Deadly Games (3 page)

Prague; October 30; 5:00 p.m.

Elianya paced the confines of her office She could hear the girls chattering in the studio. With a glance she doubled back. Knocking, she motioned to the photographer to get on with it. She wasn’t paying him to stand still. He had a job to do.

One girl, her bright red hair pulled in tight braids stood sucking a lollipop. The new fluffer. Eliyana sighed. She paced, waiting for the call to come through and it damn well better. She had yet to hear anything.

A tingle of apprehension made her pause and look out the window at the warehouses that surrounded her. She’d been told to leave Dimitri Petrolov alone.

“He’s to be left as is. You take him out and all hell will break loose.”

“You’re to make certain that doesn’t happen.”

Silence answered her. “It might be possible.” Another pause. “Do not act until I give you the go-ahead. Understand?”

“Of course,” she lied.

She would do what she had to, regardless of what her contact thought or wanted.

Elianya wasn’t stupid, the contact was merely covering their own ass. She checked her email once more to see if Raven had answered her, but as yet, her box sat empty. Damn.

Elianya tapped her nails against her teeth. No matter. If Raven didn’t get back to her, she’d just get Ivan to carry out her order.

Sighing and wishing she could find someone who actually did what they were hired to do, she walked out of her office and into the studio.

Girls of various ages and looks stood dressed in their costumes. Perfectly legal to photograph a layout for a new costume pattern company.

And even if it wasn’t, this was Prague. Anything could be bought.

The music, normally a whiteout noise, screeched against her nerves. She walked over to the large boombox and shut it off. Looking at the clock, she saw the time.

“Let me see what you have so far, Leos,” she told the photographer.

He motioned her over to the computer set in the corner and said to the girls, “Do not go anywhere. We’re not finished. I want more of the school girl shots, and Rada, stay in the nurse costume. Someone is coming by later.”

Elianya looked at Leos and wondered again if the man were gay or if he just wasn’t interested in her. She’d never pushed it. It was so hard to find a great photographer who didn’t go off into artistic flights.

He sat behind the desk, popped his camera in a base and tapped his long, white fingers over keys. His hair was trimmed short, his triangular face devoid of mustache or beard. A diamond winked from his right earlobe and gold linked across his almost fragile wrists.

Unlike her last photographer, Leos was so clean, he could have been religious.

Hell, maybe he was. She’d never seen him drink, he allowed no drugs on set and if a girl 15

was too high to perform, he sent her home.

Leos was not only her photographer for their little side venture, he was also the studios legitimate photographer for both the ad layouts and other modeling agencies. He was talented and driven--a damn genius. Two reasons, Elianya saw, to keep him on.

She watched the photos pop up on screen. Leaning down, her arm against the back of his chair, her hand splayed on the desktop, she caught his stolen glance down her cleavage.

Elianya turned to him and grinned. Let him look, she’d paid enough for these babies. Well, technically, Viktor had paid for them.

She focused on the photos, nixed the ones she didn’t care for, told him some changes to make in positions. While his fingers tapped the keys and he moved the mouse, she leaned down and whispered in his ear.

“I have another job for you. Are you interested?”

His fingers paused over the keys. “Perhaps. What job?”

She thought about what to tell him. He probably wouldn’t do it. For a man who thought of photography as an art, Leos was undeniably stiff. Even if he did film porns on the side.“I’ve some new clients and girls I’d like to shoot.”

He looked at her and asked, “How old?”

She let her gaze roam over the gaggle of women and young ladies here. She knew most of them were college age, some didn’t care and only wanted the money. A few worked in the public clubs that were above ground for the most part. But two, two were in the corner and very quiet. Those two were hers. They spoke to no one and merely sat staring at the wall.

“Younger than anything here,” she whispered.

“No.”

Elianya laughed and ruffled his short graying hair. “You are almost boring.”

He tapped again on the keys and picked up his camera.

Damn it, she wanted him to shoot the scenes. “I’ll pay you double what you normally make here in three hours.”

Knowing his fees, she assumed he’d jump on that offer.

“No.”

“Over a grand an hour, Leos?” She raked her nails over his shoulder, but he shook her off and stood. “You need to let loose some of those morals, my friend.”

