by Jenn Stark
Oblivious to the fact that she was in the middle of one of the most-watched televised events in the world, the Russian tackled me like a linebacker and sent me sprawling, but had the grace to wrench my oversized feathered bridal veil from my head while she was at it.
With a scream, she tumbled to the ground engulfed in feathers as I skidded painfully across the asphalt. The moment I stopped moving, the amulet began shooting flames—as in real, actual fire. They hadn’t covered that in Wardrobe Malfunctions 101, so I improvised, rolling into a tight ball to beat down the blaze, then somersaulting off to the side to avoid glazing any cupcakes.
The crowd roared its approval. At first I thought it was for my impressive acrobatics, then I realized that behind me, the Russian was struggling to her feet.
Oh, for the love of Kansas. I turned to flee, only to be pulled back around in the woman’s surprisingly strong grasp.
“Back off!” I growled, using her momentum to drive my fist into her jaw. She feinted, more agile than I expected, and I barely got my arm down in time to block her next punch, aimed for my kidneys. I would have been peeing blood for a week if that’d connected, and my eyes narrowed. “Who hired you?”
“Give me the amulet,” Russia snapped back. “You shouldn’t be handling it. You don’t know what it is.”
“I do so!” Never had I been accused of arguing like an adult. Restraining myself from pulling the woman’s hair, I launched myself at her torso, and we both hit the deck. After that, it was pretty much a mud-wrestling competition, minus the mud. My cake-topper bridegroom gamely brushed us along with a giant cake server, as if we were part of the show, and the crowd howled its approval as the woman got her nails hooked into my bra and almost yanked it loose. God love the costume designers of Rio, though: it held and to spare. I think she ripped a nail.
As she wrenched her hand free, however, I pressed my advantage. Rolling over on top of her, I pinned her shoulders to the ground and cracked her once, twice across the face. A satisfying stream of blood spurted from her nose, which I shouldn’t have felt good about, but I did. Unfortunately, the pain seemed to ground her.
I always forget about that part.
With a strength that once again belied her tiny frame, Russia got her foot up against my inner thigh and kicked out hard enough to bruise bone. I collapsed to the side, crunching in pain. She got off her own roundhouse punch, sending me over onto my back. Instantly, she scrambled over me, her hands going again for my bra, but I shook off my daze and grabbed her wrists.
I pulled her face toward mine and head-butted her.
The soccer-crazed crowd did not miss that move. “GOL!” they howled.
I shoved the concussed operative to the ground as the cheer intensified, then staggered to my feet. Striking another flourish, I grinned mightily. There was blood on my hands, blood in my mouth. Definitely in need of a new escape route, I turned to throw another kiss to the crowd—and heard a sharp whistle.
A man stood near the end of the parade route, at the edge of the runway. Nigel? How had he…
No. I squinted harder, my heart doing its own shimmy, my palms going sweaty. No way. What was Will Donovan doing here?
Tall and distinguished, with deep mocha skin, jet black hair and whiskey-colored eyes, Will Donovan was the quintessential academic with a dash of archeologist flair. I hadn’t seen the guy in two years, but it wasn’t like we’d parted enemies. Hell, he’d been one of my first mentors when I’d started searching for artifacts four years ago.
Nevertheless, what were the odds that he’d be here, exactly when I needed him? I mean, sure, Rio was an open party. But randomly hanging out in the Sambadrome?
Watching me?
Chapter Six
Once Will realized he had my attention, he bounded forward through the crowd, his arms held out as if to greet a long-lost lover. Which wasn’t too far off the mark.
What was he doing here?
Will wasn’t a Connected, but as an esteemed archaeologist and linguistics expert, he and I had worked together on a number of jobs. He’d been one of my earliest contacts when I’d come back on the grid, new to a world that had turned into a fast-paced black market for everything and anything arcane. Realizing all too quickly that I had an uncanny knack for finding things that didn’t want to be found, Will offered to show me the ropes, make a few connections. We’d had an on-again off-again relationship for a few years, and as it had become more off-again, we’d gradually lost contact with each other.
