Con & Conjure (21 page)

It was taking much longer than I remembered.

It was damned awkward and borderline embarrassing. Especially with Mago sitting on the bed next to me—the man who’d introduced me to Rache and had regretted it ever since.

I’d debated just barging in, but seeing that the goal was to persuade Rache not to kill Mychael, Chigaru, or me—interrupting him at that particular moment would go beyond rude straight into suicidal. But sitting there listening while my ex-fiancé did what he used to do with me with another woman who looked like me, while I was sitting on a bed with my cousin next to a tableful of accoutrements?

Definitely awkward and embarrassing.

In addition to being rather homely and ill equipped, Symon Wiggs was short. This left me sitting on the edge of the bed, swinging my legs, and trying to look anywhere but at my cousin while the headboard thumped against the wall in the next room. There were other sounds as well, but I was doing my best to ignore them.

“And just how do you propose to keep Rache from putting a nice, neat hole through both of us?” I asked, desperate to change the subject, careful to keep my voice down.

“Actually, I’ve done this sort of thing before.”

“Busting into a room in a cathouse to have a heart-to-heart talk with an assassin in the midst of postcoital glow? Cause I can guarantee you, the moment we step into that room Rache’s glow is gone—and we’re next.”

“One, I don’t ‘bust in’ anywhere. Two, this isn’t a cathouse; it’s a bordello.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it’s not; I don’t patronize cathouses.” A corner of his mouth turned up in a quick grin. “Though I don’t believe I’ve ever walked in on an assassin before.”

“Which is why we need a plan so our first time isn’t our last. We want Rache reasonable, not raging.” I thought of something, something that could put a serious crimp in an already questionable plan. “What happened between you and Rache the last time you saw him?”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning what terms are you on—speaking or killing?”

Mago had to think about that one; and I saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes.

I grunted. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Why don’t you let your puny—and completely harmless-looking—banker buddy handle this one?”

“Need I remind you that you’re wearing a puny banker body? A dagger in his chest is a dagger in your—”

I waved my hand dismissively. “Trust me; I know all about feeling pain while wearing a man’s body.” I carefully slid off the bed until my feet silently touched the floor. “Got any lock picks on you?”

“Of course, but—”

“Give them to me. Rache will have that door locked. If I was wearing my body, I could shield myself with magic.” I grinned. “Symon’s going to shield himself with stupidity.”

No one was in the hall. Good. Two men at a door to a room not their own, one picking the lock while another stood watch would look suspicious even in a cathou—excuse me, bordello. It would be beyond embarrassing to get kicked out of a bordello before we got what we came for, which wasn’t even sex.

I glanced at Mago, pointed to the wall on the left side of Rache’s room, then pointed emphatically to the floor. I was telling Mago to stay. My cousin didn’t like it, but he did as told. I’d told Mago my plan. He didn’t like that, either. But it was a lot safer than his idea. Rache knew Mago, and if their last encounter was anything less than friendly, chances were good that Rache’s reaction would be bad.

Symon Wiggs was the personification of harmless and helpless—at least physically. The man’s mind was that of a scheming little rodent. Rache wouldn’t put a hole in him, at least not immediately. One, he hadn’t been paid to; and two, a professional assassin just didn’t go around killing random people. It was bad for business. Those rich enough to hire someone of Rache’s caliber wanted to retain the professional services of an assassin, not turn loose a nutcase.

And if there was anything I’d learned over the years of keeping tabs on Rache Kai, it was that he was the consummate professional.

The door opened with the softest of clicks. Dammit. Rache knew I was there; better start the show.

“Patrice,” Symon slurred in a singsong voice. “Patrice?” I opened the door.

“Wrong room,” Rache barked loud enough to shake the rafters.

I jumped. Not because he’d scared the crap out of me. It’s what Symon would have done. Just staying in character. Yeah. And the knife glittering in Rache’s hand, ready to throw, didn’t bother me, either.

