Blood Knot

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  His eyes were the blue of a cloudless summer day and almost as dazzling as one. He had a square, determined chin, perhaps the only part of his anatomy that hinted at his true nature. The rest of him was utterly distracting. His shoulders were wide and well muscled, the hips taut and the legs long and just as well developed as the shoulders. He’d pushed the sweater up his arms to his elbows and the forearms flexed, showing the play of tendons and muscles and veins. His wrists were wide and his hands were big, which matched his height. Winter judged him to be about six foot four, by the way he stood over her.

  Now he stood again and came over to where she lay in the extended La-Z-Boy. “How often do you have to feed, Winter?”

  “None of your business.”

  “It might be,” he replied. “I checked the rest of the fridge. Current health guidelines for maximum storage limits of blood in a laboratory refrigerator is either twenty-one days or forty-two days, depending on who you want to listen to. You don’t have a lot of Sebastian’s blood here. One feed left, if you use all of the bag I put on the pole.” He looked up at the IV pole next to her. “And you’ve just about drained it, so let’s assume that you use a half-pint per feeding. That means you have one feeding left in the fridge.”

  “He’ll send me more,” Winter assured him. “He always does.”

  “Really? When was the last time you received any?”

  She bit her lip. “About six weeks ago,” she admitted.

  “How often was he sending the blood before that?”

  “Every three weeks.”

  “Every twenty-one days, in other words. National blood storage standards.” Nathanial curled his hand into a fist and let it unroll again, then flexed the fingers. “It didn’t occur to you to contact him and ask him why he had stopped shipping his blood?”

  An image flashed through her mind of speaking to Sebastian, and being in the same room with him, too fast to grasp and properly visualize it. Panic touched her.

  Winter looked at Nathanial. “Sebastian is the last person on earth I can bear to speak to, even if I must. I thought of it, yes. That’s all I did.”

  Nathanial eyes widened, but that was all the shock he showed. “You will not, even if not speaking to him will bring you to this?” he asked, waving his hand toward where she lay. “Blood fever and your eventual death?”

  “Is that what will happen?” she asked dully. She shrugged.

  Nathanial frowned. With a soft word in a language she did not know, he strode over to the small dining table in the far corner, picked up one of the chairs and placed it next to her La-Z-Boy. He sat on the edge of the seat and leaned close to her, his elbows on his knees, his hands gripped together between them.

  “What happened to you? To both of you?” he demanded. “A year ago, Winter Kennedy, you were living in New York and considered to be one of the world’s best acrobats.”

  Winter rolled her eyes. “Quit with the pretty euphemisms, Nathaniel. I’m a thief. You’re a con man. Or at least you used to be once.”

  Nathanial nodded. “Very well. Plain speaking, if you insist. My question still stands. A year ago, you and Sebastian were considered to be the most effective team in the world, bar none. Now you tell me you haven’t see him for eight months. I know you both pulled off that Sumitomo Mitsui bank job in Singapore last June. That was eleven months ago. What has happened in between?”

  Shocked slithered through her, cold and sobering. “What makes you think we did the Singapore contract?” she asked, making it sound casual. “That’s more along Pedro Salvomir’s line, big banks like that.”

  “Twenty floors up, not a single guard hurt and no one can remember a damn thing?” Nathanial smiled, showing very white and even teeth. “That would be enough to brand the job as yours, even if Sebastian himself hadn’t told me you two had taken the contract.”

  “He told you?” She had run out of the capacity to be shocked any further and could only stare at him. “He met with you?” Surely Sebastian would have mentioned an occasion so momentous as meeting the man who had left such a huge scar on his life and his soul?

  Nathanial’s smile faded. “There is so much you have yet to learn, Winter Kennedy. Our kind don’t meet. Not if we can help it. It reduces risks.” He shook his head. A small movement. “He called me.”

  She drew a shaky breath. “He called,” she repeated flatly. “And didn’t tell me.” She reached over to yank the fat needle out of the crook of her elbow. “Well, that fits the pattern. There’s bushels he didn’t tell me.”

