by Lee Winter
Ryan’s life was Requiem’s to play with, not theirs. She alone would decide whether Emily Alison Ryan lived to see another day.
Chapter 16
Natalya woke precisely at 5:15am. She carried out her morning routine efficiently, dressing in tight black pants and a white designer T-shirt. Her bed was made, as usual, with precise military corners, even though she knew it was pointless. All of it. She stopped, hands resting on the sheet.
She would have to leave this place today and was unsure whether she’d ever return. It would be a shame if she had to abandon her city, her home, forever. She was well-used to its pulse. It had a rhythm and it suited her. But her future was too uncertain and Natalya was nothing if not adaptable.
A beeping sounded from her security computer, and Natalya headed towards it, wondering what had set it off. It was far too early for police. For once she was grateful for the nation’s absurd obsession with a horse race. She doubted even ASIO, Australia’s top spy agency, could have managed to order a raid on such short notice the day after the Melbourne Cup. It went against the laws of physics and Australian culture.
In fact by the time Ryan managed to get her request high enough up the bureaucratic totem pole to be acted upon—a big ask, given a lack of evidence—Natalya would be halfway to Paris to connect with the Berlin Philharmonic. And Fleet’s boys would be already unloading her possessions into a secured, secret storage facility, having cleansed her home of all traces of her existence.
She reached for her computer, and spun the mouse to see what had it fired up.
* * *
Natalya headed down the hallway in long strides, side-stepping her pile of packed luggage. Her roaming gaze drilled the lounge like machine gun fire, her mouth fixed in a firm line. There was an intruder inside her home. Someone was about to be very sorry, very soon.
Her furious movement came to an abrupt halt.
Alison Ryan was sitting on her couch, hands folded, serene as could be.
Natalya shifted to an aggressive pose, fingers flexing and unflexing, and she looked carefully around the room, half expecting someone to jump out at her. She eased onto the balls of her feet, the threat clear.
“Good morning,” Ryan said evenly. “Sorry it’s so early but I thought we should talk. Especially since we might not get the opportunity later.” She waved in the direction of the luggage pile.
“How did you get in?” Natalya snapped. She pointed towards the windows to the exterior walls outside. “Those are twelve feet high!”
“Does it really matter?”
Natalya glared. “Don’t be cute. Tell me.”
“Arvo Pärt’s birthday. I punched it in on the security gate. Remember you told me he was your favourite composer? Well I did try your birthday first. And then, um, ‘666’, in case you had a dark sense of humour or something. But, no, Pärt was it.”
Natalya sized up Ryan who gazed steadily back at her, cool and confident. Time to shake that up. She strode over and unceremoniously yanked her out of her seat by her shirt collar.
Ryan’s surprised look was enjoyable. Natalya knew her display of strength was unexpected. Most people underestimated her, to their cost.
Ryan’s pulse thudded at her neck as Natalya dragged her over to a wall and pushed her against it. Her gaze raked every inch of her quarry’s face and Natalya allowed some of her anger over the past twelve hours to show.
“You have some nerve,” she hissed. “Anyone else who’d tried this stunt would be regretting it all over my floor.”
She began to roughly frisk her, efficiently and thoroughly, from her ankles, sliding into white socks, up the outside of her jean-clad calves, thighs, and hips.
Natalya then returned her hands to the ankles and ran her fingers up the inner calves and thighs this time. Ryan’s thighs were clenching tensely as she got higher, but Natalya was in no mood to make a comment. This was business.
As her hand slid up to Ryan’s crotch, the other woman flinched. Finding nothing, Requiem dropped her hand and rose to full height.
She threw Ryan a chilling look and then, without warning, ripped apart her white button-down shirt. Several buttons sprayed across the polished floorboards in a dancing clatter. Ryan gave a shocked gasp.
Natalya’s fingers slid around and up her bare back, moving restlessly across the skin, dipping under her bra strap, ignoring the faint shiver of the skin beneath her. She returned around to Ryan’s front and lifted the base of her bra, and gave it a shake, then ran quickly under the straps, probing just inside the tops of her cups.
Ryan turned pink.
