Pleasure's Fury Page 24

  Still, knocking down a building was something best left to professionals. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  Grigoris smiled again. “I’ll let you drive the bulldozer.”

  Behind them, a massive truck turned onto the small street, a shiny yellow bulldozer on the flatbed it was pulling.

  “Well, it’s not like we can make the building worse…” Karl eyed the bulldozer with glee. Heavy machinery. Oh yes.

  Karl stood beside a German woman named Sarah, who worked for a security company that was secretly a front for the Germany territory’s security officers, though she was not an officer. They were watching—and occasionally cheering—as one of the Ottoman knights drove the bulldozer over the steep pile of rubble that had once been the house.

  Another day with no attacks, no sightings of Ciril.

  But he got to drive a bulldozer and fantasize about what he’d do to Antonio and Leila tonight.

  “It’s going to tip,” Karl said. It felt good to speak German. Though it wasn’t his native Dutch, he didn’t have to think as hard to speak German as he did English.

  It would be nice to go home. When this was over.

  Leila and Antonio won’t be there. Antonio will be married to someone else. Touching someone else. Loving someone else.

  “No, no, he’s got it. The base is too wide for it to flip.”

  The bulldozer tipped precariously as it crested the mound of rubble, but didn’t fall.

  For the sake of the driver, Karl was glad, but the same part of him that had gleefully rammed the bulldozer against the building had wanted to see more destruction.

  It was nearly five o’clock, and, in keeping with their cover, most of the “construction crew” had left. In reality, they’d taken up positions in the surrounding buildings, were in cars parked on the street, or otherwise guarding and watching in secret. The news had run the story about the demolition and “excavation” and footage of him walking around several times. The plan was for him to stay here until eight o’clock tonight, after the early evening news aired.

  The consensus seemed to be that Ciril would see the story today, and either strike tonight, or plan and strike tomorrow.

  The cars he was riding in were bulletproof, as was the Kevlar he had hidden under his shirt, the bulkiness of which was disguised by the vest. The helmet was bulletproof too.

  Grigoris, no longer in his city manager “disguise,” walked over carrying a tray of coffee. He had a backpack on one shoulder, was wearing a jacket from the university, and had shaved, which made him look a few years younger. If they’d passed walking down the street, Karl would have pegged him as a graduate student—too old to simply be in university.

  “We have people doing a security assessment of a restaurant not far from here. We’d like to have you go there for dinner. A professor from the university will meet you there. He and his spouses were caught having sex in a park, and he was almost fired. They decided to live openly as a trinity, so it could be that he’s someone Ciril may be watching.”

  “Antonio and Leila?” Karl asked.

  “Antonio was unable to pretend to be normal any longer.”

  “Hey,” Karl protested. “He’s…uh, what happened?”

  “We had him in a park. Several civilians called the cops, suggesting he looked like he was up to something. Also, several tourists asked him how much for a few hours.”

  “They thought he was a hooker?” Karl pursed his lips. Maybe that’s what they’d do tonight. A little hooker role play could be fun.

  At the very least, he was going to tease Antonio mercilessly.

  “He’s actually in the building behind me, watching you.”

  “He should be with Leila,” Karl said immediately.

  “If someone doesn’t try to murder you soon, I’m sure he’ll switch, but you’re the more likely—”

  Grigoris’s phone made a loud chirping sound. The Greek man’s face went from relaxed and joking to deadly between one heartbeat and the next. He touched his ear, spoke a single sharp word.

  He listened, his gaze jumping from Karl to Sarah. “Lockdown, transport priority two.”

  “Yes, sir.” She grabbed Karl’s arm and started hauling him toward the street.

  “What’s going on?” Karl twisted to watch Grigoris racing the other way, toward a big black SUV. The lights switched on, and the car was already rolling when Grigoris got there.

  The ground-floor door of the building across the street slammed open, and Antonio raced for the moving SUV.

  “Antonio!” Karl shouted.

  “Ciril’s going after Leila!” Antonio shouted the words even as he kept running.

  Karl’s whole body went cold.

  No. No. They didn’t understand. It should be him. Ciril would hurt Leila. He liked hurting her. He’d chain her up and she’d slip and fall and she wouldn’t stand up again. She’d die cold and alone.

  He jerked away from his guard.

  Antonio was fast—faster than Karl would have guessed. There were two people on his heels, grabbing for him. He reached the SUV, which was picking up speed. He ran alongside and slammed his fist against the window. When that didn’t work, he jerked a gun from under his arm and cracked it against the window. The SUV slammed to a stop.

  “I have to go with them. I have to help her!” Karl didn’t even know what language he was shouting in. Two people had his arms; they were pulling him back.

  “We’re getting in a car,” the woman shouted in his ear. “We can follow, but not if you don’t get in.”

  That got through. Karl stopped fighting and blinked. There were three people holding on to him—one at each arm and Sarah standing in front of him, pushing against his chest.

  He met the woman’s gaze. She took one look at him, then stepped back and ran for a black Range Rover. Karl raced after her, the two who’d been holding him fast on his heels.

  “Drive,” he demanded.

