by Alysh Ellis
At the hotel he made his way up the narrow staircase to the second floor. Once inside his room, he locked the door, tossed the suitcase onto the bed, opened it and inspected the contents.
Several sets of neatly folded clothes acted as padding for six plastic-wrapped packets of explosive chemicals, the two components of the fireballs kept separate by a dividing wall that ran lengthwise through the suitcase. He picked up one packet and tossed it from hand to hand while he examined his stock. It didn’t seem like much, not if he had to take out an entire Gatekeeper cell.
Pushing aside the remainder of the explosives, he unfolded a pile of clothing and shook it out. Shirts, suits with labels proclaiming the designer sewn into the back. One set of clothes looked much like another and he pulled on a silky gray shirt and darker gray suit. He picked up the next item of clothing and shook his head.
The Dvalinn military authorities had plucked him from a gym and tossed him straight to Tybor, bypassing basic military training. He’d never worn a uniform or a formal outfit in his life and no one had thought to check to see if he knew how to wear a tie. He searched his memory. The captain always wore one—surely he if could visualize it, he could replicate it.
The image of the captain, tie neatly knotted, appeared the instant he closed his eyes, but Huon barely noticed. In his memory, Tybor stood beside the captain, chest bare, muscles arrayed in rippling lines, skin gleaming. His presence dominated the picture, drew Huon’s eyes and swamped anything else. His hand moved to his throat and he ran his finger around the collar as if the tie were already in place, too tight and restrictive.
Another of those strange hot-and-cold shivers scudded over his skin. Pushing the image away, he opened his eyes and moved to the mirror. Trial and error made a much safer if slower option.
Ten minutes and many attempts later, he nodded and prepared to leave. According to the information provided by their source Judie Scanlon ate at the same restaurant most lunchtimes. In Venice, the press of tourists put such pressure on dining facilities that single travelers frequently found themselves sharing tables with strangers. Huon planned to take advantage of this to strike up an acquaintance.
The photo of Judie Scanlon he’d been given showed further evidence of the remarkable variation of skin color accepted among humans. Judie Scanlon’s skin glowed a dark gold and her hair fell in a long, straight ebony sweep to her shoulders. Her eyes were almond shaped, dark and hinting at secrets she alone knew. Even in a world where infinite variety was the norm, Huon knew her beauty would make her noticeable.
Shoving the picture in his pocket, he left. The door had almost closed behind him when he turned and stepped back inside. Tybor had drilled it into him over and over again—control your environment, leave nothing to chance. He opened a drawer, slid his orders and the photograph to the back of it and covered it all with his clothes.
In spite of Tybor’s detailed descriptions, in spite of the hours Huon had spent studying the maps of Venice, navigating his way to the restaurant where Judie Scanlon could be found proved more complex than he’d imagined. He turned a corner, crossed a bridge over a small canal and walked down an alleyway. Three turns later and after crossing a narrow bridge, he found himself walking down the same alleyway from the opposite direction. He turned and retraced his steps. After a few more moments and several twists and dead ends he didn’t recall from any map, he began to suspect that in this amazing city, finding any specific location was not such a simple matter after all. He plowed on through crowds of tourists, certain at one point that he’d crossed the same bridge twice even though he was sure he’d approached it from different streets.
At last he recognized a sign and picked up his pace. He reached the restaurant and looked inside. No one in the room resembled the human he’d come to find. He thought about sitting at a table and waiting for her to appear, but there was no way to be certain she would sit next to him, and if he got up from one table and moved to hers it would look far too much like what it was—a set-up.
Instead he walked on, circling around the twisted streets of Venice, returning to the restaurant twice more before he finally found her. At the back, sitting alone at a table set for four, was Judie Scanlon. A waiter stood at the table, writing as she spoke, words Huon was too far away to hear distinctly but which seemed to be in fluent Italian. Huon steadied his breathing and sauntered inside. Some of the tension eased from his shoulders as he looked around. Every table had at least one occupant, giving him the excuse he needed. He stepped up to her table, rested his hand on top of the vacant chair and flashed what he hoped was a reassuring smile, not the nervous grimace it felt like.