  Nathanial’s hand came down on her shoulder, halting her. “Secrecy is necessary for our survival, Winter. After a while it becomes psychologically ingrained. You’ll understand all too soon.”

  She pulled her shoulder out of his grip. “I’m not one of you.”

  He smiled. “No, you’re not.” He sat back again, his hands threaded together between his knees, and let her pull her IV out. “What happened after the bank job?” he said. “Or was it the bank job that went wrong?”

  Winter flinched. She couldn’t help it. She let the needle drop so it clanged softly against the pole. The blood bag was empty.

  “The bank job, then,” Nathanial concluded. “Tell me what happened.”

  She shook her head. There was no way she was about to tell Nathanial that tale. Sebastian was bitter and still licking the wounds he wore from his time with Nial, so Winter knew that anything he’d ever told her about the man had to be filtered and adjusted through his biases, but even adjusting for Sebastian’s prejudices meant that Nathanial was a dangerous person to open up to. The habits of the con man had never left him and he stored people’s vulnerabilities and secrets like currency, to be produced at later dates for negotiation.

  Nathanial gave a small hiss. “Sebastian is missing,” he snapped. “Have you not grasped that yet? I didn’t come here to pass the time of day with you.” He stood abruptly and took two slow steps away from her, as if he were controlling himself.

  “Missing?” She pushed the lounger into the upright position. “How do you know he’s not off on some jaunt somewhere, brooding?”

  He didn’t look back at her. “Your blood supply has stopped, hasn’t it?”

  Winter bit her lip. Adrenaline was seeping back into her system and she corrected it again. Now was not the time to panic. This could be nothing. Sebastian hadn’t spoken to her for eight months. “He’s a grown man,” Winter said, addressing Nathanial’s back. “He’s…hell, I don’t know how old he is. He wouldn’t tell me. He’s been taking care of himself for quite a while.”

  Nathanial turned, then. “He was supposed to meet me last week. He didn’t. Unlike human meetings, these meetings are sacrosanct in our world. You make them, or ensure a message is sent to let the other know you will not be there. You never just not show. Something is very wrong.” He pointed at her. “There is something wrong with you, too, Winter. You know that.”

  She couldn’t hold his gaze. She found herself looking away, at her knees in their worn jeans.

  “Yes, you agree with me,” he said softly. “Tell me what happened in Singapore. Then I might be able to begin to trace Sebastian…” He grimaced. “If it isn’t already too late.”

  Chapter Two

  Sumitomo Mitsui Bank Commercial Depository, Raffles City Tower, Raffles Avenue, Singapore—Eleven months ago

  THE JOB HAD almost been too easy. Right from the start Winter had been nervous about the set up, although Sebastian had kept reassuring her that if they systematically checked their security and kept to their normal procedures, then they would be able to cope with anything unexpected that came at them.

  It was hard to pass up a two million dollar pay day. It bothered her that Pedro Slavomir had been first to pass, though. What had he seen about this job that she could not?

  But the job had gone flawlessly. To begin, they had misdirected. It was inevitable that rumors might leak of a potential job. When the gossip emerged, it had been easy to draw attention to a
more obvious target, the retail Sumitomo Mitsui Bank on Temasek Avenue. Very few people were aware of Sumitomo’s new commercial facility in the Raffles tower, which easily surpassed the retail branch in turnover.

  After cocktails and dancing in the Raffles Hotel, Sebastian and Winter had made their tipsy way to their hotel room around one a.m., looking for all the world like a couple about to spend the night in each other’s arms. They were dressed just like other elegant Raffles guests. Winter wore a beaded blue evening gown that hugged her figure and glittered every time she moved. It had little straps over her shoulders to hold it up and there was discreet boning and support to make the most of her cleavage. A split in the dress ran up her left thigh, showing off her silk stockings and Jimmy Choo stilettos.

