by PM Kavanaugh
“We’ll try again tomorrow.”
Anika wanted to object, wanted to say they should try again now. But the will to fight left her, air expelled from a blown-out tire. She didn’t have the energy to argue. Or the strength to risk more failure. Maybe Gianni was right. Maybe they’d have better success tomorrow.
Chapter 11
Anika spent the rest of the day in nonstop activity to keep her mind from hopscotching from one disturbing image to another. The hostile’s lifeless body. Mari’s swollen eye. Lin’s stricken face. Gianni’s impassive gaze.
After an extra-long session of physical therapy, including the electro-osteo stimulator, the machine confirmed her wrist had returned to ninety-two percent function. Post-session, she had taken a double dose of pain blockers to calm her throbbing wrist. En route to the relaxation tank, she changed directions. The thought of all that darkness and stillness, with nothing but painful memories from the past two days for company, filled her with dread.
She left the complex and returned to her loft apartment. She programmed the details of her alias—name, date and place of birth, parents’ names, home address, educational background, etc.—into her sound system and set it on an audio loop so she could memorize the backstory. She listened and absorbed the information while completing a ninety-minute workout followed by a hot shower. Clean and alert, she returned to the living area, paused audio, and settled into a cross-legged position in front of the wall screen. From there, she called up an image of a flickering candle. “Focus your gaze and the mind will follow,” her meditation instructor had said. But her mind didn’t follow. Not today. It kept buzzing from flashback to flashback, like a pollinating bee.
She gave up. Glanced at the staircase that led to her bedroom and thought about trying to get some sleep. The memory of staring at her ceiling, wide-eyed and sleepless, from the previous night had her walking over to the day-lounger instead. She slid into its contoured seat, activated her media system, and rotated through dozens of entertainment channels, occasionally pausing on chase scenes in action movies, highlights of sports matches, updates of global news, and the finales of home decorating shows. A couple of hours in, her grumbling stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten anything that day other than a protein bar. After checking her carb and fat credit balance, she placed an order of a childhood favorite, mac ’n’ cheese, with a local eatery. She ate every bite, then resumed channel-shuffling until the sun settled low in the sky.
Following a tip from the winner of the home decorating show, she scrolled through a furniture website in search of the perfect couch. Forty-five minutes later, she finalized the purchase of a sleek, modern two-seater in a color described as Asiana Plum. With a satisfying sigh, she lay back in the day-lounger, resumed the audio loop about her alias, and closed her eyes. Soon, the combination of a full stomach, the warmth from the heated seat, and the drone of the computerized voice lulled her to sleep.
The buzz of the doorbell jolted her back to consciousness. Lights shone from the windows in the residential tower across the street. Between the two buildings, the sky was black, like a shade had been drawn across them. The numbers on the media system glowed 2100. She had been asleep a little over two hours. Not nearly long enough. She groaned and pushed herself to standing.
“Computer, shut down audio.” The loop cut off. “Activate monitor for outdoor camera.” Anika approached the screen to see who was bothering her this time of night.
The figure standing there caused the breath to hitch in her throat. Again? For a second night in a row, Gianni stood on her doorstep. The sight of him chased away her grogginess. Her heartbeat shifted from steady to staccato.
What now? Hadn’t she been through enough today? She glanced down at her thick black tights, tank top, and cream wraparound sweater, and wondered if she had time to change back into her standard-issue unisuit and fitted jacket.
The bell buzzed a second time. Screw it. He hadn’t given her advance notice. This was her place. She could dress as she liked. She blew out a breath, smoothed her hands through her hair, and disengaged the lock.
When Gianni entered the apartment, she crossed her arms against her chest. “Let me try again,” she said. “With Lin. Give me two hours with him. Alone. We’ll make a self-vid.”
“It will look amateurish. Wealthy people, including well-paid assassins, don’t create their own vids.”
“Then give me a couple of hours to rehearse with him. I...we...can do it.”
