Rules of Revenge

by AJ Quinn

  *

  Darien’s voice faltered and Jessie could see she was rapidly fading. It occurred to her that in what was really a short time since she’d met her, Darien managed to end up looking pale, bruised, and battered far too often for a kick-ass former MI6 operative. Possibly someone needed to remind her she wasn’t indestructible, and Jessie had a feeling that responsibility had somehow fallen to her.

  She sighed and felt a wave of anger wash over her, mixed with a surge of protectiveness that jolted her. How the hell had it happened? How had it all come apart?

  Without thinking, she pushed Darien’s hair out of her eyes allowing the shadows in the room to play across her face, highlighting all the intriguing planes and hollows. A dark angel, she thought. Just looking at her could literally stop her breath and make her want. It left her questioning how and when Darien had become so deeply embedded under her skin.

  Leaning closer to the bed, she hesitated, then gave in to temptation and lowered her mouth until she was just a breath away.

  Darien stared at her. “I don’t think—”

  “Good. Don’t think.”

  The instant their lips met, Jessie almost pulled back. But as the spark inside her ignited her blood, she wondered how she could have forgotten what one kiss could do to her. She kept her hands on the bed, not touching Darien other than with her mouth. Softly. Gently. And then she ended it before it really got started, not giving Darien a chance to respond.

  Licking her lips, she looked at her, watched Darien’s eyes slowly open. She saw them darken and for the first time noticed the tiny black flecks in the sea of gray.

  The silence vibrated as the seconds ticked by. “Why did you do that?” Darien asked.

  “Because I wanted to. I’m sorry. Not for kissing you. I’m not sorry about that. I’m sorry because I know I’m probably confusing the hell out of you. Still, I think it’s only fair, because I’m confusing the hell out of myself.”

  “As long as you’re being fair,” Darien murmured wryly.

  Jessie’s smile widened. “You know, I’m really starting to like you.”

  “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “Maybe—probably. Only problem is I also think you’re seriously crazy.”

  Darien became silent and for a moment she clenched her jaw while her eyes seemed to grow smokier. Bad choice of words, a faux pas, Jessie decided. She watched shadows chase each other through Darien’s eyes and correctly concluded she’d gone too far.

  But before Jessie could try to take back the words, Darien responded with a softly spoken, “You’re probably right.”

  “No, I’m sorry—I really didn’t mean anything by my comment. I was only teasing.”

  “It’s not a problem. I know you were teasing. You just happen to be right.”

  “So long as you know I don’t think it’s a bad thing.”

  “So you’re saying it’s good that I’m crazy?”

  “No—yes.”

  Slowly, unexpectedly, Darien smiled. “Which is it?”

  Trapped by the smile, Jessie stumbled. “Oh, hell, Darien. I don’t know. Both, I guess.” She stopped and looked closer. “And from the look of you, I’d say you’re also done in. I should let you get some sleep for a while. We can talk after you’ve rested. Maybe we can even come up with a plan for how we’re going to stop Petrov and the Guild from attacking the G8. Something that doesn’t involve leaving you dangling like bait.”

  “Jesslyn, don’t, okay?” Her smile was already gone. Now her hand tightened as her voice slowly faded as well. “I’m fine—or I will be, in short order. I’ll have you know I have remarkable recuperative powers.”

  “I don’t doubt that. It’s probably the only reason you’ve survived this long.”

  “I’ve survived this long because I’m good at what I do.”

  “But you can’t deny you were put in a totally vulnerable position today.” Jessie sighed unhappily. “You were left alone on the side of the road with your support teams too far away to be of any real use other than to pick up the pieces after Petrov’s attack. I’ve no idea what I was thinking when I agreed—I should have seen the inherent weaknesses in the plan.”

  “Let it go, Jesslyn.” The expression in Darien’s eyes matched the intensity in her voice. She gave her a tight smile and extended her hand, waiting until Jessie reached out with her own to grasp it. “I wasn’t put in a vulnerable position—Ari was. And there was no other way to do it if this was going to work.”

