Chapter 2

I manage to lose a bit of momentum on the way down by digging my heels into the rusty sides of the chute, which works well enough, but fuck me if I ain't gonna haveta get these boots resoled when I get out the other side of this.

Damn femme, I grouse to myself, even though I can only admire the fact that she got her revenge nearly two years after the fact.

So. Sliding down a chute they shove cadavers through turns out to be a right fucking mess. Might as well've been sprayed by a skunk. I land on my feet – just about – and as I do, I hear one of the chains slither out the chute behind me, and then, just to add insult to injury, the second flies out and clobbers me on the back of the head.

Fuck my life.

It's at that point that I see a big guy in overalls holding a shovel, hulking over in the corner of the room. He's standing over a pile of body parts, staring at me with a cigarette hanging out his open mouth, looking like he's just seen a ghost.

Well it ain't Halloween yet, and unfortunately for him I ain't no ghost.

At the same split second we both clock the situation – he brandishes the shovel and I grab the nearest chain, and me being the ex-super-soldier that I am, I'm faster. I whip the shovel out of his hand with a crack of the chain, and the poor fool don't even know what's hit him. Before he can even figure he's lost his weapon, I zip right up behind him and whip the chain round his throat. A few seconds of pressure and he's is out. I let him slump to the floor – one and done, as they say. Almost boring, in fact. I take a moment to brush myself down.

Merde.

I don't even wanna know what's on my hands right now. Whatever it is, a shower ain't gonna cut it. I'm gonna need a hose and some industry-grade detergent.

I jerk my head to one side and, right on cue, Jake's voice kicks back in mid-stream.

"– and I swear if you're just switching this off to piss me off, you are dead, y' hear me?! Dead!"

"Aw," I finally answer breathlessly. "I love you too, Jake."

There's an irate pause before he answers.

"Fuck, LeBeau, what the hell happened to you?! First all I could hear was sirens and then—"

"Yeah, was just creatin' a li'l distraction, mon ami. Givin' Anna time to go in and grab the goods."

"I thought we'd planned a distraction, not a ruckus!" Jake retorts sourly. "Christ, I thought they'd killed you."

"Who me?" I laugh. "I waltzed wit' death a couple o' times, and trust me, the Marko gang's scare factor is like... Hmm, lemme think... Somewhere in the mid-teens. Out of a hundred."

"Hmph." Jake is thoroughly unimpressed – he thinks I'm lying with the 'waltzing with death' comment. "Just tell me you got the damn chip and I'll let it lie."

"I got the damn chip."

"Great. Rendezvous same time, same place?"

"Yup. I'll call if anythin' changes."

I shut off the transceiver and scan the room.

Lucky for me, the cleaning lady left the door slightly ajar. I sidle on out of Marko's abattoir and into his prize rose garden.

I make sure to step on the flowerbeds on the way out.

-oOo-

Half an hour later, and I'm hiding out in the post house attached to the East gate.

There's some gorgeous stonework to this facade. I can appreciate it better when I'm up this close and personal. Hanging upside down from the lintel can give a spectacular view of this old English building. Before this mansion was extorted out of the previous owners by the Marko clan, it'd belonged to a Lord whose family had had it for generations. The post house alone is original 17th century, and there're a few museums I know that'd pay a pretty penny for this Jacobian frieze alone.

My attention is drawn to the sudden sound of footsteps in the gravel, and sure enough, Anna appears.

I hang there a minute in the shadows, watching her with an absent smile on my face.

We'd only been together for a grand total of six weeks before this job had come up. Six blissful weeks spent messing around in London, getting up to all sorts o' crazy mischief. It had been glorious enough to drive Jake to the brink of insanity, but we'd both been too damn distracted to care.

I'd been 17 and horny as hell all over again, and not even my idiot-ass business partner was gonna take that away from me.

Until he'd said 'yes' to this job, and cut the honeymoon short.

Ironically, libido was the only reason Jacob Gavin Jr. had agreed to the job at all.