Gianni set the soft-sided metallic bag slung over his shoulder down on the floor. He slid out of his jacket and tossed the garment on the lounger. “I’m standing in for Lin. It’s been decided.”
Alarm twisted knots in Anika’s stomach. She knew she had been wrong to think she would have better success tomorrow with the sex vid. She wouldn’t be able to control her body’s response to Gianni. Even now, separated by a full meter’s distance, his presence acted like shock waves, setting off reverberations inside her. The thought of going back into that room, with the staged bed, the almost-naked costume, and the critical eye of the director, made her want to flee. She wouldn’t be able to go through with it.
“Why was Lin chosen for the mission anyway?” Anxiety sharpened the tone of her voice. “How did he even graduate to Level One?”
“He speaks twelve languages.”
“I thought we used translation implants for that.”
“They’re not always practical in the field. He’s also proven himself an effective sniper.” Gianni’s eyes met—and held—hers. “Accurate, cool-headed, fires without hesitation.”
That brought Anika up short. Tendrils of doubt swirled through her. “Why was I chosen?” The question came out in a whisper.
“You’re an excellent shot. And Second believes you’ll be persuasive as the female half of a husband-and-wife team of assassins. If paired with the right operative.”
Anika’s pulse skipped a beat. “And Second thinks you’re the right one...I mean, operative, for me?”
“She does.” A smile spread across Gianni’s lips, a heart-melting contrast from the somber expressions he had worn since his return. He walked toward her.
With every step, every shortening of the distance between them, Anika’s pulse quickened. If she didn’t know for certain that her body hadn’t moved, she’d swear she’d just completed a sprint.
She shook her head. “I don’t think I can...do it. Fake a performance in front of a camera. Not...” Her voice trailed off. Not with you.
Gianni took her hand and brought it to his mouth. He pressed his lips against her fingers, which felt cold in his warmth. “I don’t want to fake a performance, either. Especially not for our first time.”
Despite Anika’s best efforts, tears filmed her eyes. “What are we going to do?”
“Computer,” Gianni called out, “play a ballad.” A whiskey-timbered female voice crooned through the speakers. Gianni slid his arms around Anika. “May I have this dance?”
Chapter 12
Anika held back, keeping space between their bodies, afraid he would feel her heart thudding against her ribs. “This is the second night in a row you’ve come here. Won’t that raise questions?”
“My tracker is offline. The agency doesn’t know I’m here.”
“You can do that?”
“As a Level Three, yes. For six hours. Any more questions?”
Anika shook her head. She was out of ideas for how to keep Gianni at a distance. At this point, she didn’t know if she wanted to anyway.
“Relax,” he murmured against her ear, his breath a warm summer breeze.
Part of her wanted to do as he said. It felt delicious to be this close to him. It was a moment she had dreamed about during his long absence. But after last night, when she had made it humiliatingly clear how much she wanted him, and he had simply left, she wasn’t sure she trusted him. Or herself around him. If she let her guard down, and he wounded her again, she didn’t know what she would do. Still, she co
uldn’t bring herself to say anything. The hurt from last night was too fresh, too raw.
As if reading her mind, or maybe noting the stiffness of her arms, Gianni said, “Last night, when I left, it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”
Surprised by his admission, she stared into his eyes. “It was?”
He nodded. Firmed his grip around her.
“Why didn’t you stay?”
“After what happened in the training facility, your anger with me, I needed some time. I wasn’t ready.”
Anika stopped moving and took hold of his arms. “And now?”
“And now,” Gianni said, drawing a deep breath, “I don’t want to wait any longer.” He pulled her closer. “Do you?”
In answer, her body softened into his embrace.
The music floated over them, enveloped them, as Gianni led her around the room. He twirled her in a slow circle. She stumbled, but he caught her in time, laughing. The sound, a husky rumble, sent sparks down to her toes. “Like the night at the embassy. Remember?”
