Owl and the Japanese Circus (28 page)

“Then what happened?” Nadya asked.

“I left for Ephesus a week early to try and get the jump on the site, but she was already at the tomb. I surprised the hell out of her and she started making excuses, tried to tell me it wasn’t her, it was someone else, a fifth party, who’d been after all of them and used her as bait. I didn’t wait around. I ran like hell. Marie was a good forger, but not so good on the archaeology front. She set off a pulley trap while she was trying to get hold of me, and the tomb started to close. I got out in time. She didn’t.”

The whole fiasco with Marie had taught me one hell of an expensive lesson: Be careful who you work with, especially when you’re desperate. I spend a lot of time trying not to think about it; almost getting killed by a psychotic serial killer will do that to you.

I lifted my beer to my mouth, only to realize it was empty. Goddamn it, I thought Rynn had given me a new one. I slid the empty bottle over.

Rynn, the wonderful bar host he was, passed me a glass of water.

I made a face and passed it back. Rynn didn’t look happy about it, but he got another Corona out. “Alexander, are we done yet?” I said, a little more tersely than I maybe should have. I wanted this over with.

“You have been most helpful,” he said after a moment.

I couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.

“But I do have one question. Why do you think she went to all that trouble?” Alexander asked.

“What do I think? I don’t know. She’s a psychopath who targets thieves? I don’t think she had any motivation. I think she’s doing what she was doing before, just now she’s a vampire, so it’s a hell of a lot easier.”

“Hmmm. Crass as always. I have another theory,” Alexander said. And hung up.

“Son of a bitch.” I hate it when they beat me to the punch. I stashed the cell back in my pocket.

Rynn frowned. “They can trace that.”

“Don’t worry, I have it covered,” I said, and swallowed another gulp of beer. Jesus, I was already halfway through the bottle. I held up three fingers to Rynn and raised a questioning eyebrow. He held up five fingers, then drew his hand across his throat. I was about to tell him exactly what I thought about him cutting me off when I noticed Nadya frowning, eyes on her vodka martini.

“Look, I’ll get rid of the cell phone first thing tomorrow. I’ve got a plan,” I said.

Nadya shook her head. “That’s not it,” she said, and looked at me. Not with her usual friendly eyes, but with calculating, “I smell trouble and it’s you” eyes. “She never admitted to killing them, did she.” It was a statement, not a question.

I shook my head. “She was already in the tomb, waiting for me. I ran, she chased.”

“Yet she claimed there was a fifth person, someone else who might have—”

“There was no fifth person,” I said, maybe a little too tersely.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Nadya, everyone she’d worked with was dead. I didn’t stop and ask a lot of questions.”

“You left her inside,” she said. There was no missing the accusation in her voice.

I frowned. I had my own resentment and guilt to deal with. I didn’t need Nadya’s piled on top. “I didn’t particularly want a garrote around my neck, so yeah, I left her there.”

“Why would someone who was that obviously guilty deny their guilt?”

I shook my head. “There was no evidence of a fifth partner—anywhere. I
looked
. She wasn’t even supposed to be in Ephesus. I went a week early. Trust me, when I broke into that tomb to find her already in there, I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to think about my options.”

“
Exactly,
” she said. “You were so worried about saving your own damn skin that you didn’t
think
. Alix, that’s half you’re problem. You
never
stop and think.”

It took a second to sink in, but my face showed it as soon as it did. Nadya wasn’t done with me.

“You weren’t supposed to be there either. She wasn’t trying to kill you, she was trying to avoid you. For all you know she was trying to save you from whoever killed her partners.”

That . . . had never occurred to me. It set me back. I hate making mistakes. I stared at the red-lit table. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Nadya: I’m not good with people.”

She didn’t yell, didn’t scream—didn’t say anything as she finished her martini and stood.

“Nadya,” I said.

She held up her hand. She didn’t even look at me as she slid her jacket on. “Not now. If I say anything, I might regret it. You can come by and get Captain tomorrow.”