  Sebastian was turning heads as usual. If they hadn’t been working, he could have taken his pick of a dozen men or women who were doing everything but drool on his shoulder. He wore a dark charcoal suit that shouted good taste and expense. It made the most of his height and seemed to make a statement of the fact that he was a man who preferred the physical to the mental. Winter could feel it in her own responses to his good looks. She was aware of her own appearance and glad that she looked her best, even though she knew it was wasted on Sebastian. Lastly, he wore a black shirt and a dull green tie that gleamed and made the most of his blond hair and green eyes.

  At just over six foot high, Sebastian stood out amongst the Raffles guests. Then, when he spoke and people heard his natural well-rounded English accent, the clean vowels, and his deep, thoughtful tones, they were mesmerized. If he happened to catch their gaze and speak to them directly, they were his. Hook, line and sinker. Sebastian could do with them what he wanted after that. He merely had to smile and give them that sleepy, charming look of his and they would tumble into bed with him and think it was all their idea.

  Winter had seen it so many times she had become inured to it now.

  At least they were working tonight. She had grown used to being left sitting alone to find her own company but tonight…she couldn’t put her finger on it. It would make a difference tonight.

  Just after one a.m., they put aside the last of a long series of Martinis that had been discreetly poured into potted palms, washroom sinks and toilet bowls, spilt, and otherwise disposed of. Then they staggered up the elegant Raffles staircase, ostensibly heading for their room. As soon as they were out of sight of the hotel staff and guests, they straightened up and began to walk faster.

  In two minutes they were standing at the door that led onto the roof of the hotel. Winter took off her stilettos and Sebastian removed his jacket. From his pockets he pulled a pair of light rubber pumps to protect her feet and give her some footing over the silk stockings. She hitched one side of the beaded gown up and clipped it to her hip. The other side was split, giving her room to move. Her hair, black as midnight, she normally kept in a short, simple hairstyle which made her work easier. She nodded to Sebastian.

  He transferred his Glocks to the holsters under his arms and readjusted the straps now he could let them show, added the flick knife and other gear from the pockets of his jacket to loops and straps designed to hold them, which he had added to the holsters.

  “Let’s go,” she murmured, and disabled the alarm on the door.

  They slipped out onto the roof and dropped their shoes and jacket just outside the door. Winter took a breath, feeling the low grade fizz and buzz of excitement she always got these days when the job was on.

  In thirteen minutes, they had breached the Raffles Tower and reached the twentieth floor. Security was tighter on the twentieth floor, as the Sumitomo Mitsui Banking Corporation had their own security.

  Here, Winter and Sebastian split up, for each had their own assignments, matched to their skills. And Winter had things to do that she didn’t want Sebastian to see.

  Sebastian hesitated. “Be careful,” he said in a murmur, breaking their usual silence. His eyes were narrowed, concentrating. She knew he was listening hard. His hearing was often phenomenal.

  She scowled and gave him a push. Go. His task was inside the vault, this time.

  Sebastian shook his head and left, moving fast and silently. He didn’t look back.

  After a moment while she tried to puzzle through his uncharacteristic break with practice, she turned and hurried down the wide, silent corridor she was in. This corridor, from the schematics they had been able to purchase, surrounded the vault and data centre on three sides. The fourth side of the vault and data centre was the twenty floor drop to the street below. The guards strolled the corridor ceaselessly, in random patterns. The corporation didn’t depend upon cameras. That factor, Winter bet, had been the one that had made Pedro Slavomir pass the job up. Given the peculiar conditions of the delivery that the contract demanded, it made it almost impossible, unless you had certain skills…

  There was a guard up ahead, his back to her.

  Winter unclipped her dress, dropping it back down so it looked normal. She shifted her walk, making it more seductive, pushing her hips forward. She smiled. When the guard turned around, he saw her and for two precious, startled seconds he hesitated, stunned to see a woman in evening wear shimmying her way towards him. Then his brain caught up with his instincts and reason took over. There was no possible way she could be in this corridor at this time of night unless she had overcome at least six security barriers.