Still, he was here, and I needed out.
Turning with an exaggerated hip swing, I waved good-bye to the cakes, my bridegroom, and the cheering crowd, then dashed off to the side, gaining speed. I gripped the top bar of the parade runway railing and vaulted over, landing in Will’s strong arms. He swung me around and kissed me full on the lips, and only then did I realize we were being tracked by the Sambadrome cam, lighting up the giant video screens.
Oh well. It wasn’t like I was keeping a low profile on this job.
Under the cover of the crowd’s roaring response, we ducked and ran, threading our way through the stands and down to the first level, then eventually out to the street.
“You have clothes?” Will gasped. I always did forget he was more professor than tomb raider, but when he grinned at me, it was almost like old times.
“Back at my hotel, along with my money.” I wasn’t going to risk going to O Diabo again. “I probably shouldn’t be seen at the hotel quite yet, though. I’m on a job.”
His expression turned wry. “Since when are you not on a job? Anything you can deliver now, or do you have to wait for the moon to be full on a cloudless night?”
“What time is it?”
“Slightly after ten. Your client is close?”
“He might be.” I frowned down at my barely there bra and even-less-there thong. “Walk with me for a few minutes. I have another go bag tucked away at—”
“Never let it be said I wasn’t a gentleman.” Will waved his credit card and turned to hail down a taxi. “I’ll give you the full concierge treatment. We’ll get your clothes, go visit your client, and have dinner afterward down at Copacabana. Sound good?”
It sounded more than good. Fernanda had been one exceptionally mobile target. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten while actually sitting down. Smote with a wave of gratitude, I piled into the taxi with Will. For a few glorious minutes, I planned to let myself wallow in the relief of something going right on this job.
Will interrupted my ruminations just as they were getting to the good part. “How dangerous is it going to be, me walking into your hotel room?”
“For you? Shouldn’t be bad. You see anyone lurking around my room, though, keep on going.
But I doubt anyone will be inside.”
“How strong is your doubt about that?”
I considered. “Not strong.”
He swore softly under his breath. “Ever since I met you, I can’t turn around without running into trouble. I’m just glad I found you in time.”
“Found me?” I pulled myself a little more upright in the cab. With the flush of adrenaline out of my system, everything was starting to hurt. “What do you mean?”
“Why do you think I’m in Rio?” He looked at me, surprised. “You contacted me.”
Now it was my turn to stare, all my half-formed suspicions flying out the window along with a few feathers. “What are you talking about? I never contacted you.”
“Well—someone did. Said you would be in Rio, in danger. Maybe with a stolen artifact that I’d want to see. I’ve been running around the city for the last three days following up on dead bodies and hoping they weren’t yours. I happened to be in the Sambadrome tonight because I’d given up, and it’s the last night of Carnival.” He offered me that lopsided smile again. “Leave it to you to make an impression.”
“You came all the way down here, based on a call you didn’t confirm was me?” I didn’t know whether to be touched or
infuriated. “Will, you have to be more careful.”
He shrugged, appearing a little embarrassed. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I’ve been accused of worse.”
The ride back to the hotel was brief, and Will insisted on going in and fetching my clothes for me—and my phone. Raising my client proved more difficult. At length, I texted him to meet me as we’d originally planned, down in Nuva Sol at six a.m., and spent the next two hours eating everything put in front of me at a pizzeria off the tourist quarter, up to and including dessert. We caught up on Will’s work, his promotions, and I fought off my continued desire for sleep as I sank more deeply into a food coma. When Will offered to host me in his hotel for the night, I was too tired and strung out to argue.
We walked the short distance to where he was staying. The city streets were filled with dancing and singing, and the cachaça we’d shared over dinner had gone down far too easy. It was only when we stopped in an alcove in front of his hotel and Will leaned down to give me a long, searching kiss that my sense of unease finally got the better of me. Will was too tense, too alert. Especially for someone who parsed words for a living.
