Codename: Nightshade (Deadly Seven Strike Force) (13 page)

He cocks his head ever so slightly to the right. The corners of his eyes tighten.

“It’s me,” I say. I’m crazy. I have to be crazy. “It’s Pop—”

A loud crash over my head shuts me up. He falls back a step and I see the tear in his shoulder a second before he bolts right for the window.

I’m stunned, frozen in place. He moves like he always did. His big frame is lithe, and he leaps through a hole I never saw him make in the window.

It’s not until he’s gone that my senses rush back like a snapped band. Sounds assault me, and I feel the door behind me beat against my back.

“Move!” a female voice shouts.

I crawl forward far enough to allow them in. Countess rushes into the room and straight for the window. She fires off two shots through the hole before she curses in Russian.

“What the hell—?” Her words trail off as she takes in the sight of me, of the state of my room. She slides her gun into the holster on her hip, walking over to help me into the bed. “What happened?”

“That was him,” I’m saying over and over. “That was
him
. That was Nikolai.”

Countess doesn’t have to say anything. Her eyes tell me I’m insane.

Maybe I am, but I know what I saw. I know those lips and those eyes better than I know my own.

Chaos descends on my room. Lights shine directly into my eyes as questions come at me in rapid fire. I explain what I can, but I don’t care about any of it. The hows or the whys. I don’t give a shit.

I’m focused on one and only one thing.

Nikolai’s alive.

It’s cold and wet. Winter snow melted into rain overnight. Most people are saying it’s sad. I kind of like it. The sky is crying. That’s comforting. I haven’t been able to stop crying since I got the news.

Well, that’s not true. I spent the first few days sedated in a hospital in Norway before Ace and Claymore retrieved my ass and brought me home. I don’t know if I was crying then.

We’re sitting in Nikolai’s office now, the six of us. The six people he personally selected and molded into the best agents in the world.

“There won’t be a funeral,” Ace tells us. “He signed on like the rest of us. He was never there.”

“I didn’t know it was a real mission,” I say, picking at the nail on my right index finger—my trigger finger. “He told me it was a favor he was doing for a friend.”

“Aye,” Claymore said. “But that friend is Representative Kulzkoff. He’s in line for the Minister of Defense position. Did you know?”

I shake my head. I didn’t know. Nikolai pays attention to stuff like that, not me.

“Has anyone read the mission details?” Viper, the Japanese operative, asks.

Ace lets out a heavy sigh. “You know if we’re not involved in the mission, we’re not shown the details.”

We all nod. Standard protocol. Only the operatives in play are aware of the game. It keeps the rest of us alive. None of us can be captured and tortured for information about what our colleagues are up to if we don't know.

Vixen, the French operative, the first one of us to be recruited by Nikolai, walks over to the file cabinet on the far wall. She unlocks it and retrieves a bottle from the bottom drawer.

Vodka.

Nikolai is…
was
… a man of few vices, but Russian vodka was one of them. I hate the stuff.

Ace pulls six cups from the water cooler dispenser, and they pour a shot for each of us.

The scent of the alcohol is harsh and stings my nostrils as I hold the cup to my lips.

“To the Comrade,” Viper says, holding his cup up.

“To the Comrade,” we all echo.

To my lover.
I keep that to myself. No one knows what Nikolai and I were to each other. No one needs to know. He would be painted as something he wasn’t because of my age, because of the circumstances of our careers. Our relationship was never about the sex. He was my partner in every sense of the word. The rest was just a bonus.

I ache all over. I wonder if that’s selfish. He’s gone, and I’m focused on my pain.

Remember what I’ve always told you, Poppy
.
His words wash over my mind as crystal clear as they were in person.
If you aren’t secure, you can’t secure your mission. Get your shit together.

I reach for the bottle and pour myself a second shot. I don’t care that we’re back on US soil and I’m technically underage. They let me slit men’s throats for a living. They can let me get a little drunk.

Today of all days especially.

Claymore puts his arm around me, and I lay my head on his shoulder. “You were his favorite,” he whispers in my ear.

Nikolai didn’t play favorites. He knew each of us had special skills that made us powerful assets when joined together. But I’d be lying if I said he didn’t spend more time with one-on-one training on me. He never gave up on me.

Never.

“What happens now?” Panther, the South African operative, asks. He’s taken only a small sip of the shot, and he sets the cup down without finishing it. It’s not meant to offend. His religion tells him it’s a sin.

I stare at his hand. His skin is dark brown with a faint hint of rusty red mixed in. The backs of his hands, from the knuckles to the wrists, are dotted with scars arranged in patterns. Patches all over his body are spotted with bumps like that. He told me the name of it once and for the life of me I can’t recall what it is, but it’s beautiful. It’s like braille coded into his flesh.

I wonder what story it tells.

He catches me staring and taps his hand to my knee. I put my hand over his and squeeze.

I’m the youngest member in the room. Everyone else is closer to Nikolai’s age. They all treat me like their little sister.

“They’ll select a new recruit for the Russian post,” Ace says, pouring himself a liberal third glass of vodka. He shoots it back all in one gulp, and my insides recoil from secondhand anticipation. That has to burn like a son of a bitch.

“You can’t replace him,” I say. I’m losing my walls. It has to be the alcohol. I feel heavy and depressed. I curl closer to Claymore’s side, biting my tongue so hard I taste blood. I can’t keep talking.

I’ll say shit I’m not supposed to if I keep talking.

“Unfortunately, they can,” Vixen says. She’s so pretty. Even when she’s sad, she looks like she belongs on the cover of Vogue. Her short blonde hair clings to the edge of her soft jaw as she frowns. “We’re all expendable. Never forget that.”