His eyes didn’t stray from hers. “No, Elianya. Find another. I do this,” he motioned to the girls sitting around props, two on the bed, another on the silk draped floor, “but I draw the line at younger. Period.”

She huffed out a sigh. “Please, Leos?” She ran a finger up the front of his white pullover.

“No.”

Damn. Elianya tapped her spiked heel against the floor. “It’s merely photos, Leos.

A click of the camera.”

He huffed out a breath, but he didn’t say no.

“I’ll add another five hundred an hour. That’s two G’s. Where the hell else can you make that kind of money an hour, Leos?”

16

His shoulders dropped. “When?”

She smiled. “I’ll let you know tomorrow night. Probably, we shoot early on the thirty-first, no? No, that’s tomorrow, isn’t it? Then on the first.” Elianya whispered, her lips brushing Leos’s ear, “It’s merely a few photos, Leos. Don’t put me in a bind. I might have to find another photographer. Then what would you do?”

He huffed a sigh out, glared at her and finally said, “What am I to do?”

“Take pictures and keep your mouth shut.”

Leos watched her, she saw the indecisiveness in his eyes, the shame. Poor ballless wonder.

“Leave me, I have work to finish here,” he said, shoving back from the computer.

* * * *

She went by Raven, though her passport said something different. Her hotel room was one of the nicer ones in Prague. She had arrived yesterday and had been reacquainting herself with the old European cultural city. She only went for the best when she was on vacation. Work, unless her cover demanded it, didn’t need to be top of the line. Then again, she wasn’t staying in a backpacker’s hovel either. Her digital camera sat beside her laptop, the memory card already downloaded the photo of the possible target. He was in three-quarter profile, looking out over the busy street as he climbed into a sleek, black BMW sedan with dark windows.

Dimitri Petrolov. Right hand man of one Viktor Hellinski, brothel owner, minor crime boss, and God only knew what else. She pulled up a photo of Hellinski in another window. Wanting to know everything about these two. Some marks were easy. People rarely went for revenge anymore. She frowned and rubbed the back of her neck. These days few knew how to successfully operate under true vengeance. People not of Hellinki’s ilk. Hellinski was the type who had contacts, and he was, she realized as she read further, rather high up in the whole criminal ring ladder. Which meant his best mate was right beside him. If she took out Mr. Petrolov, she’d have to make bloody certain no one could connect her. The backlash itself would more than likely be her head on a platter handed to Hellinski himself.

She studied Dimitri’s picture again, wondered if that were his real name. He didn’t look like a Dimitri. He was too … something. His dark hair was a little too long, as if he didn’t have time to cut it, his hairline receding to ‘M’ across his forehead. Dark eyes--blue? Black? Brown? They didn’t appear green. Man probably hit six foot, not too muscular, but not lanky. Lithe, like the snap of a whip--lethal And since the streets had dubbed him The Reaper, she supposed lethal fit.

Fine, he was a murderer, but then, technically so was she.

Cheekbones and jaw line were harsh and unrelieved, his lips neither too full, nor thin. His could have been the face of a fallen angel. A dark shadow, well past fiveo’clock, but not quiet a beard and mustache lined his jaw and upper lip. Something was arresting about that face, yet if she saw him in a crowd, she wondered if she would have looked at him again.

Her? Probably, but then she wasn’t exactly normal, now was she?

She picked up her pen and jotted notes down on a legal pad. One she would destroy as she always did. There was no way anything would be traced back to her.

Though in this day and age, that was iffy, and depended on luck--whether hers or the ones 17

investigating were a matter of perception.

Petrolov worked for Hellinski, but she was finding out that Hellinski wasn’t easily reached or found and owned several pieces of legitimate real estate. Must keep an excuse to explain the income, yes? Then there was the restaurant and several nightclubs here in Prague. Brothels in the hell-town of Cheb. And there was a woman.

Raven cropped and enlarged the photo of the blond woman standing between Hellinksi and Dimitri. She was without question beautiful and had the same shape of eyes as Hellinksi…. Ah. Sister. Miss Elianya Hellinski.

Did she know what her brother did?

Raven studied those eyes staring out from the photo--bloody right the woman knew. Something in those cold eyes calculated.