Anna comes to a halt below and looks about for me casually. She knows I'm here, she just don't know where; but I know it won't take her long to figure it out, and so I jump down from my hiding spot before she gets the chance.

I land right in front of her, nimble enough to barely make a sound in the gravel, but not to surprise her.

"Hey, Mississippi," I greet her.

She raises an eyebrow; she smiles.

"Hey, Louisiana," she says.

I look back up at the post house.

"There're cameras here," I point out soberly; Anna, however, seems unconcerned.

"Figure I'll leave Mr. Marko something to remember me by."

I grin.

"And you call me a troll, chere?"

"You rub off on me in the worst kinda way, Cajun," she brushes off my comment lightly.

"And the best, I hope," I tease her with a wink. I want my hands on her, and hers on me ... But considering the state I'm in, that might not be such a good idea.

"And the best," she agrees with a twinkle of the eyes. "Although... I'm hoping the best is still yet to come."

She trails off on the thought and digs into her jacket pocket, retrieving the keys to the gate. When she turns to unlock the exit, I let my mind wander as pleasantly over the idea of having her all to myself again as my eyes wander over her body. Truth be told, I'm feeling pretty hard done by the fact that more than half of her time spent here in England has been with Cain-frikkin'-Marko rather than me.

"C'mon, Rem," she murmurs. "Let's get outta here before someone else comes along."

She steps through the gate, and as she does, she flips her middle finger up at the camera and smiles sweetly.

See? Dis is why I love dis femme.

I pause at the threshold and glance up at the camera. I press my tongue against my teeth and give a mock salute.

So long, Meathead Marko. Hope you enjoy X amount of years in jail at Her Majesty's pleasure, asshole.

-oOo-

It only takes about 15 minutes before Anna's bike finally approaches the little culvert tucked away under Waterloo bridge. It's 8 in the evening and the walkway above us is alive with the laughter and chatter of the city's nightlife getting underway. Down here, it's dank, dripping, and barely lit. A homeless guy a few metres away is already tucked up in his sleeping bag, trying to find a little peace and quiet.

Anna softly brings the bike to a halt. I can't help but press a kiss behind her ear before I get off.

"God, ya stink," she wrinkles her nose at me as she swings off the front seat.

"Yeah," I reply sarcastically. "Thanks for that."

"You're welcome," she smiles sweetly, loosening the bun at the nape of her neck and shaking out her hair luxuriantly. It's her way of pacifying me, and we both know it.

"You are such a tease, chere," I murmur.

"Well," she answers slyly. "I haveta keep your attention somehow. Knowing your track record."

I laugh softly. Another hour, tops, and I'll finally get to show her just how much she has my attention already.

"Beb, I only have eyes for you."

"For now," she replies.

Anything more is cut off by the sound of tyres on the asphalt, and suddenly an SUV is pulling up beside us. The driver window rolls down and out pops Jake's head.

"You both made it," he observes unnecessarily. "Get in."

The back-door slides open automatically and we go inside. The vehicle is already moving before the door is fully closed again.

"So," Jake begins breezily, eyes flickering over to me in the rearview mirror. "Everything okay?"

I retrieve the mem-chip from its hiding place and flash it in his reflection. His reply is a tight smile.

"Keep a good hold of it, Rems," he tells me, his eyes going back to the road. "The client's rescheduled the drop-off time."

I pause midway through putting the case back.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Says he wants it asap. Same place, one hour from now. Dunno why he changed his mind at the last minute, but I ain't gonna say no to him."

"Chain of custody," Anna answers in an undertone. "The goods are too sensitive to just leave in our hands for too long. The less time we have it, the less time we have to screw with it."

Jake gives a begrudging grunt of agreement from the driver's seat.

It ain't escaped my notice that there's a bit of tension between my business partner and my woman. Well. On Jake's part, at least.

I glance over at Anna and see her looking out the window, lost in her own thoughts.

"Christ, Rems," Jake suddenly pipes up. "What the hell did you wade through back there? You smell like death!"

