The Spy with the Silver Lining
Wendy Rosnau

MILLS & BOON

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To Jen

Wise beyond your years, my darling, here’s to endurance and owning who you’ve become—an amazing young woman. You’ve grown with such beauty and grace, and I’m so very proud.

Love you,

Mom

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Coming Next Month

Chapter 1

The world is a stage, Cassie. Play to your audience and get them to love you. Life is an investment. It’s like buying a satin suit and fabulous shoes. You get what you pay for.

Head up, shoulders straight, and remember, never buy cheap.

For twenty-eight years Casmir Balasi had lived by her mother’s words, as well as her motto: quality, not quantity. She’d been a trendsetter in her youth, a runway model by age nineteen, and for the past five years Ruza’s teachings had turned the blonde with attitude into one of the most valued femmes fatales at EURO-Quest.

Her model figure and fashion sense, along with her catlike ability to land on her feet, had allowed her to infiltrate some of the most dangerous criminal circles in the world.

Code-named “the actress,” she had recovered precious gems, exposed the most cunning criminals, foiled terrorists and carried top-secret documents across enemy lines, while entertaining evil in the process. And each time she had managed to keep her identity a secret to play the game another day.

She’d been as elusive as a grain of sand in a sandstorm. Her top-notch skills allowed her to haul her butt out of tighter spots than a Gucci leather skirt.

Until tonight.

Tonight, the black wide-brimmed Tularo shielding her green eyes and the silver Devicca suit outlining her curves had fallen short. Nasty Nicky was seated at the bar and he was looking straight at her.

Normally that wouldn’t have drawn a red flag, but the smug look on his face warned Casmir that he wasn’t just enjoying the sight of an attractive woman in a crowd.

There was something else in that look.

It was a look of recognition, and something more. As if he knew the secret life behind her secret life.

Casmir scanned the beautiful club, and the throngs of beautiful people who had ventured out tonight to play at the Kelt. If Nicky was here, Yurii Petrov must be somewhere close by. Which meant the Russian had escaped the maximum security prison in Prague where he’d been eating and sleeping, and dreaming of freedom, for the past seven months.

And if that was true, it meant Yurii knew everything—who, what and why.

Even more damning, it meant he knew that she was responsible for his recent address change, his dismal room with no view and, no doubt, his weight loss due to crappy prison rations.

She wasn’t fool enough to believe that he’d suffered beyond what was bearable. Yurii Petrov had risen to the ranks of soldato early in life. He was a hardened criminal who had grown up in the company of hardened criminals. He’d reached Don status to become the most notorious blood-seeking mobster in the Red Mafia.

An iron-tough son of a bitch topped the list on his profile. A detail man who was used to getting what he wanted and holding on to it. A man who didn’t blink when it came to following the laws of the cartel.

Had she underestimated Yurii? If he was here, then, yes, she had.

A year ago her assignment had been specific. Trip up Yurii Petrov. Find his weakness and get close to him. So close she knew what brand of toothpaste he used, what made him laugh and what turned him on.

During her research she’d learned why she’d been picked for the job. Yurii had only two weaknesses—apricots from his homeland in Armenia and long-legged blondes.

She’d turned his head within a week, and literally brought him to his knees two months later.

The vision of Yurii on bended knee, pulling a velvet box from his pocket, flashed in Casmir’s mind and she glanced down at her left hand. She should never have kept the ring, but it really was beautiful—a ten-carat marquise diamond set in a circle of flawless rubies.

“Never take your eyes off your target. That’s what I promised myself that day on the Riviera. Remember, Kisa? You were sunbathing topless when I first laid eyes on your lovelies.”

It was Yurii. His Russian accent was thick, his breath spiked with the familiar brandy-soaked cigars he favored. His lips brushed the side of her neck, reminding her that they were a little too thin for her taste. Still, he knew how to use them; after all, he was the detail man and appreciated perfection in all things.

Yurii captured her hand, spun her quickly, and suddenly Casmir was looking into a pair of deep-set earthy brown eyes. He raised her hand and kissed it, his penetrating eyes locking on the ring he’d given her months ago.

There was an awkward moment of silence, as if he’d forgotten what he was going to say. Then he recovered. “I should be furious with you. But how can I be angry, my love?” His thumb slowly passed over the diamond engagement ring on her finger. “You’re still wearing my gift. So just maybe I’ll have to rethink killing you.”

“Kill your fiancée? Why would you want to? I thought you loved me, Yurii.”

“And I thought the feeling was mutual. But I heard a disturbing rumor while I was living in my home away from home.”

“Rumors are so unreliable.”

“Tell me you didn’t set out to betray me, Kisa. Tell me it wasn’t all a lie. Tell me I didn’t let an enemy into my heart, then into my bed.”

“I believe the bed came first,” Casmir reminded him.

“I remember that night clearly. You were a one of a kind. Da, it is why it hurts more than I can express.”

If prison had been a hardship, Casmir couldn’t tell. Yurii looked fit and healthy at forty-nine, his wavy black hair short, with a touch of gray at his temples just as she remembered.

To go along with his dangerous good looks, he favored black shirts beneath expensive black suits—and always a bloodred silk tie. The picture he presented tonight was a carbon copy of the old Yurii, right down to the scent of his mordant cologne and an imported cigar pinched between his fingers.

Although his five-foot-nine-inch height made him appear more round than lean, his charisma was as powerful as his high-ranked position in the criminal world.

A real sweet deal, is how Ruza would have described him at a glance.

“Deny the betrayal. Let me hear the words from your hot red lips. Lips that have haunted my dreams since we’ve been apart. Tell me it’s all a terrible mistake, my love. Speak the truth.”

“I’m wearing your ring. I haven’t taken it off since you gave it to me. That is the only truth I know, Yurii.”

His hand closed around hers and squeezed. “Not exactly a confession of innocence, my love. Come. We will discuss it in private. My car is waiting.”

She felt something hard dig into her side. Without needing to look, she knew Yurii had drawn his Gyurza. The Russian pistol was famous for its cored bullets and penetration ability—a deadly weapon that could go through two sheets of titanium at 100 meters.

Casmir didn’t flinch. Instead she glanced left, then right. The nightclub was packed wall to wall, but Pasha had to be there somewhere. A little help from her contact would be appreciated about now.

“If you’re looking for your dark-haired friend, I’m afraid she won’t be coming. She’s met with a tragic accident. A lovely creature, but certainly not you.”

If Pasha was dead, Yurii knew for certain that she was a spy for EURO-Quest.

Casmir didn’t react to the bad news. She was a professional, after all. She hadn’t earned her stripes by wilting under pressure, or spilling tears in the face of the enemy.

She would cry for Pasha later, after she escaped.

Yurii saw betrayal only one way—he would have to kill her.

She had never bought into the cliché that life’s a bitch and then you die. Her mother had always professed the opposite—life’s a ball, so let’s party. Well dressed, of course.

But Yurii wasn’t in a mood to celebrate a reunion in the backseat of his Rolls. She was headed for the Dumpster in the alley, to be picked up with tomorrow morning’s garbage. Pasha was probably there waiting for her.

She saw Nasty Nicky slide off the bar stool. He was grinning, his greasy slicked-back red hair bringing more attention to his stubby nose and ruddy complexion.

Someone should suggest a new hairdo to him, and a new wardrobe, too. Double-pleated pants were out, and the cheap fabric had created deep wrinkle lines high on the inside of his sawed-off short legs, making his crotch pooch out like a deformity instead of an endowment.

