Codename: Nightshade (Deadly Seven Strike Force) (18 page)

He gives me a murderous look. “Did you know Ace didn’t find you?”

“You told me he did.”

“No, I played along with Ace’s explanation of how you were found, but I read the report. You were found by EMPs almost a mile away from where Ace was looking.”

That’s easy enough to explain. “So he was looking where my coordinates were.”

“No,” he says with a heavy sigh. He looks like he’s about to tell me Santa Claus isn’t real. “Your coordinates would have taken us to the bridge. He wasn’t looking at the bridge. He was looking at the actual crash site. He was looking for the
car
.”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with that. Wouldn’t it be logical to find me at the car?”

“How did he know where to look?”

I run my brief examination of the crash site through my mind. There were skid marks on the road, torn up dirt at the ledge, and a shit ton of crime scene tape, but that was after the fact. The skid marks and torn up dirt wouldn’t have been dead giveaways.

I’m still missing why he’s so suspicious. “Explain your thought process to me.”

“I don’t think Marko was the target.”

Again his familiarity with Marko unbalances me for a second. I’m not used to sharing Marko with anyone. It’s odd that my closest friend has known him, too, and I had no idea.

“Well, Marko was the only public figure in the car.”

“Aye,” he says, “but I’m pretty sure they were after the
secret
one.”

I flinch. “Me?”

“Aye.”

Aye.
I hate that word. He makes me want to pull his tongue out every time he says it. It’s filled with more than just agreement. It’s like he’s congratulating me on finally catching up.

“More explanation, MacNeal.”

“I planned on sticking around, keeping watch over both of you, but then Justice showed up with the giant stick up his ass.”

“Don’t remind me,” I say. “So you disregarded his order?”

“Obviously,” he says with a smirk. I think it’s meant to break the tension, but I only feel further unstable. These insights he’s giving me are termites, eating away at the ground I need to stand on. “I made a split decision. I needed to figure out if you or he was the target. So while you got your head shrunk, I stole myself a hot Russian diplomat.”

I try not to react to the word 'hot'. I’ve always known Claymore is a pretty open person when it comes to sex. He’s never come right out and said it, but I’m not blind. And I know even a blind man would call Marko Veltriv hot.

“And left me defenseless for a possible fight?”

“You lived.”

I flip him off.

That breaks some of the heavy air between us. He unwinds his arms and slips his hands in his pockets, turning fully toward me.

I sit down on the edge of the bed, resting my hand on Marko’s leg. It moves slightly under my touch. I feel like an idiot for wanting to celebrate the tiny movement.

“And my suspicion was correct. You were attacked.”

“Yeah, but only because idiot here was missing.”

“No, I think if he were the target, I would have been tracked. You’re just the bodyguard. There’s no point in killing you.”

“I’m a witness,” I say.

“True, but one who already gave a testimony. Guys like that who want to shut you up make sure they do it
before
anyone finds your body. You know that. You
do
that.”

I do. It’s my gift. Ending life.

“Okay, so I was the target… why?”

“I have a theory.”

I rest my elbows on my knees. “Spill.”

“
Prizrak
,” he says, mangling the Russian pronunciation with his Scottish accent.

“What attacked Countess? How is it even related?”

“I’ve heard of the ghost before.”

I laugh. It’s not humorous. It’s frustration. I drop my face in my hands and scrub hard. “We work in espionage. At one point or another, we’re all called ghosts.”

“Aye.”

Aye.
I consider taking my shoe off to throw at him.

“You’re tired,” he says, motioning toward the other side of the bed. “Get some sleep.”

“You gonna kill me when I close my eyes?”

I’m only half joking. I’ve only ever trusted one person with my unconsciousness.

And I’m dreaming up that guy killing me now, too.

“Scott’s honor, you’ll live to kill another day.”

Scott’s honor.
His little joke. He and Ace used to call me the Girl Scout in basic. He came up with his own version of scout’s honor to tease me.

I’m too tired to care if he is planning my demise. I retrieve the gun and the keys from the bed, dropping them on the nightstand. Marko is lying in the dead center of the giant bed, but there’s plenty of room on either side of him. I lie down on top of the covers, fully dressed down to my boots.

Claymore doesn’t say boo about it. I hear his muffled steps as he moves away from the bedroom. A second later, I hear subdued noise from the television clicking on. He’s watching some kind of game show. I can tell from the constant cheering and clapping.

I roll onto my side, staring at Marko. This isn’t the first time I’ve watched him sleep. He’s kind of like a cat. He prowls around, gets his kicks, and then naps until his next hankering. I run a finger along the curve of his cheek. He’s got a few scrapes, but they’ll heal. If a scar does form, it’ll fade quickly.

Or he’ll pay a plastic surgeon to fix it immediately.

I’m confused. I used to think I’d reach a point in my life when I didn’t feel like this. When I had answers for everything. But the older I get, the more stuff doesn’t make sense to me.

I’ve never promised Marko anything, and likewise from him to me. We have fun. We let loose. We help each other escape whatever it is in our souls that threatens to keep us trapped. But we don’t owe each other anything. I wonder if I should feel guilty for not obsessing over his whereabouts half as much as I have over whether Nikolai is alive or not.

Then I think about Nick… I’m a heartless bitch.