Not so tough then.
Natalya’s hands flew upwards and disappeared into the fine brown hair then checked behind Ryan’s ears. Finished, she shook her head incredulously.
Unarmed, unbugged, and uninvited? Did she have a death wish?
Now no longer focused on her search, her eyes dropped to the exposed chest in front of her, Ryan’s bra the only thing protecting her dignity. Arousal pleasantly twitched in her as she slowly studied the lace and the contained soft flesh rising and falling beneath it.
At her lingering scrutiny, Ryan scrabbled to do up the few remaining buttons with an indignant huff. “Are you quite done?” she snapped.
“You’re either very foolish or very brave,” Natalya said in a lazy voice, making eye contact once more. “So let’s get some things straight: You broke into my property and are now trespassing. I could have you arrested for this illegal action. For the record: I do not give you permission to be here. I do not give you permission to interview me. I do not agree that any part of this conversation can be taken down and used against me. Everything I say is inadmissible in a court of law. Is that understood?”
Ryan finally gave up on the buttons and folded her arms across her chest. “Okay,” she said. “But…”
“There are no buts. I am well aware of my rights. You have no legal leg to stand on and no way of pulling off whatever your cunning little brain has dreamed up. And even if you did find some way to wiggle around the law, who would a jury believe? A respected cellist who has no criminal record? Or an ambitious cop trying to slide up the greasy pole at work? I’ll give you a hint: Everyone knows the Victorian Homicide Squad’s appalling record on wrongful prosecutions.”
“Arresting you is not why I’m here,” Ryan said. “And be thankful I’m not anything like you just claimed.”
“Oh really.” Natalya let the sarcasm drip off her tongue.
“Really. This is an off-the-record visit. If anyone asks, I’m still in bed, fast asleep.”
Natalya’s hand suddenly forcefully slapped the wall right beside her ear so loudly that Ryan jumped.
“Just checking you’re actually awake now, because sleep walking your way in here is about the only explanation that could make sense of this…invasion—especially given who you suspect me to be.”
“Who I know you to be,” Ryan said. “Unless there are any other classical musicians who can toss a two-hundred-kilogram man across a room, break his arm and deliver an uppercut so powerful his back left the floor the moment he passed out.”
“Don’t underestimate classical musicians,” Natalya said darkly. “There are plenty of highly skilled martial artists among us. As I explained to those nice police officers yesterday.”
Ryan eyed her. “Don’t treat me as an idiot. Anything but that.”
“You wish to be considered intelligent? Yet here you are alone with me. That was your first mistake. Your second was how exceptionally dim-witted you must be to play me for a fool. That has consequences.”
She leaned closer, imposing herself inside Ryan’s space. Her warm breath ruffled the hair next to Ryan’s ear.
“What was your plan, anyway? Hmm? Stalk me, seduce me and get me to confess to my sins during pillow talk? Is this some cynical new undercover program they’re trying out in Homicide? Serve up fake ingénues to lure suspects in? I suppose you’d like that aspect, though: the idea of sliding between my s
heets.”
Her tongue darted against Ryan’s ear, and she was amused at the telling, harsh hiss of breath.
“Ahh. Not all work then was it?” Natalya said. She lifted her hand to Ryan’s cleavage and ran a finger down the pale skin, pushing aside the barely held together shirt. “How did you know I’d even like you?” she asked, curiously, dropping whispered words into Ryan’s ear. “Such a risky plan. You’re not exactly a classic femme fatale, are you?”
She knew without looking she’d scored a direct hit. The first time she’d ever seen Ryan’s photo she knew this woman didn’t believe herself to be attractive. In fact there was none of the confidence or charm she might expect from one who had intended to lure her into a web.
Ryan was such a paradox: Cutthroat enough to use herself in the hunt for Requiem; soft enough to be maimed with a single barbed sentence. At that thought, she straightened. Time to remind the mouse whose arena this was and the consequences for playing in it uninvited. Natalya already knew her weakness. It would be so easy—but then it always was. Her selected candidates never said no.
