by Sable Jordan
“Chiho was a limit. Akari…a limit. Fay,” her voice wobbled the slightest bit, “Fay was your strongest opposition. I remember how fiercely you fought during the training sessions, how Fay always bested you, but you never stopped. That determination, that strength, is why I sent you to Sacha. It’s why I lied when I said you were no longer my kotenok. I knew it would push you.”
Close enough to see Sumi’s trembling lips, Vanda continued in her coaxing tone. “Tell me, how did you do it? Gun? A knife?” She smiled widely as though they shared a secret. “Or did you bludgeon Fay to death as you so often wanted with your bare hands?”
Neither. She’d had someone else do it.
Same way someone else had finished off Sacha.
“She’s dead,” Sumi snapped. “What does it matter how?”
“So, not at your own hand then?” Sumi thrust the gun forward, holding it a bit steadier, and Vanda smiled again. “No matter. You succeeded, kotenok. I knew you would. It was always you, you know?”
Did her Mistress speak the truth? Did She want them to be together?
As though reading her thoughts, Vanda nodded. “Are you alone?”
“The…the Privideniye is h-here.” Sumi pushed her slicked blue hair from her face. “And his submissive, Gigi. They’re—”
“Shhh,” Vanda soothed. She lifted her phone, showing it to Sumi. “It’s okay. But we must leave now.”
Sumi took a step back, unsure, but her Mistress didn’t relent.
“Come, pet. Come let me make you sacred again.”
Sumi whimpered. She wanted that so desperately.
Using you…
No.
Sumi inched forward, lowering the gun to her side. Mistress Shinari slid Her palm along Sumi’s cheek, and then pulled her into a soft kiss. “How I’ve missed you, my good little pet.”
Yes, Sumi was a good pet. “D-do you love me, Mistress?” she whispered.
Mistress Shinari gave a slow bob of Her head, fingertips gliding down Sumi’s arm, en route to her wrist. “Give me the gun.”
Sumi stiffened. “Why?”
“You question me? I’ll have to cane you harder for forgetting your place.” Mistress Shinari pecked her mouth again. “Would you like that, kotenok?”
“Please, say it… Do you love me?”
“Let me show you,” She whispered against Sumi’s parted lips; breath filling the hot cavern of Sumi’s mouth. “Give me the gun and we will go.”
Tears in her eyes, her Mistress’s hand curled over hers. The weapon rose in the scant space between them.
“Yes, pet,” She said, “I will make you sa—”
Mistress Shinari jerked once, twice.
Her eyes rounded, mouth parted in a tiny O as she sucked in a gasp. Her gaze connected with Sumi’s and then She fell forward, sliding down her submissive’s body until She sprawled on the ground.
Sumi drew in a breath and screamed.
Less than six minutes remained until Harvey exploded, the tension only amplified by the soothing sound of the rain. Thoughts of Kizzie entered Xander’s mind exactly once, and then he pushed it aside. Had to assume she was okay.
Without question they were all going to die.
Just not this morning.
He was shaking uncontrollably now, soaked through with freezing water and adrenaline. His head pounded with the sound of his own heartbeat and his muscles were heavy with fatigue. Through bleary eyes he scrutinized every inch of the diagram on the laptop’s screen. They’d cut the right wire. So why was the countdown still going?
4 minutes…
“Xander…?” Phil said hesitantly.
“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘I love you, man,’” he replied calmly, “I’m gonna let this timer run out.”
Phil chuckled nervously. “Just wanted to say you smell ‘purdy.’”
Xander reviewed the options again. Then he studied the bomb itself. All of the charges were set in alignment with each other, exhibiting a sort of perverse beauty with its symmetry.
All the charges except one.
On closer inspection, Xander picked out the reason for the slight anomaly. Another set of wires disappeared behind a little black panel on the base of the device. Hard to make out through the jumble of spheres and plastic explosives and red threads.
“There. See that?” He circled the area with the jittering flashlight. “Open that.”