  “Except that it didn’t work, did it?”

  “No, but it should have. It was a solid plan, it made sense, and I was the right choice. It’s exactly for situations like this that Ari was created. It should have worked.”

  “It should have worked,” Jessie agreed. “Now we need to figure out why it didn’t and why you were nearly killed. You, Darien, not Ari.” She looked away for a moment, chewed the inside of her cheek before turning back to meet Darien’s eyes. “We have to figure out how the plan went off the rails so badly and what we’re going to do next. Because the more I think about it, the more I think your earlier assessment is correct.”

  “What assessment is that?”

  “I think you were compromised. I think Nadia Petrov knew exactly who was standing on the side of the road. I think she knew exactly who she was trying to kill. And I think as soon as she realizes she failed in her attempt, she’s going to try again.”

  *

  A short while later, a noise at the bedroom door had Jessie automatically reaching for Darien’s SIG Sauer on the night table. She aimed it steadily as the door opened. Ben and Nicola Spencer stood in the doorway, frozen, the silence deafening until she lowered the weapon and laid it back on the table.

  “Your mother and I have been friends for a very long time,” Ben said. “You might be her favorite daughter, but I doubt she’d be too forgiving if you shoot me.”

  “I’m her only daughter,” Jessie responded dryly. “But you’re probably right. Sorry.”

  Crossing the room, Ben approached the bed, his expression softening as he looked down. “No problem. We just wanted to check on our girl and see if she was finally sleeping.”

  “She is, and I’m hoping she actually stays that way for a couple of hours.” Jessie glanced at Darien, saw her stir restlessly, but for the moment she didn’t open her eyes. “Are you sure—”

  “We have the doctor’s assurance that she’ll be fine.” Normally taciturn, Ben squeezed her arm, surprising Jessie with the gesture. “She just needs time to rest and to recuperate. As soon as the helicopter returns, I’ve arranged to have it bring us back to Paris. Darien will recover more easily at home.”

  “And then?”

  Ben shrugged. “And then everyone—including Darien—continues to do whatever needs to be done to neutralize Petrov and the Guild. We have just over a month before the start of the summit. That doesn’t leave a lot of time.”

  Ben paused, and as he turned to face her, Jessie thought she detected something else in his normally stoic face. Concern? She studied him a moment longer, trying to read whatever was troubling him before giving up. “What is it, Ben? Has something else happened?”

  “Not exactly. But Nicola and I have been discussing how things turned out this morning. Too many things don’t quite fit, and it started us thinking that Darien might just be an integral part of Petrov’s plans. In fact, we believe—”

  “You believe Nadia Petrov knew who was standing on the side of the Black Forest High Road this morning.” Jessie sighed. “I guess that makes it unanimous, then, because Darien and I talked about that very possibility earlier. She believes Petrov knew exactly what she was doing and who she was going after, and I’m finding it harder and harder to disagree.”

  “That’s why everyone here will be heading to Paris instead of London.”

  Uncertain what she was hearing, Jessie turned her head and quietly studied the redheaded British agent. “Oh? Why is that?”

  “To cover Dar
ien’s back,” Nicola responded with a shrug, but her lips twitched with a smile. “I can’t speak for the others, but I got to know Dare when she was still with British intelligence. She saved my life once in Kuwait, another time in Jakarta. I returned the favor in Benghazi, so in my books I still owe her one. Not that she’s counting.”

  “I’m guessing she wouldn’t,” Jessie said.

  “It’s one of the things I appreciate about Darien—her seemingly innate ability to be in the right place at the right time. That, along with her marksmanship, her right cross, and her to-die-for skills in the kitchen.”

  Jessie laughed. “It sounds as though you like her.”

  “I do. But more than that, I respect her. Admire her. Worry about her. Maybe you should know I was there when Ben first brought Darien back to London when she was a kid. And I’ve a pretty good idea what she went through.” Nicola stopped herself as if maybe she’d said more than she wanted to. “I just want to make sure Petrov doesn’t hurt her…or worse.”

