The Assassin's Salvation (Mandrake Company)

by Ruby Lionsdrake

  “Does Mandrake know?” Sergei asked.

  Jamie looked up, her eyes widening. “No, no, it’s nothing to bother him with. It’s just the not-so-accidental brush-ups and the comments that I’m probably not supposed to hear. When I tried to take one of Sergeant Hazel’s judo classes, it was fine when I was working with the women, but a couple of the men… Look, it’s not a big deal, nothing to bother the captain with. It just makes me uncomfortable on the ship.” Her eyes had lowered again, such a contrast to the grinning woman who had plotted an infiltration on the fly.

  Sergei wondered if he was getting this admission because he had shared an admission of his own. Maybe she knew he would understand. Did she know he would very much like to give her a hug? He clasped his hands behind his back instead.

  “I thought if I knew a few defensive moves, I’d have a little more confidence,” she said, “and the courage to look them in the eye and tell them to back off. But knowing any one of those men could beat the tools out of my box—I’m afraid to rock the boat. Or the ship.” Jamie shrugged. “They never bother Ankari.”

  “Of course not. She’s sleeping with Mandrake.”

  “No, it’s more than that. She beat up Striker when we first came on board, when we were still prisoners. That got around, and nobody bugged her even before it was common knowledge that she was seeing the captain.”

  “She beat up Striker?” Sergei probably shouldn’t have sounded delighted, when Jamie sounded miserable relaying her experiences, but the notion of a girl knocking Striker on his ass tickled him. Oh, Sergeant Hazel could handle him, but she was as muscular as a lot of the men on the ship and had been born with a gun in her hand, if one believed the stories.

  “Yeah. And nobody bothers Sergeant Hazel, either. I assume they all know she can defend herself. And Lauren… Well, she hardly ever leaves the lab, and she’s always so absent-minded that she probably wouldn’t notice a horny merc rubbing up against her.”

  Sergei had no trouble imagining that scenario. “They’re also not quite in your squadron.”

  She frowned up at him. She hadn’t heard that expression? Or she actually didn’t know that she was, as the ancient fairy tale said, the fairest one of all? The sort of woman that reminded a man of the spring sun and grassy meadows and the innocent joys of youth? Granted, Sergei had never experienced any of those joys of youth, but he remembered a few of Mandrake’s stories about growing up in the near-wilds of Grenavine. Jamie was doubtlessly different from the jaded and hardened female mercenaries, soldiers, and pirates that the crew ran into on missions, not to mention the beleaguered prostitutes that most men had to settle for during shore leave. Even if she didn’t see it, he had no trouble figuring out why she might star in the fantasies of so many of the men on board.

  “Never mind,” Sergei said. “That shouldn’t matter. You’re right—they should behave themselves.” He didn’t feel at all hypocritical saying that when he had been fantasizing about her since they met, no, sir. And what exquisite difficulty he would have grappling with her on a gym mat without letting his touches linger inappropriately. He was not the right person for this task. Why had she asked him? Sergeant Hazel was down here without anything more to do than he. And what about her friend Ankari? She clearly knew a move or two. Though, she was busy. Even now, her voice drifted back to them as she discussed treatment options with one of those callers. “I will teach you, for as long as you feel you need it, but most men should back off if you tell them to. Trust me, nobody’s going to beat the, what did you say, tools out of your box? Instead, they’ll probably slink away, crushed by your rejection.”

  “That hasn’t been my experience.”

  “That’s because you don’t reject them firmly enough.” He wondered if he was setting himself up to receive one of those rejections. No, he wasn’t going to ever proposition her. Hadn’t he already decided that? Too bad his hormones hadn’t gotten the message. “You had flowers where you grew up, right?”

  “Yes…” She gave him a strange look—like how could someone not have grown up with flowers?—but it switched to a sympathetic one.

  Sergei rushed on before she could ask if he’d had flowers. “Your scientist friend can correct me if I’m wrong, but flowers always have some way to protect themselves from being eaten by animals, right? Like a bitter taste? Or a natural pesticide.” Where in the system had he come up with this analogy? He wasn’t even sure if he knew what he was talking about. “Or thorns,” he said, inspired.

  “I suppose.” By now, Jamie must be wondering how her request for self-defense lessons had turned into a gardening chat.

  “So, you’re like the rose. You’re vibrant and you taste good.” As soon as the words came out, he realized how idiotic—and perverted—they sounded. Jamie’s eyebrows flew up too. “I mean to animals. I think roses are edible to people, too, but what I’m saying is that you need to be like that rose. You need to grow a few thorns, so you can repel unsolicited advances when necessary. You don’t have to change your personality to become less appealing, but if you can scratch someone who comes on too strong, that’s all it’ll take.”

  “It might take some time to figure out how to do that. That’s not my natural instinct. I’ve always avoided conflict and been shy around authority figures.”

  “Well, we’ll work on it, all right? You’re probably right in that knowing you can defend yourself will give you more confidence to tell the Strikers on the ship to back off. And in the meantime…” Sergei looked her square in the eyes. “If anyone bothers you, let me know. I’ll be your thorns.”

  She smiled up at him again, and his chest swelled with the realization that he would very much like to knock someone on his ass for her, to do anything necessary to protect her. Damn, he was obsessed. How had this happened so quickly?

  “Thank you,” Jamie said. “It’s getting late, so I better go see if I can make that appointment.” She put a hand on his shoulder and stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek, her lips sending a jolt of desire through him as they brushed his skin.

  He caught himself reaching for her and stopped. Still smiling, she jogged toward the front of the shuttle. That had been the kiss one gave to a friend or a relative. Nothing more. He knew that. Somehow that knowledge didn’t do anything to tamp down his desire. How was he going to survive wrestling on a mat with her? Limbs entangled for throws and escapes…

  His head lolled back. It was going to be torture.

  Chapter 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 s
he 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 presence 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 it 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? Jami
e 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?”