Beating Ruby (27 page)

March, for his part, didn’t seem very responsive, and he was actually trying to disentangle himself from his enthusiastic partner, coaxing her hands off his shoulders, drawing his lips away from hers with patient, gentle movements. He gave her a sad, almost apologetic smile. He knew that girl.

She let go with reluctance and tucked a long lock behind her ear before looking at me. Whatever she saw, she didn’t like it. Coal-black almond-shaped eyes appraised me and narrowed in suspicion. “Is that her? Is that the Frenchwoman’s daughter?”

I staggered back in shock and bumped against Alex’s chest. At some point while I had been watching the newcomer kiss March, he had navigated through the inebriated fauna surrounding us and reached me. I moved away before any level of awkwardness could set in.

March laid a hand on the girl’s bare shoulder. “Please, Sahar, that’s enough.”

Her cherry-lacquered lips twisted in disdain. “It’s just that I thought she was hot.”

I clenched my fists.
Oh, bitch, you didn’t!

March probably read on my face that a comeback was on its way; he dragged her away. “Why don’t we find a quiet place to talk?”

“Great idea,” Alex cheered.

We followed March and Sahar to a back room whose white upholstered walls I thought gave off a claustrophobic feeling. I sat on one of the long black velvet couches next to Alex. Sahar and March settled across from us. I worried my lower lip in aggravation when she sank into the opposite couch’s cushions and rested a possessive hand on March’s thigh, which he guided away discreetly.

“So?” I asked, mimicking the haughty expression on the girl’s face.

“Sahar is the youngest sister of a friend of mine.” March said, sending me a pointed look that I tried to decipher. “A friend I am very loyal to.”

I scanned her high cheekbones, straight nose, and thick, well-defined eyebrows. There was indeed something familiar in her features. Oh God.
Guita.
That girl looked exactly like a younger version of the Queen. My eyes widened. March didn’t say anything, but gave an imperceptible nod.

What was it that March had said, back in Zürich? A “powerful employer” handling the killing for Van Kreft? Van Kreft, who, by the way, seemed to have practically vanished . . . and now entered someone with ties to the Board. Next to me, Alex leaned back on the leather cushions, his arms crossed.

“So, what are you doing here?” Sahar asked March, snuggling back against him.

“Well, I’m in Vaduz for professional reasons, but I stumbled on a couple of your men in town and thought that it’d be a shame not to see you.” He winked at her. My skin prickled with something that was
not
jealousy. Righteous indignation, that’s the term.

“You’re so sweet!” She rested her cheek against his shoulder. “You were always like that—my knight in shining armor.”

I played with my fingers, cracking my joints. “
Wow
, how long have you two known each other?”

March shot me a warning look that I sustained with a stiff smile. I gathered he was merely doing his job, but if it entailed allowing that hussy to cling to him like this, I’d rather he become unemployed.

Sahar ignored the silent war raging between the couches. “Ten years. I was a wild teen, and he’d always watch out for me. You know, flying to the rescue whenever things got out of control.”

Alex cocked a suspicious eyebrow. “Out of control?”

“Well—” March began. “Some of Sahar’s past dates were . . . inadequate. And I was summoned on a few occasions to help rectify that.”

She broke down into a fit of giggles. “Oh my God, you seriously rectified Yuen! You know that he still has a limp? The surgeons can’t fix that.” She seemed to notice the look of horror on my face and deemed it useful to elaborate. “March shot him in the knees with dum-dums.”

“Dum-dums?” I asked.

“Expanding bullets,” Alex clarified with a smirk.

March sighed. “There were very specific circumstances.”

“It was in Macau. Yuen and I launched a business together, but then he started to say he wanted me to sleep with some fat-ass casino owner to pay a debt. March saved me,” Sahar said with dreamy eyes.

“How romantic,” I squeaked out.

“Movie material, no doubt. Now, tell me, Sahar, what brings you to Liechtenstein?” March asked, slaloming away from the icy trail of his past exploits.

In the space of an instant, all childish playfulness vanished from Sahar’s features. She had seemed very young to me, but I now realized she might be around my age, if not a little older. She leaned and crossed her legs deliberately—yes, she
was
wearing underwear. I checked.

“You already know why I’m here, March.”

She looked so smug, so goddamn pleased with herself, and all I could think about was Thom. A surge of burning anger ripped through me. I felt Alex’s hand move to stop me, but I jumped to my feet before he could. “You helped Van Kreft steal Ruby! You
murdered
Thom!”

March had tensed as well; he seemed mad at me, and ready to intervene if I touched Sahar.

And she . . . just blinked. “I have no idea who you’re talking about. I didn’t steal Ruby.” Her eyes lit up with a knowing glint. “I’m only here to buy it from him.”