Yurii’s fingers locked around Casmir’s wrist. He nudged her with the Gyurza, incentive to head for the exit.

Nicky was now shouldering his way through the crowd to join them. She was out of time. Blood was about to be spilt. Hers, all over her expensive Devicca suit.

Casmir slid her hand into her jacket pocket to retrieve her Makarov. Still playing her lover’s game, she turned slowly and poked the barrel of her weapon into Yurii’s stomach, just below the safety vest he always wore when he went out in public.

“Feel that, darling? Shoot me, and I shoot you.”

He didn’t seem surprised by her counter move. Or worried, for that matter.

His smile turned into a shark’s smirk. “You really are a bad girl, aren’t you, Kisa? One of Quest’s most valued she-spies, I’m told.”

“If you say so. Now slip your gun into my pocket, or we both die here and now.”

“Da, a bad bitch.”

“A bitch with a gun aimed at your—” she slid the gun lower “—big bad boy.”

His grin parted his thin lips, exposing nice white teeth. Yurii was famous for more than his Don status in the Red Mafia; his endowment was as thick as his accent and as penetrating as his Gyurza.

He dropped his gun into her pocket. “So the game begins. I look forward to playing. You know how I love a good challenge, Kisa. But in the end we will meet again. You know we must.”

“Destiny?”

“Yours and mine. Remember while you’re running there isn’t anywhere you can hide that I won’t find you.”

“You’re probably right. But you can’t blame a bad girl for giving it her best shot. No pun intended.”

He released her wrist, brushed her cheek with the back of his hand and ran a finger over her lips. “Extraordinary. From your sexy mouth to your amazing ass. There is no other like you, and even after all the lies I still want you, my love. We are soul mates, you and I. Till death do us part?”

“But not today, Yurii. I would prefer dying a little later. Say…thirty years from now, when my amazing ass has fallen.”

Casmir slid her Makarov lower and ran the barrel over the length of his big bad boy. “Dance with me, darling, and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Yurii started to move in time with the music. He was a good dancer. A fan of Sinatra.

As they blended into the crowd on the dance floor, Casmir blew him a kiss, then got lost in the mass of gyrating bodies. She reached up and removed her hat. Before the brimmed Tularo settled on the floor, she plucked a few pins, then shook her head, sending the length of her black wig cascading down her back.

She spun right, danced behind a beefy giant grinding his hips. There she pulled her jacket off, quickly turned it inside out and slipped it back on.

Feeling the music, the actress danced toward the exit, her silky black hair moving around the shoulders of her shocking pink jacket.

When she wiggled past Nasty Nicky, his eyes never left the dance floor as he searched the crowd for his boss, and the silver goddess wearing the black wide-brimmed hat.

Chapter 2

“You’re in the deep freeze, Balasi. Your cover’s been blown, and until we can find another use for ‘the actress,’ and Yurii Petrov is no longer a threat, you’re ice.”

Four days after her escape from the Kelt in Bratislava, Casmir sat in Lev Polax’s office in Prague dressed to kill. She wore a pale-blue satin pantsuit, complete with matching shoes and handbag, her blond hair twisted in a trendy knot, drawing attention to her slender neck and the silver filigree earrings dangling from her ears.

Prepared to sit through her commander’s predictable performance—Polax was number one when it came to grandstanding—she crossed her legs and made herself comfortable.

He would do a bit of yelling as he paced the floor, leaving footprints on the plush beige carpet, then stop and yell some more. After exhaustion set in—he was in poor shape, so it wouldn’t take long—they would get down to business and discuss the reason he had sent for her at seven in the morning.

“How in the hell did Petrov escape maximum security? That’s what I’d like to know.” Polax’s voice boomed like a cannon. “Now we’ve got the Russian Mafia crawling up our ass.”

It seemed more appropriate to be asking that question to his superiors, or the prison authorities, Casmir thought. She’d done her job. It had taken months to get close to Yurii, and now those months had been flushed down the toilet.

For sure, Quest had taken a giant step backward on this one. Now they would be scrambling to restore their success record in the spy world.

But the really bad news wasn’t what Quest had lost, or businesswise what Yurii had lost—his empire was still standing. What he’d lost was far more precious. Far more personal.

“I can’t believe this has happened,” Polax raged.

Ditto, Casmir thought.

She uncrossed her long legs and played with the diamond on her finger. It really was beautiful. Flawless, Yurii had said. The diamond from Africa, the rubies from Brazil.

Flawless like my future bride, Kisa.

Polax was on his feet now, starting to pace, his pet chair trailing his flat ass. Or maybe it wasn’t all that flat. Maybe it only looked that way because his chubby tummy stuck out from his cinched belt like a balloon that had had too many injections of helium.

He stopped and faced her. “Are you hearing any of this? You’re sitting there as if you’re expecting me to invite you to lunch.”

Of course she was hearing him. He was shouting, and as spacious as his office was, the soundproof technology inside created a ping-pong effect. Actually she was hearing everything twice. As far as lunch was concerned it was too early, but breakfast would be nice. A glass of OJ, coffee and a little protein.

“We haven’t only lost Petrov. One of our best agents had her throat slit.”

It was understandable Polax would be upset about Pasha. She was an excellent agent, an agent who followed Polax’s orders to the letter.

Casmir had mourned her comrade in private, the Hungarian with the hot temper. They hadn’t always seen eye to eye, but they had respected each other.

Polax was back in his chair, the motorized wonder speeding him behind his monstrosity of a desk.

“The agency can’t afford to lose you, too, so pay attention to what I’m saying. I have a plan to defuse this ticking time bomb.”

Here it comes, Casmir thought. A new identity on a remote island. Crete sounded nice, or maybe she could spend the summer with Nadja in the Azores. It would be great to see the baby. Nadja had brought Bjorn’s child into the world a month ago—a beautiful blond baby boy they had named Dane.

After six months on a tropical beach she’d come back ready to go to work with an amazing tan, as a brunette or a redhead. No, not red, it would clash with her wardrobe. She’d probably have to cut the length. Not her best look, but doable. Gain a few pounds—oh, God, not that.

“I’ve contacted a friend of mine. Everything has been arranged. You’ll leave immediately.”

It was time to speak, make a few suggestions. “Someplace warm, I hope. Crete, or maybe I could visit—”

Polax looked over the top of his glasses, which were perched on his puggy, turned-up nose. They were new. Not the best choice for his face shape. Mini oval rims did nothing for his narrow temples. They made his cheeks look like his tummy—as if they had taken one too many hits of helium. A silver finish would have been better than gold, as well. He should have called her and she would have arranged to go with him to pick out something more flattering.

He pulled two passports from his top drawer. “You’ll be en route within the hour. No one will know where you are except for me and your bodyguard. He’ll pick you up.”

“You’re giving me a bodyguard? That’s generous, but not necessary. I’ve soloed on more missions than any other agent at Quest. I certainly don’t need a babysitter lying on the beach blocking the sun.”

“You need whatever I deem relevant. You’ve been assigned a keeper, and that’s that.”

“A keeper?”

“If you prefer bodyguard or babysitter, call him what you wish. Watchdog. Glue. Fungus. I don’t care.” He shoved two passports across his desk. “I hate to inform you of this, but there was a kidnapping attempt on your mother last night. I believe it was initiated by Petrov.”

“He went after Mama?”

