Ultimate Weapon (16 page)

“There is…something else,” he forced out.

She leaned back with a sigh. “Finally, we’re getting somewhere.”

He had scripted several persuasive ways of approaching the dangerous bargain he meant to offer her, but all of them evaporated out of his head, leaving him with the blunt, unlovely truth.

“I grew up in Budapest,” he said, his voice halting.

She tilted an eyebrow. “And this is relevant exactly why, Janos?”

“My mother…” He stopped and swallowed. “She was a prostitute, from Romania. She worked in a brothel there, run by a mafiya boss from Ukraina.”

Steele’s eyes dilated. “Daddy Novak,” she said.

He nodded. “I was very young when she died,” he said. “I got swept up into his organization as a child. I worked for him for years.”

“I see.” Her voice was as hard as glass. “And what does your mafiya past have to do with me?”

He closed his eyes, tried to organize his thoughts. This was not going well. He was not making sense, even to himself. “I am trying to explain the connection,” he said wearily. “There was a man…who helped me years ago. He was kind to me. Educated me, tried to get me out. He failed with the second, through no fault of his own. I care about this man. Novak knows this. He abducted my friend, and now he threatens to torture him to death if I do not…deliver you to him.”

He did not dare to look at her. The heavy silence was underscored by the child’s burbling and splashing from the bathtub.

Steele’s face was ashen. She was so startled, she had no sarcasm to counter him. “Does he know about Rachel?” she whispered.

“From what I could tell, no. He did not mention her.”

“He must not find out,” she said with hushed intensity. “He would never rest until he got her.”

He nodded.

She looked down at her hands. They were trembling visibly. She clenched them into fists. “Why are you telling me this, Janos?” she asked. “It’s not an efficient tactic if you want to save your friend. Why not just knock me on the head and do the deal?”

Val shook his head. “I was hoping to find a better solution to the problem,” he confessed. “One that would not damn me to hell.”

She looked dubious. “You think that a solution exists?”

“I hope so,” he said. “I do not want to hurt you. And Imre would not thank me for saving him from death and torture at your expense.”

“Hmmph,” she snorted. “This Imre must have very high standards if he can reason like that in Novak’s clutches.”

“Oh, God, yes. That he does,” Val agreed fervently. “His high standards have been a pain in my ass for most of my life.”

Tam waited for more, and threw up her arms. “So?” she prompted him. “The suspense is killing me. Tell me about this better solution.”

“I have not formulated it completely,” he admitted. “But I want to offer a trade. You help me with my problem, and I help you with yours.”

Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Go on.”

“By helping eliminate Novak, you help both yourself and your daughter,” he said. “I hire a team, and we will set a trap for Novak. You are the bait, pretending to be fooled into being delivered to him. You will be covered on all sides by manpower and electronic backup.”

“Ah.” Her bright eyes were unreadable. “And what do you offer me in return?”

“I will take care of Georg for you. He will never bother you again.”

“Do you mean kill him?” Her eyebrows shot up. “Ambitious.”

He shrugged. “I will manage it.”

She shook her head, and his heart sank. “It’s a bad bargain,” she said. “Not a fair trade.”

“Why not?” He could not control the jagged edge of frustration in his voice. “We will solve all your problems at once.”

“No. Your problem, Janos,” she pointed out. “Which is much bigger than mine.”

“Is it?” he demanded. “What happened in that shuttle bus did not look like much of a problem to you? Georg Luksch is not a fucking problem for you?”

She dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “If those guys were PSS and working for Georg, then they wouldn’t have killed us,” she said with irrefutable logic. “And I am perfectly capable of taking care of the Georg problem myself, if it comes to that.”

“Oh, yes? With Rachel to protect?” he snarled. “And even if you should succeed at killing Georg, what kind of mother would you be if you are on the run night and day from Daddy Novak for the rest of your short life? He will not rest now that he knows you are alive. You will never sleep again.”

She shook her head. “I never slept much anyhow.”

Val clenched his fists. “Very well. Would you consider doing it for payment?”

She blinked a few times. “How much payment?”

“At least three million euro, perhaps closer to four,” he said rashly. “Everything I own, minus whatever it will cost me to mount this operation. And it will take a little while to pull it all together, transfer the stock options, sell the apartment in Rome, et cetera.”