We finish off the bottle, sharing stories about better days. Claymore asks me if I’m okay to get home alone, and I assure him I’ll be fine. He keeps in step with me as I walk through the lobby of the Pentagon.

Stanley, one of the morning janitors, is polishing a bright new silver star on the wall of no names when I walk through the lobby.

Nikolai deserved more than that.

4

“Well, I’ll give you one thing—you sure as hell know how to make yourself at home.” Ace gives me one of his smug smirks, and I throw my pillow at him.

A cleanup crew is removing the wreckage, and Countess is giving her statement to the MPs. There’s still a collection of uniforms roaming the hall.

“What did they lose?” I ask, motioning toward the hall.

Ace’s jaw ticks before he says, “Veltriv.”

My body is so banged up that my voice is the only thing I can maneuver with emphasis. “What?” I shout. “They
lost
him?” What does that even mean? He’s not a set of keys.
Oh shit.
“Oh God… do you mean that they… that he…?” My throat is so dry I can’t swallow. “Is he dead?”

Ace waves his hands in the air. “Calm down, Pineapple.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Such ferocity.” He mashes his teeth together and growls to mock me. “Angry little pineapple.”

I glare, and he tries to smooth it over with a laugh—at my expense.

He plops down beside me on the bed. “Sorry,
Penelope
.” He enunciates each syllable as if my name were a foreign word. “And no, he’s not dead. Or at least, he wasn’t the last time they saw him.”

“Did he check himself out?”

“Not likely. He underwent surgery three days ago and has been pretty heavily sedated ever since. Far as I know, he hasn’t even woken up yet.”

I mull that over for a minute. “Then how did they lose him?”

“Have you noticed the entire infantry in the hallway?” he asks. I can see beneath the sarcasm on his face. He’s tired, exhausted, and just as out of clues as I am. “Those bastards are kind of trying to answer that for you.”

“I think he’s dead,” I say.

He gives me an odd look. “What makes you say that?”

“Because Ni…” I stop myself before I say his name. I’m positive he was just in the room, but without evidence, I’ll just sound insane. I’m already fighting a losing battle from being sent downstairs to the
Looney Toons
floor. “Because the assailant that pushed us into the river is the same guy who just tried to kill me.”

His meticulously contoured eyebrows rise. “No shit?”

“No shit.”

“Alright,” Countess says, interrupting our discussion. “Is decided. You will be moved right now for safety.”

“Who decided that?” I ask, and Ace laughs.

“Well, Pineapple, the fact that you fucked up both an expensive limo and a hospital room in the matter of a few days kind of decided it for you.”

He bops his finger to the end of my nose.

I hate that. No one has dared to try to do it to me since Nikolai died.

He’s alive.

I smack his hand away and return my attention to Countess. “Where are they moving me?”

She holds her hands up as if in surrender. “This I know not. Nor do I want to know. I have mission set in play in twenty-four hours. I know you will be moved for safety.” Her dark blue eyes travel the length of my scrubs. “And God willing, they will provide clothing.” She waves two fingers, saying, “
Do svidaniya
,” and then she’s gone.

I’m caught up in the memory of Nikolai saying the exact same thing in nearly the exact same spot. It was him. It was his voice.

I’ve missed that voice.

“Peace out,” Ace calls as she leaves.

He doesn’t make a move to leave, doesn’t fill me in on anything else going on. He just sits there. Well, sits there flipping through all the channels on my television.

“They didn’t give you a room with cable? Bummer.”

Bummer.
There are days I wonder if he grew up in the slums of Gaza or on the block in California. His English slang is more affluent than mine.

He rests back next to me, and I really look at him for the first time since I woke up yesterday. I sometimes forget how downright gorgeous the man is. I remember how he used to make me blush during our days in basic. He had a mouth on him back then, too, and I hadn’t grown my thick skin yet.

I’m pretty sure Ace is responsible for most of my toughening when it comes to comments from my male counterparts. He used to tell me to not take any of it personal.

He doesn’t mean any of it personally.

It’s just talk.

“Are you going to help relocate me?” I ask, groaning as I try to shift my weight.

He watches me, not offering to help in the least.
Bastard.
“Nah, I just don’t have anywhere to be for the moment.”

I’m not used to hanging out with Ace. Claymore is really the only operative I’ve spent quality time with. It’s weird. “Where’s MacNeal?”

He shrugs. “Dunno.”

“Did he hear I was attacked again? It’s not like him to leave me alone if he knows I’m in trouble.”

Ace gives me an exaggerated frown. “Pineapple, I’m hurt. Are you saying I might as well not be here? That you’re all alone in a crowded room?”

I roll my eyes. “Well, you and your ego seem like you want some privacy, so…”

He makes a hissing noise. “Ouch. Wonder if the burn unit is still here, because that shit just stung.”

Against my will, I laugh.

He winks, and something about the movement seems odd to me. I can’t place it. His face is flawless as always. That bugs me, too, but I can’t put my finger on why.

His glasses,
I realize a few minutes later. He’s not wearing his usual 70s porn star glasses.

He decides to watch some sort of soap opera that we quickly discover is dubbed in Spanish. He entertains me by translating everyone’s dialogue as he interprets it. He even does high-pitched voices for the women.

We’re laughing when two men in black suits enter the room. They don’t have to say a damn word for us to know we’re dealing with CIA lackeys. The dudes announce their covertness like walking oxymorons.

Minus the oxy
.

One of them hands me a duffel. “Agent Vincent, you’ll find a change of clothes and amenities in that. Please change as quickly as possible.”

He remains right next to my bed as his partner surveys the view from the window. Ace is still sharing the bed with me, and I’m suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

“I’m going to take a few with that,” I say, nudging the duffel. “Most of my limbs don’t bend right now.”