“If he had been successful he would have used Ruza to lure you out of hiding. You would have probably gotten emotional and made some silly deal with him to free her. Of course that would have ended up with both of you dead. Since that is unacceptable, I’ve decided—”

“Was she hurt?”

“A bump on the head, and shaken up a bit. I took it upon myself to assign her a guard after the incident in Bratislava. An agent was staked out in front of her apartment. We interceded before she was taken.”

“Obviously not a very good one if someone was able to break in.”

Another austere look over his glasses. “Ruza is packed and ready to join you on your little getaway. She’s been given a story that parallels the bullshit you’ve been feeding her over the years about working for an international real estate agency. As your real estate boss—” he made a face “—I’ve told her that we’re sending you on a little business/pleasure trip. I sent someone to pack for you. You’ll leave straight from here and meet Ruza at the airport.”

“Our destination?”

“The U.S.”

Too vague. “Where exactly?”

“An out-of-the-way little place called Le Mystère.”

“Le Mystère? It sounds lovely. Which coast?”

“The Gulf.”

“Florida?”

“Louisiana.”

“What’s in Louisiana?”

“Alligators, snakes and…hot weather. It seems I’ve made one of your wishes come true.”

“Why not a sunny island in—”

“Because your bodyguard is familiar with Louisiana. He’s got a house there.”

“With alligators for neighbors.”

“Look at it this way. You won’t have to make an effort to be…nice. You can be yourself.”

At Quest, Casmir was known as the bitch with an attitude, the agent who got away with far more than Polax put up with from anyone else. She didn’t know why that was. She knew agents who had been suspended for speaking their mind. She, on the other hand, had simply gotten Polax’s famous look.

“Does my bodyguard have a name?”

“If I’m not mistaken, you’ve already met.” Polax opened the file on his desk and shuffled through a stack of papers. “Pierce Fourtier was the agent who helped out on the Austrian mission a few months ago. The one you played body double with.”

Not that arrogant jackass. No, Casmir thought. The gods wouldn’t be that sadistic. Give her anyone else. A seven-foot gorilla with body odor, a three-foot circus midget on crutches. A transvestite with a shoe fetish, and better taste than hers. Anyone, just not Pierce Fourtier.

“An excellent operative. I’ve never met him, but his file is quite impressive. Seven years as a rat fighter makes him the perfect troubleshooter to watch your backside.”

“The perfect asshole, you mean.”

“As I said, call him whatever you wish.”

“I can’t work with him. We didn’t get along in Austria.”

“I have no record of that.”

Of course he didn’t—she hadn’t made an issue out of it because she was sure she’d never see him again.

“I’m not asking you to like him. You’re a professional, and professionals put their differences aside. Bring your acting skills along and you’ll do fine. It’s always worked before. Until four days ago, that is. This time the only difference will be that instead of standing out in a crowd, and dining with royalty in a two-thousand-dollar miniskirt, you’ll be blending in to your surroundings. That should lighten your suitcase, and Quest’s expense account.”

That was mean. He knew damn well that she spent money out of her pocket for at least half of her wardrobe.

She should point that out. Point her toe and give him a kick under his oversize desk.

Instead, she asked, “How long will it take to put Yurii back behind bars?”

“If I knew that I’d moonlight as a psychic. The important thing is coming out of this smelling like petunias instead of yesterday’s socks. The eyes of the intelligence world are watching us. We can’t afford to make another mistake where Yurii Petrov is concerned. He’ll be out for blood now.”

“Mine.”

“Well put. He has unlimited resources. Behind every legitimate business he owns there’s a million-dollar fraud in the works. From money laundering, to smuggling, to forgery and counterfeiting. He’s the go-to man every criminal wants as their friend when they need someone to disappear, or a few billion dollars cleaned. To put him out of business we need the location of his headquarters. It’s too bad he never took you there during the months you spent with him.”

He was referring to Nescosto Priyatna. Yurii’s secret sanctuary was still a mystery to the intelligence world, and to her.

“For us to come out of this bungle with our heads high, we’re going to have to get creative. We want his operation destroyed. Until that happens you’ll be vacationing in hell.”

“Hell?”

“Sorry. I should have said heaven. Snake heaven, that is. I’ll keep you up to date on the situation on a need-to-know basis. For now you don’t need to know anything, except what time your flight leaves.”

“Snake heaven.”

“You really are listening. Good.”

Casmir knew Quest’s policy when it came to offering information—only active agents involved in the mission were briefed on the when, where and how.

She didn’t want back in the hot seat, but it was a foolish move to keep her out of the loop altogether. She’d been the only agent to get inside Yurii’s tight circle. She knew his habits. Knew things that hadn’t made it into his file.

She’d gotten close enough to know that he slept on his back, not his belly. Knew what he did first when he got out of bed in the morning, and it wasn’t make a trip to the bathroom. Knew what quenched his thirst above all else, and why he had his shoes custom made, and it wasn’t the same reason she did.

She couldn’t shake that feeling that she always got when the cards in the deck had been switched and she was playing poker, holding a sucker’s hand.

She said, “Now that Yurii’s been burned, it won’t be easy getting close to him. He has plenty of men to do his legwork. Their loyalty is beyond question. And he has Filip.”

“Yes, the brother. Thank you for bringing him to my attention.” He scribbled the name on a piece of paper. “So that’s it, we’re on top of the situation, with every confidence that we have the right bait to make Yurii bite.”

If they were on top of the situation, Yurii would never have escaped his iron cell in the first place, Casmir thought.

Polax looked up and gave her a satisfied smile. “You’re on vacation starting now.”

“But I—”

“There’s no need to concern yourself further. I’m confident this time things are going to go our way. Get comfortable in your new home and take up a hobby. Knitting, perhaps, or maybe cooking. Can you boil water yet?”

She would like to boil him, and the look she gave him said so.

“You won’t be returning to Quest until Petrov’s command center has been destroyed and the final paperwork is on my desk. My advice is to put your feet up and enjoy the time off.”

“I don’t see why—”

“Your argument will be a waste of your time and mine.”

Casmir scalded him with her best bitch look. The problem was by now Polax had become immune to it. But she kept it going.

She’d been given the name royal bitch, which she embraced. She’d had a good teacher. Her mother had written the rule book on bitchdom, and Casmir had read every word.

A weak woman was as vulnerable as a three-legged dog on a fox hunt, Mama had always said. A strong woman knows how to get what she wants. When to add a cup of sugar, or a drop of arsenic.

A confident woman is wrinkle free, walks like she owns the sidewalk and isn’t afraid to kick a little ass when the shoe fits. And if the ass is big, wear boots—preferably a pair you can run in should your aim be an inch or two off and the brute doesn’t go down.

Polax was speaking again. Casmir made eye contact, her eyes snapping like a bitch on fire.

He dismissed the look. “We never know what tomorrow will bring in the intelligence business, Balasi. Four days ago you were the actress. A busy little spy doing what you do best, playing games with a winning hand. But now your cards have been turned over and Petrov knows you outplayed him. Until we have him back, you’re—”

“A prisoner with an asshole jailer.”

“A jailer who has a reputation that gives new meaning to the word survival. I’m confident Fourtier will be able to protect you should your sunny disposition irritate the neighbors and start them hissing.”

Very funny, Casmir thought. If a reptile crossed her path, she was going to shoot it in the head with Yurii’s dependable Gyurza. She still had his gun, with a round of ammo guaranteed to turn Fourtier’s neighbors into leather shoes, complete with matching handbags.