My brain kicked into gear, about four hours after it should have. Better late than never, I always say.
Still, I wasn’t about to give up on a good smooch midway through, simply because the guy I was kissing was about to double-cross me. I leaned into Will, sliding my hands up and around his shoulders, pulling him closer. My lips left his and trailed up to his ear, where I blew a soft breath against his earlobe.
God love him, the man actually shuddered against me. Then I ruined the moment with the million-dollar question. “Why, Will?”
He tensed a little more, but my grip held him in place. After a long moment, he sighed against my neck. “Made a promise to an old friend that I couldn’t live up to, so I had to make amends.”
“But to follow me all the way here? How? There’s no way you could have known about this job ahead of time. I didn’t even know about it until a few days ago.”
Will shrugged, not resisting as I angled him slightly to get a better view of the street beyond the alcove. This wasn’t good. I didn’t have my gun, and my phone was now undoubtedly LoJacked. Stupid! “The Connected community is tight, Sara.” His voice was soft and almost sad. “You’ve made a name for yourself as a Finder, and you should. You’re good. For a while, you know, I was hoping you’d find us.”
“That’s beautiful. Be sure to include the part where you betrayed me.”
“Not a betrayal.” Will pulled back and eyed me, his gaze so earnest that it almost made me not want to knee him in the groin. Almost. “I’ll make it up to you, Sara. I just—I needed to get out of a jam, and this was my best shot. Please.” His gaze grew more earnest. “I—I have a family.”
“A family!” Shock radiated through me as I fairly barked the word, the barb digging deeper than it should have. “Can you explain why you freaking started making out with me on the street when you have a family?”
“I didn’t know how to keep you in place!” He almost wailed the words in his horrible sotto voce whisper, but he leaned back from me, rightly guessing that I was about to bite off his face. “We were too early!”
“Not at all, Professor Donovan. You’re exactly on time.”
The laser-pointer light indicating a sniper was aiming for Will’s temple didn’t faze me all that much, but the second one flashing in my eyes did.
“Oh, shut that stupid thing off.” I pulled out the amulet and waved it toward the man now exiting from one of the cars parked along the street. Bright lights flared behind him, rendering his features invisible. “It’s here, I’ve got it. Which means you’ve got it.”
I poked Donovan in the stomach, hard. What had I ever seen in him? “And that means you owe me big-time, weasel. Why couldn’t you have just asked?”
The voice boomed again. “Mr. Donovan, you can leave.”
Will’s face was ashen, and his eyes filled with misery, but I was in no mood to make this easier on him. No sooner had he stepped away, though, when a second man came up to me, this one wearing a cloth face mask and tech-knit clothing not unlike Nigel’s, flashing the universal “gimme” sign. I tossed him the amulet, the wrench of its loss like a physical ache.
For a second, the man held amulet up to the light, then he secreted it away…in his pants. Sweet hell. It was Nigel. Nobody else could have that big a penis fixation.
The man in front of the bright lights remained silent for another moment, watching me as I shoved my hands into my hoodie pockets and resolutely ignored the sniper light flickering over me. “You’re taking this rather well, Miss Wilde,” he said.
I shrugged. “Karma’s a bitch.”
“Mm.” He regarded me a long moment. “Do not try to recover the amulet. Your role in this is complete.”
“Oh yeah?” I frowned as a car turned onto the street half a block down from Will’s hotel, if this actually was his hotel. Something about the car bothered me, made me take a half step back into the bower of trees that had served as the romantic setting for Will’s and my thirty-second tryst.
“Yes. Your client has been notified,” the man continued, pressing his point home. “If he wants to negotiate with me, he is free to do so. He’ll know how to reach me.”
So that explained my client’s lack of response to my texts. Kind of presumptuous, really, counting me out so quickly.
