One Wrong Move (25 page)

“You don’t belong here! You were not invited! Be off with you!

Scat!”

He was flung out of the dream, so hard he stumbled back, making a muffled thud against the opposite wall, like a cat kicked out the door.

Sasha had thrown him out. Tonya had warned him, from the inside. Bitch. He’d never liked that woman.

Having found his cousin, it was just prurient curiosity, but he tasted the woman, too, just to see what type of female turned his cousin on. And if she did the same for him. He touched her with the dream-tongue, and flinched back. Her dream was darker, nastier. She was curled into a box, as small as she could make herself. A man raged in the room outside the box. Glass broke, thuds, things falling. A woman screamed. There was the sound of blows, cries of pain.

The sides of the box pressed her inward, like the machines that squeeze cars into a cube.
Nobody here. Nobody here. Nothing but
air. Nothing but air.
Silence, immense quiet, like a smothering blanket—

Ke-rack,
the top of the box was ripped off, and he stared up, blinking, into a reddened, empurpled face. “Quiet girl,” the gob-lin said. “All women are pretty, with duct tape on their mouths.”

Dmitri recoiled, and just gasped against the wall, for a full five minutes before the true meaning sank in.

That had been him. Himself, but uglier. Those were his words.

It was
her,
in there! The quiet girl! Naked and lying next to Sasha!

His mind reeled. His cousin was fucking Nina Christie! Sasha must know about psi-max. He was probably on it. He wanted more. He wanted the new formula. It was Sasha who had saved her today, Sasha who had killed Mikhail and Ivan, Sasha who had shot at him, wrecked his car. So typical. As soon as Dmitri found something that would put him ahead of the pack, Sasha came along to try to take it from him.

But not this time. The psi-max itself wanted to be his.

He walked down the stairs and out, euphoric. Didn’t see a thing until the gun barrel was jammed into the nape of his neck.

“In you go, big boy,” a female voice taunted. “We need to talk.”

A door on a big SUV slid open, and he was shoved inside.

Anabel used the gun barrel to prod Dmitri Arbatov into the back of the SUV. “Hands out where I can see them.”

“What the fuck is this? I did what you asked me to do! And more!”

“I just bet you did.” She followed him in, jabbing with the gun. “A lot more.”

The tab of psi-max that Anabel had taken on the way over had finally kicked in, and that was good, because her head was so not in the game tonight. Kasyanov’s rotting corpse trick had thrown her off her stride. She couldn’t stop shivering, reaching to touch her own live skin, shuddering at the memories of maggots, stench, rot.

With Kasyanov dead now, there was no one left to punish.

Faithful old Roy was always good for a few kicks to the head, but his reactions were on par with a cinderblock’s. After a few years hanging out with Harold Rudd, Roy was just too damned accus-tomed to pain.

But this Arbatov guy, hmm. Big, strong, not bad looking. He might be different. She liked to surprise them. Make them squeal.

She shrugged her leather jacket open, to show off her tits. Arbatov’s eyes were drawn down instantly. She wagged her gun at him.

“You boys were bad today,” she said. “Bad enough that you went to Yuri’s house without me. But going to Nina Christie’s, too?”

“We didn’t need you,” Roy repeated, sick to death of the scolding she’d been flogging him with for over an hour. “One fucking telepath is enough to deal with at one time.”

“Ah, ah, ah!” She waved the gun again. “You know how I hate being sidelined. Thank God you two didn’t manage to kill her, considering that Kasyanov bit the big one today. She’s our last link.”

“You were busy humping the senator. We couldn’t wait around for your legs to close.” Roy gestured at Arbatov. “And since he was the one who probed Yuri, it made sense for him to be the one to come.”

“Yes,” Anabel said sweetly. “And just look how that turned out. I’m surprised the boss hasn’t asked me to put you down.”

Roy’s face was beet-colored. “He needs me,” he insisted.

She rolled her eyes. “You just keep telling yourself that, honey.”

“Humping what senator?” Dmitri asked.

Anabel leveled her gun at him. “Did I tell you to speak, pig?”

His leer faded as she probed at his mind . . . and found it blocked. A good block, too. Seamless and tough, like a walnut.

Roy said the guy had first-dosed just over a year ago. Most new ones learned blocking techniques by that time. Nothing she couldn’t get through, of course. No one could keep her out for long. And to think Roy preferred to team up with this mafiya swine rather than her. She ran over his block, as if she were pal-pating a guy’s bicep. “Got something to hide from me, Arbatov?”