“Your plane is waiting, and so is your mother. I’m sure Ruza will recover from her injuries in a few days.”

“Injuries. But you said—”

“The minor bump on the head and black eye haven’t slowed her down much.”

“Mama has a black eye?”

“In a few days she’ll look as beautiful as ever. Now get going.”

“But—”

“Your flight leaves—” Polax checked his watch “—in fifty minutes. Move your amazing ass, Balasi. I’ll be in touch.”

Pierce entered Merrick’s office at Onyxx in Washington expecting a pat on the back, and his vacation request confirmed. He and Jacy had managed to wrap up the kill-file mission and defuse a time bomb.

All was good, and now it was time for a little fun in the sun. He deserved it. He was anxious.

“Sit down, Pierce. That was a helluva job you did for us in Montana. Jacy’s back working for us. Polax is happy that Prisca has joined his team of female spies. And we have the original kill-file in our possession.”

“And Holic Reznik?”

“Holic is never going to see the light of day. His prison cell at Clume is now his permanent home.”

“And the Chameleon?”

“We’ve alerted the appropriate organizations directly involved in his intended mayhem. Of course, we still want him, but for now lives have been spared. You and Jacy can be damn proud of that. The agency is grateful.”

All in a day, Pierce thought. Now let’s settle on a date when I leave for my requested time off. He probably wouldn’t get a month like he’d asked for, but surely two weeks. He could live with that.

“Sorry to have to tell you this, but your request for vacation time has been denied.”

Pierce had just sat down. He looked across the desk at his commander in disbelief. He hadn’t had time off in over a year. Not unless they were counting his recovery time from taking those two bullets for Bjorn in Austria months ago. Rehab had been no picnic, but he’d gotten used to the routine. He had more bullet holes in him than all his teammates put together. Still, a little rehab hardly qualified as a vacation.

“You’re denying my request? Why?”

“Polax called and he’s got a problem.”

“Since when are his problems our problems? Or should I say, mine?”

“When they parallel our interests. He’s uncovered a critical piece of information, and that information could put us back on the trail of the Chameleon. Ever hear of a man named Yurii Petrov?”

“The Russian mobster, oui, I’ve heard of him. He’s doing time in a Czech prison.”

“Was. He escaped a week ago.”

“How the hell did that happen?”

“I don’t have all the details. What I do know is that since he’s been in prison his operation has still been running smoothly. We know he’s the prime source for laundering the Chameleon’s money. Last week someone pulled off a billion-dollar weapons deal with the Russians. We believe it was the Chameleon.”

Pierce shifted in his chair and crossed his jean-clad leg over his knee, his frustration in check.

His comrades had given him the name Sleeper years ago because he seldom showed an ounce of emotion, or revealed what he was thinking. His self-control was what had kept him alive for thirty-five years. His lazy brown eyes gave the impression that even if his balls were on fire, he wouldn’t reach for a water glass.

He said, “You think he’s going to contact Petrov to clean his money?”

“He probably already has. Polax tells me Yurii Petrov keeps sophisticated records on all his clients. That means he’s got data on the Chameleon. We want it.”

“Do we know where Yurii Petrov keeps this data?”

“We think he has a command center somewhere in the Mediterranean. But so far we haven’t been able to lock in on the location. To infiltrate his core and retrieve the data we need to uncover his hideout. He calls it Nescosto Priyatna. Quest has been under some heavy ridicule since Petrov’s prison break. Polax is looking to redeem his agency. We’re looking for data on the Chameleon. I’ve met twice with Lev Polax and we’ve come up with a plan.”

“If you don’t know where to look, how are you—”

“Petrov has a score to settle with Quest. Polax believes he’s going to go after one of his operatives. The agent responsible for his seven months in prison.”

“How do I fit in?”

“When agencies work together good things can happen. The Austrian mission was proof of that. I’ve never been too proud to join forces with another agency if we can score a victory. Shutting down Petrov’s cartel would be a big perk for EURO-Quest. And I don’t have to tell you what it would mean to Onyxx if we can draw the Chameleon out of hiding to get another crack at him.”

Pierce could see that the idea thrilled Merrick. And why wouldn’t it? The Chameleon had been a dagger in Merrick’s side for fifteen years. This went far beyond just business with his boss. Everything involving the Chameleon was personal to Merrick.

“We’ve got the Chameleon’s original kill-file now. We’ve defused an international disaster and made friends along the way. It’s a victory, but what I…Onyxx wants is the Chameleon. I’d like to have been there when he learned that we had commandeered his kill-file. That bastard has been dogging me…the agency for too damn long.”

It was a fact, and Pierce understood Merrick’s frustration. His commander had been living with a sour taste in his mouth for too long. After all, the Chameleon had killed Merrick’s wife.

“I’d like to nurture this neighborly relationship with Quest. It’s been working to both our advantages.” Merrick tossed a file across the desk. “This is what we’ve got on Yurii Petrov. He’s a leading force in the Red Mafia, but he’s much more than that. He’s been a busy man over the past twelve years.”

Pierce reached for the file and opened it. First off was a picture of Petrov, along with the stats. Five feet nine inches, weighed two ten, brown eyes, black hair. In the picture he was dressed like a tycoon. He looked in good shape for a man headed for fifty.

He skimmed the pages of information. Later he would read them through. He closed the file.

That was when Merrick dropped the bomb. “What I want from you is to play house with Polax’s bait. It’s only a matter of time before Petrov makes a move on her. How long has it been since you were back home?”

The question caught Pierce by surprise. “Home? You mean Louisiana?”

“Le Mystère, to be specific.”

“Four or five years, maybe.”

“How’s Saber Lazie doing these days?”

Pierce arched an eyebrow. “He’s still on his feet, kicking it around.”

“So you two are still on good terms?”

“Oui.” Where was this going?

“You still have that house near Bayou Lafourche?”

Pierce uncrossed his legs and sat up a little straighter. “What are you asking of me, Merrick?”

“This is a bodyguard job with a twist.” Merrick slid another file across the desk. “Polax’s agent. The one you’ll be playing house with until Petrov makes his move. She comes with baggage.”

“What kind of baggage?”

“Her mother.”

Pierce reached for the second file and opened it, and there staring back at him was the mouthy little bitch he’d encountered months ago in Austria. The woman he’d been tempted to shove out of the helicopter if only one of his bullet wounds hadn’t dislocated his shoulder in the process.

He closed the file. “Balasi put Yurii Petrov in prison? How did she manage that?”

“She used her charm. You know the standard for Quest agents. They’re trained specialists in the art of seduction.”

The woman he’d met didn’t know the definition of charm, Pierce thought.

“This particular agent is an expert in bringing a man to his knees. Polax tells me Petrov fell in two months. So hard he declared his love, gave her a ring and asked her to marry him.”

Casmir Balasi, wife material? A two-headed viper would be more fun.

“This isn’t going to work.” Pierce closed the file. “We didn’t get along in Austria.”

“Then you know her?”

“She was the agent that doubled for Nadja Stefn that day in Austria on Glass Mountain.”

“If you had a conflict with her, why isn’t it in your report?”

Because he had never expected to ever see her again, Pierce wanted to say. He didn’t. Instead he made a suggestion. “Maybe Ash Kelly could take this one. I hear he’s been back a few weeks.”

“It’s true Ash has returned from his sabbatical. He seems a hundred percent, but I’d hate to find out otherwise on a mission of this importance. To be honest, he never made the list of candidates. After I discussed potential operatives with Polax, he picked you as the lucky winner.”