  The tires squealed as they whipped around and tore off after the car Antonio was in.

  You have to be okay, so I can be okay. Leila had said that to him.

  Now it was his turn. I need you to survive, because I won’t survive if he takes you from me.

  “We should be going to the safe house,” Sarah said.

  Karl reached for the door, ready to throw himself out.

  “Halt!” Sarah shouted. “I will take you to her. If it were my wife…”

  Leila wasn’t his wife. Antonio wasn’t his husband.

  Those were just words. Words that didn’t matter. They were his, and he needed to make sure they were safe.

  Sarah slapped her phone against the magnetic mount on the dash with one hand, steering them up onto the curb to go around a slow-moving vehicle with the other. She tapped a button, and then the car filled with the sound of people talking.

  One of the guards in the backseat leaned forward. “That is the security channel.”

  He recognized the sound of Grigoris’s voice, barking orders in English and French, then quick, controlled responses. Sarah hit a button on the visor and said, “Professor en route to the target location.”

  Grigoris’s voice was still low and controlled, no hint of anger or frustration. “No. Return to the safe house. Lockdown priority.”

  “No, no! Get away!” The voice that broke in was screaming in panic, the antithesis of the controlled tension he’d been hearing up until now. “Não venha aqui!”

  Karl looked at Sarah, whose face registered shock, but only for a moment.

  “Jordao, report,” Grigoris snapped in English.

  “Bomb. There’s a bomb at the—”

  A percussive blast made the car rock. That hadn’t just come from the speakers.

  Karl twisted in his seat to look out the rear window.

  A cloud of dust was rising into the sky, from roughly the direction of where the safe house was.

  Had been.

  Leila and Nyx walked out of the jewelry store. It was the third one t
hey’d been in that day. Nyx had bought something in every store, which seemed odd since she wasn’t currently wearing any jewelry.

  The owner stood in the doorway to thank them once again. After he went inside, he closed and locked the door. The bright white pin lights in the windows shut off, and they stood for a moment, watching as he took the velvet stands out of the display and locked them in the cases in the store. Most of the businesses along the street were closed, only a few restaurants and coffeehouses still open.

  Another day with no sign of Ciril.

  “This one is for you.” Nyx handed over the small shopping bag from the store they’d just left.

  “You bought me a present?”

  Nyx looked up. The sky was a deep royal blue, with the faintest hints of paler blue in the west. “I want you to remember Bucharest as something more than it has been for you.”

  “I, um, didn’t get you anything.” Leila looked down at the bag, both befuddled and strangely touched. She’d been looking around and hadn’t watched what Nyx was buying, so she had no idea what was in the little velvet bag.

  Leila’s phone beeped, and she checked it. The janissary who’d been their main point of contact today had sent her the name of a restaurant that had been vetted for both security and maximum visibility to camera networks. The message included a map showing the walking path they were supposed to take.

  She glanced at the map, memorized it, and then put it back in her pocket. Nyx raised one brow in question.

  “Since you bought me a present, can I buy you dinner?”

  “Only if it’s followed by stunningly good oral sex.”

  Leila almost fell off the curb. Nyx’s expression hadn’t changed, except maybe for a tiny bit around the eyes. If they were going to be friends—and now that they were buying each other presents and dinner, that seemed like a good probability—Leila was going to have to teach her how to tell a joke so people knew it was a joke, even if it was supposed to be sarcastic or dry.

  Leila smiled. “You’re giving me jewelry and going down on me? You’re such a generous person.”

  Nyx blinked, then laughed. It transformed her whole face. She suddenly looked so young.

  Leila led the way as they started walking their prescribed route. They turned a corner, moving from one well-lit street to another. A homeless woman stepped out of the shelter of a doorway, a cup in one hand, a sign in the other.

  Leila started to apologize—she never had any cash—but Nyx put a hand on her arm. The ratty cardboard sign had text written in Finnish in neat block capitals.

  CIRIL WAS SPOTTED. COMING FOR YOU. RETREAT OR KEEP WALKING?

  “What does it say?” Nyx asked quietly.

  Leila read it out loud.

  “Coming for you,” Nyx said quietly. “Very ominous. There are better ways to have worded that.”

  Leila let out a shaky laugh. She looked at the homeless woman, who had a perfectly clean, unlined face under the stringy gray wig.

  “I’m sorry,” Leila said. “I don’t have any money, and my friend and I are late for dinner. We have to keep walking.”

  The woman nodded once, a sharp movement, then melted back into the shadows of the doorway.

  The street that had seemed so brightly lit only a moment before was now full of shadows. They loomed up the sides of the buildings and leeched across the road, stretching into the pools of light, trying to find their way into that all-too-illusory safety.

  She needed to stop thinking like a victim and start thinking about this from an operational point of view. They needed Ciril, and they needed him alive. That meant they had to wait to move in for the capture until they were sure he had no way of escaping.

  “Perhaps we should talk,” Nyx suggested. “Rather than walking quickly with you looking as if you’d like to commit murder.”

  Leila took a breath and slowed her steps. “You’re right. We trust the people around us to protect us, so we stick to the plan.”

