by Sable Jordan
No image on the live feed on his phone meant Phil was in motion. Kizzie would have made it to the alleyway behind Ink-Scribed by now. If she found anything, she’d tell him. They had an uneasy trust. Though he would prefer something more concrete—at least from her—given their circumstances, that was unrealistic. Stupid. Dangerous. “Uneasy” would have to do.
Across the street, Phil stood head and shoulders above the pedestrians. He lingered near a food cart, sunglasses down over his eyes, slurping noodles from a container. One whiff and Xander’s stomach rumbled.
“Any luck?” Phil asked.
“Maybe.” They fell into the flow of foot traffic, passing fashion stores and an electronics depot. A toy robot danced to music blaring from a speaker, and a group had gathered to watch the furry yellow gizmo go. “Somebody knows something, nobody wants to talk. Expected that. What’d you get on the dead girl?”
Uneasy trust. Kizzie didn’t know Phil was looking into their Jane Doe. Xander wanted to see what results she and her CIA contacts came back with, and whether or not she’d be honest with him.
Phil relayed the details between another bite of food. “Chiho Losu. 23. Tox came back positive for cyanide and trace amounts of oleandrin, among other things. Negative for the neurotoxin TTX, which is what would be found in a fugu overdose.”
“Murder.”
A curt nod from Phil. “Tattoo’s an In-Yo with characters in the tiger and dragon positions.” He slowed to drain the container and then tossed the empty into a nearby bin, kept moving. “In dragon: ‘resistance to bending.’ Tiger slot reads ‘clay.’”
Clay? They floated to a stop at the corner, turned and strolled back in the direction they’d come.
“Telling Kizzie?”
Xander hadn’t decided. But the tension he’d picked up on the night before was still in Phil’s tone, and he made up his mind about his buddy’s attitude. “What is it you want to say?”
“Short version?” Phil grunted. “You don’t get Harvey like this. The job is pear-shaped, but if we do manage to save it, what’re the odds Agent Baldwin will let you just stroll away with a nuke?”
Slim, closer to none. Xander knew that. Same way Phil did. Same way they both knew letting Kizzie walk with it wasn’t ideal either. Saying any of that would be redundant. “You got it all worked out...”
“Bring her on, X. That’s the only way—”
“Connolly.”
“Handy crutch, isn’t he?” They stopped near the cart again, Phil turning what Xander assumed was an intent gaze on him behind the dark shades. “We could use a talent like Kizzie’s. She can get in where we can’t, and given Naima’s current situation…”
Like Xander hadn’t thought about that. Kizzie was, at this very moment, getting in where they couldn’t. “Nai’s not my only option. Amalia’s close—”
“Why can’t you trust Kizzie?”
“Why do you?” Xander narrowed his gaze, eyes darting from one dark lens to the other. Phil turned away and a knot formed in Xander’s gut. Did… Did Kizzie get to Phil?
Phil stepped back to allow a line of preschoolers to pass, the front and tail flanked by teachers. Each child held on to a ring linked to a rope so they couldn’t wander away. Yellow brims of their white hats were flipped up, ducklings following their mother. Innocent gazes took in the many legs around them, the buildings, the street, the colorful signs.
Shit, life used to be so simple. “Innocent” wasn’t a title either could claim, but Xander and Phil had known each other since they were young enough to be ducklings. Brothers. And uncertainty between brothers usually ended with black eyes and busted lips.
The kids gone, Xander closed the gap. “There’s more than just whatever has Kizzie wrapped around Connolly’s finger.”
Phil twisted his head so the shades faced Xander again, poker face in place. “Like?”
“Like it’s not just my ass or yours I’d be risking. You weren’t even thinkin’ about Nai,” Xander said, practically growling the words. He kept his voice low, but the intensity relayed his frustration. “Photo-capable binocs in Kizzie’s bag. Which means, while you were playing that stupid prank in Paris, she probably got several shots of Naima and I together.”