The auction Wille had been talking about. My intuition had been right: robbing Ellingham had just been a warm-up. Someone—the Board—would buy Ruby’s code from Van Kreft, and there was no telling what they’d do with it.

My eyes met March’s. The message in them was clear:
Calm down and don’t say a word.
I sat back, struggling to stay still.

He brought his attention back to Sahar, gazing at her with what
seemed tender amusement. “I’m afraid you’d be making a terrible mistake.”

She smirked. “Would I? Because you’re here to recover it for Hadrian Ellingham?”

So she knew. I looked at the wall, past her shoulder, trying not to react to this new piece of intel.

March only smiled. “Sahar, you and I know that my loyalty will always go to the Board first. No, the reason I would advise you not to purchase Ruby is that we’ve made some unfortunate discoveries over the course of our investigation. Miss Chaptal here, whom you apparently already know, took part in the software’s development. She can confirm this.”

Near me, Alex kept quiet, as if there was a silent agreement between the two men. I cast March a questioning look. Why would he share anything with her? What was I supposed to confirm?

He ignored me and went on, looking at Sahar. “Roth tampered with the copy of Ruby he stole for Van Kreft. There’s a virus in it. Whoever uses this software will see it turn against their own system and compromise their financial data—greatly so.”

My mouth hung open in silent admiration. I never knew he had it in him to bullshit someone so well where IT was concerned. Sahar’s nostrils flared; her fingers twitched. She was swallowing March’s tale, hook, line, and sinker.

He affected a sorrowful expression. “I’m sorry, Sahar. I’m just glad we were able to warn you in time.”

She frowned. “So you’re here to neutralize Van Kreft?”

“Yes. But given my ties to the Board, I intend to spare all parties involved. We need to return Ruby to EM Tech without harming any of the potential buyers in the process,” he said, his eyes set on Alex.

Pretending to score against his own team to better serve Guita—well done. If I hadn’t been so irritated, I’d have been impressed. By now, Sahar appeared to be completely under his spell, her body becoming lax, her eyes searching his, filled with gratitude and unspoken feelings. “I’m here with one of our financial advisors. He was supposed to negotiate for us during the auction.” She shook her head. “I’ll send him back. I don’t want to take any risks.”

The corners of March’s lips curled up. “Has he met Van Kreft yet?”

“No, he’s an incredibly secretive guy, always sending us his own advisors. Even I haven’t met him.”

“Excellent. Sahar”—I bristled when he took her hand in his, lowering his face to hers—“would you allow me to take your advisor’s place at tomorrow’s auction?”

She blushed a little. “Anything for you. But I’m not sure he’ll agree.”

March’s smile turned feral as he looked down at her long indigo nails. “Is that your usual nightclubbing nail polish? The one that, if I remember well, ‘sends losers to the toilets’?”

TWENTY-NINE

The Nail Polish

“She wanted nothing more than to rake her nails all over his rock-hard, perfectly chiseled, and tattooed biker body, but she knew she could never give in to this burning hot and incredibly torrid temptation.”

—Lizzy Dare,
Savage Biker SEAL Stepbrothers
#
1: Ryder

Wow. Sahar had only dipped one pinkie in the Board emissary’s martini,
and now three brawny bodyguards barred access to the restrooms, crossing
their arms over their chests menacingly whenever a drunk guest stumbled
too close. Curled in one of our alcove’s seats, I observed the strange ballet taking place in front of the black upholstered doors across the room. A fourth guy had just shoved his way through the dancing crowd to bring a
jumbo TP roll. One of the bodyguards sneaked it into the toilet. Whatever
was going on in there had to be pretty serious. A Poopmaggedon of sorts.

I poured into a glass the orange juice can March had insisted I choose—a not so subtle way to emphasize the point that most if not all alcoholic drinks might be spiked in here. Next to me, Alex was taking slow sips of his mojito and observing the drama unfolding before our eyes with equal interest, while Sahar and March didn’t give a damn about their own drinks, because we were seconds away from public intercourse here!

Did she have to constantly touch his arm and whisper stuff in his ear like that? And March wasn’t doing anything about it. More like encouraging her with a lazy smile and whispering back, allowing his lips to hover inches from her skin as he did so.

My skin prickled with every featherlike contact, and the hair on my nape stood on end whenever his eyes met mine, warning me not to react to their little game. Alex was watching my growing irritation with a knowing gaze, and offered to order me another drink. After twenty minutes spent alternatively brooding and sipping an overly sweet Peach Fizz, one of Sahar’s goons came to us. This one didn’t wear sunglasses inside, and his build seemed lighter than that of the gorillas guarding the restrooms. I examined his dark suit and heavily gelled black hair; he had to be some kind of assistant.