"Really?" I reply sardonically. "That might be because that's exactly what I waded through."

The words are barbed enough, but Anna doesn't rise to the bait. The only response I get is from Jake, who winds down the window and waves his hand in front of his nose expressively.

"Fuck, you ain't meeting the client stinking like that! You'd best take a frikkin' shower, man!"

I roll my eyes irritably.

"Don't worry, Jake, I ain't gonna spoil your chances with our client. I know what you have in mind."

Jake takes a sharp left, rolling me hard against the door.

"I dunno what you're talking about," he grumbles. "Business is business, and I'm a professional. Professional enough to know that if you show up smelling like a zombie, he is not gonna call us back again."

I sigh. Sometimes Jake really is too thick-skinned for his own good.

"Jake, I hate t' tell you this, mon ami, but this guy ain't never gon' call us back. The only reason he hired us at all was 'cos he was desperate. We're outside o' the system, we're a liability. Callin' us in was almost as much of a gamble as losin' the get he wanted got in the first place."

Jake flashes me an upbraiding look in the rearview mirror.

"Well if that's the case, then why'd he hire us at all?"

"B'cause," I answer simply, "we're the only ones who can retrieve the inventory."

We take another left, and I start to recognise my home turf.

"Yeah, yeah," Jake mumbles. "You said that before. But I'm gettin' a good feeling about this guy."

I snort.

"Really? Are we talkin' business or pleasure?"

Again, he eyes me in the mirror.

"Shut up, LeBeau," he grouses.

He takes a right and finally we're on my road. I'd spent some time choosing my apartment, looking for somewhere close enough to the centre of the city to be convenient, but far enough to avoid the noise and the hustle and bustle. The area is uniquely English – a ring of fancy, early Victorian townhouses, surrounding a central garden in the middle of another uniquely European phenomenon, the roundabout – which also happens to double up as a gorgeous little park. Five roads radiate from it like spokes on a wheel. The main road is literally a two-minute walk away – take it and you're right back in the city.

What first sold me on the place had been the vintage grandeur on the outside and the clean, minimal refurbishment of the inside, with the developer having taken pains to retain the period character features. But what had really sealed the deal was the finer details. Look out my window, and I get a panopticon-like view of literally the whole neighbourhood. Find myself in a pinch and I got five equally-spaced escape routes; the city is right on my doorstep, and I could literally disappear into it within a couple of minutes. Perfect for someone who might need to run at any moment; the aesthetically-pleasing stuff is just a bonus. This place has about a hundred and one advantages that good money couldn't buy you back in the States.

At last the car comes to a juddering halt right outside my apartment, and thank the bon Dieu, 'cos I can't wait t'get into that shower.

"Remember," Jake hollers at us from the driver's seat. "You've got, like… 45 minutes! Don't be late! Please!"

I wave back at him dismissively. Since he's upgraded his role to that of handler, I get the feelin' Jake's lost all appreciation for the shit involved when it comes to workin' in the field. But now ain't the time to call him out on it. First thing's first. I'm beatin' Anna to the shower, come hell or high water.

-oOo-

The Ritz Club, Piccadilly.

One of the glitziest venues in London for the city's elite, housed in the opulent setting of the Ritz Hotel, with its colonnaded entrance and its bowler-hatted doormen, its diamond-chandeliered elegance, and its obnoxious Edwardian splendour. It's like a casino in the middle of a palace. You don't get this kind of grandeur in the States. And I done a lotta hustlin' in Vegas, lemme tell ya.

Right now I'm at the blackjack table, 'cos M'sieu Le Client ain't showed up, and I can't stand the sound of Jake fretting on the sidelines. Anna's still back in the apartment, trying to get the dye out her hair.

"You head on out," she'd yelled at me from the bathroom. "I'll be right behind you!"

Forty minutes later, and she still ain't arrived. But neither has M'sieu Le Client, so…

I sigh and take a lackadaisical glance at my cards.

