His head lolled back. It was going to be torture.
6
Though Jamie felt safe with Sergei standing beside her on the moving sidewalk, she watched the lights and shadows of the city uneasily as they passed by. Twilight had come, and there were oodles of places downsiders could be hiding. Bounty hunters too. She didn’t think they would target her, but who knew for certain? She had been kidnapped once because of her association with the business. Sergei seemed edgy, too, squinting suspiciously at anyone who looked too long at them from the sidewalk running in the opposite direction.
When Sergei and Jamie had explained their plan to locate the person who had placed the bounty on the captain’s head, Ankari had responded enthusiastically. She had also agreed to Sergei’s suggestion—it had been more of a politely phrased demand—to keep the shuttle locked up tight for the night, with her and Lauren inside, so nobody could get at them. Jamie had noted with some amusement that Sergei’s demands hadn’t extended to Sergeant Hazel. He either figured she could take care of herself or didn’t particularly care if something befell her. Jamie liked Hazel, but could see where Sergei would be less of a fan, especially if he had heard that unflattering warning Hazel had given Jamie. She apparently hadn’t ever been privy to his side of the story. Or maybe it was all in his record, but she didn’t believe Sergei could be a decent person after what he had endured. He had been nothing but kind to Jamie, and she struggled to see him as a threat, even knowing what he did for a living. Most of the mercenaries killed people. She didn’t see much of a difference between them and an assassin, but perhaps she was being naive. Hazel had certainly glowered and objected to the idea of Jamie going off alone with Sergei.
“What time is the appointment?” he asked quietly.
“Seven p.m. We should make it in time.” Jamie held up her tablet with the map on it, the square building that represented the spa glowing blue. “I’m surprised we were able to get in, given that the secretary said Fergusson is leaving tomorrow for some trip.”
“He was male. Your sexy attire obviously worked.”
“Ha ha, right.” After rummaging in her duffel bag, Jamie had realized she had neglected to pack anything that would be suitable for a night on the town. She had three changes of shirts and coveralls, and that was it. She had ended up unzipping her jacket, thrusting out her chest, and leaning close to the camera. The white T-shirt fitted her well enough, but that was about all that could be said about it in regard to sex appeal. “I’m more concerned that he may have figured out who we are and invited us for other reasons.”
When she had grandiosely told Sergei that they should get an appointment to see the real estate and spa mogul, Jamie hadn’t been thinking about how important such a person would be considered here in his home city and how many people doubtlessly wanted to see him each day. Now that she’d had time to dwell on it, she worried that the whole thing had been too easy and that they might be walking into some kind of trap. Still, if this Fergusson captured Jamie instead of Ankari, he wouldn’t get anywhere with the captain.
“If it’s a trap, we’ll learn something,” Sergei said. “That he’s most likely the one who set the bounty.”
“And will it be useful to know that when we’re standing in front of a firing squad?”
“With my brawn and your brains, we’ll think our way out of such a situation.”
She snorted, waving away the words, though they secretly pleased her. She wasn’t sure what she might have done to make him think she had a brain, but it was a lot better than the “compliments” she usually got from the mercenaries, most concerning the grabbability of her breasts.
“But if I sense a trap, I’ll definitely try to get us out of there before it’s sprung,” Sergei added. “I’d offer to let you stay behind, but somehow, I doubt they would let me in on short notice. I don’t look nearly as attractive in a T-shirt.”
Oh, she imagined he filled out a T-shirt quite nicely. “You would just have to call up a female secretary.”
Sergei pointed to a stop in front of a glass-walled building lit up from within, some of the windows opaque with steam and others blocked by trees and vines growing up the inside of the structure. Twilight wasn’t keeping the locals from visiting, and numerous people stepped off the sidewalk ahead of them. Flying cars and sleek private shuttles pulled up to a door halfway up the side of the building, where a sign offered valet parking services.
