six months. That is not what every expert in horses has told me.”
“Your experts are full of shit, then.” I realized what I had said, and my eyes widened while heat rose to my face. “My apologies, Madam President.”
“I’m interested in hearing how my wife’s experts are full of shit,” the First Gentleman stated. “Please, go on.”
“I’m a courier, sir. Riding horses is my job. Riding horses who can deal with mounted combat is my job. The roads can be quite dangerous, and I can’t afford my horse shying at the first draw of a blade. A good, smart horse can be trained in roughly six months to be prepared for battle situations. Exceptional animals might condition faster. If you’re trying to condition a skittish animal or one without the right temperament, it will take a long time. If you’re working with inferior horses, then yes, it will take many years to condition the horse, and you will have an inferior mount.” I drew in a shaky breath. “Sir.”
“How many horses have you trained?”
“A few.”
“An exact number, Runs Against Wind,” he snapped.
“Horses I’ve bred and trained, horses I’ve helped train, horses I’ve trained start to finish? Crossbreeds?”
“All of them combined will suffice. Give us an idea of your expertise.”
I sighed, lifted my hand, and rubbed my temple. “I’ve captured and trained two wild horses, and I’ve helped train most of the Cheyenne tribe’s animals—that’s several hundred head. I have a mule and hinny herd in the tribe’s keeping right now, and I’ve been involved with their training, too.”
The President leaned towards me, resting her elbows on the table. “You train mules?”
“Mules and hinnies can be excellent animals, especially when dealing with questionable terrain. Wyoming has a great deal of questionable terrain. I also have a herd of goats. I oversee the breeding for many in the tribe. We have a good stock of large jennies ranging between fourteen to fifteen hands. People who are interested in a hinny pay me a studding fee, and they often bring the animal back to me for advice or training.”
When the President remained silent, the First Gentleman took over the interrogation. “Would you use any of these animals as courier mounts?”
I frowned. “I have. I have a hinny I ride when I can’t use my regular horses.”
“And you would ride this hinny into a fight?”
“Sir, are you asking if I would or if I have? Those are two different answers.”
“Answer both.”
“Sir, my hinny’s name is Stomper, and she attacks anyone who approaches her with a drawn sword. She does so enthusiastically. I would rather not ride her into a fight, but I don’t get to pick and choose my battles. They come to me. That is part of being a courier. My horses learn from experience drawn swords are life and death situations. They treat such situations violently and with extreme prejudice.”
“Have your horses killed anyone?”
“If you want a body count, sir, you can request such info through the courier network. We’re required to report casualties, causes of death, and circumstances leading to the fatalities.”
The First Gentleman sighed. “I was hoping you would provide an estimate.”
“I’ve lost count.”
“You’ve lost count,” he echoed.
I held up my palms in a helpless gesture of surrender. “It’s a dangerous business, sir.”
“Conveniently, I already had the information pulled following her kidnapping after her first shift,” Gentry announced. “She has, since registering as a courier, claimed eighty-seven kills. She has credited her horses with a hundred and three kills. All of them were investigated and vetted as legal dispatches. That includes the three killed when she was ambushed outside of Charlotte. She was credited for the kills on those, although I’m fairly certain her horses took care of at least one of her assailants. Interestingly enough, a rather high number of these kills were filed on her way to Charlotte after she crossed the Mississippi. Those are human attackers; she’s quite thorough and included animal deaths in her reports.”
I flushed at the number and stared down at the polished tabletop.
“And all of them were classified as necessary?”
“Runs Against Wind takes her reputation and work very seriously. She has, on all kill reports, verified the truth of her statements with mystics.”
“Why?”
While I recognized the question was meant for me, I couldn’t force out a single word. Why had I put so much effort into reporting the deaths of those who attacked me? Most of them died as nameless faces. Working as a mercenary and an assassin had taught me the importance of covering my trail and establishing my alibis, ensuring people could verify when and where I’d been—and building the illusion of being somewhere I hadn’t by establishing the impossibility of being in two places at the same time. Changes of clothing, makeup, and alterations to my appearance went a long way to help establish false innocence.
I only had one honest answer. “I take my work seriously.”
A single illegitimate kill would ruin my career as a courier, the work I’d dedicated myself to after fleeing my life as an assassin and mercenary.
“You’re the only courier to emerge without losing your horses. Do you contribu
te your skill or your horses to your success?”
“Both, sir.”
“How good are you with a sword?”
“I’m alive.” How good did I need to be? Good enough to be alive meant everything. It meant nothing, too, and I heard the First Gentleman’s derision in his huff.
“She did a Blade Clan sword justice,” Gentry said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his thick, muscular arms over his chest.
The President chuckled. “Forgive him. My husband doesn’t like mysteries, and you’re one he hasn’t been able to solve.”
“I’m hardly mysterious,” I mumbled.
“You killed at least fifteen men and women single-handedly. Perhaps mysterious is the wrong word. Interesting. It makes you interesting. He likes knowing who the real talents are, and you’ve gone unnoticed until now. You’re an asset no one controls, and that bothers the hell out of him. He’s used to keeping a close eye on interesting, talented individuals, and you are a courier from some out of the way city barely on the map—a city that’s been a thorn in the government’s side for many years.” The President chuckled. “Personally, I find the Cheyenne tribe’s cleverness and subtly rebellious ways refreshing. Very few agree with me. However, if I had known the tribes had so much untapped potential, I would have made overtures far sooner.”
I grimaced. “If you’re looking for swordsmen, the tribe probably isn’t where you want to look. I’m an anomaly. If you’re looking for horseback archers, you’d be wise to speak to the Elders.”
“And you are one of the ones who trains their horses. Mayor Longfellow has informed me you come with high recommendations.”
Mayor Longfellow tapped the table with his fingertips. “Speaking of recommendations, did someone bring a package at my request?”
The President pointed to corner of the room. Mayor Longfellow got up and retrieved a paper-wrapped parcel, a little over a foot and a half long, six inches wide, and three inches thick. He set it in front of me. “This arrived by train yesterday, sent by the tribe after my first communication with them.”