My mind's elsewhere, and even the fact that I'm on something of a winning streak can't snap me out of it.

What the hell – I decide I'm just gonna roll, and wouldn't you know it? Within a minute I'm rakin' in chips again.

The femme to my right – a statuesque redhead with nails the colour of blood and a bracelet that's vintage Lalique – inches a little closer towards me.

"Nice play," she comments in a husky tenor of an English accent. "You make it almost look effortless."

"Heh," I grin over at her. "I gotta lotta practice in over the years, chere. What can I say?"

"Really?" She has a wide smile, all plumped up with a burgundy gloss. "I like a man who takes the time to practice. It usually means he knows what he's doing."

"Well," I return modestly. "Familiarity breeds confidence, neh?"

"Yes," she murmurs, giving me the once over. "You look like a confident man."

I'm happy to string out this light flirtation a little longer; but unfortunately Jake decides it's a better idea to rasp into my earpiece instead.

"Get your ass here now, Cajun!" he demands agitatedly. "He's here!"

I take a look at my cards; and just 'cos my luck's goin' that way, it turns out they're really fucking good.

"What's the hurry?" I retort. "Anna ain't even here yet."

"Then we'll have to start without her," came the impatient reply. "He doesn't have a lotta time."

I let out a harassed breath and fold.

"Sorry, chere," I smile regretfully to the femme beside me. "Duty says I got me some bus'ness t' attend to."

She's disappointed enough for it to be gratifying, and I let my hand touch the small of her back lightly as I ease away from the table. No promises, but enough to give her something to remember me by. I take my hard-earned chips and cash 'em in before sidling over to the private room our client's reserved for us. A private room at the Ritz Club. Bodyguards standing sentry just outside. A neural scanner set up by the doorway. Our client ain't your usual customer, that's for sure.

I let the scanner's light bathe over me, confident I won't trip any alarms; and when I don't, I step inside the room.

Well, here's a nice, cosy li'l hideaway with plush white leather couches, chrome-and-glass tables, and black and white lights subtly streaked through with hints of blue and purple. Our own private bar is situated to the corner, manned by a pretty cocktail waitress in a two-tone ensemble of skirt, shirt and waistcoat. I flash her a smile – a habit I'll never be able to completely shake – before heading for the couches.

Jake's already there, sitting next to the client.

A chisel-jawed man in his thirties with green eyes and jet-black hair stares up at me, dressed in a perfectly-cut suit, the jacket slung over the back of the couch. He gets to his feet; and there's something about him, don't ask me what, but it grates up against me like nails on a chalkboard. He sizes me up like I'm sizing him up, and for a moment it feels almost like a stand-off.

He's a handsome fucker and he knows it.

"This is Robert Lord," Jake introduces me by my alias in a strangely deferential tone. "My business partner. Robert, this is Mr. Peter Wisdom."

We shake hands with forced smiles. No point pushing the act now. I can tell this Peter Wisdom can see right the hell through me – which is fine. Some people just can. He ain't fooling me neither, so we're even. For now.

"Apologies," Wisdom says with a regretful smile. "I got caught up at work. Had a last-minute crisis. Not exactly how you want to end a Friday.""

His accent is less polished than I'd expected. Dr. Betsy Braddock was more what I'd been expecting, but one thing I've learned since living in the UK is that most people don't have the plummy, cut-glass diction American movies would like you to think they do. Still...

"Can I offer you a drink, Mr. Lord?" Wisdom is saying.

Well, I ain't gonna say no to free booze.

"Bourbon. Straight up."

Our client shoots an expectant look at the cocktail waitress; but she's already working on it.

Wisdom is all smiles. He makes a gesture with his hands and says, "Well. Shall we sit?"

We take our seats, and my drink arrives. Our server is professionally solemn and smells of Dior J'Adore. I reckon she's spoilt for choice with men tonight.

"I thought there was supposed to be four of us tonight," Wisdom says with a small frown. "Isn't Miss...?"