Pierce muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Indigestion.”

“This mission will require a man who can stay focused and in control.” Merrick grinned. “We both know you have a knack for that. You’ve proven to us more than once that you can straddle an electric fence in a knife fight and never break a sweat. That’s your gift, Pierce—patience and adaptability. Not to mention your dead aim. I’ve never seen a man who can keep a cigarette lit in the eye of a hurricane better than you can. How many times have you been shot now?”

“I’ve lost count.”

“My point. It’s that resilience that I’m counting on.”

Bad weather, he could handle. Eating a bullet, no problem. But babysitting a bitch with more attitude than brains… He’d volunteer for a bullet in the middle of the Arctic any day.

In his entire thirty-five years no one had been able to get under his skin the way Balasi had. If he was forced to do this, he was the one who was going to need an extended sabbatical…in a padded cell.

He asked, “What’s up with the mother? How does she fit into this?”

“There’s an interesting story behind Ruza Balasi. She’s somewhat of a legend in Europe. A retired stage actress. Polax tells me Yurii Petrov tried to kidnap her a few days ago. He wants her to vanish for a while. That’s where your friend Lazie comes in.”

“Is she another hurricane?”

“Excuse me?”

“You know the saying. Like mother, like daughter.”

“In this case, more than you know. Polax shared some interesting facts with me. A little history I wasn’t aware of. Want to hear more?”

“If I say yes, does that lock me in?”

“You were locked in the moment Polax took a look at you, then read your file.”

“I’m still not sold on the idea.”

“You’ve got what it takes to pull this off. I know it, and you do, too. It’s not going to be easy, and it might not end up picture perfect—rarely do missions go as planned. But I’m in agreement with Polax. You’re the man. One more thing. When this is over, Casmir Balasi must be alive. If she’s not breathing air, you and I will be facing a firing squad, along with Polax. That’s no bullshit.”

Chapter 3

“Oh, Mama, your eye… Does it hurt?”

“Of course it hurts.”

“It looks…ghastly.”

“Thank you, Cassie. I feel so much better knowing that we both agree I look terrible.”

They had left Prague’s Ruzyne Airport on a commercial flight headed for the U.S. Ruza was dressed all in black. As usual, her silver-gray hair was neat and glamorous, twisted into a low knot at the nape of her neck, secured with a diamond clip.

Casmir always admired the fact that her mother looked stunning no matter what. Black eye and all, at age fifty-two, Ruza Balasi was a vintage classic. She knew what color looked best to complement her flawless complexion, and what to eat to keep her slender five-eight figure below 120.

Her mother slipped her sunglasses back into place. “Is this going to remain a surprise or are you going to tell me where we’re going? I haven’t taken a vacation with you in years. I’m looking forward to some extravagant shopping, and dining out every night.”

Casmir settled into her seat, contemplating how to tell her mother that their vacation spot wasn’t going to be a sandy beach in the Mediterranean, or a shopping extravaganza in Paris.

“This is a work vacation, Mama. I can’t play the entire time.”

“That’s fine. Just point me in the direction of the most expensive dress shop and I’ll be happy.”

“My boss said—”

“Such a nice man, Mr. Polax.”

Casmir raised her perfectly arched blond eyebrows. “Yes, isn’t he. Definitely one of a kind.”

“We like one of a kinds, don’t we, dear?” Ruza patted Casmir’s hand, then eyed her daughter’s scarf. “Is that a Naubow?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so. There is nothing that compares with French silk. And these colors…they’re so vibrant. You really do look good in saguaro green and salmon. You should wear them more often.”

“What did you pack, Mama?”

“Not what I would have liked. With only one good eye to guide me through my wardrobe, I fear we’ll have to do some major shopping right away.”

From what Polax had told her, shopping was going to be a bit of a problem. How to tell Mama they were headed for the swamp, their babysitter a snake named Mr. Asshole?

Casmir continued to contemplate, then decided to hold off. Something ingenious would surely come to her in the next few hours.

Mama believed that Quest was an international real estate agency. Casmir would never have considered lying to her mother if she had thought she could handle the truth. But there was no way Mama would have understood. Her first question would have been, “Is it dangerous?”

After all, she was the offspring of Madame Ruza, a retired stage actress who ate fruit and salad to keep herself trim, and visited the beauty salon for a manicure and pedicure weekly. She enjoyed grand parties and sipping martinis dressed in negligees trimmed in fur with matching satin bedroom slippers.

College had bored her, and her runway modeling career had grown stale. But she had honestly never been bored a day in the five years since she’d worked for Quest. She’d come to accept that her present life had been one of those fated twists in the road. Who would have guessed she’d become a spy the day she had bumped into Polax on the street?

“On this trip I’m going to be inspecting a number of properties for an interested client,” Casmir began. “Property in Louisiana.”

“We’re going to the U.S.?”

“Yes. Louisiana.”

“There’s this decadent place there that I’ve read about. It’s called New Orleans. Wouldn’t it be grand to go there?”

“We’re flying into New Orleans.”

“Oh, this is so exciting.”

“Le Mystère,” Casmir added. “The place where we’ll be staying is called Le Mystère. I think it’s farther south.”

Pierce flew into New Orleans, then rented an open Jeep. The city brought back memories, and he found himself driving by the Glitterbug. He’d been a bartender there during his lean and mean years. Later, when Saber Lazie had felt he was ready, he’d graduated to the underground game room where real money could be made.

A den of muscle, guts and killer instincts, was how Saber had described the place when he’d first opened the door and Pierce had gotten his initial look at what Lazie’s twisted mind had designed below the Glitterbug.

After a few lessons from the master himself, he had stepped into a world that quickly separated the men from the boys. Before long he’d made a name for himself, and enough money to buy some land and build a cabin. A money-making job and regular meals—it was perfect for someone like him.

Then he’d met Merrick. The Onyxx commander had been seated in the front row one night. He’d sat at a table alone, his eyes never leaving the action. Days earlier Pierce had agreed to a high-stakes knife fight with a muscle-honed giant named Frog.

The win had been one of his toughest, but he’d managed to stay on his feet, and eventually become the winner of five thousand dollars.

The victory had put him at Merrick’s table hours later. The commander of Onyxx had bought him a drink, then laid his cards on the table. He said Pierce was a desirable candidate for a government special-ops team. He’d complimented him on his skill and survival techniques, saying that he was one of the best he’d seen anywhere, and that he’d been everywhere, so he should know. That there was a place for men like him.

The truth was Pierce had always felt alone, that there would never be a place for a man like him. But here was a stranger telling him he had value.

Merrick had sweetened the deal with a money figure that Pierce couldn’t have made in his entire lifetime. And so he had become one of Merrick’s boys. A man of purpose, one of the elite at Onyxx.

He didn’t stop in the Glitterbug, but he saw that it looked the same as it always had from the outside—a simple hole-in-the-wall bar, complete with strippers and loud music. It was a lucrative business for Saber Lazie, but he’d made his real fortune arranging fights underground.

The door was open, as always, welcoming the regulars and the curious. But few knew about Lazie’s exotic other world, or how much money changed hands in one night.

He glanced at the files in the seat beside him, still skeptical about the job. Bodyguard with a twist… This was a twisted mess, all right. Merrick hadn’t been kidding when he detailed the plan that he and Polax had come up with. He was supposed to keep Balasi hip-huggingly close until Petrov took the bait.

