Page 75 of Lethal Torture
“I’ll take care of it straight away. I was also thinking that we might put another layer of security in the front office. What do you think of this idea?” I verbally sketch out what I have in mind, being careful not to move toward her or hold her eyes for too long. After a time, her short answers become longer, and she begins to suggest changes of her own. By the time half an hour has passed, she is sitting up in her chair, facing me, and is almost animated in her conversation.
“Great.” I glance at Zinaida and Charlie, both of whom have watched our entire exchange in fascinated silence. “I want to speak to security so we’re all on the same page. Would you rather I do that here or in the main office?”
Zinaida finds her voice first. “Um. Sure. Here is better, I think. Eva, would you mind...?”
“Of course.” Eva stands up. For a moment she pauses.
Then, shyly, she extends her hand to me.
I take it very gently. A small, nervous touch, a brief smile, and she is gone.
I turn to find both Zinaida and Charlie still staring at me with that same damned look I’ve been getting from the day I started working with Zinaida, like I’m an alien specimen they’re not sure what to do with.
It’s starting to get really fucking old.
I spendan hour going through surveillance with Ana and Sally. Ana is thin and wiry, with cropped brown hair, ink on every available piece of skin that I can see, and an incessant nicotine habit. Sally is quite overweight and looks like she spends more time on the couch than in the gym.
The funny thing about deadly operators is that they often don’t look that way on the surface.
It’s the small things that give them away.
How they subtly position their chairs so they can eye the door and the window but remain out of the line of potential attack. Their momentary stillness at the slightest noise, attuned to the changes in sound or light that most people barely notice. The easy way both of them squat down to pull milk from the fridge, despite Sally’s seeming bulk. And I don’t need to pat either of them down to know they’re packing more than just a blade or two.
They’re the kind of people I understand.
Which means I also see where their line in the sand is.
“Myanmar clearly wasn’t your first rescue rodeo,” I say as we reach the end of the surveillance overhaul. “Do you usually encounter much trouble on these operations?”
Their shutters come down faster than a brothel at dawn.
“Nothing we can’t handle,” Ana says in her rasping voice, lighting another cigarette. But I don’t miss the way her eyes avoid mine.
Sal shrugs casually. “You know how it is on the big jobs, brother.” She lounges in her chair, but every muscle is taut.
Bullshit.
My danger radar starts whirling with a bright red light.
But I’m not pushing it, not yet. Challenging their loyalty to Zinaida is counterproductive.
It’s her trust I need to win, not that of her people.
Unfortunately, Zinaida has as many faces as a gambling dice and is every bit as unpredictable.
It’s maddening.
And intriguing.
Halfway through our meeting, she knocks on the door. “Sorry to interrupt,” she says, not looking sorry at all. “I need to borrow Sally and Ana for a moment. They’ll drive me home later, Luke, so when you’ve finished asking questions, feel free to leave with Charlie.”
Oh, fuck this.
Diplomacy is one thing. Easing my way into the job, dancing around personnel—all that is just standard ops when it comes to running security. I don’t have the kind of ego that gives any kind of fuck about pecking orders, or I’d never have survived the military as long as I did.
But when I take a job, I get it done. And despite whatever agreement I thought we’d reached last night, it’s blatantly clear that Zinaida is still standing in my way of doing that.
“I’ll stay while we go through the Avonmouth plans,” I say quietly.