“How can I forget?” Anika said. Her first mission. Their first mission together. “At least that night I had an excuse. Those platform-heeled shoes were impossible.”
“We should practice dancing more often.”
As the final notes of the song drifted through the air, Anika expected Gianni would request another. Instead, he released her and walked over to the bag on the floor, where he removed a bottle of champagne and two long-stemmed flutes. “Twenty forty-five. An excellent year.” He uncorked the champagne and poured the pale gold liquid into the glasses. “Let’s toast to the impending success of our mission.” He tapped her glass with his—clink—and drank.
The bubbles tickled her nose and throat.
Gianni refilled her glass. “Computer, play another ballad.” With the bottle in one hand, he trailed his other down her back. “Drink up,” he said.
Three songs later—or was it four—the first bottle was empty and the second one uncorked.
They continued to dance, but their movements slowed. Their feet grazed the floor. Their bodies swayed in a languorous rhythm. Cool sips of champagne interspersed with heated kisses. The combination made Anika’s head swim.
“I think I need to sit,” she said.
“I have a better idea.” Gianni pressed his lips to the curve of skin where her neck and shoulder met. He slid his mouth up to her ear, where he tickled her lobe with his tongue, drawing forth gasps of pleasure. “Let’s go upstairs.” Holding onto the half-consumed bottle of champagne, he took Anika’s hand in his and led her toward the circular staircase. As they ascended, Gianni called out, “Computer, continue playing ballads.”
At the landing, Gianni’s kisses grew deeper, longer, wetter.
Shivers of desire coursed through Anika.
“Cold?” Gianni murmured, before pressing yet another open-mouthed kiss on the side of her neck.
Anika shook her head. “Not at all.” She closed her eyes to better focus on the sensations his mouth and hands sparked inside her.
“Good.” Gianni set down the champagne and glasses on the end table. “Okay if I loosen this?” He touched the knotted belt on her sweater. She nodded. He slid the garment off her shoulders and down her arms. It fell to the floor at their feet. “And this?” He reached for the hem of her tank top, pulled it over her head. As his hands slid down her bare back and drew her close against him, his mouth found hers for another lingering kiss.
“Computer, turn off lights,” Anika said.
The loft darkened.
“I want to see you.” Gianni eased her onto the bed. “Computer, set ambient lights at thirty percent.” A warm glow suffused the room. His gaze wandered at leisure over her face, down her throat, across her breasts, and down her torso.
He straddled her. With the bottle champagne in hand, he dribbled a few drops on her stomach.
She gasped as the cold liquid touched her heated skin.
He bent lower and licked off the champagne. His lips moved up her torso to her breasts, where he took one, then the other into his mouth. Anika’s back arched up, inviting him to take more, do more. He took a sip of champagne and brought his mouth to hers, opening it, releasing the liquid into hers. It fizzed on her tongue, along the inside of her cheeks, an explosion of tiny bubbles. His tongue found hers. Probed, tasted.
Her legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer. Her arms grabbed his shirt, tugged it up. He leaned back a little so she could remove the barrier of fabric separating bare skin from bare skin. When she did, the silver chain that he always wore swung in the air between them. He flattened it against his chest before lying on top of her, his mouth finding hers once more.
His weight, his heat, felt so right. They helped satisfy the craving that had built inside of her during his absence. But they weren’t enough. “More,” she whispered.
Gianni lifted his head to meet her gaze. His lips quirked. “More what? Champagne?”
“More...everything.” She reached for the waistband of his pants, tugged at his zipper, slipped her fingers inside. More heat there, along with a thrilling hardness. Her touch resulted in a quick inhale from Gianni.
She reveled in the sound, delighted at his response.
He snagged her waistband and, with a fluid movement, stripped off her tights. His pants followed. Back on top of her, he made her feel every millimeter of his body. Mouth on hers, hands under her ass, lifting her, positioning her. He slid into her. Hot, sweet pressure.