"Oh, she's runnin' late," I reply casually. "Prob'ly busy fixin' her hair. Y' know what these femmes are like."

He jerks me a half smile. Yeah, I reckon he knows exactly what they're like.

"Pity. Unfortunately I'm not able to stay long. I have... other commitments." He glances absently at his Rolex just to make the point. "We'll have to get started without her."

"She won't be long," I assure him. "But sure. We can start."

As if on cue, Anna chooses the moment to make her grand entrance.

"Sorry I'm late," she announces herself as the bodyguards officiously let her through the door. "I got held up in traffic. Hope I haven't missed anything."

Her tone is firm and self-assured, less apologetic than uncompromising. The dourness of her tone makes a stark counterpoint to the vision of beauty that enters. She's gone for an off-the-shoulder dark teal number, studded with shimmering diamantes. Two perfectly-sculpted long legs peek out from below a thigh-length hemline. Her hair, white streak now returned, is a coppery cascade over her shoulders, wild and untamed.

Mmmhmmm, if this woman don't do unmentionable things to me. Gorgeous she may be, but she rarely deliberately pulls the blatant temptress look, and I have to wonder what exactly she's playing at.

Whatever it is, I ain't sure Wisdom's gonna fall for it.

Speaking of, M'sieu Le Client is up out his seat already, so maybe it is workin' after all.

"Peter Wisdom," he introduces himself as she joins us by the couches. He holds out a hand to her. "Miss...?"

"D'Ancanto. Marie."

She takes his hand and he shakes it, just a little bit longer and a little bit warmer than he did with me.

"Can I get you a drink, Miss. D'Ancanto?" he asks. Heh. I'd figured this sleazy snake was savvier than this, but maybe his brains really are in his balls.

"I'll have an amaretto sour, please." She looks at the waitress, smiles. "Thanks."

She takes her seat beside me, and Wisdom takes the cue. There's a short silence. It don't take a genius to figure out that Anna's presence has shifted the balance of egos in this room.

"So," she begins in a neutral voice. "Did I miss anything?"

"Not at all," Wisdom replies with a smile. "We were just about to begin."

"Oh good."

Her drink arrives. She crosses her legs and takes a sip. I, meanwhile, shoot a glance at Jake, who's being far more impassive than usual. He gives me zilch back.

I mean, we've all done our homework on Pete Wisdom. He's a smart fucker – graduated with a first from Oxford at the age of 18, got picked up by GCHQ a year later, got promoted to MI6 by the time he was 21. Ten years later and he's heading up MI13. Which means he's into more than top secret espionage and international spy syndicates. That kinda stuff is child's play compared to what his unit gets up to. He ain't your usual civil servant, that's for sure.

So. Whaddaya do with a player like Pete Wisdom? You ring fence him, that's what. Deference on the one side, hostility on the other, and charm on the rearguard. Keep his hands so full, you might just distract him enough to open up a weakness.

So far, Anna looks to be the one most likely to keep him off balance.

"So," Wisdom starts, his body ever so subtly positioned in Anna's direction. "I take it everything went according to plan?"

Maybe he's expecting Anna to bite first, but I jump in instead.

"We had to improvise a bit, but it came off jes' fine in the end." I lift the bourbon to my lips. "Looks like you were right. Marko had so much security set up round this thing you woulda thought he was guardin' the Koh-i-Noor isself."

Wisdom leans back into the couch and regards me with this shit-eating smirk that you might think was specially designed to piss me off.

"Oh, Mr. Lord, let me tell you… That little thing is so much more precious than a silly little diamond."

Silly big diamond, but yeah. Let's not fight over semantics.

"Yeah." I give a tight-lipped smile. "I kinda figured. Might make a body wonder why a dumbfuck like Marko would wanna get his hands on it."

The comment has the desired effect. Wisdom's cocky-ass demeanour flickers out like a shooting star.

"There's power in memories, Mr. Lord," he states soberly. "More than I think you can imagine."