March, at long last, put some distance between him and his conquest.
Man whore!
I listened as the newcomer confirmed to Sahar that the Board’s emissary would not be able to leave at dawn for the manor as planned—due to a minor case of “fatigue.”

“What a regrettable turn of events. Sahar, can I be of any assistance?” March asked, watching the messenger from the corner of his eye.

She landed a playful kiss on his cheek—Alex’s fingers blocked my wrist just in time before I could give her a Peach Fizz shower—and she turned to her guard, beckoning him closer. She tilted her head, pointing at March. “Do you know who this man is?”

He gave a nervous nod.

“Good. Then go tell the others that he’ll be accompanying us to the auction.”

I thought I saw a flash of doubt in his black irises; I figured March’s reputation preceded him, like Alex had said upon meeting him for the first time. The guy nodded again, this time more firmly. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll be joining you, if you don’t mind,” Alex said, as if in afterthought.

Sahar acknowledged him with surprise—she had probably thought he was part of the furniture until now.

On the backlit cube where our drinks rested, March’s fingers curled into a fist. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Morgan.”

“Allow me to insist.”

I fidgeted at the edge in Alex’s voice.

Sahar’s voice cut through the rising tension, light and friendly as she spoke to March. “I don’t mind your American friend coming with us. What about you, Island, will you join us too?”

I stared at her in mild shock. I hadn’t expected her to be so nice to me. The hint of a smile tugged at the corners of my lips. “Yes, I’d like to. I want to see Van Kreft bite the dust.” If he even had anything to do with all this, I reminded myself. Could Wille and his turkey sausage be pulling the strings, after all?

“Out of the question.”

I glared daggers at March, ready to pounce and scratch his face off.

Alex backed him. “He’s right. Your job as a consultant ends here. You’re not trained—”

I got up abruptly. “I get it!”

I was exhausted; in my skull blood pounded in tune with the music, clouding my thinking; and I couldn’t stand March’s little game with Sahar anymore. I needed some calm to reflect on the night’s events, make some sense of Sahar’s sudden appearance, and most of all, of the shroud of mystery surrounding Van Kreft. “I’d like to go back to the hotel, since I’m no longer needed.”

“I’ll drive you back,” Alex said, getting up.

I held my breath—I’d have preferred a taxi, or even a walk alone in the dark. With rocks in my shoes.

Across the table, March had stilled. His eyes were set on Alex and me, and the faint tic in his jaw spoke volumes: he was enraged. Sprawled in the couch’s cushions, Sahar observed the tension between him and Alex with undisguised interest.

Talk about being in a pinch. Option A: Allow Alex to drive me back
to the hotel, knowing that he might lose his shit again once we were alone. If what had happened on the road to Vaduz was any indication, I wouldn’t
see it coming, and a repeat might earn me more than just a few bruises.

Option B: March could interfere, and thus lose his grip on Sahar. At least she’d stop rubbing herself against him like a cat in heat. But then she’d probably turn on us, and there went our best chance to get into Van Kreft’s manor and find out what that auction was about.

Option C: I could make the decision for March.

I offered Alex my largest, fakest smile, whose meaning I was certain he’d get. “Great, thank you.”
Don’t get any ideas. I’m only doing this because we need Sahar. If you touch me, I’ll tear your balls off!

I glanced at March. I knew he couldn’t acknowledge me, not with Sahar leaning on his shoulder. His eyes plunged into Alex’s, though, narrowing to dark slits. “Very well.” He paused to hand his car keys to Alex. “Be
extremely careful
with my car, though. I value it very much, and I doubt I could stand to find even the
slightest scrape
on its body.”

I was pretty sure we were not talking about the BMW. Alex acquiesced with a faint smirk. In the club’s changing lights, I couldn’t read his expression well, and that alone made me shudder. I hoped all that strangling back at the hotel had talked some sense into him.

As Sahar shifted away to take the fluorescent cocktail a waiter was offering her, my eyes met March’s, and for a split second I felt our bond, like an invisible silvery thread between us. He knew I hated his game with Sahar; I knew he hated to have to trust Alex alone with me. But soon this would be behind us. I smiled. “I’ll see you later.”

His eyes shone with determination. “You will.”

I turned away and followed Alex toward the thick velvet curtain at the entrance. The second the heavy drapes fell back into place and engulfed us in darkness, his breath fanned over the nape of my neck. “It’s okay if you’re upset.”

A chill raked down my back. “I’m not upset.”

“Evidence to the contrary.”

I could hear the smugness in his voice. I grimaced in the dark. I knew he could see it, because
I
could make out the creases around the corners of his mouth, gilded by candlelight.

“Baby, I hate to see you like this, but you made a choice. You wanted the South African—well, you got him,” he said.