“More,” she panted. At first, he gave several slow thrusts, like the tempo of the ballads, but then the pace increased. Medium tempo. “More.” Fast tempo. Again and again, faster and faster, until she was breathless, until she was faint. “More.” He twined his fingers in hers, giving more until they both cried out in release.
Gianni rolled off her, pulling her with him. They lay facing each other while their breaths slowed back down to ballad tempo. He traced his finger along the side of her face, down her jaw, across her lips. “That’s what I wanted for our first time.”
She brushed her lips against his fingers. This moment was like her birthday—the one day of the year in the orphanage when she got a sugar high from cake and ice cream and fizzy drinks and felt as if she could fly. “Know what I want?” she asked.
His brows rose, dark wings perched above bemused eyes.
Her hand rested on his chest. His heart pulsed against her palm. Strong, steady, alive. “Lie back.” She reached for the champagne from the night stand and checked its weight. Still a quarter full. Smiling, she splashed some on Gianni. “More.”
*
Anika awoke in an empty bed. Early morning sun washed across the skylight. The sheets were still warm where Gianni had lain next to her. She pressed her face into the soft fabric and breathed in his scent. She hadn’t heard him leave. Disappointment sapped her energy. The night had passed too soon. The sugar high was long gone, and she had crashed back to earth.
She spied a bottle of Dry Out on the side table. Her lips twisted. Had Gianni left it out of genuine concern, or because he wanted her sharp for the day ahead? Her handheld sat next to the bottle. Strange. She didn’t remember bringing it up from downstairs. The side button blinked to indicate an unread e-note. She reached for the device.
“Change in plans,” the note from Gianni said. “Report to Wardrobe, then to Transport. I’ll meet you there. Wheels up at 0900 hours.” Anika re-read the note. No mention of a sex vid. How could that be? The next sentence eased the pang of his absence. “Last night was beyond all imaginings.”
Six simple words that told her last night hadn’t been a dream. Even better, it had meant as much to him as it had to her.
Following that sentence was a final one. “As soon as you’ve read this, hit delete.”
Flashes of memory, images caught in a strobe light, erupted in her mind. She lay back and let them play across the undersides of her eyelids. Her body grew warm and wet from the mini-replays of the previ
ous night.
Gianni was right. Their first time had been better than her imagination had conjured. Still, she wanted more than simply memories.
She deleted the message. All but those six words. Those, she saved in an encrypted file.
Chapter 13
“Let’s review it again,” Gianni said. “Start with our names.”
Anika inhaled a deep breath and exhaled to a count of three. She had twice recounted the details of their aliases, even remembering to switch up the choice of words to make it sound unrehearsed. Was a third time really necessary?
“We’re Antonio and Lena Bianchi,” she said. “We’ve known each other a little over two years. We met during a job when, unbeknown to either of us, a client hired us both to carry out the same hit. We married six weeks later.” Anika ran her thumb around the platinum band on her left ring finger. Thinner than the one Gianni wore, it felt strange against her skin. Like it didn’t belong there, even though the size was a perfect fit. The wardrobe consultant had handed it to her along with the silver studs for her ears. They were the finishing touches of her outfit, a metallic gray unisuit, the legs tucked into mid-calf leather boots.
“Go on,” Gianni prodded.
“No kids,” she said. “Too risky, given our line of work.”
She and Gianni were sitting side-by-side in the contoured seats of one of the new hover planes owned by the agency. The aircraft had the distance and speed capability of a classic jet plane, with the vertical landing capability of a helicopter. In the cockpit, Agent Diego Santos piloted the aircraft. They were flying to El Salvador.
Anika tapped her foot against the floor to dispel the nervous energy coursing through her. She was revved. Had been ever since she had boarded. But she wasn’t certain of the cause. Was it the mission, or the man beside her? Gianni’s knee bumped hers as the plane dipped and rose in the sky. A spark shot through her leg and up her side. She shifted in her seat to create more space between them.