Phil reacted, wedging back the lid on the hidden cubby with his knife. The cover didn’t pull free completely, but it was enough for him to force two fingers in to the knuckles and lose the skin. His fingertips brushed something hard, plastic, but the rain made them slip away.
3 minutes…
He dove in again, ignoring the slices to his fingers as he speared them deeper into the space. Snagging a corner with just the tips, he wriggled out another cell phone, the countdown synchronized with the first. A bevy of wires came with it.
2 minutes 18 seconds.
“Now cut the wire.”
“You’re sure this time?”
“A strong fifty-percent,” Xander said, bobbing his head.
Phil located the thread, double-checked it and then, wincing, snipped it clean through.
The timers stopped.
Thirty seconds of held breath later, Xander and Phil hadn’t been vaporized.
Resting on his haunches, Xander threw up his tired arms like he’d scored the winning touchdown. “Who’s the brains?”
“Cut it close enough, asshole,” Phil barked. “My fuckin’ balls are in my belly!”
“Have I ever gotten you killed?”
“Not for lack of trying.” Phil set about dismantling the bomb, easing the wires from the charges.
Xander was too numb to help, flexing and fisting his fingers and toes to keep the circulation going. Christ, he hadn’t had it this bad in years, and hoped he didn’t have to repeat it anytime soon.
“When were you planning on telling me about Kizzie?”
Phil paused a beat, then picked up working again. “I wasn’t,” he said plainly.
“Because…?”
“Wasn’t my secret to tell. Had an idea, but no proof.” He peeled a ring of RDX from a sphere. “Re-read her dossier before she came back, did a little digging. Sophomore year, things started getting…odd. Grades were fine, skills-testing fine, but some of her behavior reports were…inconsistent.” He shrugged. “Based on what I saw…I made an assumption of trauma and, unfortunately, was right.”
Inconsistent? Sophomore year?
“You’re sure that wasn’t Junior year?”
“Sophomore. Third year was a breeze: still top of her class, no more behavior problems. Like she was a completely different cadet. And then, mid year, poof! She drops out. And the crazier part: There was no reason listed. No nothing. Model student one day, the next, a ghost.
“You don’t just drop out of the Point, X, not without repercussions. And then dive headfirst into the CIA, under Connolly’s command. Something big happened…”
Xander started to ask about any mention of a woman named Jo, but thought better of it. There was a lot he was missing when it came to Kizzie, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. He’d let her tell him when she was good and ready.
Phil peeled a ring of RDX from the fourth sphere. “She’s one of us, X. Walking wounded, but walking. That’s all that matters. Even if she was involved with what went down, she doesn’t deserve to be screwed over, not to get to Connolly or the rest of them… Short term, maybe, but it wouldn’t have set right with you in the long run.”
“Covering my six?”
“I’m always covering your six,” Phil echoed, bumped knuckles with his brother, went to work on the last sphere. “She promised me an out, by the way. So long as I give up everything. Seems the CIA’s Intel on you is slim.”
Xander had figured. “And…?”
“I left the door open, of course. Even let slip who the bastard was who cut my face open and then d
id a shit job stitching it back.”
“Jesus H, Phil, you’re killing me.”
“Just a slave to the truth, Xander.” Phil chuckled, bucking his head toward the spheres. “Can you manage?”
Fighting off another bout of shakes, Xander reached for the first gold sphere.
Sleep tugged at his tired eyes, and the cold was getting worse, but he had his bomb. A bomb he was supposed to give to Kiz—
Gunshots. Two of them, followed by a loud, agonized scream.
Phil jerked his head toward the sound. Jamming his fingers into his mouth, he let out a shrill, sharp whistle and hopped to his feet. “Sirens are next; park police HQs aren’t far. We gotta move.”
Heart in his throat, Xander shoved himself to standing, staring in the direction Kizzie had gone. Was she hit? Fear curled in his gut and sprinted through his veins, edging out adrenaline by nanoseconds. He stumbled forward, first one awkward step then another, until he was moving at what felt like lightning speed.
He hadn’t gone six feet.
He wouldn’t get to her in time.
