Wicked Intentions

41

“Thank you for the advice. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a plane to Washington, DC, to catch and the world’s largest blue diamond to steal, or the bear is really going to have something to be angry about.”

I turn and continue down the aisle. Again, Reynard follows so closely behind, I’m surprised he doesn’t trip me.

“We need to talk about your American.”

“He isn’t my American.”

“Oh-ho! Really? Perhaps someone should inform him of that fact. The man is completely infatuated with you!”

“He’s probably taken a lot of hard hits to the head. He’s a soldier.”

“Good God!” he scoffs. “If what you know about men was made into a book, it would be filled with blank pages! He was a soldier. Now he’s a hired gun with a hard-on for a woman whose life is beholden to one of the most dangerous criminals who’s ever lived. It’s a Shakespearean tragedy in the making!”

“If you’re trying to make me feel better, you’re completely failing.”

“I’m trying to make you have a conversation. Mariana, stop.”

Reynard clasps my shoulder, pulls me up short, and turns me to face him. He says, “Do you know what a hero needs more than anything else?”

“Great hair? A compelling backstory? A cool name and a cape?”

“A villain. And do you know what happens when a hero finds his villain?”

“They live happily ever after in the pages of a comic book?”

Radiating annoyance, Reynard purses his lips and exhales.

I ditch the jokes and answer seriously. “War.”

“Exactly,” Reynard replies softly, nodding. “And if you don’t shake your American, he’s going to start a war with the Devil and drag us all into hell.”

“You’re forgetting that I already shook him.”

“Did you? Because I get the feeling the man is a little more resourceful than you’re giving him credit for.”

Aggravated—because he’s right—I pull Oliver Twist from the bookshelf. It yawns open, revealing the dank tunnel beyond.

Reynard sighs, realizing I’m not going to respond. When he speaks again, he sounds resigned. “He’ll be watching the shop. We have to assume he’ll have video surveillance on us within hours, if he doesn’t already.”

“I know.”

“Which means you can’t come back—”

“I know!”

At my sharp tone, he stiffens. I blow out a hard breath and scrub my hands over my face.

“I’m sorry. I know this is my fault. I know I messed up. He’s just so…he’s so…” I search for the right word, but can only come up with one. “Beautiful. In every way. I’ve never met anyone like him. He makes me feel like I’m worth something.” My voice breaks. “He makes me feel like I could be someone better than I am.”

With infinite gentleness, Reynard strokes a hand over my hair. “We’re creatures of the underworld, my darling. We have no business in the dealings of heroes.”

My throat constricts. I whisper, “Just once, I’d like to be a hero, too.”

Reynard watches in astonishment as a tear crests my lower lid and slides down my cheek. Then he surprises me by engulfing me in a hard, heartfelt hug.

“It will all be over soon,” he whispers, an odd vibration in his voice. “You’ll honor the oath and then you’ll be free. Then you can live whatever kind of life you like, anywhere in the world.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, loving the sound of those words, but knowing in a dark part of my soul that they’re untrue.

Capo will find a way to keep me, blood oath or no. All these years and all these jobs to pay off a debt have been more than promises kept. They’ve been a safety net.

Without that safety net, it’s going to be a fast and hard fall straight into the arms of a monster.

I pull away, wipe my cheeks, and force a smile. “Here.” I hand Reynard the copy of Oliver Twist. “Keep this safe for me. You know it’s my favorite.”

He takes it, cradles it against his chest, and looks at me with a goodbye in his gaze. His next words almost break my heart.

“See you on the other side, my darling.”

I run into the tunnel before he can see the fresh tears welling in my eyes.

At two o’clock in the morning a week later, I’m breaking into the Smithsonian Institution.

I’ve left my hot-wired Mini Cooper not far from the Federal Triangle Metro station and am headed swiftly on foot toward an industrial heating unit adjacent to the butterfly habitat garden on the museum grounds. I’ve already switched the Mini’s plates, but if it’s somehow identified in my short absence, the Metro will provide another quick escape route.

On the side of the large aluminum heating structure, I crouch down behind a thicket of shrubs, sling my backpack off my shoulders, remove a pair of safety goggles and thick nitrile gloves, and don them both. Then I uncap a glass beaker filled with a viscous greenish liquid and tip it against the aluminum, working quickly to draw a four-foot square.

In a few moments, the liquid reacts with the metal and starts to bubble. Soon it has eaten through enough for me to pry the square loose with a flathead screwdriver. Leaving it and the empty beaker on the grass, I put the screwdriver and goggles back into my pack, sling it over my shoulders, and crawl inside the heating duct on hands and knees, carefully avoiding all the corroded edges.