I don’t like confrontation, and it usually takes a cold day in hell for me to lose my temper. Maybe it was the beer or the stress of the last week, but my control was wearing lace thin. “So, what? You’re mad at me for saving myself?”

Nadya spun on her heels, and I sat back in my chair. I’d never seen an expression like that on her face before; anger, contempt, and, worse, disappointment. “No, of course I’m not mad at you for saving yourself. I’m mad because to do it, you buried someone in a tomb to die. You didn’t even try to save her.” She shook her head. “The worst part is you don’t seem to care. You never questioned yourself or whether
what you did was right or wrong. You let someone die. Regardless of whether you were justified or not, somewhere inside, you should be questioning what you did.”

I remembered Marie screaming through the stone door, begging me to let her out, that she could explain. I’d spent a lot of time pushing back the guilt, and I sure as hell didn’t appreciate my best friend throwing it in my face.

“I wouldn’t have left her there if I’d had any other choice,” I said.

“But that’s just it. You did have a choice, you always have a choice, but you never take responsibility for your actions.”

“You know me better than that—”

“Really? Because right now I don’t feel like I know you at all.”

I was angry, and getting angrier. I hadn’t meant to leave Marie in the tomb, and I hadn’t meant for her to turn into a vampire, yet my best friend was acting as if it was all my fault. “After the week I’ve just had, this is about the last thing on the planet I need right now—”

“Fine, have it your way. Nothing is ever your fault, you are
always
the victim of
all
your disasters.”

My face heated up. “I am not a victim. Take that back.”

“Why, ring too close to the truth?”

“
Take it back
.”

Nadya swiped a neon blue shot off a girl’s tray, downed it while the girl stood stunned, and slammed the glass on the bar. Her host, Yukio, appeared beside her instantly and attempted damage control.

“You’re right,” Nadya said. “I do take it back. You’re not the victim, it’s your friends that end up victims.” She added something in Russian to Rynn, who glanced up from the spot on the bar he’d been staring at while we’d fought. She then headed for the exit, Yukio close on her heels.

It wasn’t until her back was turned that it hit me. What the hell had I just done? Nadya was my best friend—my only friend. I leaned my forehead on the bar and pushed back tears before looking up. At least Rynn’s face didn’t hold the disappointment and judgment Nadya’s had.

“What did she say?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

He frowned. “I don’t think you want a direct translation.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Wait here, I’ll go talk to her,” he said, and left to follow Nadya and Yukio to the door.

He stopped Nadya at the exit, and I watched her let loose a tirade. Rynn stood there and took it, and after she was done, he said something that mollified her. Nadya’s shoulders sagged, and the anger radiating off her dissipated like rain. I watched them exchange a few more words, then Nadya threw her head back and laughed. As Rynn walked her out, she was leaning on his shoulder. It struck me that they looked a hell of a lot closer than I’d ever seen them before . . .

I looked away, focused on my beer, and pushed the flash of jealousy away. I knew that if I was starting to consider Nadya and Rynn hooking up, I’d had enough to drink . . . I knew enough about Nadya to know Rynn wasn’t her type. Rynn was pretty enough, but he wasn’t Japanese. But still . . .

I rubbed my eyes and pushed the thought out of my head. I really had to stop getting jealous every time I saw Rynn chatting with a girl. I’d already said no, and considering I was down to one friend, I wanted to keep the status quo.

A few minutes later Rynn was back. He got two shot glasses out. He filled them with vodka before sliding one over to me and taking the other for himself.

“I thought you were cutting me off,” I said, eyeing the drink.

He shrugged and raised his. “That was before you almost lost your only friend. I wouldn’t head over there until tomorrow to be safe. Knowing you, you’ll talk her right back into never speaking to you again.”

What the hell. Things couldn’t get worse. I picked up my shot glass. “Thanks. Here’s to having one friend who still puts up with my disasters.”

