5. Smith
Chapter 5
Smith
I take the freshly rolled cigarette from its white gold case and place it between my lips before lighting it. Then, with the cigarette hanging out of my mouth, I open the umbrella and swing it up to obscure my face. Not that I really need to do that. No one’s after me.
That I know of.
But this way I can keep tabs on the area in relative cover, make sure we weren’t followed. I stop and stand with my back against a wall, the cigarette still in my mouth while I dial Jones’s number.
He answers after two rings. “What the fuck are you doing in the rain, Smith?”
I glance around, noting the few cars, and who, if anyone, is in them. There aren’t many people on the street, so that works mostly for me. “Smoking.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation?”
“A job came up.”
“Another one?”
Of course he’d heard about the one with Reaper. And he knows I only smoke on a job, when needed for appearance’s sake. “Can we find out what the big guys are up to in Germany?”
He pauses. “CIA?”
“Can we?”
“That’s your arena.”
“I’ve got a meeting set up. But…” Fuck. My phone has so much protective shit on it I highly doubt even the CIA can listen in.
But maybe Calista could. Her resume and rap sheet suggest she could do it in her sleep, but she can’t access any of her tools right now. I’ve got her phone, and I locked her hardware away in the safe.
Of course, if she can listen in, others can, too.
“I’ll get someone on it.”
Jones doesn’t need to say discreetly. He doesn’t have to. The Obsidian Knights deal in discreet.
He drones on about some bullshit job. A girl he’s trying to find, one who was taken recently and sold into sex slavery. Probably bought and sold five times over from what he’s saying. My heart might not be much, but it squeezes tight.
I’m incredibly aware we could be discussing Dakota, my daughter. And I should be furious at one of my closest friends and fellow Knight, Orion, for sleeping with her after rescuing her from the Collectors. But I also know Orion genuinely loves her and he’ll keep her safe.
Not that I get a say. I lost that right long before I even knew I had a child.
Jones flips the conversation to some contract killing that Eva, aka the Black Widow, completed, and I finish my walk up and down the street, as the rain comes down, thunder rolling loud overhead.
The rain right now is so heavy that I’m the only idiot out here wandering around. But I haven’t seen anyone casing my place, not from the lobby across the Stra?e at the apartment building opposite. Not at the restaurant or bar. And not in any of the cars parked along the street.
“Are you taking on this job to avoid a certain upcoming wedding?”
I take a final drag, drop the butt, and grind it out while scowling at nothing. “Fuck you, Jones.”
I hang up on his sharp laughter and head down to the exclusive bar where I’m meeting my contact.
Marta is still as beautiful as I remember when I catch her walking into the bar, long ice-blond hair falling around her face in thick waves with plump red lips. She’s wearing the kind of dress in a matching red that takes all the attention away from her stunning face.
Her glass of Krug is waiting for her as I sip my scotch. I don’t mind bourbon or whiskey, but for some reason I’m into scotch right now. It’s a good drink for Europe, and it fits with the moneyed man I’m playing.
I’m also fucking beyond loaded, but it’s not something I tend to flash around unless it suits me. Here and now, it suits.
“Schmidt,” she says, kissing both cheeks and leaving a cloud of perfumed air as she settles onto the stool. She’s one of the only people who calls me that, from a decade ago when we’d burn down places with the hot sex we had, along with the hotter intel we gathered together. “I assume this isn’t a booty call.”
“Nope.”
I slide a piece of paper over to her and she looks at the word on it. “You’re not with the agency anymore. Last I heard you were out of freelance intelligence.”
“Humor me.”
Marta sighs. “I’m BND, Schmidt. ”
“I’ll get you a medal.” I nod at the piece of paper with Hendrix written on it.
“I’ve heard of the hacker. Supposedly with the CIA. But that’s all I know. There’s talk of something else being up, but everyone is jumpy about it.”
“A weapon?”
Her mouth thins and she nods, then sips her champagne. My eye catches for a second on the red lipstick stain on the crystal flute when she sets it back down. “I don’t know much, just parts of a new weapon turned up. I only know that because my government’s unhappy since some of them showed up on black market sites, and together, they enhance other ones. And some of those weapons are German made.”
She tips her wrist to look at her slender watch and a diamond ring glitters on her finger.
“Congratulations.”