He wanted to put off his face-to-face meeting with her as long as he could, so he’d called Lazie to talk over the situation. Even though he was in New Orleans and could have picked up his cargo at the airport, he had persuaded his old friend to do the honors.

Besides, he had some catching up to do. There was someone he wanted to see in Le Mystère first. It had been four years since he’d seen sweet, generous Linet at the Ginger Root.

Lazie said she still worked behind the bar, serving beer with a smile. Keeping that picture in his mind, he headed south, bypassed Chalmette and followed the river.

He took Highway 39 to Scarsdale, then Stella. Thirty minutes later he cruised into Le Mystère. The main street was quiet, as usual, with two cars parked in front of Pete’s Grocery, one in front of Wanda’s Catfish Lounge and nine in front of the Ginger Root Bar.

Linet must be working, Pierce thought as he swung into the bar’s dirt-packed parking lot and hopped out. He hoped that Linet would be happy to see him. It would make his stay in Le Mystère more enjoyable if he had a little diversion from time to time. A small black-haired distraction with green eyes, and a set of wanna-touch-me breasts that had kept the bar stools at the Root covered from dawn until dusk for the past twelve years.

It was a known fact that some of the boys staked out a bar stool early and stayed all day and all night just to be on the receiving end of one of Linet’s boob-a-licious smiles.

Today Pierce planned to be one of the boys. He needed to get into the right frame of mind to face hell in heels.

It would take at least a dozen beers, maybe more.

It was said a man’s worth was measured by degrees of talent, skill and determination. Yurii Petrov had been born with a full glass of all three.

Once a simple Caucasian peasant from the mountains of Armenia, he’d first found his calling with the Russian Mafia. As a member of the family he’d fit the mold like a well-made shoe.

His penchant for detail and his gut-driven loyalty had sent him climbing the ladder quickly. And for his efforts he’d become a very rich man. No, a stinking, filthy rich man.

Over the years he’d perfected his skills, put his money where so many men put their mouths and quickly learned the advantages of becoming number one at everything he attempted.

Laundering money was a worldwide business, a lucrative business. But to do it flawlessly, without a trace, was an art form.

Yurii was an artist.

It had taken years to develop his faultless system, years to capitalize on the weaknesses of foolish businessmen and the greed that often followed misguided power. But he’d been patient and true to his calling. He’d watched and learned, and made his move time and again, until he’d turned millions into billions.

It had set him apart from the ordinary criminals who daily shuffled a few thousand in and out of banks and nightclubs. He was now considered the kingpin in the world of turning dirty money into street currency.

His life had been a wild ride to the top. There had been women along the way. Nights of hot sex and excess. But he’d always woken up empty.

When you least expect a miracle, it comes riding on the back of something wonderful. His mother used to say that to him and his brothers when they were kids.

He’d never expected Kisa to be that something wonderful the day he’d seen her lying on the beach on the Riviera. But suddenly, at forty-nine, with money falling out of his pockets, respected by his peers, and a thriving empire, he had found what was missing in his life—he’d fallen in love.

Power and wealth paled in comparison when a man had found his soul mate. And for a short four months he had been happy beyond his wildest dreams.

Kisa was perfection, her scent like a smothering flower, her voice the long-awaited aphrodisiac to the road of serenity. And when he first kissed her venomous lips, he’d been eager to be stung by her poison, willing it to infect his soul.

It had all been so perfect, and then he’d learned the truth about the woman he’d seen as his destiny.

For months, he’d lain awake at night in his prison cell thinking about how he would kill her. He had planned for it, dreamed of it. And then he’d seen his ring on her finger in Bratislava.

Why was she still wearing his ring?

Maybe the idea of snuffing her out of his life would grow on him again, but for now killing Kisa was the furthest thing from his mind.

Yurii closed his eyes and tried to imagine his hands around her neck, choking the life out of her.

He fed his muse, but it was no use. He wanted his life back. The life she had given him.

He wanted his Kisa back.

And maybe, after a time, his feelings for her would grow cold, and once his heart had become a chunk of ice, the idea of killing her would bring more comfort than torment.

He would think on it, but first there was business to attend to. It wouldn’t take long. He wasn’t crazy about a rendezvous in the middle of the Mediterranean with the Chameleon, but he was more than simply a good customer.

The Chameleon was a man much like himself. He was a man of honor and power. A family man with a wife and a son. He valued his home, and his privacy in the Greek Isles.

He had no need to know exactly where. And likewise, there was no need for anyone to know where he sought refuge away from the eyes of the world.

Da, a rendezvous at sea with the Chameleon, a few words exchanged. Dates and times agreed upon. A price settled. The deal sealed over a drink and a handshake. Then he would be free to focus on Kisa.

He understood now why a powerful man bitten by love broke the rules. Nyet, he was not weak. He was a realist. Or maybe a better word was a fatalist.

Kisa was his fate.

And he, hers.

Yurii smiled as he thought about their meeting at the Kelt in Bratislava. He could have killed her easily. He could have slit her throat as Nicky had done to the brunette with the big tits. But he had wanted to hear her sultry voice once more, and touch her satin-smooth skin. Smell her sweet scent and taste her perfect lips.

And then he’d seen her finger weighted down by his gift.

He remembered the day he’d given her the ring. Afterward they had made love. The memory aroused him and he laid his hand against his cock and pressed hard as he pulsed to life.

He felt himself stretch as his blood began to hum through his veins. He worked his hand up then down, envisioned Kisa undoing his pants and taking him in her hands. His fingers would get lost in her hair as she knelt to cover him with her mouth.

He groaned, felt himself on the verge of ejaculation. He let it come where he stood on the balcony outside his lavish bedroom overlooking the lagoon.

Confident no eyes were watching him, he succumbed to his fate. The fate of a woman who had tricked him. A woman he should hate.

A woman he still loved.

The phone rang minutes later, and Yurii glanced down to see which button had lit up. It was Nicky, and he hit the intercom.

“What news do you have for me?”

“She flies across the Atlantic. Recovery will require a trip to the U.S.”

“Where exactly?”

“I will have the location very soon.”

“Spasibo, Nicky. You know what to do.”

“Your instructions are clear. Anything for you, Don Petrov.”

Yurii pressed the button to disconnect, then picked up the cigar that smoldered in the ashtray on the balcony ledge. Puffing hard, until the air turned gray and pungent, he stepped back and disappeared inside his bedroom to take a shower.

Chapter 4

“He was supposed to meet us,” Casmir said as she eyed the throngs of people coming and going at New Orleans International Airport. “That would be just like him to be late picking us up.”

“Who, Cassie?”

Casmir caught herself before she said, the asshole. “Pierce Fourtier, Mama. A coworker. He’s taking us to Le Mystère.”

“A coworker? I don’t recognize the name. Have I ever met him?”

No, but once you do you’ll never forget him, Casmir thought.

She spied a gypsy vagrant watching them and immediately she went on red alert. No one was supposed to know their destination but Polax…and Fourtier, of course. No one should be singling them out of the crowd unless…

She couldn’t dismiss Yurii’s last words as she’d skipped away from him at the Kelt four days ago—so the hunt begins. I look forward to it.

She pulled her mother toward the door.

“Where are we going, Cassie?”

“Out, Mama.”

They had already gone to the baggage claim and picked up their luggage. Since then, they had been waiting for Fourtier a long thirty minutes.

Bastard.

Casmir looked over her shoulder and saw the gypsy was still eyeing them. No, he wasn’t only staring, he was moving through the crowd toward them with a confident swagger, his long gray hair defying his age, as well as the fit of his jeans.

