Rules of Revenge

by AJ Quinn

  Ben nodded. “The quickest route to a buyer is to offer them what they want and make it a deal they can’t refuse. Dare’s got a ready-made legend that’s been years in the making. But for this to work, she’ll need Yuri to vouch for her, confirm she can deliver the goods, and facilitate the introduction to whoever’s running the Guild. To gain access to Yuri, she’ll need to be in character, which means she’ll be expected to show up with a sexy woman on her arm. If she doesn’t, it may raise questions and distract from the purpose of her visit.”

  “And I’m supposed to pass for arm candy? That hardly seems fair.”

  “Darien will tell you that life is neither fair nor unfair. Just sometimes surprising.” He took a closer look at her face and sighed. “And something tells me you’re going to prove as bad about shopping as Dare.”

  Jessie gave him a wry grin.

  “Well, don’t worry too much, you’re in good hands. I have some friends with shops along the Champs-Élysées. If they can deal with Darien, they should be able to make quick work of what we need for you.”

  *

  “You look perfect.”

  At the sound of her voice, Jessie turned, lifting her gaze as if she’d known all along she was there. “Darien.”

  “You were expecting someone else?”

  “I wasn’t actually expecting anyone.” Jessie frowned as she spoke. “Ben was certain you’d come through. But quite frankly, it had gotten so late I wasn’t certain you’d show.”

  She nearly pulled off the air of indifference she was obviously striving for. But Darien could still hear the edge of uncertainty in her voice. “Well, even if you didn’t believe I’d show up, I’m glad you’re still dressed and ready to go with me to Yuri’s. Ben chose well with that dress.”

  “How do you know it isn’t mine? Lucky guess?”

  “I rarely guess.”

  Jessie shrugged and looked away. “Maybe so, but I’ll have you know I feel ridiculous. Like a kid playing dress up. This so isn’t me,” she said, indicating the barely there black dress designed to accentuate her slim figure and subtle curves.

  Darien smiled. “Don’t hold back, Jesslyn. Tell me how you really feel.”

  “I—damn it all, I don’t even have a place to hide a gun.”

  “You won’t need one tonight. I’ve got you covered.” Flipping her jacket open, Darien showed a holstered weapon within easy reach, before revealing her backup in its holster at her ankle. “As unappealing as it may sound, your role this evening is—”

  “Arm candy, I know.” Jessie stiffened and her frown deepened. “Ben made it quite clear.” As expected, she didn’t like the role she’d been given and it showed.

  Darien smothered a laugh she knew Jessie wouldn’t like either. “I can appreciate you may not be crazy about the idea, and I wish I had another option to offer. But I don’t, since having a sexy woman on her arm is exactly what Yuri and everyone else at the club tonight will expect of Ari.”

  “Who’s Ari?”

  “Allow me to introduce myself, Ms. Coltrane.” Darien graced her with a slight bow and gave the greeting with a distinctive Eastern European inflection to her voice that was not normally present. “My name is Ari. I’m a freelance photographer and an adjunct lecturer in computer animation and digital photography at the Sorbonne. I’ll be your escort this evening.”

  “Ari…?”

  “Simply Ari.”

  “You’re a photographer? So the photography throughout the house—all those amazing black and whites of Masai Mara, Machu Picchu, Nepal, Egypt. They’re all yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Ari no-last-name, you’re very talented.” Jessie shot her a narrow look. “And that’s almost frightening.”

  “What is?”

  “How different you suddenly seem.”

  Caught off guard by the directness of her comment, Darien tried to consider what Jessie was seeing as she looked at her. She was dressed in unrelenting black, but that wasn’t particularly unusual. Other than having her hair slicked back, some artfully placed ink that wasn’t showing at the moment, and a small silver hoop threaded through her left eyebrow, she didn’t think she looked all that different.

  But then Ari was a legend, years in the making. One she’d used on so many occasions she easily slipped into the persona and wore it like a second skin. It was a part of her, like dark hair and gray eyes. “With you, I’m just me.”