Her fingertip skidded across a hard knot straining under Ryan’s lacy white bra. “I’d say you must enjoy your undercover work a great deal if this is the reaction.”
Ryan blushed hotly but her eyes flashed in annoyance. Natalya pressed her body firmly against her, feeling a wall of heat and softness. Her muscled thigh pushed Ryan’s legs apart until the crotch of Ryan’s jeans nestled at her thigh’s apex. It was a most excellent position from which to conduct her lesson in futility and powerlessness.
“Maybe this is like a bonus for you?” Natalya suggested, dropping her fingers to Ryan’s hips and pulling the smaller woman’s centre harder against her thigh.
“Oh my, the perks,” Natalya drawled, rolling her body against her once more. “The upside of playing with fire.” She allowed her lips to trail the creamy neck before her. “Toying with me, with those big blue eyes and sad tales of lost love and shattered dreams. Tsk Alison. Or is it Emily?”
At the harsh reminder of her own carelessness, she slid her tongue more savagely down the vulnerable skin at Ryan’s throat, followed by a threatening scrape of teeth.
Ryan trembled against her. “Stop that,” she whispered, the hint of desperation laced with lust unmistakeable.
“Oh?” Natalya purred. “Too much truth spoils your appetite?”
Ryan’s hands came up to Natalya’s waist to steady herself, as the assassin rocked them.
“Even now you still want me. Even now, after I’ve pointed out you’re a fraud who’s using her body to get to me? Even knowing what you think I’m capable of?” Natalya asked. “Oh, how your weakness is showing.” Her voice dropped to a dangerous hiss. “And you’re very wrong about me: As bad as you think I am, I’m far, far worse.”
Ryan turned her head away and for a moment Natalya could only hear ragged breathing.
“Let me guess,” she continued, and pointedly traced Ryan’s taut nipple, “you wanted me to finish what you’d started? Is that why you came here today?”
“No.” The voice sounded tired.
“No? ‘Oh, Natalya, do you think about us? I do,’” Natalya mocked, recalling Ryan’s words from that night in the rain. “It sounded like you wanted more.”
Ryan’s head snapped up and her eyes were flashing with rage. “That’s low.” Hurt eyes glared at her.
“Oh, you wanted me to touch you that night,” Natalya goaded, and her voice became like dripping molasses, “to feel what true power was. You thought I’d like a little bit of vanilla on the side, was that it? That I wanted you, too.”
“I didn’t think that,” Ryan said crossly.
Natalya’s fingers slid up to Ryan’s chin, and tilted her head until their gazes were locked, mouths inches away. Her lips curved into a cruel smile. “No, you’re right. You don’t think anyone would find you desirable. But even so, you hoped,” she whispered. “Deep down, in the parts of your soul that you share with no one.”
“Natalya,” Ryan said, “for God’s sake!”
“Poor little mouse,” she mocked, “just aching for a friend. Or a special friend. And here you were, trying so hard to act cocky a few minutes ago. You invite yourself into my sanctuary, so convinced you have some kind of power over me that I would never hurt you. You don’t understand the game at all. And where did you ever get the idea I could never hurt you?”
“I never said you couldn’t.”
“But you thought I wouldn’t. Because I saved your precious niece, you thought that meant something. I’ll tell you a secret: It didn’t. Sometimes I play god. Sometimes I let the fleas go, and sometimes I don’t. It doesn’t mean a thing. You see, that’s human nature: Hurting things.” Natalya paused.
“To hurt things expertly, see, that’s the true skill,” she mused. “You have to know what makes a person tick to cause true damage. And I learnt from the best there ever was.”
“Lola,” Ryan guessed.
Natalya had to admit she was sharp. Her expression grew cold. “We can’t choose family, can we? But then you’d know,” she said.
She placed her lips against Ryan’s earlobe. “Tell me something: every day when you’re at home, being told of your failings, being forced into a tiny box just to protect who you are, or even just to breathe, you must wonder what you did to deserve that.
“But your dirty little secret is that a part of you knows it must be your fault. You think you’re not deserving of better treatment. That all you are is your sum worth to your mother. And when your usefulness is over, what are you then? Nothing. Nothing at all.”