She smirks. “It’s for show. I’m like you. Not the marrying kind.” She toys with the ring. “If this is about a girl, play it smooth and low-key, okay?”
Once upon a time, I’d have talked her into coming back to my place. Or to meet me in the bathrooms here, or even a hotel room, and she’d have said yes in a heartbeat. The invite is there in her eyes. But even though I’m interested on a base level, I’m not.
Because there’s a girl with rainbow hair in the way. Rainbow hair and a tongue that spits acid. I want to chase Calista down in the fucking rain.
So I don’t take her up on the silent offer. “Okay.”
After Marta leaves, I order another drink. There’s a part of me that wants Calista to break out of the apartment. Her fight and fire have stirred the primal part of me, the hunter that’s in my name, in my being. I want to stalk her, chase her. I want to fight her down to the ground and fuck her hard in the mud and rain and come inside her, biting her, marking her, staking my claim.
All because of this unexpected and sudden rush of desire that burst free of floodgates the moment she shifted and parted her thighs wider for me when I frisked her.
She wants all of that, too.
“Got some info.”
Years of training are the only reason I don’t jump a mile at the sound of Reaper’s voice behind me.
The dark-haired man slides into Marta’s vacant seat. “You didn’t want to hit that?”
“I’ve hit it plenty.”
“I know, so have I. Marta’s a hot number and she wanted you.” He grins as he takes my drink. “Of course, that’s only because she didn’t fucking see me there in the shadows.”
“Stick to murder, man, because you’re not going to make it as a Casanova.”
He finishes the drink and orders two more. I’m not even sure if they’re both for him or if one’s for me. “Jones called. Did some digging.”
“Weren’t you in Scotland?”
“I was,” he says, “and I’ve got business here. Some of us don’t take vacations.”
“I take it you have something?”
The drinks arrive and I grab one before he can suck them both down.
“There’s nothing on any radars about the girl or the agent,” he says.
“Weapons?” I ask.
“Seems like the CIA’s been trying to get info on who has blueprints to new weapons of ours that are being quietly shopped around on the black market. They don’t want to just stop the sales. They want to trace back to the source. ”
“That’s—”
“No, ground zero source.”
I look at him. “As in how the fuck did they even get out to be sold?” I frown. “It shouldn’t be hard.”
“No, it shouldn’t. What’s weird is, this is all so hush-hush, people working on it don’t even have the full picture of what they have. Everything gets handed in and assembled at some upper level.” He shrugs.
I wrap my fingers around the glass. “You think the girl’s a key or a traitor?”
“No fucking idea. But I’m going to see Jones about that job. I’ll be in New York for a while. Do you want me to keep an eye on things there?”
As in her brother? He hasn’t given me anything. But it’s hard to give information if you don’t have anything. So I’m going to need to play this by ear. Get her back, hand her over, collect my money.
I’m just interested in all the whys and other details because I can’t help myself. And the brother and my bargaining chip works. “Yeah, I do.”
“And?”
I meet his eye, knowing what he’s asking. “If I give the order, you know what to do.”
He grins. “Gotcha.”
We shoot the shit for a while and it’s late when we leave and part ways on the street. The rain’s stopped for now so I keep the umbrella shut, using the would-be weapon as a walking stick just in case.
Calista’s asleep when I get back, and the letter opener spitefully stuck in the wooden door should piss me off, but it makes me smile. I leave it and check in on her. She’s passed out on the sofa in the study, the computer on her lap, and I’m guessing she’s been trying to get the thing to wake up .
Except the battery charger is under lock and key in the safe, too.
I pull the computer from her lap, and she mutters something but doesn’t wake up. Scooping her up, I carry her to her room. She’s not big, but even like this, with one arm flung in the air, I can see the toned muscles. And she’s warm. She fits.
I should never have fucking fingered her because my brain’s still whispering about pulling her panties off with my teeth and licking her deep. I already know what she tastes like and fuck, I want more.
I lay her on the mattress, pull the duvet over her, and go to my room to undress. My fucking cock’s half-erect as I fall into my bed. A deep sigh escapes my mouth. It wouldn’t take much to get completely hard, wouldn’t take much more to jack off.
My mind trips back to Calista splayed out on the mattress a few doors down.
And I realize I don’t want my hand.
I want her pussy.
Which means I’m very close to being completely fucked.