Dark Operative_A Glimmer of Hope Page 3

  “Come on, I already told the guys we will meet them at the café.”

  “I thought we were going for a cup of coffee and a Danish. I’m not in the mood to socialize.”

  She threaded her arm through his and led him toward the door. “Of course you’re not. But you’re going to do it anyway. Who knows? You might even enjoy yourself.”

  With the expression of a condemned man on his face, Turner entered the elevator and leaned against the wall. “Who is going to be there?”

  “Anandur, Brundar and Brundar’s girlfriend Callie. Andrew and Nathalie may come if they can get Syssi to babysit Phoenix, which she loves doing, but sometimes Kian vetoes it.”

  “Why? Doesn't he like Andrew and his wife?”

  “That’s not it. He is jealous over Syssi’s time. He wants her all to himself. I wonder what will happen when they have children of their own.”

  Turner rubbed his clean-shaven jaw. “Can’t help you with that. I have no clue.”

  Bridget stepped in between his spread legs and pressed her hands to his chest. “I wasn’t expecting an answer. I was just thinking out loud.” She kissed him lightly on the lips.

  “I get it.”

  Victor was learning that not every comment required an answer and that not every complaint meant that she was asking his advice.

  When they reached the glass partition that separated the clan’s private area from the rest of the lobby, Bridget pointed to the lock pad on the door. “Press your thumb right there,” she instructed.

  Last night, she’d taken Turner to William, who’d scanned his thumbprint and given him a sticker to put on the windshield of his car. Victor would have to remember to take it with him whenever he switched between the many cars he used.

  With the first barrier crossed, they continued past the wall of greenery into the café proper. This late in the evening, Carol’s station was closed, but that didn’t mean the place was deserted. With a press of a button, the Nespresso machine provided coffees or cappuccinos in several flavors, and a variety of pastries and sandwiches was available from the line of vending machines. As long as someone kept the machines stocked, the place could practically run itself.

  “Hi, guys.” Bridget walked up to Brundar and Callie’s table.

  She leaned to embrace Callie, but only nodded at Brundar. The Guardian had gotten somewhat better as far as touching people went, but he still cringed whenever someone other than Callie did that.

  “Callie, this is Victor. Victor, this is Callie.” She made the introductions.

  “Nice to meet you.” Turner shook Callie’s hand.

  Victor wasn’t big on touching either, and the only one to get hugs from him was Bridget. In his case, however, it wasn’t due to an aversion or a phobia, he was just too standoffish and aloof to initiate or invite physical contact.

  “Brundar.” He nodded at the Guardian who nodded back.

  “Would you like coffee? A Danish?” Bridget asked.

  Turner perked up. “I’ll get it.” He seized the opportunity to get away and avoid socializing for a few moments.

  She’d allow him the short reprieve. “I want a cappuccino and a cheese Danish.”

  He lifted a brow. “Cheese? You told me it’s unhealthy.”

  “It is, but it’s okay to sin on occasion. As long as you keep the bad-for-you-stuff to no more than five percent of your daily calorie intake, you’re doing fine.”

  “Are you saying that I can have a steak once a week and it’s not going to affect my health?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hallelujah.” There was a spring in Turner’s step as he headed for the wall of vending machines.

  Bridget shook her head. “Men are strange. The one time I hear him utter a word of praise to a higher power, it’s for a steak. No thanks for the homeless guy who drove him to the hospital, not for how the knife miraculously missed his lungs and heart, but for a piece of meat.”

  “Never underestimate the power of a tasty steak.” Callie reached for Brundar’s hand and clasped it. “That’s how I lured this guy in.”

  Bridget cast Brundar a questioning glance. “Really? A steak?”

  “Among other things. And it was more than one steak,” he confirmed.

  Bridget was still laughing and shaking her head when Turner returned with the cappuccinos.

  “What did I miss?” he asked as he put them down.

  She waved a hand. “Brundar is also a steak lover.”