He wore a sleazy red satin vest over a black shirt, and he was also sporting a tacky long earring dangling clean to his jaw.

Someone should clue him in on how to dress when you’re over fifty, she thought. Playing Bojangles wasn’t working for him—not at all.

Where the hell was Fourtier?

He probably had stopped off somewhere for a beer.

Casmir ushered her mother out the door and into the busy crowd that waited for taxis. She slipped past the mass of bodies, pulling her luggage behind her. Her mother followed, dragging her Paris tote, her dark glasses still in place hiding her black eye.

Casmir spotted an unmarked taxi parked across the street. The driver was leaning against a silver SUV and smoking a cigarette. None of the tourists had spotted him yet.

She bolted into the street, waving her hand to get the rebel cabby’s attention. He jumped to attention the minute he saw her and hurried to meet them. She thrust her bag at him, and yanked the Paris tote from her mother and heaved that at him as well. Shoving her mother into the backseat, she followed after her and slammed the door shut.

“Are we in a hurry, Cassie?”

“Do you want to stand in the heat, Mama?”

“I’ve never been able to tolerate it, you know that. Goodness, it’s warm. I had no idea. This reminds me of the jungle in—”

“Jungle? What jungle, Mama?”

“There, you see, the heat is getting to me already. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Casmir felt a little dizzy herself. The air was as thick as sand inside the cab, and twice as suffocating.

She kept watch out the window as the driver tossed their luggage into the trunk. She spotted the gypsy as he burst through the crowd just as the cabdriver climbed behind the wheel.

“We’re in a hurry,” she said. “Step on it.”

As the cabby sped away from the curb, Casmir watched the gypsy jog into the middle of the street, his feet lighter than she’d expected for a man his age. When he pulled a phone from his pocket, she knew she had guessed right. He was one of Yurii Petrov’s henchman—the hunt was on.

The first thing on the agenda was to lose the gypsy. Once they accomplished that, she would phone Polax and tell him that their ace bodyguard was a no-show, and that Yurii had somehow found them.

Then she would demand a sandy beach in Crete with a breeze, and that Fourtier be hung from a low tree over an alligator pond in his backyard.

Pierce answered his phone on the forth ring. He was straddling a bar stool at the Ginger Root, enjoying his fifth beer and Linet’s assets as she made eyes at him from across the bar.

“Lazie, you pick up my package?”

“We got a problem, boy. Da two of dem took off. I’m chasin’, but dat sonofabitch cabby’s got a lead foot and two glass eyes. He’s gonta end up turned over in the levee if he keeps dis up.”

“What the hell do you mean, they took off?”

“Like a jackrabbit with his tail on fire.”

“What made them run? Didn’t you tell her who you were?”

“Didn’t get close enough ta introduce myself, mon ami. Dey slipped away like a greased snake on a spit run.”

“Where are you now?”

“In da Eldorado playin’ Starsky and Hutch.”

“Don’t lose them. I’m heading back.” Pierce disconnected and jammed the phone in his pocket. “Sorry, honey, but we’re going to have to continue this reunion later. I got a rabbit to run down.”

Linet pouted. “Let’s hope it don take another four years for you ta get back here, cowboy. If you still look as good outa dem jeans as I remember, there’s no reason you shouldn’t be sharin’ the bounty. In the south, sharin’ is the neighborly thing ta do. Oui?”

Pierce grinned, then winked. “I’ll be back.”

“You know where I’ll be, cowboy.”

He left the Ginger Root and started back to New Orleans with his foot pushed to the floorboard, while he pulled his cell phone and called Lazie.

“You still got them in sight?”

“Not at the moment. Got a corner ta take.”

Pierce heard tires squealing. Lazie swore in colorful French. “What’s happening?”

“Got um back. Shit, lost um again. I’m gonta rattle that cabby’s cage when I catch him. Call yous later. Got another corner ta take.”

Pierce tossed the phone in the seat next to him. It would take him forty minutes to get back into town. He should never have sent Lazie to the airport. Merrick had said the plan would take time to set into motion—that the heat wouldn’t be on for at least two days.

He should have known that where Miss Bitch was concerned, the heat was never off.

Pierce stewed all the way back to the city until he was well cooked and starting to burn. He picked up the phone in the seat next to him as he crossed the river and punched in Lazie’s number again.

“Update me.”

“Caught the cab. He’s bleedin’. He says he let dem out on the corner of Bourbon and St. Anns. Dere in the Quarter somewhere. That’s a good sign.”

“You lost them.”

“I got dere luggage.”

“I don’t give a shit about their luggage. Meet me at the Bug.”

Casmir pulled her mother into a dingy bar on Bourbon Street, then wished she hadn’t. The seedy establishment was sporting a topless dancer on a spotlit stage and a clientele that was ninety-nine percent male. The only female in sight was the redhead grinding her hips on stage and sporting a red thong and a smile so wide you could count her teeth.

She spotted an empty table in a dark corner at the back of the bar. It wasn’t the most desirable spot for hungry eyes bent on viewing every dimple and mole on the redhead—the reason it had been left vacant, no doubt. But it was a perfect rest stop for two women on the run and out of breath.

“Over here.” Casmir took Ruza by the hand and led her mother along the wall to the secluded table. “Sit down, Mama.”

Her mother was still wearing her dark glasses and she stumbled into the table and almost knocked it over. The noise turned heads and suddenly two dozen smiles acknowledged the arrival of the female duo.

Casmir took a head count, then assessed the grins. Oh, goody. This was just what they needed. A room full of depraved lechers to add to their problems.

“This is just great,” she huffed.

“I agree.” Ruza sighed. “My shoes are killing my feet. It’s been years since I cruised the streets in heels.”

“What?”

“Never mind. I’m just glad to finally sit down. I think I’ve got a blister on my toe.”

Casmir took a seat beside her mother. She kept one eye on the entrance, and one eye on a man ten feet away who hadn’t stopped grinning since they’d found the empty table. She pulled her phone from her pocket, then just as quickly stuffed it back when the man and his friend stood and started sauntering toward them.

“Stay put, Mama, I’ll be right back.” Casmir met the men halfway. Before they got a chance to say anything, she said, “We’re meeting our fellas, boys, so don’t get excited. They’ll be here in a few minutes and my boyfriend is a real jealous badass. We just want to enjoy a drink in quiet while we wait.”

One of the men nodded—the big burly one. But there was an asshole in every crowd, and Big Burly’s long-haired companion was it.

“Come on, cher. I’ll show you a better time den your boyfriend. I got more experience den a dog’s got hairs on his ass.”

“I’m sure you do, but I’m into the tall, dark, silent type. And did I mention manners? A lady values manners and…good hygiene. Not hairy assholes.”

“Ain’t no ladies come in here, cher. None dat I knows can talk like dat.”

While they had been in the cab, Casmir had slipped her Makarov out of the secret compartment in her purse and into her jacket pocket. She came up with it and nudged the crude dog in the ribs.

“Sometimes it’s hard to distinguish the difference, but you’re going to have to take my word for it.” She gave him a solid poke with the barrel of her gun. “Or not. It’s your choice.”

He glanced down, saw the gun. His eyes doubled their original size. “Hold on, lady…”

“That’s right…lady. I thought you’d come around. Now go sit down and do your barking at the stage.”