A shadow peeled away from the darkness, dressed in black from head to toe. The man pulled alongside Xander and started packing up Harvey’s components with an economy of movement.
“Saddle up and bug out,” Phil said, the command encompassing both Xander and the new man. Knife in his grip, he bolted in the direction Kizzie had gone and dissolved into the night.
* * * *
From the cover of a thin tree trunk, Kizzie squeezed off three quick rounds.
Two hit their mark; the third never left the chamber.
She squeezed the trigger again.
Click.
Jammed.
Shit.
Five meters away, Shinari lay face down in the wet grass and Sumi paced back and forth. Gun still in hand, she tugged at her blue hair, muttering to herself.
“No…no no no… She didn’t say…” Sumi’s head snapped up and their eyes locked. Sumi leveled her weapon.
The world around Kizzie slowed.
Three in the morning and head in the path of a loaded gun handled by a deranged civilian. Déjà vu?
Too far to reach Sumi before the weapon fired, and too close for the woman to miss.
Trapped.
Kizzie didn’t lower her Beretta. Her slim chance at survival rested on a useless pistol, bravado, and logic. She’d have to reason with the woman. But for someone with a limitless supply of snappy comebacks and fast-talk, the words froze in Kizzie’s dry throat.
“What have you done to her, Gigi?” Sumi wailed. The weapon shook in her hold. She glanced down at Vanda. “My Mistress…Shinari…”
“She’s not—” Too soft. Sumi wouldn’t hear. Kizzie swallowed, the sound a sonic boom in her ears.
Sumi looked up again, and the distress in her face melted to determination. “Courage, strength, and discipline,” she recited stiffly, “these are the marks of a warrior. We, the Itsutsu Shinseina Senshi, vow our lives to the restoration of balance through our Mistress. And where she leads I will follow. ”
“Listen to me,” Kizzie urged.
Sumi flicked her gaze up, features relaxed, peace settling over her face.
There was nothing Kizzie could do but brace for the bullet.
The gun bucked once.
Sumi dropped to the wet grass.
And the five sacred warriors were no more…
The rain still fell but with far less anger. Sirens crying behind her, Kizzie made it to the SUV.
Empty. No Xander, no Phil.
The door was unlocked, a wet backpack she recognized as Phil’s was in the backseat. Beside it, the rucksack she’d left behind in Oman and her duffle. Keys dangled from the ignition and dread sunk like a lead ball in her gut.
She hopped in the driver’s seat and took inventory. In Phil’s bag: a flash drive, six gold spheres and enough plastic to make her nervous.
She moved to the rucksack. Hard to be sure in the dark, but the money and documents looked undisturbed; “Big Girl Panties,” the Glock, and SOG throwing knives all present and accounted for. She pulled the Glock out and eased back the familiar slide, the smells of solvent and grease faint but there. The weapon had been cleaned recently. They both had.
So there it was. Promise kept. She got Harvey and Xander was in the wind.
She fixed her gaze out the windshield. In spite of knowing how this would play out, his abrupt departure was a visceral ache in her chest.
No use crying over it.
She pulled her phone from her back pocket and updated Fletcher on the Galletti op. It’s amazing how clear the mind gets when facing certain death. It came to her in a flash, Galletti’s stupid mumblings—“Pal…Pal…”—coupled with the veritable circus in his house, the password could possibly be palhaço, Portuguese for clown.
Once that was done, the ache in her chest settled in again, heavier.
Then the Mission Impossible theme song cut through the sadness, and Kizzie whipped her gaze around. Was it coming from her bag? Searching the depths turned up a pre-paid that didn’t belong to her. She read the display: UNKNOWN. The song picked up again from the top and she smirked.
Cute.
“Where are you, Xander?”
“Harvey’s yours, as promised.”
Fighting a smile, Kizzie strained to hear anything on the other end of the line, trying to pinpoint his location. “Where?”
Xander stayed silent and she started the SUV, leaving the lights off to decrease the chance of being seen but flipping the wipers on low. Stopping the bomb and its maker were all well and good, but nothing blows an agent’s cover like making the cover of the Post. “Don’t do this to me, Xander. We had a deal—”
“I didn’t sleep with her. You know that, right? And save the gravy boat.”
