by Adams, Cat
“Ruslandic is not one of mine, but
Gilda is fluent. She prefers to watch in
the original language when she can, as
translations are so often bungled.” He
held up a needle and pointed it up at me.
“Did you know that American English
has the most words of any language in
the world? And yet, they never seem to
be able to adequately translate a word
that has only four or five meanings in a
foreign language.”
Gilda
was
fluent
in Ruslandic.
Really. How … awesomely useful. Oh,
the wheels in my mind were free-
spinning. “Isaac, do you carry audio
equipment for surveillance?”
* * *
I looked hot. Men stared and women
glared as I followed the maître d’
through the trendiest of trendy L.A.
restaurants to the private dining room
where I’d be meeting the princesses. I
wore a tight, bloodred dress with a
sweetheart neckline. The hem came to
my knees and there was a little slit so
that I could walk. Three-inch heels in
black matched the jacket I wore and the
purse I carried. They also matched my
shoulder holster as well as the hilts of
my knives and my gun. But nobody
would see those. Actually I thought the
handbag kind of ruined the look, but I’d
had to pick one large enough to hold a
netbook.
I made up for the bag with my
jewelry. It was perfect—understated and
elegant. Each of the individual pieces
was spelled: the bracelet was also a
microphone so that Gilda could hear
everything that went on. I just had to be
careful not to bump things as I ate. My
earrings were speakers so that she could
translate the Ruslandic for me. The gear
had set me back a fair amount of money,
but, by God, tonight I’d know what Olga
and Natasha were saying and whether or
not I needed to be worried about them.
I felt like a spy in a 007 movie. I even
had my very own thug. Agent Baker was
on her way back from Serenity, so my
secret service escort tonight was Agent
William Griffiths. He was a big,
imposing redhead, and looked almost as
good in his suit as I did in my dress. I’d
take him to a premiere anytime.
He didn’t bother checking the room. It
had already been done. Instead, he
waited until I was seated at the elegantly
appointed table before going to stand
discreetly by the door.
I’m a casual-dining kind of a gal. I
like old-fashioned diners and places like
La Cocina, which might be described as
dives—if you didn’t mind risking your
health saying it in front of the owners.
But I’ve been to high-end restaurants on
dates, and heaven knows the amount of
time I’d stood where Griffiths was now,
on the edges, making sure the beautiful
people stayed that way. I know what to
do with all the various pieces of silver
and crystal, and I can even manage my
skirt when the maître d’ pushes in my
chair without looking awkward. But I
still, secretly, feel more than a little out
of place when I eat in places like this.
Everything was so perfect: candlelight,
fine linen, watered silk wallpaper. I felt
a little like a kid playing dress up.
Olga and Natasha, however, were
born to this sort of thing. They strolled in
together. Olga’s head was held high, her
posture
almost
angry,
demanding
attention. Natasha, on the other hand,
looked pensive. Her whole body
language was off. She didn’t seem afraid
as much as worried and distracted. They
were an odd pair. Not friends. No, I
decided,
they
were
more
like
acquaintances,
thrown
together
by
chance. But that wouldn’t keep them
from teaming up on someone if they felt
it was to their advantage. I’d seen that
already.
I started with small talk, in English,
while the staff filled our water glasses
and set out fresh-baked bread that
smelled like heaven on a plate. “How
did the interviews go this afternoon?”
Natasha opened her mouth to answer,
but Olga talked over her. “It is boring.
Always the same questions. Very …
what is the word? Tedious.”
Bullshit. I’d seen most of Olga’s
interview while I was being fitted for
my jacket and this dress. She’d loved
every minute of the attention. With Gilda
translating, I’d been able to watch and
listen as she ever-so-carefully tried to
make Adriana look bad. Olga never said
anything directly insulting—she was far
more subtle than that. But she managed
to shade her answers in such a way that
the public—particularly the Ruslandic
people—would be watching my cousin
very warily.
Natasha hadn’t been much better.
She’d expressed wide-eyed concern
over attending the bachelorette party I
would be throwing for my cousin. She’d
heard scandalous things about such
affairs. It was a perfect ploy, playing to
the religious and conservative elements.