  “Then it seems we want the same thing.”

  There was a moment’s pause—a few seconds, no more—during which Nicola looked at Jessie. “You remind me a lot of your mother.”

  Jessie tried not to roll her eyes. “I’m starting to think my mother has worked with everyone.”

  Nicola chuckled. “The Grace I know likes rules, order. I’m guessing you do too. Darien, on the other hand, has never met a rule she didn’t eventually break. It’s probably why MI6 didn’t work out for her.”

  “Your point?”

  “My point? There are always operatives such as myself willing to help Darien when she needs intel, an extra pair of eyes or, on rare occasions, someone to watch her back. But she doesn’t let anyone get too close.” Silence ran for several beats and Jessie’s frown deepened, but Nicola didn’t flinch, simply met her gaze as she continued softly. “It appears she’s let you in further than she’s ever let anyone.”

  Jessie kept her face carefully expressionless. “Is that what you think?”

  “Yes.” Nicola smiled thinly. “But it won’t make a difference because Darien isn’t about to let anything stop her from doing whatever she thinks needs to be done. And she won’t like thinking Petrov outsmarted her.”

  Ben shrugged, clearly agreeing with Nicola’s assessment. “It’s part of what makes her good.”

  “What are you trying to tell me?” Jessie asked.

  “Expect crazy.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The trip back to Paris was uneventful, and for the next two weeks, life fell into a routine for Jessie. Her days were filled combing through satellite images and CIA and NSA intercepts. Searching through feeds, filtering and translating information, while others pounded the streets working assets and following up on every available piece of intel.

  Different approaches but centered on one goal. Finding Nadia Petrov.

  Jessie sighed tiredly, only too aware that with each passing day, the clock ticked inexorably toward the third week of July. Everyone knew where Petrov would be at that time. But in spite of their collective efforts, they were no closer to determining how she planned to get there or where she might be now. She was a ghost.

  Their one potential lead—the helicopter used to carry out the attack on Darien—led nowhere. They had been able to track the chopper, only to discover it had been stolen from a heliport in Frankfurt then scuttled immediately after the attack.

  After the discovery of the burned-out helicopter shell, Darien stopped making appearances during the daily team progress reports. But each morning, there was always evidence she’d been working late in the night.

  It was there in the notes left on the neatly stacked building schematics, architectural drawings, satellite images, and photographs of Cabot Island and the Maine coastline that Darien continued to study. Providing an assassin’s perspective.

  Funny, that didn’t bother Jessie as much as it once had.

  But the hours Darien was dedicating at night made Jessie wonder when she possibly found time to sleep. During the day, she knew Darien routinely spent time working out at a nearby gym, focused on recovering from her injuries. She also ran endlessly, determined to rebuild her already indefatigable stamina. On some occasions, when she ran in the early morning, Jessie would run with her. But, more often than not, she ran after dark and it was Zoey or Nicola who kept her company.

  Which was just as well.

  She still didn’t know what the hell had possessed her to kiss Darien like she had that morning in the safe house. But that simple kiss now haunted her, disturbed her sleep, and pulled her attention away from the data she was supposed to be concentrating on.

  Darien, on the other hand, seemed singularly unperturbed.

  Not that she was totally indifferent. On several occasions, Jessie had been aware of Darien’s watchful eyes and her dark, assessing gaze. But Darien had made no attempt to engage her as she had previously in the hotel, or reprise their first kiss in the kitchen. And so the kiss in the safe house remained a ghost. An apparition that was seemingly haunting only her.

  Releasing a soft sigh, she pushed away from the computer console, her eyes burning from reading screen after screen of intercepted transmissions.

  “Taking a break?”

  She turned to find Elle watching her from the doorway. “I’m not getting anywhere, so it seems as good a time as any. Why? Do you need help with something?”

  “No, I just think you’re looking too damn pale.”

  Jessie chuckled. “These monitors may give off light, but I doubt I’ll be picking up a tan anytime soon.”