Digging deeper in her search, she was surprised to find Dimitri Petrolov had only worked with the Hellinski for a few years. About five. Moved up those ranks quickly did he?

So where had the man been before then? Men who went by the name Reaper didn’t just drop onto the organized crime circuit. Where did he come from?

She looked for another hour. Frowning, she read the flat report of one Dimitri Petrolov, who hailed from Russia. But where? Russia was a big bloody country. Family?

None. Age? N/A. Raven scratched her cheek.

No one just jumped onto the scene. Was he educated? Or just a lackey?

Raven discarded that idea. A lackey didn’t join Hellinski and within two years become his hitman, only to gain more power and the boss’ confidence in next three years.

She narrowed her eyes on Dimitri’s photo.

And why would someone want to get rid of him?

Hellinski would have his own men to take him out. Keep it in the family so to speak. And that man, with his pale hair and amber, tilted eyes didn’t look like one to hire a female assassin and certainly not under the name of B-Widow Definitely a woman.

So who? A jilted lover?

Digging lower she read the material on what was known of The Reaper, who enforced Hellinski’s hold and power. Maybe an escaped prostitute who fled out of the stranglehold of those in charge of her?

The Reaper.

No one went against him. He, cleanly and efficiently, took care of any problems that arose.

In the photo he was dressed in a grey pullover, black jacket, trench coat, and pants. Man apparently liked dark colors. But then they blended well with the shadows.

Unease crawled under her skin.

Why?

He was just a mark. But reading the reports, she wondered. Something didn’t add up. He should have worked for the boss longer to be this high up in power.

Digging deeper, she wanted to know more about Hellinski. Her gut tugged as it did when she knew things were off.

What?

No real information on Petrolov--though that wasn’t too surprising--quick move 18

up, no friends, no associates, no family.

An idea zapped in her brain.

No, surely not.

But she’d worked both MI5 and MI6 long enough to spot the signs...

Was Dimitri Petrolov working both sides? Who the hell was he working for?

MI6? Interpol? The Americans? But if a Yank, then who the hell did he work for?

They had more agencies than Britain had historical sights. FBI?CIA? NSA?INS? DOD?

No, the thought was ludicrous.

Raven stood and paced. Pacing cleared her head and focused things for her, it always had. And nothing in this whole entire picture was clear. She’d learned the hard way to garner as much information before the job so that no complications arose.

And Dimitri Petrolov could be one hell of a complication. She wasn’t stupid or psychic, but something told her to watch her step with the man.

To hell with it. Stalking back to her laptop, she hacked into her old system and saw a file on Hellinski. Skin trafficking, drug trafficking, arms dealer. Well, he was just a dream filled bloke wasn’t he?

She read more until her eyes started to hurt. Looking out the window at the night, she decided to go out.

After a quick shower, she tried to decide on either the short black dress … but then she’d have to wear the heels, which made her legs look great, but she could hardly run in the bloody things. Boots. And if she went with the boots, then she’d wear the black pants. Slinky lavender sweater, or as Nikko told her, slag sweater. So it drooped low enough that anyone could see she had no real cleavage, but it bagged enough in the back and at the waist she could easily carry a weapon--and that was all that mattered.

She shook her short-short hair dry--and decided she loved her new style. At her scalp, she didn’t have to do anything. No styling, no drying. She looked one way then the other. Bloody hell, it was short. Her face appeared even slimmer, her neck longer. She smiled and slapped on enough makeup that she’d fit into the club crowd. Not that she’d visited either Nero’s or Babylon’s, but she’d been in enough clubs over the years to know how to dress like she wanted to be there either with someone or by herself.

Studying herself in the mirror with a critical eye, she made certain her gun wasn’t noticeable. Her skin reflected her mixed race as did her black hair and pale green eyes.

She’d always thought her mouth a bit too lush and wide, but she knew she was pretty.

And men were rarely suspicious of a pretty woman. They saw what they wanted to see.

And it had aided her enough, she wouldn’t ignore her looks. Without a doubt, she knew her eyes were her best feature, long lashes and the jade color contrasted glaringly with her darkened skin tone. She had aristocratic features, as Nikko had told her time and again. A gentle curve of jaw, high cheekbones, and straight slender nose. She was tall. But pretty or not, she stayed in shape. Her muscles were not because of the latest bloody fashion or health craze that gripped the masses. She’d learned long ago to protect herself. Her stint as a constable and then in MI5 and MI6 only honed her muscles and her skills.