Her eyes widened. She looked toward Rachel, splashing and singing in the bathtub. “A generous offer, but no,” she said quietly.

He wanted to scream, pound the walls, smash the lamps. “But if Novak and Georg both are—”

“My chances of surviving what you propose are too small,” she cut in. “I appreciate your honesty, and I’m sorry for your friend, but my first responsibility is to Rachel.”

“Which is why you should reconsider,” he said desperately. “The quality of both your lives will improve if—”

“I know what’s at stake,” she snapped. “The answer is still no. There is nothing more for us to talk about. Rachel and I will be on our way as soon as I get her dressed. Unless you intend to abduct or murder us, of course. In any case, excuse me while I go shampoo Rachel’s hair.”

Val sat on his ass outside the bathroom door, limp and bleak and defeated. He stared at Steele where she kneeled by the bathtub, her back straight, her husky voice murmuring nonsense to the child as Rachel sputtered and shrieked at the insult of shampoo. He stared at her black diaper bag, his hand fiddling with the tiny SafeGuard X-Ray Specs burr beacons he had hidden there, in case he got lucky enough to manage to mark her things again. Her murmuring voice floated out of the bathroom. He was out of her line of vision.

He pulled the smallest beacon out, and slid it into the seam at the bottom of her bag. Done. He would know her location, at least for another twenty-four hours. He was not yet ready to admit defeat. And the end of the world.

He got up and logged on to his computer. A few minutes later, Steele carried the wriggling Rachel out wrapped in a big bath towel and dressed her with some difficulty. When Rachel was on the floor again playing with her dolls, Val slid the laptop across the bed and spun the screen around to face her. “Here.”

She frowned down at the screen. “What’s this?”

“The online catalog for the department store at the mall,” he said.

She looked blank. “And? So? What about it?”

“Clothes for the wedding,” he said. “We’ll have them delivered to the hotel.”

Her mouth tightened. “Have you not been listening to a word I said? You’re not going to the wedding, Janos. No is no.
Capisci?
”

He gritted his teeth. “Do you need clothes for this event, or do you not?”

She gave him a thunderous glare, and then, out of nowhere, her face miraculously cleared. “Whatever I need, did you say?”

“Whatever,” he stubbornly repeated.

Too late, he registered the catlike satisfaction on her face as she tugged the keyboard closer and began to clickity-click with the deft ease of a seasoned online shopper.
Oh, cazzo.
He was in for it.

She was going to make him pay and pay and pay.

Thank God for cosmetics. Tam dabbed still another layer of coverup under her eyes with the makeup sponge. The bruise-colored shadows down there were gruesome to behold without foundation to camouflage them. She studied the effect, and put on the finishing touches: a final brush of mascara to make already thick lashes thicker, a slick of clear gloss to make the bronze-toned lipstick glisten, color on her cheeks to brighten her shocking pallor.

Not bad. Even on a day from hell.

Janos was in the other room, sunk in silence as he perused the details of her Internet order. Yes, she had been bad, very bad. But he deserved to be punished for his mischief-making. He deserved worse for what he’d done to Rosalia alone, let alone the passports, the adoption agency, the cops. She didn’t even want to total up how much money he’d cost her.

Therefore, she was authorized to fully enjoy the horrified look on his face when he saw the totals. Hah. Take that,
testa di cazzo.

She went out into the hotel room and rummaged through the shopping bags, gathering the elements of her ensemble together. Janos watched her take the new shoes out of their box, and then glanced at the receipt for the reference.

“Manolos,” he said, his tone aggrieved. “Eight hundred dollars?”

“A bargain,” she purred. “Excellent value.”

“And the Tigger potty seat? The Cadillac of strollers? Five hundred and eighty seven dollars for cosmetics alone? One thousand, four hundred for a cocktail dress that looks smaller than a hand towel?”

“Looking good is an investment.” She unfolded the iridescent bronze-tinted silk stockings with the retro seams up the back and stroked them with an admiring hand. “You did say whatever we needed, didn’t you?” She slanted him a look of mock dismay. “Does it exceed your budget? Oh, no! I’ll write you a check! Oh, dear…whoops, afraid I can’t after all. I’m a murder suspect now, you see. My assets will be frozen any time now, if they aren’t already. So sorry!”