  Elle shook her head as she took the seat Jessie had just vacated and pulled the keyboard closer. “Not the kind of fix I was thinking of for you. I was thinking you should wander down to the gym and find Darien. I’ve a feeling that woman could put some color back in your face in no time.”

  “I thought she scared you.”

  “Just because I’m afraid of the woman doesn’t mean I can’t fantasize.”

  Jessie laughed again. She didn’t say anything more for fear she’d reveal too much. But as she headed downstairs, the thought of visiting the gym suddenly sounded appealing. She could work out some of her frustration—sexual or otherwise. After that, maybe she could sit in the steam room for a while. Relax, then come back and grab a quick bite to eat before settling down in front of the computer for a little bit longer.

  Making a U-turn on the stairs, she went in search of some workout clothes, a frisson of anticipation trickling through her. Thirty minutes later, she walked into the gym Darien frequented and looked around.

  The main room was massive and filled with plenty of well-maintained equipment—free weights, cycles, cardio, Pilates, and strength-training machines—while a running track circled the perimeter of the room. And though the gym was clearly popular and she was dressed to blend in, Darien was easy to spot.

  With her face serious, her hands taped, and her hair pulled up into a ponytail, she was quietly working a speed bag. Left, right, left, right, maintaining a smooth rhythm. She was clearly inwardly focused, intent on rebuilding her strength and speed in light of the injury to her right arm, and appeared oblivious to a group of young men working out nearby, gamely pretending not to notice her.

  Except that they were preening rather than paying attention to form, trying to keep an eye on her, and seemingly having difficulty accepting the fact she was ignoring them. They couldn’t possibly be regulars, Jessie thought, and tried hard not to laugh. Otherwise they would know Darien was there to work out, not to hook up with a stud for a one-night stand…even if that had been where her interests lay.

  Not that Jessie blamed them. She took a minute to admire Darien’s long, lean frame. What the woman did to a pair of black running shorts and a muscle shirt was sinful. Kick-ass gorgeous. Her T-shirt was cropped, exposing a few inches of well-defined abs and a flat stomach that made Jessie want to drop to her knees and press her lips across that smooth expanse.


  Her heart pounding, Jessie forced herself to look away, certain Darien knew she was there even though there’d been no eye contact. She tried to concentrate on what she was doing and began working through a set of stretches before heading for the running track to begin her own workout. She quickly slipped into the zone.

  She was just starting her second kilometer when she felt someone approach her from behind then fall in line alongside. She glanced over, but she really didn’t have to. She knew it was Darien, having already picked up the faint scent of the sandalwood soap she favored. Having already felt her heat.

  When Darien acknowledged her with a brief nod, Jessie couldn’t help but tease, “I see you managed to lose your entourage. Did you wear them out?”

  Darien’s response was succinct. And while it wasn’t in English, at least this time it was in a language Jessie had no trouble understanding—both the words and the sentiment. She laughed and opted to make up for the teasing comment by allowing Darien to set the pace.

  Thankfully, Darien settled on an easy, comfortable stride, something that wasn’t especially fast, but would nonetheless eat up any distance. Even so, by the time Darien finally reduced their pace to a slow jog, sweat had beaded along Jessie’s hairline, and she was feeling the stretch and pull in her muscles.

  They finished their cool-down lap near a bench by the first turn on the track, where Jessie had left her gym bag. Picking up the bag, Darien indicated with a nod of her head. “Interested in the steam room?”

  The image of unwinding in a dark steamy room with Darien beside her wrapped in only a towel flashed in Jessie’s mind. Swallowing past the heat the image generated, she folded her arms across her chest. She felt herself go damp, but she suppressed the urges threatening to overwhelm her and forced herself to smile with determined brightness.

  “Um—sure.” She’d lost her mind. There was no other explanation.

  As it turned out, they spent only fifteen minutes in the steam room, but it felt much longer and she was grateful when they finally headed for the showers. But even the cool water temperature didn’t help her regain her equilibrium or control over emotions that had suddenly roared to life within her. She had foolishly thought she had managed to keep them at bay, but now they threatened to erupt like a volcano.