“Do you speak English?”
She nodded, her expression distant, as if she looked past him.
“There are no vacant tables,” Huon said, gesturing around the restaurant with one hand. “Would you mind if I shared yours?”
Then Judie Scanlon looked at him and Huon gripped the back of the chair. A man could drown in the depths of those soft brown eyes. They glanced around the restaurant, sweeping over several empty chairs at other tables. Huon’s stomach clenched. She was going to say no.
He smiled, opening his eyes wider, aiming for innocence. If he had to be slender and boy-like, he might as well make the most of it. “I’m glad you speak English. I would be very grateful if you could help me with the menu.” The smile he maintained made his cheeks ache but he had to break through the barrier of this first conversation. “I heard you speaking Italian to the waiter so I knew you had that part of it right.” A sudden burst of inspiration hit him and he added, “There are other tables with empty seats but I thought it would be nice to sit with you.” He held his breath, wondering if lines like that impressed women.
Nothing he’d ever said to any Dvalinn female had worked, but the human world seemed to be different, because her shoulders lowered and her stiff spine curved into a more relaxed posture and she said, “Sit down.”
He pulled out the chair and settled himself in, taking care not to lean toward her in a manner she might find aggressive or threatening, then picked up the menu and flashed the obviously winning smile again.
“I don’t speak any Italian.”
He figured the small lie wouldn’t count. All the Dvalinn spoke English and Tybor had tried to teach him Italian too, but it hadn’t taken as well as the rest of Tybor’s lessons.
“I don’t understand anything here. What do you recommend to eat?”
Judie Scanlon’s lips moved in a small, social smile and for the moment it was enough. At least she wasn’t ignoring him. She pointed to the menu.
“It depends if you want to embrace the Italian lifestyle and eat your main meal in the middle of the day or if, like me, you prefer to stick with a light lunch and eat more at night.” She pointed to a few items, naming and describing them.
Damn it. What would the kind of male women found attractive do? Show her that in spite of his slight build he had a man’s appetite by ordering everything from antipasto through to dessert? Yeah. That was what someone like Tybor would do, with his solid athletic build and bulky muscles. He raised his hand to summon the waiter but before he arrived, sound and sense belatedly wound their way into Huon’s overloaded brain, alerting him to the second part of Judie’s sentence—stick with a light lunch, like me. If he ordered a huge meal he’d be left on his own, eating. Judie’s light lunch would be over and she’d be gone, taking away his chance to walk with her and get to know her.
The waiter appeared at his side and Huon looked at him in confusion. “I’ll have… I’ll have…what she’s having.”
The waiter rolled his eyes and walked back toward the kitchen.
“Have you been in Venice long?” Judie asked.
“No, I just arrived,” he replied. The exchange seemed too banal to lead anywhere but who was he to judge how conversations that led to sexual encounters began?
The next question was a routine inquiry about his first impressions. Halfway through hi
s answer, the waiter arrived carrying a plate that he set down at Judie’s place.
A rush of cold, nauseous saliva flooded Huon’s mouth and he swallowed it down before he gasped, “You’re not going to eat that.”
Judie’s head jerked up from her smiling contemplation of the meal in front of her. “Of course I am. It’s my favorite.”
“But…but, it’s black and stringy. How can you contemplate putting that, whatever it is, in your mouth?”
“It’s squids’ ink pasta and it’s a Venetian specialty. I thought you knew that,” a deep voice said from behind him.
Before Huon had the chance to turn around, Tybor pulled out one of the remaining two chairs at the table, smiled at Judie, said, “May I?” and, without waiting for an answer, sat down.
“What? What are you doing here?” Huon asked, teeth gritted, fists clenched beneath the cover of the table.
“Young Huon here and I are work colleagues,” Tybor said, grinning at Judie. Then he looked across at Huon. “I brought some extra equipment from head office.”