When they walked off, Casmir returned to her seat, her gun neatly tucked back in her pocket. Keeping her eyes out for incoming trouble, she concentrated on cooling off.

“The air-conditioning in this place must be broken,” she said.

“What did you say to those men, Cassie?”

“I just told them we wanted to enjoy our drinks…alone.”

“Drinks? That sounds absolutely wonderful. I could use a Russian Rose.”

Her mother had removed her dark glasses. Casmir stared at Ruza’s black eye in the dim light. She was worried about her mother. She had to get her someplace safe.

She pulled out her phone. “I don’t think a martini is a good idea right now, Mama. At the moment we need to keep our wits about us.”

“My wits are always sharpened after a martini. Even better after two. When I get to number three—”

“I know what happens after number three, Mama. If you need to lie down in here, you could start a riot. No martinis.”

“But I’ve acquired quite a thirst, Cassie. We’ve seen half of the city from the backseat of a taxicab, and we haven’t been here an hour. That cabdriver must have been on speed. Did you see how many red lights he ran? And what about our luggage?”

“I need to make a phone call.”

“To Mr. Fourtier?”

Never, Casmir thought. Not even if she was stranded in a snake pit with an alligator gnawing on her ankle. “I’m calling…my boss. Are you going to be all right sitting here for a few minutes?”

“Of course. About our luggage…”

“Later, Mama.” Casmir got up and rounded the table. There was a hall with a flashing sign above it indicating the restrooms. “Don’t move from this table. Do you hear, Mama? I want you sitting right here when I get back.”

“I don’t think I could move if I wanted to. Don’t worry. My butt is glue.”

Pierce walked through the front door of the Glitterbug at the same time as Lazie came through the back door. His jaw was set, but Saber—who was used to the shit hitting the fan on the hour—was wearing a wide grin. His old friend was in his element when he was knee-deep in sewage digging for treasure at the bottom.

They met at the bar. “Good to see you, mon ami. It’s been a while. You’re lookin’ fit for a man in bed with the government. At the moment it looks like your mood could be better—” he shrugged “—but women can have that affect on a man, oui. We’ll find dem, no worries.”

“We better or Merrick is going to send me to Greenland naked to count snowflakes. You said they took off when they saw you?”

“Dat’s right. Say, who’s da hot cookie dat’s with your lady? I ain’t seen nothin’ dat shiny and sweet in years.”

“That’s the mother.” Pierce ignored Lazie’s goofy grin. It was rare to see Saber in a bad mood, even when a bucket of shit was raining down on his parade. Only this time it was his parade, and Merrick wasn’t going to be happy if he learned he’d lost the bait out of the starting gate.

He said, “You take this side of the street, and I’ll take the—”

“Cookie!”

“What?”

Lazie had turned around to lean against the bar. He was looking out past the crowd of men who had come to enjoy the afternoon strip show. Pierce turned his head, and there in the far corner of the room sat an attractive woman in her early fifties.

“Is that Balasi’s mother?”

“It is, mon ami.” Lazie’s grin widened. “What did you say her name was?”

“I didn’t. You sure that’s her?”

“Dat’s da maman. And look, she’s a spirited ange, too.”

Pierce watched as a waitress set a martini down in front of the woman.

Lazie put his hand over his heart. “I’m in love, mon ami. Tell me mon coeur’s name?”

“Snap out of it, Lazie. Ruza Balasi isn’t your type.”

“Ruza-a…” Lazie let the name hang on his silver, Southern tongue. “Ma douce amie.”

“She’s not your love.” Pierce scanned the room looking for Casmir. “She wouldn’t leave her mother,” he muttered, thinking out loud. “No luggage. On foot. Strange city. What would she do? Oui, I know. She’d make a call to Polax.”

The music was loud and the catcalls the stripper was getting added to the noise. Pierce glanced at the hall leading to the restrooms, thought a moment.

He grabbed Lazie by the front of his shirt. “Get your eyes back in your head and your mind off your dick. And put your hand down. It looks like your having a heart attack.”

“Mais, yeah. It’s true. My heart has been attacked by Ruza-a…”

“One of these days I’ll enlighten you about sweet Ruza Balasi, but right now this is what you’re going to do.”

Pierce leaned close and whispered his plan into Lazie’s pierced ear.

Ruza sensed a pair of eyes watching her. She shoved her dark glasses to the end of her nose and scanned the room. There, at the bar. It was the shady-looking character who needed a haircut.

As he began to swagger over to the table, she wondered what was taking Cassie so long. She wasn’t up for conversation with a stranger. She was simply too exhausted.

She took a gulp of her martini to fortify the upcoming confrontation.

“Oui, a fine-lookin’ woman, Cookie. A classy maman, who looks like she’s lived a life of experience, no?”

“It’s true,” she answered. “I wasn’t born yesterday, so before this gets awkward, I’ll say no, thank you. Now run along.”

“Oui, a spirited maman. I enjoy a woman who can teach an old dog a new trick on all four.”

Ruza lifted her glass to her lips again. “Well, Mr. Dog, you must have a hearing problem. I said, run along.”

Instead of moving off, he chuckled. “So you like my place, do you, mon coeur?”

Ruza removed her glasses, momentarily forgetting about her black eye. “I have no—”

“Ma douce amie, you’ve been injured. Who has hurt you, my sweet? I’ll kill the bastard.”

She arched her shapely gray eyebrows above her damaged eye. “You said you’re the owner of—” she looked toward the stage “—this cheap acting den?”

“Oui. The very one. Saber Lazie at your service, mon coeur.” He pulled out a chair and sat. “I haven’t seen you here before. Have you come to my city on business or seeking pleasure?”

“That would be my business.”

Another chuckle. “Oui, a spirited woman, with a snake’s bite. The man who hurt you, does he still have his legs?”

She studied him a moment, got a whiff of his cologne, but couldn’t recognize it. It smelled familiar. That was odd.

“All you need to know—Lazie—is that I’m not ripe for plucking. I’m waiting for my daughter. You’re sitting in her chair. As you can see, I’ve bought a drink from your lacking establishment, so I’m not loitering.”

“Ruza-a…do you dance?”

“How do you know my name?”

He stood. “It’s a fittin’ name, for one so lovely. I like slender women, and memorable names. You’re a feast for a man’s eyes and his imagination.”

His sharp eyes drifted to her chest.

Ruza considering going for the mace in her handbag, which lay on the table. Not yet, she thought. He still hadn’t explained how he knew her name.

She emptied her martini glass, then asked again, “Who told you my name?”

He shrugged, checked his watch. “It’s time to go.”

She saw him step around the table. Then his hand was on the back of her chair. With a sudden jerk he pulled it away from the table, and then lifted Ruza off her chair and tossed her over his shoulder. It happened so quickly she had no time to react or reach for her mace.

The bar crowd was too busy watching the stage to notice Ruza being carried out the back door. She began to pound her fists into his kidneys as he stepped out into the back alley.

Screaming, she fought harder, but the man was stronger than he looked. He ignored her blows as he rolled her inside the trunk of the car parked next to the building.

“Don worry, Cookie. I’ll let you out soon.”

Then he slammed down the trunk and the car’s engine roared to life.

Ruza started to scream again. Maybe someone would hear her. That hope turned to dust as the radio speaker inside the car began to vibrate and drowned out her cries.

The car sped away as Aaron Neville began to sing “Use Me.”

Oh, God. Lazie—if that was his real name—was going to assault her, then kill her.

Worse, at her funeral she would be sporting a black eye.

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