I squinted and peered into the room. Rache and the girl were sitting up in the bed. Neither one made any move to cover themselves. Rache Kai had the tall, dark, and handsome thing down to an art, complete with a body that still looked like it belonged on a pedestal in a museum somewhere. The woman had long red hair, pale skin, and I couldn’t tell what color her eyes were. She looked a
lot
like me. Though what didn’t look like me were a pair of large breasts that didn’t quite go with her tiny waist. Apparently Rache had decided to enhance his memory of me.

“You’re not Patrice.” Symon’s voice cracked.

“Wrong room,” Rache repeated in a still, deadly voice. “She’s not here, and unless you close that door, you’re not going to be here, either.”

I did as told. I closed the door.

With me on the inside.

I kept my hands in clear view, and dropped the drunk act. But I kept the glamour. I wanted Rache to know who I was, but not the girl in bed with him.

“Long time, no see, sweetie pie,” I told Rache. I glanced at the girl. “It’s like looking in a mirror.”

Rache sat frozen for a moment, then his eyes widened in recognition. The corner of his lips turned up in that crooked grin that used to get me every time. Now it just pissed me off.

“You’re not here to talk about old times,” Rache said.

“The past should stay where it belongs.” I lowered my voice further. “So should you.”

“A man’s got to work.”

“Do it somewhere else.”

“I go where the money is. Because you know I’m nothing but a low-life bastard who murders for pay, with no conscience and no regret. Wasn’t that what you said?”

Damn, over a dozen years ago and Rache remembered it word for word. He wasn’t just carrying a grudge; he was nursing it like a newborn. Great, just what I never needed.

“Meant it then, mean it now,” I said. “You lied to me. Nothing you ever said was the truth. You probably even lied when you said you loved me.”

The girl froze, eyes wide, sheet now clutched to her ample chest, looking from me to Rache and back again. “Uh, I don’t want to get in the middle of . . . whatever this is.”

Rache’s shoulders shook in silent laughter. “And now you’re here to ruin my reputation,” he told me.

“You’ve missed twice since you got here. I think you’re doing a fine job by yourself.”

“Twice? I missed once, and that was your fault.”

“Mine?”

“Try nailing someone who—”

The redhead jumped out of bed and pulled on a robe. “I’ll just step outside until you two . . . ah . . . settle things.”

Rache reached for her. “Kara.”

She stepped nimbly out of his reach. “I don’t do threesomes, and I don’t get in the middle of lovers’ spats.”

Rache blinked. “
Lovers?
Is that what you think this—”

“There’s nothing wrong with it; it’s just not my thing.” She quickly gathered her undergarments, such as they were. “There are girls here who specialize in this sort of thing, really like it. I can let Madam Camille know your new preferences and—”

Rache raised his hands in protest. “No, no. You think that he and I . . . because he said—”

The girl stepped back to the bed and placed a finger on Rache’s lips. “You don’t have to explain a thing. There’s nothing wrong with it. I just . . .” She looked me up and down, and gave me a look that I’m sure Symon had plenty of experience getting from women. “He’s just not who I’d expect you to be with.” And she left. Fast. There was no surprised squeal from her when she stepped out into the hall, so Mago must have ducked back into our room until she’d gone.

Rache glared at me, and lowered his hands.

“Don’t go for the dagger under the mattress or under the pillow,” I told him.

Rache smiled. “You don’t trust me.”

“Not as far as I can throw you.”

“You may not be able to throw me, but you were always good for a wrestle.”

I gave him my best eat-shit-and-die look.

Rache put his thin-bladed knife on the bedside table and slid his long legs over the side of the bed and stood. Naturally, he made no effort to cover himself. I made an effort not to look.

“Afraid you’ll like what you see?” he asked.

I barked a small, harsh laugh. “No, I’m afraid Symon will. I’m finding he doesn’t have much control.”

Rache just stood there, naked. His crossbow at his right hand, and the knife at his left. He made no move toward either—or toward the trousers that were on the floor at his feet.

“Why are you here, Raine?”

“For starters, Mychael Eiliesor.”

“Ah, yes.” There was a world of meaning in those two little words.