It ain't the first time I've heard this lecture. Beside me, Anna shifts ever so slightly in her seat – almost enough for it to be a tell.

"I dunno," I rejoin casually. "I can imagine quite a bit."

Jake, thankfully, doesn't leave any time for the implication of my words to sink in.

"It all went off without a hitch," he cuts in. "Except when Robert here wasn't making an ass of himself alerting the whole fucking neighbourhood to his presence."

Ah, mon cher ami, Jacob Gavin Jr. How he loves to deflect tense situations by throwing shade at me.

"Seein' as how hyper-guarded the goods were," I return with a shrug, "I had to come up with a suitable distraction so's Marie could get a look in. Don't make it sound like I fucked up, you asshole."

Wisdom's making faces like he disapproves of all these 'amateur' shenanigans. All I can say is, he shoulda been there. His expression is so disdainful I can't help but poke him a little bit.

"What? We got the job done, didn't we? If you don't like the way Gavin & Lord operates, I'm pretty sure you MI13 spooks coulda figured out a much more subtle way to purloin the goods all on your lonesome."

Wisdom opens his mouth for a scathing reply when Anna cuts in.

"But that'd defeat the object of the exercise, Robert," she says lightly. "Nobody's supposed to know MI13 is stockpiling peoples' memories, let alone the fact that an entire cache got stolen by some common thief. If they move in themselves, they risk exposing the project. Far better to bring in a third party to do the job. That way, if we fail, they get to claim plausible deniability and cut us loose." She raises her glass coyly to her lips and looks over at Wisdom. "Isn't that so, Mr. Wisdom?"

Our client is suddenly all relaxed again. Yup. Nothin' like a pretty face to lull this couyon into a false sense of security. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.

"You're far too astute for your own good, Ms. D'Ancanto," he congratulates her with a smile. "Although I do hope you don't think I'd be so ungentlemanly as to cut a woman like you loose."

She laughs and tosses her hair back over her shoulder slightly, her jewellery tinkling softly with the movement.

"No, Mr. Wisdom. I think you're the kinda boy whose momma brought him up to be a perfect gentleman to ladies."

Barf.

I tap the back of the couch irritably with a forefinger and wait for this to be over. I no longer know whether Anna's game is for Peter Wisdom's benefit or my own – it sure seems like she's aiming to drive me crazy.

Jake is literally fuming across the table, furious with my devious lover for moving in on his territory. I almost feel sorry for him.

"Robert," he speaks up in a stiff voice, all formal and proper-like. "Will you show Mr. Wisdom the goods, please?"

I'm more than happy to do so. Dipping into the breastpocket of my charcoal grey suit, I find the mem-chip case and throw it on the table between us. Wisdom stares at it a few moments, like he isn't sure this ain't some kind of trick. After a moment he leans forward and slides it towards himself. He opens up the case and gives it the once over, and apparently everything is in order, because he snaps it shut again before depositing it inside his own jacket. Then he picks up a black briefcase from the side of the couch, places it on the table, and slides it towards me. I set my bourbon deliberately down on the table and lean over to snap open the case.

Everything looks in order – more so than most under-the-table cash transactions. I can just imagine some poor civil servant counting out those bills and neatly packing them up with tragi-comic indifference.

I snap the case shut again.

"I trust everything is in order," he says, and I pick up the case and set it aside.

"All looks good," I reply with a winning smile.

"What about Marko?" Jake pipes up. "Gavin & Lord's gonna be on his shitlist after what we pulled."

"Relax," Wisdom smiles at him with more of his snakeoil-selling charm. "We've taken care of it. He's being arrested as we speak, just like we promised. Trumped up charges of child trafficking. He won't last a minute in jail."

Jake pulls a face.

"Shii-it. Remind me not to get on your bad side, Wisdom."

"Why?" The weasel grins far too complacently for my liking. "You thinking of staging a revolution?" He laughs. "As long as you pay your taxes and don't badmouth Her Majesty, we won't come knocking on your door. Well. So long as the goods are all in order."

