Sloane (9 page)

I let out a noise of disgust. I hated Axel Whitman. I
despised him.

Axel was still talking. “Well, I was thinking about
that silver asymmetrical number…. Yes, the one from the spring
collection…. Oh, I’d need it right away. If you want me to send…
Oh, you will?… Great.” Axel grinned. “Thank you so much Phillipa.
Yes, love to Megs.” Then he made a kiss noise.

Seriously. A
kiss noise
.

He hung up and whirled around to face me. “I’m
getting you a better dress. Something designer. Trust me, you’ll
thank me. You’re a lovely girl, but you have absolutely no idea how
to let anyone know that. You cover up all your best assets, and
black is really doing nothing for you. It makes you sort of fade
out, blend in.”

“I want to blend in,” I said. “I don’t want to stand
out. If I stand out, people are going to remember me, and I’m going
to try to take a man captive and torture him for information.”

He drew his eyebrows together. “Well, as long as you
take Phillipa’s dress off before you do any of the torturing. It’s
a loaner.”

I sucked in air through my nose. “You really care
about clothes a lot, don’t you? Are you gay?”

He chuckled. “Sloane, love, I’m Axel Whitman.”

That wasn’t an answer, was it? But then, I knew he
wasn’t gay. I’d seen it in the way that he looked at me. The way he
was looking at me right now. He was attracted to me.

Me. Little Sloane, the one that no one noticed. And
this guy was noticing me.

Of course, I shouldn’t read too much into that. Axel
certainly didn’t think there was anything special about me. He had
no concern for anyone’s feelings, and he was rude and self-centered
and arrogant and focused on appearances and… and a horrible
person.

“Anyway,” he said, stepping closer to me, lowering
his voice. “Maybe you shouldn’t try to blend in so much.” He picked
up a lock of my hair and moved it off my shoulder, baring my
neck.

My heart sped up. Damn it. Flustered again. He was so
freaking close.

He ran his fingers over my hair lightly. “We should
probably do something about your hair, too.” He drew back and
scrutinized me. “Seriously, did you put any effort at all into
looking presentable this evening?”

“Fuck you.” I shoved him.

He stumbled a little, then righted himself. “Jesus,”
he muttered. “Overreact much?”

* * *

I came out of Axel’s bathroom in the dress that had
been delivered. It was made of a silver material, and it gathered
over one shoulder. It fell over my body in long, careless furrows,
leaving my other shoulder bare. The fabric didn’t cling, so I was
still able to keep my gun, which was holstered at the small of my
back. Axel had also insisted that I pull my hair up. He had an idea
of how I should wear my hair, but no real knowledge about how to
achieve the look. So, we’d spent a frustrating hour waiting for the
dress to arrive with my going in and doing something to my hair,
and then coming out for Axel to criticize it and tell me to try
something else. Eventually, I’d managed something that passed his
inspection, which was good, because he’d been five minutes away
from calling someone to come in and do my hair for me.

I tried to tell him that it really didn’t matter what
I looked like. My end game was not to impress the people at this
benefit. I couldn’t care less if I looked good.

But he waved that away, saying I was lying. He
claimed that everyone on earth cared deeply about how they looked,
but that some people didn’t bother with it, because they were too
lazy to make a commitment to excellence.

I nearly killed him at least four times.

But…

Well, there was something about it I kind of liked. I
didn’t think anyone had ever fussed over me before. When Silas and
I were kids, it had been a miracle for us to get to school in
clothes that were clean and matched. Our parents had never taken
much interest in us. To them, we were just an inconvenience,
something annoying that got in the way of what they really cared
about. What they really cared about was heroin. They’d sacrifice
anything to get that.

Including Silas and me, as it had turned out.

But we’d stopped that.

Anyway, the only person who’d ever cared what I
looked like was Jolene French. But even she had played up my
ordinariness. She’d always dressed me to be a shadow, so that I
could slip in and out unnoticed. There weren’t a lot of other
female assassins at Op Wraith, but there were a few. And some of
them occasionally got “glamorous” assignments. They’d have to look
beautiful and be charming enough to get a target alone. Then, of
course, they’d have to kill him. But French never selected me for
those kinds of assignments. It might have been because Silas and I
always worked together, and there was no need for Silas in a
mission like that. But I’d always gotten a message, an undercurrent
beneath, that told me that I wasn’t that kind of girl.