The car suddenly picked up speed, leaping forward with an aggression that had only one end, and not a good one.
“And it goes without saying, don’t bother to—”
Unfortunately, Mr. Silhouette didn’t get a chance to finish his statement. Not with the flying bullets and all.
Chapter Seven
I checked into my second hotel in Rio, which I’d booked under false papers, and slogged my way to my room. I’d stopped off at the bus station to pick up my duffle bag, so I had my computer and a spare set of clothes. The gun I’d had hidden in my hotel room had been a bitch to lose, but maybe I could go back for it later. There was a chance Will hadn’t found it. He clearly needed help in his spy skills.
Then again, so did I.
Stupid. I shouldered my way into the room, performing all the usual checks. This hotel wasn’t as swank as the Copacabana, but it was pretty high-grade. Which meant the only criminals I really had to worry about were the organized ones. Given the givens, I needed those guys to feel comfortable I was locked down for the night in a hotel surrounded by really bright lights and lots of people.
I slung my computer bag on the table, my side throbbing with pain.
“Suck it up, buttercup.” I checked the impromptu bandage I’d made out of one of my cleaner shirts. The bullet had sliced my waist, taking out a chunk of skin that I probably wouldn’t miss, eventually. Blood still oozed from the wound, though, and stitches would probably be a good idea. With any luck, the hotel would have a mending kit.
But first things first. I pulled out the laptop and an apple I’d stashed in the bag for good measure, then collapsed into a chair while my machine booted. At least Will had fed me dinner before running his little scam on me. I had to give him props for that.
But what in God’s name had he meant about a family? We hadn’t exactly been Facebook friends, but didn’t he think that little detail merited an “oh, by the way”? Ideally before he’d stuck his tongue in my mouth?
The computer beeped, and I clicked it open, hitting one of three icons that appeared on my task bar. A schematic of Rio came up, and sure enough, a bright blue dot appeared dead center on the map. Excellent.
I squinted at the screen, triangulating the amulet first in relation to Galeão International Airport. It was nowhere near there, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Wherever they were taking the thing, it wasn’t out of country. According to the system, the dot had continued moving slowly for over an hour, so slowly that the runner must have
been on foot. I fixated on the flickering pixel, mesmerized by its little flare. “Where are they taking you, buddy?”
I wouldn’t know anytime soon, I suspected, but I didn’t mind that so much. The security program I’d traded for a very select set of services rendered would do its job and record the amulet’s location unless and until the tiny, almost transparent wafer seal was detected on the piece and removed. Given the number of hands the thing was probably passing through, not to mention its questionable position in Nigel’s briefs, I didn’t think anyone would pay too much attention to it for the next few hours.
Nigel. I scowled as I munched on my apple. Was he working for Mr. Silhouette, or was there another party interested in the jadestone? And who was behind the shoot-’em-up at the hotel? The Russian woman? Fernanda and Company? I hadn’t stuck around to play count the bodies. Fleeing up the street and hiding out in the nearest bar I could find, I’d laid low until I heard the sirens start to wail. By then the shooters were long gone, and I’d split for points south.
It had been a long night, and it wasn’t over yet. I needed to catch a few hours of shut-eye.
But first…
I pulled out the new burner phone from my duffel. I’d brought three of them with me on this trip and was already down to two, so I didn’t have high hopes for how long this one would last. Might as well get my minutes in when I could.
Swiping the phone on, I dialed the digits from memory. Thanks to another serendipitous relationship with some enthusiastic gearheads in Duluth, my calling plan was configured to bounce off several different satellites, ensuring my calls wouldn’t be tracked.
Because nothing said “Call me sometime” like an untraceable number.
The phone connected on the third ring. “Bonjour, Sainte-Germain-des-”
“Father Jerome!” I spoke louder than I needed to, somehow convinced that the thousands of miles of ocean separating us required enhanced vocalizing skills. “How are you? How is Michel?”
“Sara, it’s so good to hear your voice. Your trip is going well?”