He slides a look at Anna, one that's too meaningful to escape my notice.

"Why, Mr. Wisdom," she parlays back coyly. "It sounds awfully like there's a veiled threat lurking somewhere in there."

His demeanour changes. It's subtle, but it's definitely there.

"Miss D'Ancanto," he returns with quiet seriousness. "There are some people we have no interest in adding to our 'shitlist', as Mr. Gavin so adroitly puts it. But if the worst were to happen… if a contract were to be broken, for example… well, in my line of work, there are ways of smoothing things over. Certain strings can be pulled… In fact, most of MI-13's current operatives were direct recipients of our 'special favours'. I'm sure we can find ways of paying off debts that are beneficial for both parties. But," and his expression suddenly lightens again, "I should imagine people in your line of work know all about that kind of thing."

He raises his glass and takes a long drink. I think I'm beginning to hate this guy. Maybe Anna feels the same way. She rises quickly, unexpectedly, to her feet, announcing in a studiously polite tone: "Excuse me – I need to go powder my nose."

She gets gracefully to her feet, her hand only lightly brushing my knee as she pushes herself up from the couch. The touch is as much a warning as it's a token of familiarity. I say nothing. I stare at Wisdom as he openly watches her sashay out of the room.

I seen so many men look at my woman with lust in their eyes, but the way he does it… It ain't just lust – it's admiration. And I ain't gonna lie. It makes my blood boil.

I'm pretty sure I must be pullin' an ugly face right about now, because Jake is shootin' me a warnin' look that I'm too pissed to take any notice of. Instead, he clears his throat and launches into the first thing that comes to his mind.

"Yeah, so, um… Mr. Wisdom? How do we contact you if we run into any… y'know. Loose ends?"

Smooth, Gavin. Let's not-so-subtly find a way to get his phone number, shall we?

Wisdom finally snaps out of whatever X-rated thoughts I bet he's having about my Anna; he waves a hand dismissively.

"Oh, don't worry about that, Mr. Gavin. We have ways of monitoring your situation. If anything drastic happens… we'll know."

He drains the rest of his drink.

And Anna's voice kicks on in my earpiece.

"Hey, Remy," she greets me in a business-like tone with only just an edge of softness. "Watch his hands. You can bet he's got some trackers on him. He's probably planted one on Jake already."

But I'm already way ahead of her. Jake got one stuck on the lapel of his jacket when I first entered the room. I come in, create enough of a distraction for our client to plant the device. Not hard, seeing how Jake's left the item of clothing completely unattended, slung over the back of the couch.

"You hear what he said?" Anna continues in my ear. "Paying off debts, in ways that can be beneficial to both parties? Blackmail's one of the best ways to recruit in his field of work. A loyal employee for life, willing to risk anything. He might be onto us."

I nod absently to myself as she clicks off. He might not be on to us, but I think he definitely has an inkling something's up.

Mr. Wisdom's glancing at his watch.

"Well, much as I'd love to stay in this excellent company, I have places to be," he declares, getting to his feet. Jake rises like a good little boy, whereas I take my time. Hey, I gotta stick to the script, right?

"Feel free to stay as long as you want," our client continues graciously. "You can put the next couple of rounds on the company tab. Wouldn't want you to think the British government is ungenerous."

"That's very kind of you," I say laconically, just as Anna returns.

"Not leaving so soon, Mr. Wisdom?" she asks, breezing on over, her good mood apparently returned.

"Unfortunately so." He leans casually on the couch, conveniently resting his hand just on the edge of her silk stole. "Unless you're up for a little adventure, Miss. D'Ancanto."

At this point it's getting hard not to react to this BS. My hand is literally twitching with the urge to punch this bastard into the middle of next week.

"Sorry," she replies with more calm than I can muster right now. "I have other plans for tonight."

Yes, she damn well does. So let's just wrap this up now, shall we?

Peter Wisdom shrugs off the rejection good-naturedly.