Knowing she’d do, she grabbed her long coat, made certain she had everything she’d need. Passport, room key, phone, cash and her trusty little tool that would open any new computerized lock or start a car. Lovely little bit of technology and a birthday gift from Nikko.

19

Raven left the hotel, deciding to walk a while before hailing a cab. It was important to always know your location. A quick escape had saved her ass more times than she cared to count.

Prague was a beautiful city. From here she could see the old town square, glowing eerily green in the nightlights aimed at its medieval stone walls. The damp air promised cold and wafted with the smells of people dining at the local restaurants. She heard German as she passed a quaint little café. She thought she discerned Russian at a couple of places as people waited to be seated. English caught her ear time and again. Overall, it was a fairly quiet night with the exception of the two pickpockets who easily made their marks and successfully lifted a purse and a man’s wallet.

Her phone rang.

“You taking the job?” asked a male voice, smooth and Italian as a dark rich wine.

“Nikko, luv, always so articulate.”

He didn’t answer her.

She shook her head. “I’m still deciding.”

The answering silence told her more than his words would. The man knew she didn’t make rash decisions, but neither did she normally take so long to either accept or reject a job.

“Problems?”

“Problems?” Hmm... “Not so much problems, no. At least I don’t believe so. Call it more a gut feeling.”

He muttered something she couldn’t hear. “Tell me of this problem.”

“It’s not a problem.” Not yet anyway.

“Tell me, cara”

She debated. Normally, Nikko knew very little of her jobs unless she wanted him to. Or she at least convinced herself he knew very little. But truth be known, everything she knew, everything she did, most of it, she learned from Nikko.

“Cara….”

She sighed. “I just have a feeling the mark isn’t what he appears.”

“Is anyone?”

“I get a feeling, just a feeling that it’s deeper than him working for his boss.”

There she’d said it.

“What was the name again?”

“I didn’t give it to you.” Even as much as she trusted Nikko, she never gave him a mark’s name. Who knew how small the world could be and she didn’t want complications. Number one rule--no complications.

This time he sighed. “You know, you’re supposed to mellow with age.”

She watched her surroundings, noted the group of college age co-eds in front of her. The guys were watching over the girls closely, except the one joker who seemed to be telling the girls how they could dress sexier. She smiled when the blond turned around and punched Mr. Laughs in the gut.

“Age? That would be you. Not me. “

“I’m relieved this is your last assignment. I’m ready for.…”

“Stop. Not the man and marriage act, Nikko. Grandbabies and the like. I don’t want to hear it.”

20

“Who said it was an act?”

Instead of replying, she hung up on him. The man might know lots of things, but some even Nikko didn’t know and if he did, well… She simply didn’t need the hassle right now.

She hailed a black cab and climbed in.

“Do you speak English?” she asked the cabby, then thought of the phrase in Czech. “Mluvíte anglicky?”

He turned around. “Yes.”

“Good,” she smiled. “How about the club Nero’s or Babylon’s Sins?”

He narrowed his eyes, and ran a quick gaze over her.

She arched a brow. She’d heard about the taxi drivers in Prague.

“Nice lady like you, might not want to visit such a club, no? More like Sunsets?

Or perhaps Roxy? Roxy is the best nightclub in Prague.”

Keeping her smile, she only said, “Nero’s.”

He shook his bald head, the lights from outside shining off it. “You pay lady.”

“Dkuji.” Then she added, “But don’t try to overcharge or keep me in the cab. I know where the clubs are from here and you really don’t want to test me.” She met his eyes in the mirror. “Understood?”

He nodded and pulled away from the curb.

She watched the landmarks, noted the times they turned and where. Not that she didn’t already have a map in her head of where she wanted to go and how to get there.

The narrow medieval streets gave way to the wider modern roads, old world charm to modern ramshackle warehouses and buildings lining the water front of the Vlatva River She wondered if she would meet Mr. Petrolov tonight. It was time to learn his habits if he was to be her mark, and if not…