But Axel seemed convinced that I could be. And
despite myself, I enjoyed that feeling.

He was sitting on the couch in his living room, bent
over the table, snorting cocaine through a rolled-up dollar
bill.

“Do you have to do that?” I said, annoyed.

He looked up. “Yes, as a matter of fact—Oh. You’re
dressed.”

It was quiet.

Axel got up off the couch and took a step toward me.
Then he stopped. He did another one of his lingering gazes, taking
me all in, sliding his gaze over my entire body. He let out a slow
breath. “That’s much better.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “You think?”

He nodded, still staring at me. “Definitely. You’re
breathtaking. Perfect.”

I blushed again.

“So?” he said. “You have something to say to me?”

“Like what?”

He let out a huge sigh. “Well, you’re welcome.”

And just like that, I felt like killing him again.
“Aren’t we late for this thing?”

“Not even going to thank me? You know, Sloane, you
really could work on your manners.”

“My
manners?”

He went back to the table and drew another line of
white powder through his nose. “Being on time for an event isn’t
really done anyway. You ever heard the expression ‘fashionably
late’?”

I seethed.

* * *

“Axel.” A woman with coiffed blond hair threw her
arms around him. She was wearing a black dress that looked a lot
similar to the one I had been wearing, before Axel made me change.
Not the same dress, of course, but the same kind of style. I wasn’t
sure why the heck Axel had determined that I couldn’t wear it. Of
course, this woman looked older than me. She might have been in her
late forties or early fifties, I couldn’t be sure. She was still
beautiful, but I could see her age around her eyes.

Axel hugged the woman back.

She pulled away and cupped his face with her hands.
“It’s so good to see you, sweetie. You haven’t been by the house in
so long.” She spoke with the faint trace of an accent.

“I’ve been busy,” said Axel.

The woman dropped her hands. “Right. Of course.”

Axel put his arm around my waist and pulled me closer
to him. I was alarmed, both at his hands against my skin through
the thin fabric of my dress, and at the fact that he was brushing
up against my gun. He turned to me. “Sloane, this is my mother.” He
turned back to the woman. “Mother, this is Sloane.”

Axel’s mother offered me her hand. “Oh, hi
there.”

I shook hands with her—sort of limply. She had a very
delicate grip.

She patted Axel’s cheek. “Your father’s off to get
drinks. He’ll be back over in a moment.”

“Really,” said Axel, “I’ll see him later on. Sloane
and I should—” Then he broke off.

A man was coming across the room. The Shepherd
Foundation benefit was taking place in an honest-to-goodness
ballroom. It was tastefully decorated with low mood lighting. Men
and women in uniform wandered to and fro with trays of champagne
and hors d’ouevres. The man didn’t pay any attention to his
surroundings. He was carrying two glasses, and he walked with a
purpose toward us. He was much older than Axel’s mother, his hair
thin and white, but I knew without a doubt that this was Axel’s
father.

Sure enough, the man stopped abruptly when he got
over to us. He handed one of the glasses to Axel’s mother without
looking at her. “Axel. You’ve arrived.”

Axel’s face twisted. “Hello, Father.”

Axel’s father eyed me. “This one of your
strippers?”

I stiffened. “No.”

His father raised an eyebrow.

Axel smirked. “Have I or have I not paid back the
loan you gave me for The Golden Key? With interest? Isn’t it
actually making me a… profit? Honestly, Father, I thought you’d be
proud.”

“Sure, I am,” said Axel’s father, putting a hand on
Axel’s shoulder. “But you do have a faulty understanding about
what’s appropriate and what isn’t. And making a living from a strip
club, son? That’s sleazy. It’s time you moved on from your childish
play and started something with substance.”

“Derek,” said Axel’s mother. “We’re at a party, let’s
be pleasant.”

Derek’s lip twisted, but he didn’t say anything
else.

It was quiet.

“Well,” said Axel. “Lovely to see the both of you. As
always.” He tightened his grip on me. “Sloane, shall we?”

“Uh, sure.”

He led me away.

“Good to meet you,” called Axel’s mother.

“Yes,” I said. “You too.”