  The guy shrugged.

  “I have an idea,” Callie said. “We should have a barbecue. Is it okay to grill on the balcony?”

  Bridget picked up her cup. “I don't think so. This place is too fancy for that. Perhaps on the penthouse level it’s okay. We will have to ask Amanda or Kian to host one.”

  “Host what?” Carol sauntered into the café and sat next to Callie.

  “A barbecue,” Bridget said.

  “That’s a fab idea.” Carol looked at Turner, throwing at him one of her seductive smiles.

  Apparently, the keep’s rumor machine had somehow skipped over Carol and she didn’t know Turner belonged to Bridget.

  “Turner, this is Carol, the one who manages this café when it’s open. Carol, this is Victor Turner, and he is with me.” Better to let Carol know he was off limits before she unleashed her full arsenal of feminine wiles. Very few males could remain unaffected, and Bridget had no intention of testing Turner’s resistance.

  Carol’s eyes widened. “The same Turner who found where the Doomers were holding me?”

  He nodded. “In the flesh. But from what I heard, you’d saved yourself, and my help hadn’t been needed.”

  “I had help from a very decent Doomer. But I’m grateful to you nonetheless. Sebastian needed to die,” she hissed, her eyes glowing dangerously. “Without your help, all the other girls they kidnapped would have been still imprisoned, or dead.” Carol pushed to her feet and walked over to Turner. “Thank you.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on both cheeks.

  Bridget’s ire jumped from zero to a hundred in a nanosecond, but Turner’s almost comical response extinguished it just as fast. Her guy leaned away from Carol like a kid trying to avoid a kissy, obnoxious aunt. “You’re welcome.” He gave her a gentle push.

  Understanding dawning, Carol straightened up and took a step back. “Brundar and you should become best buddies.”

  Callie chuckled. “I love it that my guy doesn’t allow anyone but me to touch him. I’m not a fan of all that hugging and kissing. I’m too jealous for that. Then again, I have nothing to worry about. All the available ladies in the keep are his cousins.”

  Brundar grunted. “You have nothing to worry about period.”

  Chapter 6: Turner

  The curvy blond finally got a clue and stopped her assault.

  Unless a woman was going for sex, Turner was uncomfortable with spontaneous displays of physical affection. Those should be reserved for close family members, and even then they should be limited to a quick embrace and nothing more.

  Slobber was not welcome on his cheek. The only exception was when that mouth was on its way to slobber over another part of his body, which meant that as long as he was with Bridget, she was the only one allowed to kiss him.

  “I’m glad that you’re okay,” he said, and meant it.

  Without going into details, Kian had hinted that the woman had gone through a brutal ordeal. Her immortal body had obviously healed, but Turner wondered whether her mind had had enough time to heal too. Mental wounds were much harder to recuperate from.

  Carol went back to her seat, her curly blond hair bouncing up and down as she plopped on the chair. “I’m tougher than I look.” She winked at him. “It’s not easy to break me.”

  From the corner of his eye, Turner caught Brundar regarding Carol with what looked like a mixture of pride and respect. For a hard, stoic man whose expression softened only when gazing at his girlfriend, that look expressed better than words the Guardia
n’s high opinion of the blond.

  There must’ve been much more to her than the cheerful yet empty-headed persona she showed the world. Could Carol be a spy?

  The best in the field were the least obvious.

  “What do you do, Carol?” Turner asked.

  The smile she flashed him transformed her small face, which only moments ago had been twisted with fury at a dead guy, into that of a sweet cherub. “I make sandwiches and coffee.”

  That was definitely not all she was doing. “What else?”

  “Sometimes I train beginner self-defense classes, filling in for Brundar, my sensei.” She dipped her head in mock deference to her teacher.

  In Turner’s opinion, Carol looked too soft and padded for a woman who engaged in rigorous training. His thoughts must have shown on his face because Brundar jumped in to defend her.

  “Out of all the trainees, Carol is the best markswoman.”