Jamie hopped onto the platform and pointed toward an alley. “There’s supposed to be a back door that’s for service and appointments.”
Sergei gestured for her to lead. He walked behind her, guarding her back and watching everything to the side and ahead of them. It had been strange having a bodyguard when she had been with Ankari, and it was even stranger having one all to herself. She remembered his offer to be a thorn for her, the passion—almost relish—in his eyes when he had made it. He had probably been fantasizing about having an excuse to thump on Striker, but it had made her shiver a little. So had his agreement to teach her to defend herself. She had been nervous about asking him and never would have if he hadn’t proclaimed that he owed her a favor.
“Must be that door,” Sergei said.
The back of the building held several doors on several levels, some only for those who could fly up to them, but the one he nodded to had just emitted a man in a green business suit and a flaming yellow cummerbund. He looked like someone who had been there to talk about real estate or finances, rather than to be pampered by a masseuse.
A burly man wearing a vest that showed off tree-trunk arms and a neck as thick as Striker’s waited beside the door. He glared balefully at Sergei as they approached. Sergei’s return stare was blank and gave an air of disinterest.
“We have an appointment,” Jamie announced before the men could do anything besides stare at each other. “Is this the right door? For Fletcher Fergusson?”
“Lord Fletcher Fergusson,” the bouncer said.
“Oh? His public encyclopedia entry didn’t mention that he’d been promoted to finance lord.”
“It will happen soon. He prefers people call him lord, regardless, since he owns half of the city.”
“I prefer people call me dashing and handsome,” Sergei said, “but we don’t always get what we want.”
The bouncer glared harder at him.
“Could you let his secretary know we’re here?” Jamie rushed to say, not wanting the men to have a reason to test each other physically. Maybe after the appointment, they could play fisticuffs.
The bouncer already looked like he wanted to pummel Sergei. For his part, Sergei simply stood there with his hands behind his back, his expression bored. He didn’t bother to hide the bulge of his laser pistol beneath his jacket, nor the numerous knives he had slipped into sheaths around his body earlier that morning. At the time, Jamie had watched with bemusement as he put them on. Now, she was glad he was well armed and that he looked intimidating, every bit the dangerous man he was, even if he wasn’t as meaty as the door guard.
“He already knows,” the bouncer said. “You can go in.” He let Jamie walk in without hesitation, but held out a hand in front of Sergei.
Jamie tensed, afraid he would say that her bodyguard wasn’t invited.
“You’ll be asked to remove your weapons inside,” the bouncer said.
“I get asked to do a lot of things,” Sergei said. “Sometimes they happen, and sometimes they don’t.”
The bouncer snorted, but let him pass.
They walked past numerous potted palm trees, the air humid and rich with the earthy scents of growing things, as well as whatever chemicals were used in the spas. A male receptionist stood behind a small podium. Jamie recognized him as the man who had answered the call and made her appointment. She checked the time and was relieved that they had made it with a few minutes to spare.
“Ms. Flipkens,” the man said, his baritone pleasant. “And bodyguard.” He touched a button on the podium. “Your pres
ence has been noted. You may take a seat.” He extended his hand toward a velvet bench.
“You gave him your real name?” Sergei didn’t sit down. He stood beside Jamie, his eyes toward the foyer.
“I thought about making up something, but was afraid they might ask for identification before letting us in.”
“You don’t have any fake IDs?”
“I… No.” She looked up at him, trying to decide if he was teasing her. “Should I?”
“I suppose it depends on whether or not you’ll be concocting more schemes that involve going out with me again.” He smiled. Good, he wasn’t truly worried about the fact that she had used her name. Or if he was, he wasn’t letting it bother him.
“Let’s see how this one goes first.”
“Sounds reasonable.” He was still smiling. He wasn’t enjoying himself, was he?