I rest my cheek on the back of my hand and stare at Marko until my eyelids are heavy and sleep pulls me under.

I dream about panic and fear.

I dream about failure.

I dream about ghosts.

Beware the Daeva, young one…

Not all ghosts are dead.

“Shade!”

Claymore’s shout wakes me up.

I’m disoriented for a second. That sleep was deeper than I expected. The clock on the nightstand tells me I’ve only been asleep for about an hour.

I’ll take it.

I leave Marko to his uninterrupted slumber and follow Claymore’s bellow. He’s sitting on the sofa in the living room area, still watching TV. “What?”

He points to the plasma. CNN is reporting on special assignment in Moscow, Russia. A building is in flames, people running in every direction with terror on their faces. That’s not what troubles me. A face is plastered on the screen—Countess.

Not good.

“They made her?”

“Aye. That breaks every protocol of our cover. The only one with the authority to do that is—”

“The council.” The couch is a few feet in front of me, and I barely make it there in time before I fall on my ass. “Why?”

“They’re saying she’s dead,” he explains. “She was found at the scene. They’re blaming the fire on her.”

I calculate the hours in my head. Countess wouldn’t have even been able to travel to Moscow by
now
if she was on a plane the minute she left my hospital room. She couldn’t have possibly gotten there earlier and caused all that. Not to mention the fact that she had sent a distress hours ago. She wasn’t on a plane when she did that.

“She wasn’t there,” I say.

“I know.”

“What the hell’s going on?”

“I don’t—”

He’s interrupted by a sound from the bed. I’d recognize that groan anywhere. Marko is waking up.

Claymore is on his feet in a split second, rushing to the bedroom. He plants one knee on the bed, keeping one foot on the floor as he leans over to check on Marko.

I’m not usually one for revelations. I look at a cabinet, and I see every separate piece that fits together to make it. I know every bolt, screw, slab of wood, and piece of glass that adds together for the finished product. Generally, people are no different. I see the facades they put off. I see the hair pieces and the pushup bras. I hear the bravado that hides insecurities and the silence that masks strengths. I’m a good judge of character.

And though I knew Claymore had a preference for men, I never once considered the fact that we might be fucking the same guy.

His face softens, his hand skimming Marko’s cheek with tenderness I’ve never seen him possess. “Hey.”

Marko tries to stretch and hisses. “Forgot about that.”

His voice is weak and rough, like he hasn’t used it in years. Something inside of me eases at the sound of it, though.

“Don’t try to move,” Claymore says. “You’re okay. I got you.”

I got you.

He used to tell me that in basic.
Don’t worry about it. I got you.

I can’t help the stupid grin plastered on my face. I’m being a voyeur. I’m not apologetic about it. It’s a numbered amount of moments in my life anymore that are this touching and sweet. Even though it’s not really my moment, I’m going to enjoy it.

Marko has this lazy look on his face that’s doing things to my insides. I can see it’s doing the same to Claymore’s from the way his lips part.

“You sure do,” Marko says, tugging the front of Claymore’s shirt until he tips forward and lands on him. Their lips meet, and I’m forced to bite mine before I make a noise.

Claymore’s uncomfortable, that’s plain to see. I know he feels my eyes on them, and I want to assure him it’s all good. I’ve always known Marko had other lovers. It doesn’t bother me at all to know he’s one of them.

The Russian idiot finally lets him go, humming as Claymore pulls away. He’s keeping his eyes fixed on Marko.

Is that a blush I see on his cheeks?

“I’ve missed that tongue,” Marko says. His eyes close, and he inhales so loud I can hear it from where I sit. He does it again, and again. His brow scrunches as he opens his eyes.

“Why do you smell like Penelope?”

My turn to blush. I didn’t realize I had that strong of a signature stink.

Claymore looks straight at me, and Marko follows his line of sight. His face splits into a wide grin when he sees me.

“Whatever drugs they have me on are fucking awesome. I’ve always wanted to do a three-way with you two.”

Claymore starts choking on air, and I jump to my feet. “Okay, that’s not going to happen,” I say, shaking my head when Marko nods his. “No.
Never
. I don’t ever want to see MacNeal naked… again.”

Claymore shoots me a look that warns he’s two seconds away from taking out his knife and stabbing me with it.

Marko laughs. I know that laugh. It’s the one he gets when he’s stoned off his ass. He might just be hopped up on drugs still. He grabs Claymore’s shirt. “When we fuck her, only I get to call her
Poppy
, okay? She doesn’t like anyone else calling her it.”

“Aye, got it,” Claymore says.

Marko slumps over, passed out in the next breath.

Awkward becomes an element in the air. Claymore is still halfway on the bed, keeping his eyes anywhere but on me.

I turn back around to watch more of the news, giving him space to pull himself together.

It takes him about five minutes before he rejoins me on the sofa. We watch as our friend’s name is dragged through the mud, silently trying to make sense of what the council is thinking.

When the story ends and a piece about sanitation commissions for Africa comes on, he changes the channel. Another game show.

“So,” I say, keeping my eyes on the screen. “Were you the one who taught him how to do that thing with his hips?”

“Aye. He was a damn jack hammer before me.”

We both laugh.

Marko’s mother arrives a few hours later. I stay out of sight in the bathroom so no one can place me here other than Claymore.