  Turner tilted his head. “Are you training to become a Guardian?”

  She shook her head, those curls of hers bouncing around her angelic face. If he weren’t a taken man, there was no way he wouldn't have been affected by her. Carol was temptation personified. She knew it, and she used it. Definitely spy material.

  “No way. Guardians have to obey the law, and I’m a rebel.”

  “That she is,” Anandur said as he walked up to their table.

  Grabbing a chair from the next one over, he put it between Carol and Callie but a little way back since there wasn’t enough room. “And her marksmanship skills are wasted. She refuses to go hunting with me.”

  Carol crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not going to shoot at defenseless critters.”

  Anandur leaned over her shoulders. “But eating steaks is fine?”

  She tucked one side of her hair behind her ear. “We had this discussion before. It’s not the same.”

  “Are we back to talking about steaks?” Bridget asked.

  “How about we move to stakeouts?” Anandur offered. “As much as I love a juicy steak or two, I think those are much more interesting.” He glanced at Turner. “How are we going to storm those brothels you were talking about? Just show up and boom! Or first reconnaissance, and then raid?”

  Startled by Anandur’s question, Turner instinctively looked behind his shoulder and then scanned the large area the café occupied.

  Bridget patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, Victor. Only clan members can come in here, and the glass is bulletproof and soundproof. We can talk freely here. You have nothing to worry about.”

  Normally, he would have argued to the contrary. Only those on the need to know list should’ve been privy to the information. Except, Bridget was going to lay it all out for the entire clan, so there was no point in keeping it quiet.

  “I already put things in motion. Operators are mapping the places and getting the layout and security measures of each one. The teams on the ground will have all this information before doing their own reconnaissance. The more prepared we are, the smoother the execution, and the fewer the casualties.”

  Bridget frowned. “Aren’t you jumping the gun by starting before the funds are approved? What if the clan votes against it?”

  “They won’t.”

  “How can you be so sure? And in the meantime, you’re spending your own money.”

  “I’m positive the vote will be in favor. And if not, I’ll find another backer for the operation. This needs to be done.”

  Carol clapped her hands. “You’re my kind of guy, Victor. If you weren’t such a prudish oaf, I would’ve kissed you on both cheeks again.” She winked. “Maybe even twice on each, like the French do.”

  “Please don’t,” he and Bridget said at the same time.

  Carol’s laughter was as fresh and as sweet as the rest of her.

  She was either an amazing actress or had a split personality. One was a carefree young woman who was interested only in having fun, and the other was that of a hardened warrior who could withstand the worst torture and emerge unscathed.

  “Oh, you guys are so cute. I should’ve known Bridget would be a jealous and possessive girlfriend. With that red hair, there was no way she wouldn't.”

  Bridget glared at Carol. “What’s that supposed to mean? Hair color has nothing to do with personality. That’s as much of an urban legend as the blood type diet or that blonds are dumb. You shouldn't believe everything you read.”

  Carol shook her head. “Temper, temper, my dear doctor. According to that same urban legend, redheads are also quick to anger.” She put a finger to her lips and tilted her chin up. “I wonder where they get those strange ideas from?”

  Chapter 7: Losham

  All throughout the long flight home, Losham’s emotions had been oscillating between crippling fear and overblown confidence. Now that he was sitting in the vestibule of his father’s receiving hall, waiting for his conference with Navuh, he was experiencing more of the same.

  An execution was a remote possibility, but demotion and humiliation were not. After thousands of years as his father’s lead advisor, losing his position was almost as terrifying a prospect as losing his head.

  When Navuh’s secretary emerged from the servants’ door, Losham’s heart kicked into overdrive, the thundering beat so loud he was sure the secretary must’ve heard it.

  There was no way he could go into the lion’s den like that.

  His father would chew him up and throw what was left for the dogs to finish. Fear was the worst emotion to have when dealing with the Brotherhood’s exulted leader.

  The servant bowed. “Lord Navuh will see you in a few more minutes.”