Jamie might have enjoyed the research and cooking up the idea, but now that they were going in to see a powerful man, one who could have them killed with a wave of his hand, there was sweat slicking her palms, and she couldn’t sit still on the bench. She kept fidgeting, crossing and uncrossing her legs. She had been utterly useless in that meeting with Felgard. She hoped things didn’t devolve into a shootout here. Before coming, she had pulled her hair out of the braids, afraid they might make her appear too young to be taken seriously. Now it hung loose about her shoulders, where it would doubtlessly get in her face if she had to run or fight.
Sergei watched her crossing her legs. He had to know how nervous she was. Did he lament the inexperience of his partner for the night? Jamie forced herself to plant her sandals flat on the marble tile floor. She had borrowed black slacks and a white blouse from Lauren, whose monochromatic wardrobe tended to be dressier than Jamie’s, and she was modeling Ankari’s footwear—the grease-stained boots she usually wore would have been out of place here. Or so she assumed. She hadn’t seen any other women yet.
Another man in a business suit walked out. Several of his buttons were undone, his hair was damp, and he carried a towel bag.
“Next,” the secretary said and pointed at Jamie. Unlike the bouncer outside, he was utterly ignoring Sergei.
That didn’t keep Sergei from sticking to her shoulder.
“You didn’t bring suits and towels?” the man asked.
Suits? Swimming suits?
“Were we supposed to?” Jamie asked, panicking slightly. This hadn’t been part of the script.
“You, at least. And your man, too, if he expects to go in with you. Lord Fergusson takes his evening appointments in the spa. Everybody knows this.” He gave her a frank look.
“Er, yes, I hadn’t realized it was so late…” Jamie looked at Sergei, wondering if she should admit to being from out of town. Sergei was giving his suspicious squint to the secretary. It failed to faze the man, who sighed theatrically and said, “I will arrange for appropriate spa wear.”
“Can’t we wait until he’s done… bathing?”
“When he’s done, he goes home. Do you wish to speak with him or not?”
“Yes, please.” Jamie grimaced at how meek she sounded. This was exactly what she had been confessing to Sergei. A lack of thorns. How would she ever grow thorns? She didn’t even send back wrong orders at restaurants.
The secretary tapped another button, then pointed to a silver door behind him. “Through there. The attendants will see to your needs.”
Jamie walked in that direction, murmuring to Sergei as she went. “Did you know about the towels and suits?”
“No. Assassins don’t frequent spas.”
“No need for massages after a tense job?”
“I don’t like to be touched by strangers.”
The door opened before Jamie could touch the handle. Steam flowed out, along with the scent of some floral perfume or incense that had far too many aromas mixed together.
“Shoes off,” a short, gray-haired woman demanded with the authority of a drill sergeant. She pointed to a robot waiting with a tray.
“Guess I didn’t need to worry about borrowing sandals,” Jamie murmured.
“You—” the woman stabbed a finger at Sergei, “—remove your weapons. Shoes. Put them there.”
Sergei removed his boots, but didn’t reach for his weapons. Jamie deposited the sandals on the tray.
“Weapons off,” the woman repeated, “or you’re staying in this room.” She pointed at Jamie. “Girls, that door. Go. Boys, there, but there are lasers guarding the door. Weapons detected? Your balls get fried.” She cackled.
Jamie questioned the woman’s sanity. She looked at Sergei, wondering if he wanted to go through with this or not. She might have set up this meeting, but it was his mission. He might yet decide that sneaking into Fergusson’s home would be easier—or less humiliating—than dealing with this.
“Come,” the woman said. “Remove your weapons, or I’ll remove them for you.” She grasped the air, as if her hands were pincers. “And I’ll stop to feel all of your weapons.” When she grinned—or was that a leer?—and looked at his crotch, she displayed a few missing teeth.
The promise of lasers hadn’t moved Sergei, but he stepped back at this new threat and reached for his weapons belt. Trusting he would survive the event, Jamie walked toward the “girls” door.
“You’re here to service the lord?” the woman asked her. “Clean yourself and use the powders by the door.”