Never mind that I hadn’t scheduled any
such party. Now I had to either give one
or figure out a good reason not to—or
the press would report that we’d caved
to conservative pressure.
Dawna suggested that she might be
sincere since, after all, a bachelorette
party is a pretty standard custom. I didn’t
buy it. I’d been shopping with Natasha.
Either she’d been doing a fine job of
acting when she picked out the racy
bridesmaid’s dress, or she was lying
now. I was betting the latter.
They were making trouble. But it
wasn’t the deadly kind. Just pettiness. I
would’ve thought it was the result of the
siren effect if I didn’t know for a fact
they both wore an anti-siren charm.
Maybe it was just bitchiness, or regular
old jealousy. Whatever the reason, the
result was the same. If there was any
time in the schedule where it could be
shoehorned in, I was going to be
throwing a party. There’d be live
tweeting by a planted reporter. And I
was going to make damned sure it was
sedate and boring enough that nobody
could accuse anyone of misbehaving. If
there wasn’t, well, we’d just find
another form of damage control.
“Well, maybe you won’t have to do
any more interviews,”
I suggested with
saccharine sweetness.
“Most unlikely,” Olga sneered. “This
is the wedding of the century. The press
are insatiable.”
“Then you’re still planning on being
part of the wedding party? I’m so glad.”
I tried to sound both sincere and chirpy.
I’m not sure how successful I was at it.
Olga gave me a very unfriendly look
over the rim of her water glass. “My
father has reminded me that it is a great
honor and my duty to be part of the
wedding.” Ah, duty. But was it her duty
to celebrate it, or destroy it?
“Natasha?” I made it a question.
“I will not let fear control me. We
have skilled guards to protect us.
These…”—she paused, searching for the
right word in English—“villains will not
succeed.”
“Oh good. I’m so pleased. I was
afraid I was going to have to talk the two
of you into going through with it, but
apparently you’re already on board.” I
was smiling so hard my face was
starting to hurt.
We were interrupted by the waiters
bringing in the soup and salad course.
For me, consommé and a bowl of
applesauce. I waited until the waiters
left before continuing. “The two of you
probably know that my cousin has put
me in charge of getting the bridesmaids’
dresses.”
They didn’t answer, just stared at me.
Natasha’s face was expressionless.
Olga’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.
She didn’t like that news. Not a bit. I
think she believed she could work her
way around Adriana. I wasn’t so sure
about that, but I did know that she knew
she wouldn’t get around me.
“I’ve brought a computer with me.
After we finish dinner, you can look at
the dresses I’m considering and we can
make a final decision.”
After that, dinner was strained. There
wasn’t much in the way of conversation.
Really, what was there to say? So I
concentrated on enjoying my food, which
really was excellent, and hoped Gilda
Levy wasn’t getting too bored, waiting
for the other women to speak.
When the last of the dessert plates
were cleared away, I pulled out my
netbook and hit the keys to begin the
holographic fashion show that Dawna,
Gilda, and I had worked so hard on this
afternoon.
There were a lot of dresses. Thirty in
all, selected from the websites of
various designers and high-end bridal
shops. We’d arranged it so not one of the
images showed where the gown came
from. I wanted the selection to be made
on merit, not name. Every dress was
pretty, demure, and designed to look
good with a jacket. I’d insisted on that,
because even during the wedding I
intended to be armed. A few of the
dresses were knee length, most were
floor length. There was silk and satin
aplenty, beading and lace. Every one of
them was available in purple, a color I
was sticking with because (a) it looked
good on all three of us; and (b) Adriana
had approved it.
“No.” Olga slammed her palm onto
the
table,
making
the
remaining
silverware clatter. She glared at me.
“None of these will do. Absolutely not.”
“I like the third one quite a bit,”
Natasha said with a quiet firmness that
surprised me.
Olga didn’t glare at the other woman;
she was too shocked. She turned to her,
wide-eyed,
and
spoke
in
rapid
Ruslandic, which my hidden friend
helpfully translated.
“What are you doing? We agreed!”
“Perhaps I’ve changed my mind.
Adriana has done nothing to harm us
and we owe this one our lives. Are you
not woman enough to admit that
perhaps the men were wrong?”
“Idiot. Those men were not shooting
at us. It was the sirens they were trying
to kill. It’s been all over the news.”