He made a disgusted sound and she left him to stew, gathering up stockings, shoes, jewelry case, and the dress before she went into the bathroom to pour herself into her outfit.

The stockings and garter belt were delicious, and the dress nicer even than it had looked in the online catalog. Crumpled, stretchy bronze fabric clung lovingly to every curve and hollow. It was almost off the shoulders with built-in support for her bosom that she barely needed. The skirt came down half the length of her thigh. Boldly short for a woman who scorned panties, but she liked living dangerously.

To a point, she mused, thinking of the morning’s events. To a point. She was backing way off on living dangerously.

She braided her hair up into a high, tight coronet and fastened it with a bristling array of Deadly Beauty ornaments, all of them fully armed just in case. Her pendant topaz earrings looked great with the dress, also serving in a pinch as a hypodermic loaded with a quick-acting knock-out drug. She pulled out the necklace, the
pièce de resistance.

Her eyes looked back from the mirror, bleak and miserable. She had to be ruthless now. Quick, decisive. To act without hesitation.

She had to stop dawdling and procrastinating, goddamnit.

“Rachel, honey?” she called. “Come on in here. We’ve got to do one last potty stop for you.”

Rachel peered around the bathroom door, resplendent in her new red velvet dress trimmed with black ruffles. The flamenco three-year-old.

“No pee,” she said darkly.

Tam shoved the new Tigger potty seat on to the toilet, tugged down Rachel’s tights and swung the little girl up onto the toilet. “You just concentrate,” she said. “I want to hear that tinkling sound, OK?”

With Rachel cooperating, Tam took a deep breath, stuck out her tits, and sauntered out.

Janos glanced up. The receipt dropped to his lap, forgotten.

She struck a pose, and let him look. She turned, very slowly, showing off. “Do you like it?” she asked throatily.

Janos cleared his throat. “
Sì
,” he said. “You are magnificent.”

He stood up, and she walked toward him, standing close enough so that he could smell all the outrageously expensive perfumed body and face creams she had bought on his dime.

“Thank you for the dress,” she said softly. “I love it.”

“The investment was worth it,” he conceded.

She dropped her lashes demurely. “How sweet. Such a generous thing to say.” She held up the clasps of the heavy beaten gold necklace with the big, padlock-shaped, moonstone-studded pendant. “Clasp this for me?”

He took them in his fingertips and bent over her head, inhaling her scent. He leaned closer still, until she could feel the brush of his warm breath. He smelled good. His breath smelled good, too. He was so hot, still faintly smelling of patchouli oil, sweat, and man.

She clenched her teeth. Grabbed the pendant in one hand, slid her fingers down to the third bead of the necklace with the other. She found the textured cluster of moonstones, pressed the pendant against his bare shoulder—and pushed the button.

Janos arched and shuddered with a strangled groan for the entire duration of the nerve-scrambling electric zap that she gave him. It was a long one, not out of spite, but because she badly needed an extra margin to get Rachel and all their stuff into a cab and away before he was capable of pursuing them.

He toppled backward onto the bed. It made an enormous rattling crash as his big body hit. Rachel appeared in the corridor seconds later, her tights wound like soft shackles around her wobbly ankles.

Her face was woefully confused. “Val sick?” she asked anxiously. “Need medicine?”

So he was Val to Rachel already, was he? She gritted her teeth, stuffing the taser necklace back into her jewelry case. “Just taking a nap, honey.”

Val groaned and tried to speak. Shit. Her margin of safety was slim. The bastard was a tough one. Tam cursed, and hastened to tug up Rachel’s panties and tights and get her into her brand-new red winter ski jacket, also bought on Janos’s dime. A flurry of gathering shopping bags and scattered toys, babbling incoherent explanations to Rachel, and finally they were out of there. Tam held the wriggling Rachel with one arm and shoved the new stroller, which was heavily laden with bag, purse, potty seat and a cluster of shopping bags, with the other arm.

It started up when they were finally in the cab. Fat, hot tears, sliding right down through her undereye coverup, the cosmetic she could least afford to do without. Goddamn him for making her feel guilty. She dabbed, sniffed, cursed. Tried again to justify herself.