“Ah, yes, you tried to kill him. Did you get paid for it—or is it personal?”

“Darling, I must honestly say that I don’t know what you’re talking about. Though you’d like for me to say it’s personal, wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t have that much of an ego, Rache. I don’t need to have men wanting me years after we parted ways.”

“There hasn’t been anyone else since us.”

I could say the same thing, but demons with pitchforks couldn’t poke it out of me. I’d gotten burned by Rache. Badly. I hadn’t exactly gotten in line for seconds after that. In fact, I stayed far from anything that could be remotely called a relationship. You could say I had a few commitment issues. That and trust and abandonment. Yep, thanks to Rache Kai, I was a veritable bundle of neuroses.

“Rache, I want Mychael alive and I want you gone. At the same time, I have no reason to want you dead.”

His eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“Did someone pay you to use Mychael for target practice?” I asked.

“I’m here for a job, but that job isn’t Mychael Eiliesor.”

“I saw you on the third floor of the building across from the elven embassy. You took a shot at Mychael. Fortunately you missed.”

“That wasn’t me.”

“Prove it.”

“I don’t miss.”

“You’re lying.”

“Which one? That I tried to kill him, or that I don’t miss?”

I’d never heard of Rache missing before, but there was a first time for everything. Though this definitely wouldn’t be the first time that Rache had lied to me.

“There’s nothing wrong with my eyes,” I told him. “I know who I saw.”

“You saw me.”

“I believe I just said that.”

“That’s your proof right there.” Rache took a step forward, so that his body was all too visible in the flickering firelight. “I know I have competition. Whoever hits the prince first gets paid; the poor bastard who doesn’t hit the mark doesn’t get the money. No one ever sees me unless I want to be seen. That wasn’t me, ducky.”

“Just like that wasn’t you trying to assassinate Prince Chigaru Mal’Salin on the waterfront.”

“Oh, that was definitely me.”

“You admit it.”

“Of course. And thanks to your interference, I hit my target, but I didn’t kill him. By the way, very impressive work on your part. I didn’t know you had it in you.” He indicated the glamour. “Or that, either.” He chuckled. “If you ever wanted to be a man, he wouldn’t be it.”

“You won’t tell me your business, I won’t tell you mine.”

“Raine, you know that the identity of my clients is strictly confidential. If I went around spouting off who hired me, I wouldn’t have any clients left.”

“And that would be such a calamity.”

Rache shrugged. “I’m a jack-of-one-trade, Raine. I am what I am, and I’m not going to apologize for it. And you know that I only take one hit at a time. I’m here to bag a goblin, not a paladin. I like to give a hit my full attention, and my clients their money’s worth.”

“You’re a sweetheart.”

Rache may not be bothered much by morals, but he did have professional standards. Those were sacred. He wasn’t going to reveal the name of his client.

“Okay, fine. I wouldn’t want you to compromise your ethics on account of killing the goblin or the elf who can keep the seven kingdoms from literally going to hell in a handbasket.” I leaned forward and dropped my voice to a quick, hissing whisper. “And if said kingdoms do end up in said handbasket, you’ll be out of a job. People will be killing each other for free. War is like that.”

I glared at him. He glowered at me.

“I deliver results, Raine. Not refunds.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“Not this time. My pockets haven’t been this well lined in years.”

“What if you found out that your client couldn’t pay the rest of your fee? What if he suddenly went broke? Would you finish the job?”

Rache laughed. “What do you think?”

I think I’d just gotten new motivation to fleece Taltek Balmorlan. I couldn’t see his client being anyone else now.

I smiled. “I think—”

Glass shattered out in the hall, and the screaming started.

A broken bottle of wine and a pair of shattered glasses were on the floor at the feet of the source of the screaming.

A girl wearing a robe so sheer she shouldn’t have bothered was standing in front of the open door to a bedroom, hands that had been holding the wine and glasses now clenched in front of her mouth. The screams had died to whimpers.

Mago came up behind the girl, took one look at what was in that room and swore.