  He reached down and back for his gun, but it was too late, Winter was already within reach of him. She rested her hand on his arm on his arm. “It’s alright,” she soothed. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  He paused, gazing at her. “It is?”

  She halted the flow of his endorphins she had sent streaming into his blood as soon as she had touched him. The adrenalin spike from seeing her had been countered now. He, like most men in security and military forces, had a highly responsive biology and was easy to manipulate. She concentrated instead on soothing chemicals. Calm and happy juices. “Sure is,” she told him. “Everything’s just fine. Why don’t you sit down?”

  She had learned long ago to make them sit, first. The bruises they got from falling raised too many questions later.

  “Okay,” he said happily and sat on the floor. He grinned up at her.

  Winter reached into his mind, riffling through the acids and proteins there, looking for the most recent patterns. “You’re not going to remember anything about me when you wake up later. You will wake refreshed from a short sleep and feel guilty about falling asleep on the job, but that’s all.” She found the sugars and fats that marked his most recent memories. “You won’t remember anything out of the ordinary other than you fell asleep. And it was a lovely sleep.”

  “Okay.”

  She put him to sleep and lowered his head to the ground. He was smiling in his sleep and she quickly adjusted the memories she had found, smoothing out the patterns and spikes. Dreams from his sleep would take their place.

  Winter stood up and took one of the syringes from the pouch on her hip. Sebastian and the few who knew of them thought they were her secret wonder drug, her personal weapon that knocked people cold and left them with no memory of events afterwards. This, in part, enhanced Winter Manon Kennedy’s mighty reputation for breaking into the impossible-to-reach places, the unbreakable vaults, the unassailable locations.

  If only they knew the truth. She grimaced and squirted the saline in the syringe onto her dress where the beading would hide the wet patch and put the syringe back in her pouch. The guard was snoring now, still smiling. Under the closed lids, his eyes were moving rapidly backwards and forward in deep REM.

  One down, seven to go.

  She paused to adjust her own arousal. It was always this way. Touching others, reaching inside them, especially combined with a job, gave her a rush. At first, she had resented that it was so. Now she learned to accept that life had shaped circumstances and her in such a way that this was how she was. She tamped down the arousal enough to ignore it
and moved on.

  Eight minutes and forty seconds later, seven of the eight guards were sleeping peacefully. She couldn’t find the eighth. He seemed to be eluding her. Finally, she rounded the corner of the last turn of the corridor, slowing down, her caution ratcheted up high. There was nowhere else the guard could be but somewhere in this last stubby wing of the corridor.

  The corridor was empty. Winter didn’t let her guard down as she slowly traversed the twenty yard long passage. There were doors all along the corridor. He had to be behind one of them. She just had to draw him out.

  Winter inched down the long length of the corridor, until cold steel touched her bare back. “Stop right there.” The guard had the sing-song cadences of a native Singaporean and from the direction of his voice, he was short. Winter estimated he was shorter than her own five foot nine inches.

  She backed up half a step.

  “I said stop,” he repeated.

  Winter wasn’t going to be able to reach him that way. She turned her head enough to sight him over her shoulder. He had his gun fully extended from his body. It didn’t matter. A finger was just as good a contact point for her as a chest or a face. She could reach into a body with her fingertip touching through thin cloth, like a business shirt, or the shirts the guards wore. But she had to be able to touch, at least. Contact was essential.

  This one wasn’t going to let her get that close.

  Except sometimes talking would get them to lower their guard enough.

  “I suppose you’re wondering what I’m doing here,” she began.

  “Shut up,” he snapped.

  “I got lost, you see—”

  “I said, shut up!” he screamed.

  Crap.

  Suddenly, there was a sharp sound of snapping wood, muffled. The guard grunted and sighed. Winter twisted to see what had happened.

  The guard was crumpling to the polished, gleaming floor. Sebastian stood over him, a broken broom handle in his hand, the inner core of the spruce handle showing startling white in the dull night lights of the corridor. The bristled end lay on the floor next to the slowly oozing guard.