Anger churned in Huon’s guts. How dare Tybor pull this shit? Everything Tybor had asked him to do, every task, every aching, screaming muscle Huon had pushed to exhaustion, every target he had hit, every minute he had denied himself sleep meant nothing. The bastard was here, taking a seat at the table because he didn’t believe “young Huon here” was good enough to carry out this mission. Huon’s desire to reach out and slam his fist into Tybor’s face fought with the urge to walk out of the restaurant. But from somewhere deep inside he felt a frisson of pleasure because it was so good to see that toned body again.
The sense of duty Tybor had instilled into Huon’s very bones kept him seated at the table. Be damned if he would do anything to validate Tybor’s lack of faith in him.
Judie glanced from one man to the other, her eyes flicking uneasily between them. Whether her nervousness was caused by the tension sparking from him or a more natural unease at the presence at her table of two male strangers, Huon couldn’t tell, but he knew that if something didn’t change she was going to get up and leave. Once she did, the task of infiltrating Hopewood’s headquarters would go from difficult to almost impossible because any further contact with Judie Scanlon under those circumstances would set all her stalker alarms ringing.
The best way to allay her fears was to tackle them head-on. “When I sat down at your table, I didn’t intend to usurp it for a business meeting,” Huon said, forcing his lips into what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I had no idea my colleague had come to Venice.” He hoped his expression didn’t reflect his feelings, because if it did, the smile would have morphed into a snarl.
“The last thing I want to do is upset a beautiful lady,” Tybor said, his smile wide and natural-looking. “If we’re bothering you by being here, we’ll move.”
Judie’s shoulders lowered again, her stiff posture loosened and the tight line of her mouth softened. “It’s routine to share tables at the height of the tourist season. I don’t mind,” she said.
“I’m glad,” Tybor replied. “The meal will be more enjoyable with such charming company.”
A warm, pink blush colored Judie’s cheeks and the pupils of her eyes widened before she dropped her lids, half concealing them. Shit. Tybor had taken over the job of seducing her. Did he think Huon couldn’t do anything? Okay, chances were Tybor had a lot more experience with women than he had—hell, any experience at all would put him ahead of Huon—but did he have to prove it right under his nose?
“What business are you in?”
Judie’s question was general, but Tybor answered it. “Personal security.”
“Bodyguards? I imagine you’d be good at that. You look very fit. You must work out a lot.”
Of course he did. Anyone with eyes could see the perfection of Tybor’s physique. Except Judie wasn’t looking at Tybor, she was looking at Huon and—holy crap!—her lips parted and her tongue slipped out to moisten them.
“Internet and financial security as well,” Tybor continued, nodding at Huon. “Our company covers a wide range of activities. Perhaps we could interest you—”
The reappearance of the waiter interrupted him. Without glancing at the menu, Tybor ordered. “Saltimbocca. Insalata. Valpolicella.” Then he uttered a few more phrases in rapid-fire Italian to the waiter, who hurried off.
Judie Scanlon looked at him and smiled. “You speak Italian very well, Mr…?” Her sentence ended on the uplifted pitch of a query.
“Ty, Ty Borland.” Tybor held out his hand and when Judie raised her own to meet it he lifted it to his lips.
She didn’t snatch it away but looked up at him through her eyelashes. “What a charmingly old-fashioned gesture.”
Tybor placed her hand back down on the table and covered it with his own. “But suited, I hope, to the timeless ambience of Venice.” He leaned forward in exactly the way Huon had decided would not be wise. “And I am an old-fashioned man.”
Huon snorted. Got that right! At least a thousand years old-fashioned.
As if Huon had said the words out loud, Tybor turned his gaze on him. “Did you say something?”
“Me? No. I haven’t had a chance to get a word in, have I?” he replied.
Tybor’s gaze dropped briefly and Huon knew he’d acknowledged the hit.
Tybor drew his hand back and rested it on Huon’s shoulder. “Has my…” there was the slightest hesitation, “colleague introduced himself?”