  Jessie shook her head. “Actually, no. You look different, you sound different. You’re even moving differently.”

  “I’m just me,” Darien said again, momentarily affecting a lilting French accent before switching back to what Jessie would identify as her natural, faintly accented intonation. “But Ari’s Russian. And it’s Ari that everyone at Yuri’s will be seeing tonight, with the beautiful Ms. Coltrane on her arm.”

  “That’s really good, but you didn’t learn that in any school. How the hell do you do that?”

  “I don’t know.” Darien shrugged. “I’ve always been able to switch languages and accents at will, and I’ve done it for so long I’ve never really questioned it. I believe it’s part heritage and part having lived in so many different places while I was growing up.”

  Jessie remained silent, urging her to continue with only a look, and after a moment, Darien complied.

  “My mother was Israeli. I was born in Cairo, but my childhood included living for extended periods of time in England, France, Germany, Israel, and Montenegro. Each place meant learning a different language and adopting a different accent so I wouldn’t stand out. Now it simply makes it easier when I need to pretend I’m someone else.”

  “Still, it must have been tough.”

  “Not really. I loved living like that with my mother. Exploring new places, learning new languages. And pretending to be someone else comes naturally.”

  Jessie smiled. “I was born and raised in the US, lived there most of my life,” she said. “I can’t imagine what it must be like to live in so many different countries. What about your father?”

  “No idea. Just a lot of rumors I wasn’t supposed to hear when I was a child.” Darien shrugged. “The most popular ones had him as either an American, British, or Russian spy. But it wasn’t important to me. My mother and I were as tight a team as you could get, and there were always father figures around if I really needed one. People like Ben and even your father.”

  She stopped, suddenly aware she was talking out loud. Talking too fast, confiding things that were personal. But the words had already tumbled out of her mouth and she seemed incapable of stopping them. Briefly, she wondered if she’d regret it later. For now, she had no answer.

  “In any case,” she continued more slowly, “as far as everyone tonight is concerned, the lovely Ms. Coltrane is American and speaks only English, so she won’t be expected to engage in conversations with anyone.”

  “Actually, I speak seven languages like a native and can sort of hold my own in several others.”

  “That’ll come in handy.”

  Jessie drew closer, her low voice and subtle perfume surprisingly seductive. “The CIA thinks so.”

  Darien cleared her throat. “I was thinking specifically of tonight. If the people around you believe you can’t understand a word they’re saying, there’s a greater chance they’ll give up something that might prove useful to us.”

  Jessie nodded her understanding and acceptance of the situation, as well as her role in it. She started to shift away, but Darien gently caught her arm and asked, “Is there anything else you need to do, or are you ready to go?”

  “Since I’m not going to find a place for my gun, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” Jessie paused, let a beat of silence pulse between them. “What about you? Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  Frowning, Jessie tilted her head and looked at her. “Because when you left last evening—”

  “Ah.” The sound was dismissive. “That was n
othing that should concern you. I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Quite sure. I’m fine.”

  Jessie shot her another look. “No matter what I ask, you’re going to answer that you’re fine, aren’t you?”

  “Jesslyn, I’m—”

  “Fine, yeah, I know. If that’s the case, if you’re not willing to talk about it, then we might as well go.”

  We. For some reason, the word caused Darien to pause, to feel something she couldn’t name. Possibly because she hadn’t thought of herself as being part of a we for a very long time. Hearing the word now inexplicably stirred something. The need to share, to not be so alone.

  She already knew she couldn’t. She knew now was not the time. Too many things stood in the way. But that didn’t stop something deep inside from shifting, and she suddenly couldn’t remember the last time she was simply herself with a woman. Not pretending to be someone else for the job. Someone like Ari.