He eyed the gun, then her tits, in the low-cut, black, stretch-velvet minidress she had elected to wear. “No.”

“Then why this big wall?” she murmured. “You’re, like, stain-less steel, Dmitri. You’re so . . .
hard
. . . in there.”

Arbatov licked his lips. “Standard operating procedure. Like keeping your pants zipped up.”

Oh, dear. Sometimes men made it so easy, she was almost sorry for them.”Well, Dmitri. There are times to zip, and times to unzip. What kind of time do you think this is?”

His mouth worked as she maneuvered herself up onto her knees, and swung her leg over his. Showing off gartered black lace hose . . . and no panties. She started to sparkle. She couldn’t resist. The looks on mens’ faces were her reward, that fog of mindless hunger. Dog-like worship. The sweat, beading on their brows. The bulge down below.

Roy groaned. “Anabel, for fuck’s sake—”

“Sssst!”
She braced herself with her gun hand, and shimmied until the stretchy velvet skirt rucked up, and Arbatov could see her neatly trimmed, silky, dark blond muff, swaying over his groin.

“At least point the fucking gun away from me,” Roy growled.

Fair enough. She rested her gun hand on Arbatov’s shoulder, so that the barrel pointed toward his head instead, but he didn’t notice. He was in thrall, gasping for breath, fumbling desperately at his crotch. She cooed her appreciation when he finally managed to whip out his tool, gripping it at the base with his hand, offering it to her.

She squeezed it, leaning the gun against his shoulder. He glanced down at it, his face shiny. “Uh, are you going to put that gun down?”

She smiled brilliantly. “No.”

He whimpered, but offered no protest. To his credit, his cock stayed hard. He was beyond speech, but it wasn’t words she wanted. Sounds magnified in the dark interior. Shifting seat cush-ions, the creak of leather, Arbatov’s rapid panting. She swayed over him, kissing his tip with her labia. Teasing brushstrokes of lube, like she was dabbing at the canvas of a painting. Roy tapped at the steering wheel with the butt of his gun, bored and uncomfortable. Poor Roy.

Arbatov made the mistake of thrusting his hips up, and found the gun jammed beneath his jaw. “Ah, ah,” she whispered. “Be good.”

“Oh, God,” he whispered.

No, Goddess,
she almost said, but it was redundant. Her divin-ity was reflected in his eyes. She saw herself as they saw her when she sparkled. Imbued with perfection. Shining, perilous, glorious. She undulated, coordinating the brushstrokes of her snatch with mental brushstrokes against that tough shield.

Brushing, flicking. Weaving over him, back flexed, hair tossing, until veins popped on his forehead.

She gripped his shaft to guide him, as she sucked his cock inside, and felt his shield falter, crack . . .

She sank in her claws. He cried out, startled. Too late. Once she was in, she was in. No one had ever been able to dislodge her.

Except for Nina Christie, that morning. And Kasyanov.

She shoved the thought away and rifled through the contents of Arbatov’s mind, made her discoveries, drew her conclusions, in a few breathless, panting seconds. She processed information very quickly. She also discovered that the contents of his mind repulsed her.

Once she had what she wanted, she was instantly annoyed with the stiff rod poking her from below. The man’s grunting and heaving disgusted her now. She slid off and shoved the gun under his chin.

“You’ve been holding out on us.” She flung a triumphant glance at Roy. “He found her cell phone, and did not tell us! Can you imagine?”

Dmitri reached, trying to pull her back down. “Please,” he begged.

“No!” She swatted him away. “Jerk it off yourself!”

“Not in the car, he won’t.” Roy pinned the guy with a cold gaze.

“And they’re here,” Anabel said. “Right here, in this hotel.

Isn’t that just sweet, Roy? That they’re curled up naked in bed together? When do you suppose Dmitri would have told us?”

“You fucking sewer rat,” Roy snarled.

“Oh, but it gets better,” Anabel bubbled on. “His plan was to get Kasyanov’s last dose of the super psi-max . . . and take it himself, and fuck all the rest of us!” She waved her pistol. “But that’s not the kicker. That guy who mowed you assholes down like grass? He’s Arbatov’s
cousin!
What do you make of that, Roy? Do you smell a conspiracy?”

Roy lunged between the seats, and pinned Dmitri against the backrest, the gun digging into his throat. “Cousin, huh? The whole thing was a setup, right? You son of a bitch. You told him about the drug, right? You had a thing going behind my back?”