Was he talking about his wife? She couldn’t care less about the woman…right now.
The airport was less than 15 minutes away. It would take longer than that to have the plane refueled and get clearance for takeoff. But she’d been out there for close to half an hour, waiting on the authorities to arrive for Vanda.
Kizzie had deliberately shot the woman in her shoulder and leg, missing vital arteries. Ohayashi would rot for her crimes. And she’d told the vile woman as much when she’d begged Kizzie for help. On her way back to the truck she’d spotted another dead body, a woman, right near the water’s edge. She’d stopped to check the woman’s shoulder, and sure enough an In-Yo had been tattooed there. In the dragon position: Resistant to bending. In tiger: Rain.
Xander might be gassed up and ready to go by now, and if he went this time, she’d never see him again. Something about that threatened to make her sick. “All right. Where does this leave me and 3-19?”
“Ah, yes, the terms. I know what I want.”
She chuckled nervously, made a right to get onto the main road. “Remember, my funds are limited.”
Xander paused, the kind of weighty pause that let Kizzie know he was about to ask for Jupiter.
“Understand I’m being selfish in ways you can’t possibly imagine.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Come with me.”
“To?” Far enough away from the government vehicles surrounding the monument, Kizzie flipped on her lights. “And when am I coming back?”
“You don’t. You come with me and have no more contact with Connolly, or your team. No more CIA. No more Agent Baldwin. Not now. Not ever again.”
Kizzie spun the wheel hard, doubling back to pick up the street that would take her to the freeway. “Give up my career to come be your sub? And when I’m not getting spanked or flogged we knock over banks and break into vaults?”
“Something like that…” Xander said, a smile in his voice. “As for being my sub that choice is yours. You have all the control, Princess. Always have. And you’ve had everything I’ve got on 3-19 since we left France.”
France? Kizzie scrunched up her face, trying to recall when he could have possibly given it
to her. And then it hit her. The flight to Japan. Not “stealing music.” Xander had said he “put something on there she might like.” Which meant he’d dropped the data onto her iPod long before she needed his help getting Harvey.
“Trust me, Kizzie.”
Clear of the monument, she pressed down on the pedal, urging the SUV faster and praying DC police didn’t decide to show up. It really wasn’t a good night for evasive maneuvers. “Where are you, X?”
“You know where I am, baby. Question is, why aren’t you with me?”
She made a left.
“What if I can’t agree to the terms?”
Another deliberate pause that lasted close to forever. “Then admit you’re running.” She opened her mouth to protest and shut it. Xander continued. “You’re not afraid of me finding out there’s nothing left to get close to, not anymore. What scares you is having everything business in your possession, which means this—you and me—‘us’ is strictly personal. Hidden beneath all the badass, the snark, and the job, there’s a woman who’s ready to let go…submit to her Dom.
“You’re scared shitless that you’re on sixty-four, Kizzie, and you don’t know if I’m in the same book but you’re ready to turn the page…”
Her eyes narrowed, but a slow smile crept over her lips. “And humble, too.”
“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me…say the words, Kiz, and me and my humble ass are out of your life.”
“You’re…” Kizzie exhaled a breath. “You’re married, Xander.”
“But am I wrong?”
“Yeah… Dead wrong. I’m nowhere near page sixty-five. Though I might be reading the dust jacket.”
He chuckled. “Good enough. So, how we met, why we married and do I love her: your three questions. You’ve got your gear, Harvey, and what I have on 3-19. You owe me nothing. If you want, we go our separate ways. If you want your questions answered, I’m wheels up in ten.” The call disconnected.
The light up ahead was green. Kizzie eased to a stop; drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.
She wanted to trust— She trusted him. For all his criminal activity, his hot and cold ways, his secrets, his Xander-ness, he’d proven he would keep his word; showed, on more than one occasion, that he’d protect her. That he cared about her. But—she glanced at the clock—9 minutes and 26 seconds wasn’t exactly enough time to think about a major career change.