  Jessie’s brow knit for a second, her eyes betraying a momentary concern, as if she’d somehow managed to read Darien’s thoughts and caught a glimpse of what was going on inside her head. But then her expression smoothed and became faintly amused as she flicked her gaze over Darien’s face. “At least tell me we’re not going on a motorcycle. Because this damned dress—”

  “The dress is something else.” It was a thing of fantasies, Darien thought, and she almost laughed, enjoying the moment—and shoulder-to-waist triangle of delightfully feminine skin left exposed by the dress—more than she should have. “You look beautiful. Ben chose it wisely, and no, we’re not going on my motorcycle. I’ve got a car and driver waiting outside.” She held out her arm and waited for Jessie to take it.

  Chapter Eight

  Their driver turned out to be a gamine, rail-thin blonde, with a heart-shaped face and a pixie haircut. Leaning slouched against a gleaming Mercedes, she looked terminally young, dressed in skinny black jeans, a black long-sleeved T-shirt, and black high-tops. Her gaze snapped immediately to Darien as they approached, and she straightened long enough to open the door for them.

  “Thanks, Zoey,” Darien murmured as she slipped in beside Jessie. The young blonde nodded, closed the rear door, and got into the driver’s seat.

  So this was Zoey, the young artist Darien had rescued. Silently observing her, Jessie wondered what her role might be in this convoluted game they were now playing. She wondered why Darien would choose to involve her at all in their search for terrorists. But she had no answers, simply questions and more questions.

  Traffic was slow and they weaved in and out of crowded lanes, headlights and taillights winking, with only Zoey’s occasional curses at other drivers breaking the silence. Darien had been quiet since getting into the car, her face impossible to read. Gone was the smiling, faintly vulnerable woman Jessie had glimpsed earlier, leaving what she suspected was Ari in her place.

  With a sigh, Jessie crossed her arms over her chest and gazed out the window, watching landmarks and scenery blur by. Slowly the initial shining hues of neon signs that flooded the avenues and boulevards filled with shops, cabarets, and clubs gave way to a grittier part of the city. But she still had no idea where they were going. And she had the unsettling feeling she had fallen through a hole in the fabric of reality and was now in another world.

  As a shiver of nervous anticipation danced along her spine, she inhaled and let it out slowly. To hell with this. If Darien wanted her help with whatever she had planned, she could damn well start talking to her.

  Aware Zoey was watching her in the rearview, she turned and faced Darien. And though her lips might have trembled slightly, there was nothing uncertain in her voice. “Are you planning to tell me about where we’re going or am I playing this evening entirely by ear?”

  Darien gave no immediate sign of having heard, and Jessie flushed slightly. Obviously, she had erred. But before she could come up with an alternate plan, Darien half turned toward her, backlit intermittently by the lights of passing cars. But the play of light and shadow did nothing to diminish the intensity of her stare. It was a fixed look, like a cat daring a mouse to move.

  Jessie felt her face heat once again. “I’d like to know a bit more about where we’re going,” she reiterated. “I’m a threat analyst, and I’m not the risk taker you are. So please, if I’m to be at all helpful to you tonight, I need to know what to expect.”

  “Expect the unexpected.”

  Jessie frowned. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

  Darien’s expression didn’t change as she leaned back into the soft leather seat, looking preoccupied with her own thoughts. But then she started talking. “We’re going to a club called Oz, owned by a man named Yuri Berezin.”

  “And he is—let me guess—the wizard?”

  The comment earned her a hint of a smile. “He’s a Russian businessman who saw the writing on the wall in Russia and got out with as much of his money as he could manage. He originally set up business here in Paris, but in addition to the club we’re going to tonight, he’s got one in Amsterdam, another in Prague, and one he recently opened in South Beach.”

  “Miami?” Jessie sat up a little straighter. “Really?”

  “It’s his first foray into the US market, and it won’t be his last if I know Yuri. But he got his start selling black-market goods on the streets of Moscow, and he’s never forgotten his roots. You’ll find his clubs cater to a lot of the Russian gangs that control large portions of the illegal drug market, as well as weapons trafficking and prostitution. He doesn’t touch anything himself, not directly. But he can and does make deals happen.”