“Er, no. We hadn’t got around to exchanging names. I’m Judie Scanlon,” she said.
Huon could feel Tybor’s charm heating the atmosphere until he was sure Judie was ready to eat out of Tybor’s hand, nasty black pasta and all. “May I introduce my colleague, Huon Green?”
Huon’s fists clenched but he kept a smile pasted on his face. Green. Tybor just couldn’t resist the urge to pick at him. Tybor’s presence underlined his lack of confidence in Huon’s ability to succeed on his own and the name Tybor had concocted insulted him but remained true at the same time. Compared to Tybor he was green, but he’d been chosen for this mission for good reasons. No one would ever suspect Huon of being what he was but Tybor, who knew more about women and fighting than Huon ever would, was the epitome of a Dvalinn warrior.
Huon sat at the table in the restaurant, Tybor’s hand on his shoulder, grateful for the polyglot crowd who talked and ate and moved past them to and from tables.
Grateful because if they had not been there, if it had been just himself and Tybor, Huon would not have known whether to hug him or hit him.
* * * * *
The hard knot of worry and apprehension in Tybor’s stomach loosened. The boy hadn’t got himself into trouble yet, although he could tell from the faint tang of sweat rising from Huon’s skin that nervousness had him in its grip. As well it might. The boy had no experience with women. Tybor leaned back.
Watch and learn, boy. Watch and learn.
The waiter brought Tybor and Huon’s meals at the same time. He uncorked the Valpolicella and poured a small amount of the rich red wine into a glass. Tybor tasted and nodded.
The waiter filled the glass, then offered it to Judie. She hesitated, then said, “I don’t usually drink in the middle of the day but half a glass shouldn’t hurt. It is Italy after all.”
The waiter looked at Huon. He nodded curtly and nudged his glass forward.
Tybor ate his meal, savoring the delicate flavors and the freshness of food so often denied him in the Underworld. So many things were better here. From across the table Tybor examined Judie Scanlon. It had been a long time since he’d stopped to appreciate a woman’s softness, her gentle curves. The demands of his job kept him from sexual pursuit. He ticked over the past in his mind. Hell, it had been over two hundred years. Maybe the long period of abstinence explained his aberrant reaction to close contact with Huon. All he needed to do was get laid. Judie Scanlon would do. If Tybor got into her bed and gained the information they needed, he could arrange
to keep Huon in the loop. It wouldn’t jeopardize the mission.
He leaned in closer, close enough to smell the subtle musk of the woman’s perfume over the stronger aroma of the pasta dish in front of her. “Tell me about yourself, Judie. What are you doing in Venice?”
She put her fork down and looked at him. “I work here.”
“For a local company? An Italian concern?” he asked.
She picked up her fork and recommenced her meal. She didn’t meet his eyes. After a moment she said, “It’s an international conglomerate.”
“Do they give you time off? Perhaps enough to join me for a drink tonight?”
Huon turned to face him. High spots of red flushed his cheeks. “Perhaps she’d prefer to have dinner with me.”
If Huon had to kill her, Tybor knew he could do it, but when it came to smooth talk the boy had no chance. So naïve. So clumsy.
“I’m busy until after dinner but I’d like to go for a drink.” She looked at Tybor and her lids dropped over her eyes. “I’d enjoy the company of you and your colleague.”
Huon looked at him and grinned. Damn the boy. His eyes sparkled as if he had guessed Tybor’s intentions and enjoyed thwarting them. He turned the smile on Judie.
“Harry’s Bar?”
Judie nodded. “If you’d like to have the classic Venice experience, that would be an appropriate venue.”
Huon pressed his advantage. “At eight?”
Judie’s brow furrowed and Tybor chuckled. “This is Italy, Huon. People like to be out and about much later than that. Shall we say ten?”
“That would be better.” She pushed her plate aside and stood. “I have to get back to work. I’ll see you both tonight.” She stopped by the counter and signed a piece of paper, obviously having an account at the restaurant, and with a brief backward wave of her hand she stepped outside.