Axel dragged me across the room. There was a stocked
bar over in one corner, with a uniformed bartender. Axel ordered
straight bourbon, downed it, and then got another.

I scanned the room, looking for James Armstrong. Thus
far, I hadn’t seen him anywhere. What if he didn’t show up? Then
all of this was going to be a waste.

“You want a drink?” Axel asked me.

“Um, no thanks,” I said. I didn’t need to be drunk
when I was trying to take down Armstrong.

Axel shrugged. He gestured with his bourbon to a
table. “Let’s sit down.”

We did.

I positioned myself so that I could see the entire
room. I scrutinized everyone’s face. It had been years since I
worked at Costello labs, but I was fairly sure that I’d recognize
Armstrong when I saw him.

“I hate these things,” said Axel. “How much longer do
we have to stay?”

I kept my gaze out on the room. “Until I find
Armstrong, that’s how long. Actually, if you want to leave, you
can. All I wanted was to get in.”

“Well, how would that look if I left you here?”

“Would anyone even notice?”

“I’m Axel Whitman. People would notice.”

“Well, I don’t see him anywhere. Maybe he isn’t even
coming. Maybe I did all of this for nothing.”

“At least you look hot.”

I gave him a withering look. “You really don’t care,
do you? Leigh’s in danger. My brother is in danger. And so is
Griffin, and I know you don’t like him, but I care about those
people. They’re counting on me to help them, and you’re acting like
nothing matters.”

He pursed his lips. “Sorry.” But he didn’t sound
sorry.

I looked back out over the party. “Never mind. I
don’t know why I try to talk to you.”

He didn’t say anything.

I glanced at him.

He was swallowing the rest of his bourbon.

I looked down at my hands, which were folded in my
lap. “Look, thank you. For the dress and for… everything. It really
is a nice dress.” I looked up at him.

“I knew you liked it.”

And I looked away. God. He was incapable of saying
anything that didn’t sound smug or horrible.

“They’re miserable, you know,” said Axel.

“Who is?”

“My parents.” He leaned back into his chair. “Well,
at least my mother is. I don’t suppose my father cares one way or
the other. He hasn’t paid attention to her in years. All he does is
sleep with women who are younger than her. It’s obscene. He’s
ancient. But he can’t show her any respect.”

I wrinkled my brow. “
You
care about respecting
women?”

He set down his empty glass. “Sure. Why would that
surprise you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you seem to treat
them like accessories or maids or dolls you can dress up.”

He ran his tongue over his lower lip. “Is that what
you think you are to me? A doll?”

I rolled my eyes.

He leaned over. “Would you
like
to be my doll?
We could play lots of… undressing games.”

“Stop it.” I held up a finger in his face. But I
didn’t like the way his words had affected me. It was like they’d
crawled inside my body, making things stir between my legs. Damn
Axel Whitman. Damn him to hell.

He traced a pattern over the tablecloth. “Look, I
don’t make promises. It’s not the same. I don’t break my word. Not
the way he does.”

“You think that makes a difference?”

He shrugged. “I do. I think that’s the best anyone
can do. It’s obvious that love fades. Attraction fades. Affection
fades. So, you shouldn’t promise to love, honor, and cherish
someone when that’s impossible.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t believe that. It’s not
impossible
.”

He snorted. “Well, I guess your parents are still as
giddy-in-love as they were when they first met.”

“My parents are dead,” I snapped, looking back out
over the room.

“I’m sorry,” said Axel. “I didn’t mean—”

“There he is.” I’d spotted James Armstrong. I pointed
across the room.

Axel turned in the direction I was pointing. “That’s
him, huh?”

I nodded. “Yup. That’s him. I need to get him alone.
I can’t whip out my gun here in front of everyone.” I sized up the
place. There was the entrance where we’d just come in, and there
were a few emergency exits. But I couldn’t be sure that opening one
of them wouldn’t trigger an alarm. Going back out the entrance was
the best bet. As we’d come in, I’d noticed some empty hallways. I’d
lead him down one of those, and then once we were out of sight, I’d
get my gun on him. “I need some kind of excuse to get him to come
with me. I wonder if he’ll remember me from when I interned there.
But if I use that card, I’m going to have to talk about science
stuff, and I don’t really know anything.”