“Worried that might ruin your chances?” Phil asked, tilting his head. The laughter had returned to his tone, like nails on a chalkboard. Xander clenched his jaw. Phil lifted his shoulders, paused, let them drop again. “Kizzie probably did get pictures—in fact, I’m positive she did. She’s a good agent, X. We both know the effects are negligible.”
“Really?” Xander said, heavy on the sarcasm.
“We’re probably on half a dozen live streams right no—”
“That doesn’t give you the go-ahead to put everyone else in jeopardy,” he snapped. “We discussed this when she left Oman. The Helsinki job—getting her to come along was a fluke. We—”
“—caught her off guard. Forced her to go solo,” Phil finished.
“If you were her, ‘a good agent,’ would you take that chance twice? Or would you have someone covering your six? Her coming back means Connolly having a tracker on us—you,” Xander pointed from Phil’s chest to his own, “and me. Not Stix. Not Nai and her baby. Not anybody else.
“Until we crack Kizzie, or her phone, we assume she’s updating him about our movements. And if not Connolly directly, then somebody. Don’t you think she’s playing me, same way I’m playing her?” He was playing her, right? He pushed the thought aside and exhaled. “Use your head.”
“Then you use yours,” Phil shot back. “Kizzie’s not the agent to play with, not like this. Either bring her on or cut her loose, ‘cause you can’t keep walking this tightrope.”
Uncertainty and ultimatums. Too many Us, too short a time. Xander balled his fists, contemplating thrashing Phil in public. “Which means?”
A long pause. “You ran after the kid.”
Kid? What kid? Xander’s brow knit, and it took him a minute to puzzle it out. Phil nodded.
Xander hadn’t thought about it. When Koji took off running, he just reacted. Same as in the tattoo shop minutes before. Someone threatened one of his and he snapped. A reflex, to quote one sexy CIA agent. And, dammit, wasn’t he was supposed to be getting under her skin?
“In the future,” Phil said, face an emotionless mask, “try and remember I’m here for a reason. And it doesn’t have to be Harvey or Kizzie, Xander, but there’s only one way you get both.”
Phil backpedaled two steps, jerked his chin toward a spot over Xander’s shoulder and then spun on his heel and stalked off.
Turning, Xander watched Kizzie approach, a little bounce in her confident gait. She waded through the sea of bodies like they weren’t there. Her energy had shifted—definitely excited. Definitely had info.
She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow in stride and propelled him along. The contact was unexpected. It felt natural. Enough so that Xander almost decided Phil might be on to something. They slowed at the crosswalk, surrounded by nattering tourists and locals. “So?”
“Still hungry?” He nodded and Kizzie hugged his arm tighter, a smile playing at the corners of her lush mouth. “So…take me to dinner.”
Xander held her gaze, watched one dark brow pop up. In the glittering brown pools of her irises, the traffic light glowed green. Her hand still in his elbow, he lead her across the street.
Almost wasn’t good enough.
“I was thinking sushi, maybe Kobe beef…” Xander said, holding the door open. “Dab smack in the heart of a city with a plethora of epicurean delights, and you want to eat at an American restaurant.”
“I’m a cheap date.” Kizzie shrugged as she strutted by, the rich smells of meat and potatoes rushing past her nose and making a beeline for her stomach. It might be a wasted trip, but better to get a free meal than pass out free shows to all and sundry in some spank club in Harajuku. Xander mentioned checking out said clubs, and Kizzie’s suggestion that Phil wear the corset an
d hooker heels didn’t even get a giggle from the peanut gallery. Literally showing her ass on every continent wasn’t what she envisioned when joining the CIA.
“For two?”
Xander nodded to the hostess. “Somewhere in the back.”
The bright-eyed girl traced her gaze over his body from head to toe. She nabbed two menus and started toward the main dining area, so much sway in those narrow hips her head rocked with each step.
Kizzie rolled her eyes and followed behind Xander. A table to the far left drew her attention. Male, eating alone, dressed in a white shirt and jeans. Neck craned, Kizzie squinted to see if he fit the description. Couldn’t be quite sure from the distance, but—
She slammed into a human wall with an oomph, braced her hands on Xander’s waist to keep from falling over.