“I didn’t! I haven’t seen that asshole for twenty years! He’s been in hiding! He came now because of . . .” He choked, against the pressure of the gun barrel. “Aunt Tonya,” he coughed. “In the hospice. Dying.”

Roy glanced at Anabel, and she gave him a nod. “True,” she said. “I felt the surprise. This is fresh. He just found out, right before we got here. The aunt, that’s true too. Cancer. Poig nant, isn’t it?”

Anabel leaned closer to Dmitri. “Sasha, hmm?” she taunted.

“The cousin you love to hate. So tall. So handsome. So smart.

Oleg’s favorite. I’m wasting my time riding you. I should go upstairs, and mount up onto that big, hot cousin. Is his dick bigger than yours, Dmitri?”

Dmitri stared at her, stark loathing in his eyes. “Shut up, whore.”

Roy dug the gun in. “How shall we kill this douche bag?”

She shrugged. “Quickly. I want to meet Sasha. He’s the one who’s got the goods. Give me the phone, Dmitri.” She waited a moment, and pressed the gun barrel up beneath his ear. “The phone. Now.”

“My uncle took it,” he muttered, sullen.

Anabel exchanged disgusted glances with Roy. “Oh, for God’s sake. Where do you keep your psi-max? I don’t want to have to grub on your corpse for it, and it’s too precious to waste. Roy, take it from him.”

She held the gun under his chin while Roy groped roughly on the guy’s chest. He found his pillbox, ripped Dmitri’s shirt, yanking it out.

“Good,” she purred. She rummaged in her purse, took out a syringe with untraceable poison she’d prepared, and plunged the clear liquid to the top. They all watched a drop swell and quiver on the needle tip, lit up like a gem by the light that came from the stairwell door.

“Night night, Dmitri,” she said softly. “It’s been real.”

“No! Wait!” he shouted. “You don’t know Sasha! You’ll need help to take him! You saw what he did at Nina’s house, remember?” He turned to Roy. “I can help you when he comes!”

“I don’t think we need your help, Dmitri,” she told him.

“I can make it so you don’t have to deal with him at all! Those two walk out in the morning, I take Sasha off your hands, and there’s your girl, swinging in the wind, all alone. You won’t even have to deal with a body, because I’ll take him away with me! No muss, no fuss!”

Anabel exchanged dubious glances with Roy.

“Plus, I listened to the recording Kasyanov left, and it’s all in Ukrainian. You need me to tell you what was in it! She talks about Joseph. I had my hackers check. It’s Kirk, her ex-husband!

He must know about the drug, because she mentions him twice, so she must have sent—”

“We’ll take care of Kirk,” Anabel said. “Don’t trouble yourself.”

“I have men, in Portland! It’s an hour’s drive to Kirk’s from Portland! I could have men there in an hour! We could have answers
tonight!
”

Roy shrugged. It was true that they didn’t have enough personnel to man a complicated job like this. And no one wanted to tell Rudd that.

“What do you want in exchange?” Anabel asked.

Dmitri gulped. “A hundred tabs.”

Anabel and Roy burst out laughing. “How about your life?”

she said. “And if all goes well, we give you back these.” She rattled the pillbox she had taken from him.

“But I need more. . . .” His words trailed off, swallowed. “I’ll need one for tomorrow. When they come out.”

“I don’t think it’s necessary. Too many telepaths only fuck things up. But here. If you must.” She shook out one, and tossed it on the floor of the car. He dove, pants still undone, to scrabble for it.

“Where is his room?” she asked. “And his vehicle?”

“Room twenty sixty,” he said. “It looks out over this parking lot. This is the car, right next to you. Remember. Sasha belongs to me.”

Anabel shook his pills. “Don’t get grabby. It’ll have to be slick, quiet. We don’t want noise, police, nothing. No messes.”

“We can plan it now,” Dmitri said eagerly. “Right now.”

Anabel looked at his unzipped pants, his unquenched erection. “Go wait in your own car. We’ll plan this, Dmitri. You follow orders. Get out of here. Now. You smell like blood. It makes me queasy.”

Dmitri got out, muttering. They watched him limp back to his car. Anabel noticed Roy staring at her. “What?” she snapped.

He gestured toward her crotch. “Pull the skirt down.”

Anabel laughed as she wiggled the tight skirt down over her bare ass. “What, Roy? Jealous?” she crooned. “Want a piece of candy?”

“Anytime, anywhere,” he replied, hoarsely. “But you’re such a bitch. You’d never give it up to me, would you?”