  “Even if the Guild isn’t Russian?”

  “Yuri may prefer to socialize with comrades from the home country, but when it comes to business, all he cares about is the color of your money. Although if asked, I’m quite certain he prefers to deal in euros or American dollars.”

  “And he’s just going to let us walk into this club? Into Oz?”

  “Yuri’s certainly not going to welcome former MI6 operative Darien Troy and current CIA analyst Jesslyn Coltrane into his midst.” Darien gave her a brief grin—quick and wicked—that caught Jessie by surprise. “But Ari has established a reputation and earned a level of respect with Yuri’s clientele, so he’s going to let Ari walk in without a problem. And you happen to be Ari’s date for the evening.”

  “Right—arm candy. How could I forget,” Jessie muttered darkly.

  Darien’s expression said that amused the hell out of her. “The club is a converted warehouse. The main floor is your standard Paris dance club—loud music, expensive drinks, beautiful people. It seldom gets going before midnight and draws a typical mix of night junkies. Mostly people who want to be seen mixing with a dangerous crowd, and tourists with more money than sense looking for adventure.”

  “Got it.”

  “Just about anything is available for a price. Drugs, sex—if you want it and can afford it, you can buy it. But we don’t care about the main floor. It’s the lower level we want.”

  “If that’s the main level, do I even want to know what’s on the lower level?”

  “Nothing legal, I can guarantee that much.” Darien regarded her coolly, a disconcerting expression on her face. “This, Jesslyn, is called a lesson in trust.”

  Jessie ignored the sudden dryness in her mouth. “You want me to trust you.”

  “Actually, I don’t give a damn whether you trust me or not. I need to know you can follow my lead.”

  So this was it. What it all came down to. Jessie knew that, in the world of covert operations she skirted and Darien lived in, it wasn’t always possible to play by the rules. What was important was that you had your partner’s back and vice versa.

  “I can do that,” she said softly and saw something flicker in Darien’s face. Approval or something like it.

  “Good.” Darien paused as she reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew a hammered silver choker with an
intricately carved stone pendant. “I’d like you to wear this.”

  It looked very old and Jessie wondered if it was some kind of heirloom. “This is beautiful. It’s quite old, isn’t it?”

  “It’s not a family treasure, if you’re at all worried about it,” Darien said with unexpected gentleness. “To be quite honest, I’m not sure of its provenance. I bought it at a souk in Morocco.”

  “It will certainly go perfectly with the dress I’m wearing. But I get the feeling that’s not what you have in mind.”

  “You’re right. I’ve added a few enhancements since I first bought it. Now it will let you capture the faces of everyone you see or come in contact with. Once we get back to the house, we’ll run a biometric analysis on each of the faces you’ve recorded and compare the results against a database containing photographs and artists’ composites of known and suspected terrorists. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Worst case, we add to the list of faces that are on file.”

  “All right.” Jessie turned her head and let Darien place the necklace around her neck.

  Darien leaned back and studied the results. “It suits you,” she said. “There are just a couple of more things you need to remember.”

  “Like what?”

  “Don’t drink anything tonight, not even bottled water. No matter how vigilant you are, it’s still far too easy for someone to slip something into your drink.

  “Drink nothing. Got it. What else?”

  “I want you to stay close to my side. Do not wander anywhere by yourself. I mean it, Jesslyn. I need you to understand, if I have to come looking for you, I’ll assume you’re in danger and come prepared to kill.”

  Jessie swallowed. “By your side—like glue. I’ve got your back.”

  “Good to know.”

  The amused tone of her voice made Jessie smile as she watched Darien close her eyes. But the silence was more comfortable this time.

  *

  When Zoey pulled the Mercedes in front of the club a short time later, the spotlights on the roof allowed Jessie to see a lengthy queue of people wanting to get in. “This could take all night.”