"Shame. I was hoping we could discuss your obvious talents. You played the part of Carmen Klein with admirable skill. There aren't a lot of actresses who could pull off the same calibre of performance. And believe me, Miss. D'Ancanto – I've known a lot of actresses in my time."

There's a lilt to his voice that I don't like at all, but before it can sink in, he bids his goodbyes, taking the time to shake all our hands as he does so.

"Well," he pronounces, once all the pleasantries are over. "At least I think we can say that Gavin & Lord's reputation is as solid as we were led to believe. We may be in touch in the future. Until then… so long."

Finally he leaves, taking his lackeys and his neural scanner with him. For a few seconds we stand there, letting out a collective breath.

"Well, that went well," Jake comments first. I grunt doubtfully.

"That is one slick fuck," I remark under my breath.

"You're just jealous," Jake throws at me hotly; to which Anna gives a complacent smile.

"Yeah. He is. But for what it's worth… Remy's right. I don't trust him."

"Look," Jake says. "You guys can play Debbie-Fucking-Downer all you want, but we just aced our first contract with MI-frikkin'-13, and I, for one, am gonna celebrate. Especially when it's on their tab."

He has a point. I want to be home right now for a whole mess of reasons, but it can't hurt to celebrate. I order a couple of bottles of the establishment's most expensive champagne, and while the cocktail waitress is away retrieving it, and we're all sat back down, I take out my EMP device.

"Ugh," Jake groans. "Not this again."

"It's just a small pulse, Jake. Enough to knock out any hidden bugs or microphones. Not to mention the trackers he's planted on us."

That surprises him.

"Wait. What—?"

"It's in the lapel of your jacket," I say, as I hit the pulse. The lights in the room flicker for a second; but since they're on a circuit that's out of reach of the pulse, they quickly flicker back on.

"You may want t' turn your phone back on though," I grin.

"Son of a bitch," Jake hisses, as he locates the small, round, pea-sized device. "I didn't even clock him doing it!"

"That's 'cos you were distracted by his cheap ass breed of tall, dark an' handsome," I joke, to which Jake scowls.

"I have no regrets," he mutters. "That guy is hot as hell. I mean… I would. Anna knows what I'm talkin' about. Don't you Anna."

Oh right. I see what this is about. Let's gang up on poor ol' Remy LeBeau now.

Anna gives an enigmatic little smile and takes a sip of her cocktail.

"He's a very good-looking man," she agrees diplomatically.

"See?" Jake shoots at me. "If even she can admit it, it's the truth. You're just jealous 'cos some hot dude made several passes your girlfriend! Tell me it ain't so!"

"Pffffft!" I scoff. I'm less jealous than irritated as hell that Jake is resorting to this BS – although he's been doing it a lot lately, I've noticed. Luckily, the waitress returns and ends the conversation by pouring the drinks.

"Don't take it personally, darling," Anna pipes up teasingly, leaning over towards me and resting her hand familiarly on my knee, giving it a squeeze. "I did turn down Mr. Wisdom's offer of a 'little adventure' for you, after all. You'd just better make sure it was worth my while. Being Carmen Klein didn't leave me much room for fun, y'know."

"Chere," I murmur, hooking her chin between my thumb and forefinger and kissing her roundly, "you and I are gonna spend all damn weekend making up for the past eight weeks of 'no fun'. Believe me."

I kiss her again, because fuck it – I can.

"Ugh," Jake grouses from the sidelines. "You two are so gross. You know that?"

I don't care what he thinks. Mission accomplished, cash (nearly) in the bank, and I'm about to get spectacularly laid after 2 months of enforced celibacy. Life is good and it's about to get so much better.

"Ya know what, Jake? You can throw all the fuckin' shade in the world at me, and I won't give a shit. Y'know why? 'Cos we just kicked this government contract's ass, and our rep's on the map." I lift up my champagne flute. "To Gavin & Lord."

It's a toast we can all raise a smile to. We lean forward and clink glasses.

"To Gavin & Lord."

-oOo-