Jamie froze. “Service the lord? I’m not here to service anyone.” Horrified, she reviewed the call in her mind. The secretary hadn’t said anything about sex or servicing, but had she missed some important innuendo? He had seemed professional—he hadn’t even glanced at the chest she had been thrusting outward—but maybe that was how it worked at these luxury facilities. Maybe these special evening appointments were just for… servicing. But those two other businessmen who had walked out, they hadn’t serviced anyone, surely.
The woman clucked dismissively and waved toward the door.
“Wait to come out until you see me,” Sergei said, his eyes narrowed to slits.
Jamie hesitated, but nodded. It wasn’t as if there were legions of guards standing out in the foyer. They ought to be able to escape if this grew too weird. So she hoped.
She entered the communal changing room, which was even muggier and steamier than the previous rooms. Doors opened to saunas and pools of bubbling water with nude women relaxing in them. Female servants and robots waited here and there, holding trays with clothes or towels on them. Jamie watched for signs of sexual activities, but so far, it looked like a normal locker room, if a much higher-end one than she had ever frequented.
A servant hurried out of a side door and extended a tray toward her with a skimpy two-piece swimming suit on it. “For you, ma’am.”
Jamie picked up the bottom half of the garment. It was more string than swimming suit. “I’ll take a robe too.”
“Pardon, ma’am?”
“So I can do an unveiling.” Yeah, right.
“Ah, yes, very sexy. I understand, ma’am.” The woman didn’t leave until Jamie removed both pieces of the bikini, but then she hustled back through the door from whence she had come.
“Very sexy, that’s me,” Jamie muttered.
A nude woman walked past, her hips swaying. She might qualify as very sexy. Jamie had never swayed, not intentionally.
Reluctantly, Jamie removed her clothing and tied on the two-piece. It was hot and humid enough in the changing room that she didn’t mind undressing, but there was no way she would go outside without that robe. She sat on the bench and waited. She wondered if Sergei had been handed the male version of her suit. Something with strings. She snorted, her humor tickled, but that woman hadn’t said anything about him “servicing” anyone. He would probably receive some baggy swim trunks. If they made him change at all.
The servant returned with a robe that was far thinner and lacier than the big, fluffy white garment Jamie had envisioned. Still, it covered up far more than t
he bikini did. She was still worrying that she had accidentally signed up for an altogether different type of meeting than she had intended.
With the robe wrapped tightly about her body, Jamie headed for the back door, pausing to eye bottles of fragrances and a couple of bins of white powders. She had no idea what the powder might be for, but didn’t touch anything.
Before she could open the door, a naked woman stepped through, a weary look on her made-up face and a towel pressed against her abdomen. She smelled of musk oil, her lips were puffy, and bite marks marred the skin of her throat and breasts. The woman shuffled past as if she were in pain. Jamie looked away, though not quickly enough to erase the image from her mind. Whatever this place was, more went on here than bathing and massages.
“Forget this,” she muttered. She pushed open the door, but only so she could find Sergei and tell him she had changed her mind.
He was waiting in the steamy pool room outside, as he had promised, his back to the wall and his arms crossed over his chest, as usual. What wasn’t usual was all the bare, muscular flesh on display. His suit wasn’t quite as skimpy as hers, but it wasn’t baggy and didn’t hide much. She gulped and told herself not to gawk, but her eyes struggled to obey the order. A number of intriguing scars marked his arms and torso, including a long one that disappeared beneath the band of his suit. When her gaze drifted in that direction, she did manage to jerk it back up, her cheeks flaming. She focused on his head at the same time as he looked at her, his face unamused.
“How did you get a robe?” he asked, his glance up and down her body quicker and more professional than her gawk had been.
“I asked.”
“Damn.”
“It’s not too late to back out of this,” Jamie said. “I’m not sure what kind of appointment I got us into, but this place seems to be as much bordello as spa.”
Mandrake Company- The Complete Series Page 59