  Losham nodded imperiously. “Thank you.”

  The air left his lungs in a whoosh as soon as the secretary had returned the same way he’d come in and closed the door behind him. For once, Losham was thankful for his father’s diva antics of keeping him waiting for hours.

  Over the next few minutes, he was going to calm down by imagining only the best possible outcomes. Maybe Navuh had a new project he wanted to run by Losham, perhaps his father wanted him to head that project. After all, Navuh had learned a long time ago how invaluable Losham’s advice was.

  When the door opened again, he was ready.

  “Lord Navuh will see you now,” the secretary said as he opened the massive doors leading to Navuh’s reception hall.

  Losham stood up and lifted his chin. “Thank you.” He strode in as if he owned the place

  “Greetings, my lord.” Losham bowed low.

  Thankfully, he was exempt from the obeisance the rank and file were obligated to offer Navuh.

  His father’s throne sat on a tall dais, with the guest chair facing it about seven feet lower. It was an uncomfortable straight-backed thing, designed to keep the guest as uncomfortable as possible, and with a sore neck from having to look up the entire time.

  “Losham.” His father acknowledged him in the same bored tone as always. “Come, join me in my office.” Navuh pushed off the throne and took the short flight of stairs down to Losham’s level. The office, which was located off the reception hall, was used for when Navuh wanted absolute privacy. Soundproofing the small room was easier for the son of Mortdh than doing so for the entire big hall.

  This was good news.

  Navuh’s need for absolute privacy meant that he needed Losham’s advice on something important.

  Losham hurried to open the door for his father and bowed again as Navuh walked by him.

  The leader sat in one of the two armchairs and motioned for Losham to take the other.

  With another bow, Losham did as instructed. “How can I be of service, my lord?”

  “We need more money,” Navuh cut to the chase. “There aren’t enough wars going around for us to profit from. And aside from the lack of income, it creates another problem. Having an army of mercenaries without a war to fight is like sitting on top of a dynamite keg. We need to find something for them to do before we have a rebellion on our
hands.”

  “I agree. We need to instigate a new war.”

  Navuh nodded. “I have a few ideas, but I’ll leave it up to you to research.”

  In other words, his father didn’t know where in the world was the most fertile ground for pushing existing conflict into a full-blown war, and he needed Losham to figure it out.

  “Naturally, my lord. I’ll get right on it.”

  Navuh signaled that he wasn’t done. “The drug trade isn’t bringing in as much as it used to either. The gangs are difficult to control, there is too much competition, and the prices are going down.”

  “What about our protégés? That’s our biggest source of income.”

  Navuh cringed. “We lost the biggest one. The current ruler wasn’t too happy when he discovered that we were working with his number one enemy, playing both sides.”

  Losham wasn’t surprised. He’d advised against it, expecting exactly this outcome, but Navuh wouldn’t listen. As always, the leader was greedy for the money and for the influence.

  “We could send Lokan to convince the ruler he can’t do without our help. This relationship is decades long. It started with his grandfather.”

  Lokan was a prick and not too bright, but he possessed a powerful thralling ability and was a master at compulsion. If anyone could convince the powerful ruler to come back into the fold, and more importantly keep paying for their services, it was Losham’s half-brother Lokan.

  Navuh shook his head. “The current ruler is immune. He has a powerful and suspicious mind. We will have to replace him with someone who is easier to manipulate, but that will take time to organize. In the meantime, we need the money.”

  “I’ll start working on it immediately, my lord.”

  Navuh nodded. “How did your hunt go?”

  Losham’s gut twisted, but he managed to control his emotions. “May I speak frankly, my lord?”

  Navuh waved, the sleeve of his robes adding royal flair to the gesture. “Go ahead.”

  “Annani and her clan have been living in hiding for thousands of years, and they are very good at it. I think it’s a waste of time and resources to hunt for them. When we seize control of humanity, the clan will become irrelevant anyway.”