Ryan stared at her unflinching. Her lip curled in derision.
“You seem to be talking from experience,” she bit back. “Lola really did a number on you, didn’t she?”
Natalya drew her fingertips lightly down the woman’s cheek and Ryan snapped her head away.
“Lashing out? I see I struck a nerve,” Natalya said. “I’m not saying all this to be cruel but to show how, in trying to get to me, you have revealed your own weaknesses. You are so easy to read, so easy to exploit. How simply I could destroy you if I chose.”
“Destroy me?” Ryan said. “And what would be your weapon this time? Not guns—it’s never guns, is it? Ice? Ropes? Needles? Poison? Wish lanterns?”
“Words,” Natalya said calmly. But it was disconcerting that Ryan appeared to know a great many of her kills, two of which went back decades. So, not some hapless wannabe then. Well, that made things easier. Time to finish her lesson.
She leaned closer, eyes glittering. “I will answer your question: I have thought about it. I have thought about you and me, like this. I don’t do love, but, oh, little mouse, I know you do. And it would hurt you if I took you and made you beg for more and tossed you aside. It would crush you as though I’d squeezed the life right out of you.
“And even knowing that, I would bet there’s a part of you right now that wants me anyway.” Their lips were virtually touching. “Isn’t there?”
She rolled her hips provocatively against Ryan to punctuate her point and heard a soft moan. She smirked and shifted her hand to Ryan’s waistband.
To her shock, she found herself spun around and slammed against the wall with force.
“What the hell are you doing?” Ryan spat. “I mean what in the hell, Natalya? And don’t give me that Requiem power-seduction routine, because I know underneath this little performance art that you’re still just Natalya. Natalya who’s terrified you might, oh I don’t know, feel something. You know—have an honest-to-god emotion you haven’t prepped for months in advance like one of your fancy concerts.”
Natalya was disconcerted to find no witty retorts on the tip of her tongue. Alison pushed her away and stepped back.
“Yes, you’re charming and charismatic and you know it. I know it, too. Big deal. Yes, I find you attractive and arousing,” Ryan said and sounded aggrieved. “So what?”
Natalya turned to face her
as Ryan fixed her with an intense glare and continued.
“I’m not from your world where you fuck crazy women in back alleys,” she said. “I’m not some toy you get to tease and mess with and then laugh at for wanting you. I don’t deserve that. Don’t you know by now who I am? You say you do, but you really don’t, do you?”
“You’re a cop,” Natalya snarled, her mouth dry. She was more thrown than she cared to admit. Since when did her prey say no?
“Yes, I am. But I don’t believe that’s all you see. Natalya, I’m the woman who cries at sappy ads and old people falling in love and my niece’s birthday cards. You know that’s who I am. You just wish it wasn’t because it scares you shitless. I’m much easier to dismiss as a liar and a fake or just a cop than to admit I’m real.”
“Oh really…Emily.”
Ryan glared. “My name means nothing to me. I have never lied to you. As for me playing you? You’re the one pretending you’re just some innocent cellist. I had no idea you were Requiem until yesterday when you suddenly showed up at my kidnapping to lay my abductor out cold. Which, by the way, thanks.”
“Liar,” Natalya said softly. “How about ‘Oh tell me Natalya, do you ride a motorcycle, you do look like the type.’ That was two weeks ago.”
Ryan gave an exasperated sigh. “And you answered that so truthfully didn’t you?”
“I did not lie. Unlike you. You believed I was Requiem for weeks at least. Admit it.”
Ryan laughed and sounded pained. “God, if only. Unfortunately I’d dismissed you as my main suspect and I actually thought you might be interested in me. Turns out you’re a far better actress than I gave you credit for.” She gave a second, more derisive laugh. “My other suspect, however, was far less convincing on that front.”
“Who was it?” Natalya asked, her mind whirring through all the possibilities.
“Irrelevant,” Ryan snapped. “I obviously made a terrible mistake in ruling you out. Not that it matters any more, but I didn’t know and I wasn’t playing you.”
“I don’t buy it. You’re lying,” Natalya said, testing her.