“Impatient, aren’t we?” Half-turned to help steady Kizzie, Xander winked at the hostess, who graced him with an animated giggle. Without offering Kizzie the seat, he slid onto the bench facing the door.
One final, gurgling exhale and chivalry flatlined.
The hostess reached around Kizzie to hand Xander a booklet. “Our specials tonight are—”
Kizzie snatched both menus and shot the girl a smile that said, under no uncertain terms, if you want to keep breathing now’s a good time to leave. The hostess scurried away without the hip-swing and Kizzie’s smile dropped. “You’re in my seat.”
Xander tipped his chin toward the opposite bench and shrugged out of his coat. “Guess you’ll have to trust me to watch your back.”
“Which one of us is the agent here, Duquesne?”
“Pulling rank on a Dom. Let me know how that works for you.” He casually opened a menu and muttered, “The hell is a bloomin’ onion?”
Her glaring gone unnoticed, Kizzie slid onto the bench.
“I’d be hurt at the message that sends if it didn’t get you closer to me.” Draping his arm around her shoulder, Xander scooched the menu over so she could see it.
“All right, Stumpy,” Kizzie warned.
He pulled her closer, tucking her firmly under his wing. “You said this is a date.”
“Maybe we don’t like each other,” she scanned the dinning area, “maybe I’m being polite and any minute now I’ll escape to the bathroom, call a friend and dish about how horrible the night is going with this wretched troll of a man….”
Xander chuckled. “If it’s not going well why’d you sit next to me? Nope, we’re on a date—a very vanilla date—at a restaurant of your choosing, and everything’s perfect. Going so great, in fact, I’m rounding third and heading for home.”
“Ha! You wouldn’t get lucky tonight if this were a date, which it’s not.”
He hooked her wrist and kissed a sweet path from her palm to her fingertips. “What are you having?”
Fighting the smile was useless. Kizzie stared at the menu but didn’t see it, too focused on the heat radiating from his body. A deep breath brought his cologne into her lungs and she chewed the inside of her cheek to keep from cursing.
“So this is you on a date, huh? What will your wife think about it?”
Xander flipped the laminated page and continued perusing the offerings. “We have a really, really open marriage.”
“Open marriage…” Kizzie repeated, making the two words sound like “bullshit.”
“Don’t believe me?” She shook her head. “I think you want to believe me.”
“You also think you’re gettin’ some ass on this non-date. Can’t trust your own judgment, chief.” He pulled a slow breath through his nose and Kizzie shrugged. “Just odd. Your file didn’t mention a wife, so it has to be fairly new.”
“And what do the fine folks at Langley have to say about me?”
“Oh, no. You said to ask, so I’m asking.” Kizzie circled back to the top, cleared her throat. “Your wife, your…sub… She’d be cool with this? You out on a date? You ‘playing’ with other people?”
“It’s not so uncommon in the Lifestyle. You’re interested.”
“Nope. Doms and subs and collars…. Not my thing, and I just don’t get it—giving someone else power over you.” Ignoring both menu and new appendage, Kizzie looked around the restaurant again, checking for details, anything that seemed out of place. “So you can play, what about her?”
“What about her?” Xander asked dryly.
“Can she screw other people?”
“I don’t want to talk about her—”
“Ah,” Kizzie interrupted, focused on the menu again, “Don’t like sharing your toys, huh?” She sighed knowingly. “I can dig it. I’m the same about my guns...”
“—and you don’t want to talk about her, either,” Xander finished. “You’d rather talk about you. So would I.” His arm dragged down her back, hand came up her spine to the nape of her neck, bringing a chill along for the ride. “Stop running and ask.”
Tingling awareness radiated from every nerve in her body and keeping her voice level was a struggle. “All right, I’m your sub,” she lifted a shoulder and added, “for shits and gigs—”
“Watch your mouth. I don’t like when my sub speaks to me that way. But I do like where this is going. Continue.”
“Can I play with other people?”
He frowned. “Who?”
Did ‘who’ really matter? Not that any of this conversation mattered, but she had a point to make. Might as well be a sharp one. “Phil.”
Xander angled his body more and leveled his gaze. “You want to fuck Phil?”