A tiny spark of fear burst in my chest as he used the b-word. He still wasn’t done. I started moving toward the first candlelit step, my head down. “I think you’re reading too much into March’s strategy. You of all people know that seduction can be part of the job,” I snapped.

His drawn-out sigh resounded against the walls. “It can. And I, of all people, know how dangerous that game is.”

I didn’t look back, afraid he’d see his words had hit very close to home. “A
game
, huh?”

All my senses were on high alert, with Alex climbing the stairs behind me, a shadow close enough to touch me, but whose face I couldn’t see. When he spoke again, though, there was no trace of anger, or even spite, in his voice. All that was left seemed to be a form of weariness. Perhaps even regret. “Figure of speech. Don’t play dumb. You know you meant more than that. It was never a game for me, Island.”

This time I did look back. And the peaceful, gentle guy I had once tried to love was there. Or was he? Perhaps that was Alex’s problem—I wondered if he even knew who he really was. Maybe someday the right girl would come and tell him. I wouldn’t. I knew I couldn’t fix him; there was no point in trying. Instead, I allowed myself to hope that his prior outburst had drained an abscess he would now recover from. We were almost at the top of the stairs when I noticed there were other footsteps echoing behind ours. Alex froze. The footsteps stopped as well.

I turned to him, my heart racing. “What’s going on?”

On one of the walls, the candles and the neon light cast barely visible shadows. Concealed by the turn of the stairs, someone had followed us. I heard a rustle of fabric, a metallic sound. Alex had pulled his gun.

“Island, get down!”

I didn’t even have to. When bright blue beams appeared out of nowhere and outlined the dark figure lunging at us, my legs simply gave way. I fell on my ass and curled into a ball as Alex shot twice. The silhouette fell with a groan. I realized that the light came from his gun, on which a tiny laser lamp mounted under the barrel streaked the walls around us with a bluish glow.

Above me someone pulled at my arm. I shrieked, my arms flailing in all directions to escape the newcomer’s grasp, while a third figure seemed to have emerged as well, in front of Alex this time. The hands reaching out for me let go, leaving a smarting sensation where long nails had scraped my skin. A familiar perfume floated in the air, something flowery. The girl with the credit card terminal—the nails that had dug into my flesh were hers.

More gunshots resounded, silenced this time, and Alex started fighting with our pursuer. Terrifying shadows danced on the walls, and I could hear grunts and punches, along with the sharp clatter of shoes slamming on the stone steps. Alex and his adversary tumbled together, sending candles flying everywhere. Drops of molten wax splattered on my legs, leaving a burning sensation in their wake. I scrambled away with a scream of alarm.

Amid the growls and dull thuds of bodies hitting the walls, a noise suddenly reached my ears that I didn’t recognize. Like a low rush of air and some crackling, followed by a harsh acidic smell. Someone howled, and Alex raced back toward me. Then, like they say in the Bible, there was light. Or more exactly, the blaze of an acrylic suit catching fire and lighting up the stairway. The man who had tried to kill Alex staggered on the stairs with desperate moans that turned into blood-chilling screams.

Behind him, a shadow moved, shielding himself with his arms. In a split second I recognized March’s tall frame and black tux—I gathered he had heard the gunshots and come to our rescue. He shoved the human torch out of the way, making me guess, with no small amount of horrified awe, that his own jacket was
not
acrylic, and possibly fireproof. A practical demonstration that smart fashion choices are, indeed, a matter of life and death.

Both men hauled me up by the shoulders, and we ran up the stairs so fast I wasn’t even sure my feet were touching the ground. We reached the top of the stairs, and Alex slammed shut the security door behind us, leaving the torch guy to his misery. I could still hear his cries through the heavy steel, still smelled burned flesh and fabric, and I wanted to throw up. I clutched my stomach in an effort not to.

Ahead of us, the hallway had been deserted. Credit-card girl appeared to have vanished, leaving the dozens of tiny candles to burn in a silence troubled by the low hum and sinister groans rising from the entrails of the club.

“They’re waiting outside. They won’t let us get away,” March said, pulling out a gun from his jacket.

I gripped his arm harder. “What the hell is going on? Are we . . . are we trapped in here?”

Alex smirked. “I guess Sahar didn’t like March’s little tale.”

“What do you mean?”

I was stopped by March’s hand on my shoulder. “They’re here.”

“They” announced themselves with thin rays of red light piercing the darkness at the end of the hallway. One, then two, then too many for me to count. Ten, at least, maybe more. Soon, the candlelight gilded leather boots, combat gear, and the harsh lines of rifles and guns.

Alex raised his Glock in their direction. “Mr. November? Any immediate suggestions?”

It was when March did the exact opposite and lowered his own weapon that I understood just how profoundly screwed we were.

“No. Not for now.”