“A stray bullet can be as deadly as
an aimed one. Think of the woman who
waited on us in that shop. She was not
a target, but she was killed just the
same. Her only crime was having little
taste.”
“Adriana is controlling our king
with her siren abilities.”
“Perhaps my father believes that. I
do not. The king wears a charm, just as
we do.” Natasha wasn’t budging on this.
Her eyes had begun to flash with real
anger and her chin was thrust forward
aggressively.
“Your father…” Olga was apparently
trying to play her trump card. It didn’t
work.
“Is wrong. He has not met the
princess. Either of them.”
Well, well, well. Wasn’t that just
fascinating? Still, if I didn’t say
something, and quickly, they might get
suspicious. So I widened my eyes in
mock innocence and said with a smile,
“I liked the third one, too.” It was even
the truth. The dress was simple purple
silk with a sweetheart neckline and
ruching at the side. It flowed in a
beautiful A-line down to a floor-length
hem. It was simple, elegant, and would
look good on all three of us. “Olga,
you’re outvoted. Dress number three it
is.”
“I refuse. I will not wear that.” She
didn’t slam her palm on the table this
time. Instead, she rose to her feet in a
huff that I could tell was mostly hot air.
I merely shrugged at her display.
“Fine. No problem. It’s a shame you’ll
miss out on being part of the wedding of
the century. But hey, I’m sure your father
will understand you foregoing your duty
when you explain that it’s because you
didn’t like the dress.”
She turned on me in real fury. “You
wouldn’t dare!”
My smile was more than a little bit
predatory, but for the first time this
evening I wasn’t faking it at all. I’m
pretty sure my teeth showed. “Oh, but I
would. Now, are you in or out?”
“I will be speaking to the king about
your insolence,” she announced before
turning on her heel and flouncing out
with her guards hurrying to catch up.
“Go for it,” I called. “He already
knows I’m insolent.” If she heard, she
ignored me.
17
It was late. I was tired. Dealing with
difficult people wears me out more than
just about anything else. I also didn’t
want to go
home until the secret service
types had gone over the estate with a
fine-toothed comb. Call me crazy, but
staying somewhere nice and anonymous,
where no one would know where to look
for me, sounded like a really nice idea.
So I told Gilda, Isaac, and Dawna, via
my jewelry, thanks, have a good night
and see you in the morning, said the
words to end the spell, and rented
myself a suite at a nearby hotel that I’d
used for clients more than once. Griffiths
contacted his superiors, who sent
reinforcements to stand guard until
morning. I made a couple of calls to let
my friends know I was okay, sent an e-
mail arranging for the dresses to be
delivered to Isaac’s shop, filled out my
breakfast order and hung it on the door
of the suite, stripped, and fell into bed.
I slept well, better than I had in quite
a while. No nightmares, not the recent
ones, not any of the old standbys that
recur when I am stressed. Let’s hear it
for utter exhaustion! I woke feeling
rested, which was a nice change of pace.
After a long, luxurious bath and a room-
service breakfast, I brushed my teeth, put
on more new clothes that were examples
of Isaac’s tailoring skills, and was
actually looking forward to the new day.
My optimism lasted all of ten minutes
—until I called the office. I had three
messages from Laka. The first let me
know first, that Okalani was with her
and safe, and second, that she, Laka, was
very grateful. The next two were
increasingly frantic. Her daughter had
bolted. Had I heard anything?
I swore long and hard. Damn it to
hell. Couldn’t the kid just stay put for
twenty-four damned hours? I’d talked to
Rizzoli. He was going through channels.
I had no doubt that everybody on our
side wanted the information Okalani had
and would be more than willing to deal
with the kid to get it. But damn it, we
were dealing with multiple agencies
from multiple countries. That takes time.
And now Okalani was gone. She
wouldn’t be safe, and I couldn’t produce
her.
The logical place to look for her was
with her father. The best place to get his
address, the university. I didn’t have the
pull to do it. Emma could probably get
the information out of the university
computers, but looking up that sort of
thing could get her fired if anyone found
out. Calling Rizzoli would get the feds
looking for her, but even my handy-
dandy consultant status didn’t guarantee