Oh, but it was okay for him to speak that way? She ignored the snarky response in her head. “I dunno. What if I did? What if I’m your sub, but I want to fuuu— play with Phil? How’s that work?”
The frown didn’t dissipate, and if anything his already-dark gaze went opaque. “You’re not fucking Phil.”
“Language,” she teased, and then added brightly, “I’m also not your sub, Duquesne.” Leaning forward, she resting her arm on the table, absently registered photos of hamburgers. “Merely a point of illustration. As Master and commander, do you let your sub get down with somebody else?”
“We’re jumping the gun here, and you misinterpreted what I said at the start. You’re interested.”
“Not at all, slick.”
“It wasn’t a question. And I did warn you…” His grip firmed on the nape of her neck, so much so that he angled her head toward him and she sucked in a startled breath. “You’re lying to me. A cardinal sin in my world—a good sub doesn’t lie to her Dom. Lying means you don’t trust your Master, and you have to trust your Master. If I told you to get on this table so I could eat you instead of the steak, you’d do it because you trust me.”
Pain registered at the base of her skull—not unpleasant but nearly so. A very intense squeeze. Was it getting tighter? Kizzie fought her initial reaction and kept her hands to herself. Blood thundered through her veins and her breathing kicked up a notch. “I’d nev—”
“Quiet,” he commanded, and her mouth snapped shut, albeit there was a scowl on her face. “A good sub doesn’t speak without permission. I didn’t give you permission.” The fingers of his free hand traced down the exposed slope of her neck, the light touch raising goosebumps on her arms. “The thought of being splayed on this table has appeal, doesn’t it? Pulse at your throat’s jumping; you’re forcing yourself to sit still. I’d put you up here, spread you open… I’ve almost forgotten how sweet you taste.”
Her face warmed, and Kizzie inhaled a sharp breath through her nose. The tiniest whimper sounded in her throat and Helsinki flashed through her mind. Would he really do it? In this booth?
“I’d start here.” Still gripping her neck, his other hand went to her knee, heat from his palm penetrating the denim. “Open your legs, Princess…hand on my thigh.”
She hesitated and he whispered, “Remember, good girls get to come.” Her hand slid onto his leg without her meaning to.
“Good girl. Don’t. Move. This has to be a q
uick operation, you understand, so no messing around.” He took a path straight up, pausing briefly at the juncture between her thighs, before continuing north, right over the band of her jeans. A twist of his fingers and the button popped open. Kept going, under the edge of her shirt. Up…up…
“Which means no time to play with these gorgeous breasts.” Fingertips edged just beneath the wire of her bra, tracing the crease of one breast, and then up over the bell. A firm squeeze of her lingerie-covered flesh and she gasped. “You can’t possibly imagine how much I’ve thought about flogging your breasts.”
His fingers scored down the orb, down her stomach, one dipped into her navel. Her abs tightened. A few teasing swirls and he moved south again, skin to skin. So slow.
The burgers on the menu blurred; Kizzie tightened her grip on his leg.
This was happening; she was letting this happen.
Stop him, dammit! For the love of all things yellow, he’s married!
The message never left her brain. Her lungs filled and emptied, repeating the cycle faster each time. He moved a millimeter lower, tone darkening. “Let’s see how wet my pussy is, hm?”
His pussy… Her belly sank to her feet and her toes curled in her boots. ‘His pussy’ clutched.
“Better yet,” Xander exhaled, moist breath hot against the shell of her ear, “let’s sweeten the deal. If my pussy’s wet, you get on the table, I get us kicked out of here.”
Those fingers moved lower. Any second now he’d know exactly what his words did to her. She noted absently he hadn’t given the alternative, what would happen if she wasn’t wet. Waste of breath.
“You in?”
Yes. No! Either choice would be completely stupid. She chewed her lip to keep from saying anything.
His lips brushed her ear when he spoke. “Say it.”
Kizzie stared down at the table, waiting.
Waiting was always the hardest part.
Xander shifted away a bit, but the grip on her neck didn’t lessen, and the hand under her shirt stayed put.