  “You have done this before.”

  “Been bait? Actually once or twice, though it was more of a decoy, and it had everything to do with my size and gender, and nothing to do with any ability to distract someone.”

  “Ah, and have you been the one holding the sign?” Nyx gave a slight jerk of her head to indicate the “homeless woman” they ran into.

  “If I were working this op, I’d be…” Leila looked around, making sure to keep it casual. “On the top of that building with the decorative cornice. I bet that’s a lip, and the roof looks flat. I’d be up there with a scope and my rifle.”

  “But we can’t shoot Ciril. We need him alive.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You put a sniper on a roof, give them a spotter. They provide real-time, focused intelligence.”

  “I’ve never fired a gun,” Nyx said conversationally.

  “I don’t like guns. I like rifles. There’s a smell they have—hot metal and powder. I like the smell.”

  “You’re a bit odd,” Nyx said.

  “You…are calling me odd?”

  Another turn, but this time it was onto a larger street. The road was four lanes with a median and wide sidewalks. People clustered around the doors of bars, smoking and laughing. They had to go four blocks on this street, then turn right, and they’d be at the restaurant. Leila sped up.

  “Slowly,” Nyx warned.

  “No, we need to get back to a more secluded spot that will make the takedown easier.”

  “You think Ciril knows our precise location?”

  “I don’t know what to think, but we operate as if he has unlimited resources and government-level intelligence assets.”

  Leila’s phone pinged with a text. It was Antonio. He texted the way he spoke.

  En route. Almost to location. Stay safe until I get there.

  The text comforted her. Before her time in the basement, she would have been insulted to think her safety was contingent on a man. Now…

  “Antonio is—”

  The ground under her feet trembled. Leila stopped and looked at Nyx.

  * * *

  Antonio glanced at his phone, awaiting a reply to his text to Leila, when the vehicle shook under the force of a blast in the not-too-far distance. He turned to look behind him, spying a large plume of smoke from the direction of the safe house.

  “Lisus,” the Romanian guard next to him said, crossing himself, as Grigoris began speaking through the security channel.

  He repeated a man’s name. “Jordao. Jordao?”

  The silence that answered resonated too loudly, too clearly.

  “Jordao,” the Romanian guard repeated, shaking his head, clearly upset. “He was at…”

  “The safe house,” Grigoris said.

  Antonio twisted once more, though they were still driving away from the plumes of smoke and flame. He caught the eye of the driver of the SUV behind him, also part of the security detail—just seconds before it blew up.

  A blast, a crack, a ball of fire.

  Instinct kicked in as Antonio ducked, his mind registering the split second of shock and terror on the guards’ faces before they were consumed by the flames.

  The driver of his SUV slammed on the brakes, all of them roughly thrown forward in their seats.

  “Get out of the car!” Grigoris barked. No one in the vehicle needed to be told twice. They were all trained knights and security officers of the Masters’ Admiralty. If one car was rigged with an explosive, theirs could be as well.

  They raced from the vehicle, nearly knocked down by the surge of panicked people emerging from the surrounding businesses, racing away from the scene to safety.

  His height was an advantage, and he used it, scouring the faces of terrified people, searching until he saw him.

  Karl.

  His lover had emerged from another SUV, just two cars back from the one that exploded.

  “Merda,” Antonio muttered, his heart racing as the realization hit that Karl could have been killed by the bomb.

  �
��Karl!” he yelled.

  Karl was across the street, throngs of screaming, running people—as well as the burning vehicle—separating them.

  Karl waved, then yelled back. “Leila!”

  Fuck.

  Leila.

  Where was she?

  The sound of a second blast reverberated through the streets, the buildings seeming to shake from the force of it. Nyx pointed ahead of them, toward the street, at the bright red smoke rising into the sky.

  “That was a bomb,” Nyx said.

  Leila didn’t stop to ask how Nyx knew. She didn’t stop to think. She started running toward the smoke.

  Antonio had said he was almost to her location. How close had he been? Only a few streets away? Because that was where it looked like the bomb had gone off.

  People were running, chaos building like the swell of a wave that would rise like a tsunami and destroy everything once it broke.

  Nyx was at her heels, trying to stay with her as they fought their way against the tide of people running away from the blast while they ran toward it. One of the knights she recognized from yesterday—David—materialized beside them, yanking them both out of the crowd and into the alcove of a shop doorway.

  Leila grabbed the man and shook him. “What’s going on?!”

  The Portuguese caballero looked like he was fighting back panic. “Bombs. The safe house, one of the cars. My brother, Jordao…”

  Leila’s vision went gray for a moment. “What car? Who was in it?”

  “I need to get you to safety,” he said, but his gaze slid toward the smoke in the sky.

  “Help them,” Nyx demanded.

  The knight’s gaze snapped back to them. “No. My priority is getting you to safety.” He touched his hand to his ear.

  Penny—a British-Spanish woman who was another one of the caballeros from Castile—and member of the task force—pushed through the crowd. The naked short sword in her hand helped to clear the way. She skidded to a stop in front of them, panting. “There’s a secure facility three blocks from here.”