Rynn slid into the seat beside me before picking up his shot. “No one’s perfect. And you’re not as bad a friend as you think—no, you
didn’t have to say anything. I can read it on your face.” He nodded at the door. “I think she’s more upset that you never told her.”

I looked down at the table. “It was a pretty stupid omission,” I said.

We touched shot glasses. It burned as it went down my throat, and I pursed my mouth.

“Are you done backing yourself into deadly corners for the night?” Rynn asked.

I nodded. I felt better, though I wasn’t sure if it was the booze or Rynn sitting beside me. I’d had enough to drink that I found myself not caring anymore.

Rynn considered me for a moment, his face unreadable as usual. I fidgeted with my collar. I got self-conscious whenever I caught him studying me a certain way—not a common condition for me.

“Aren’t you busy with a client?” I said.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Your blond friend? I don’t think she was impressed that you came over to see us.” The questioning look didn’t leave his face, so I added, “I told Nadya I was going to try my best not to screw up your work.”

The corner of his mouth turned up into a mischievous smile, one I realized I hadn’t seen in a while. He shrugged. “I sent her home. Your life is way more screwed up and interesting to hear about.”

I stared at the bar, hoping Rynn wouldn’t notice my flushed cheeks.

He moved in closer, not close enough to kiss me but close enough for me to pick up the vodka on his breath and his light cologne mixed with leather. That’s when I made the mistake of looking up. Anytime I look Rynn in the eye, I can’t bring myself to look away fast enough. I always end up staring a little too long, wondering how the hell his eyes are so blue.

He reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re beautiful. If you didn’t always run and hide, more people would see it.”

I made myself look away. “I do not need that pointed out to me right now,” I said.

“Doesn’t hurt.”

I felt his eyes on me, but he didn’t move any closer, and for once I didn’t run. We were at some strange equilibrium, like a balance waiting to be tipped. Maybe it was the alcohol, but this time my flight reflex wasn’t screaming at me to leave, go, and hide . . .

I breathed in. “Do you really think I’m a train wreck?” I asked.

And that was all it took to tip the balance.

“That depends,” Rynn said. He leaned in, and his lips brushed against my cheek. “Still think I’m a whore?”

Ugh. It was morning, and way too bright. I rolled over onto my stomach and buried my head in the pillow.

It didn’t help.

I’ve only had a handful of really bad hangovers in my short life. This was number four. Oh God, my head was pounding . . . And there was sunlight . . . Why the hell had Nadya left the blinds open? I opened my eyes. They didn’t want to open, but I opened them anyways and pulled the cream-colored sheets back over my head.

Cream? When had Nadya changed the sheets?

The fog cleared, and memories of the night before—sketchy though they were—flooded back with a vengeance. I turned my head, slowly . . .

Rynn slept beside me. Whereas I’d passed out, at some point during the night he must have gotten up, because I was pretty sure he hadn’t been wearing boxer shorts. His upper body was bare and above the covers, and looked even better in daylight . . .

I shut my eyes tight and tried to will my headache away. All that did was make the room spin. I ran my hand through my tangled hair. I had no reference point to deal with this. What was I supposed to do?

I did what any respectful thief would do. I crawled out of bed, grabbed my clothes, and snuck into the bathroom. What makeup wasn’t left on the pillow had smeared down my face. I washed it off as best I could. There wasn’t a brush anywhere to be had on the vanity, so I pulled my hair into a ponytail. Not great, but considering my hangover, I’d gotten off easy.

I opened the bathroom door, holding the handle so the catch wouldn’t click. Rynn lived in a studio apartment, with an open floor plan and high ceilings. Only the bedroom was set apart by dividers. I’d figured he lived in a nice place, but I was impressed with the size, especially for Tokyo. He must have put some serious cash away from his mercenary days. He had good taste; minimal furniture, more functional than fashionable, and few decorations. Cleaner and less cluttered than my place in Seattle; I had a habit of collecting things and displaying them until I could sell. Suddenly I wanted to pack up some of the clutter back at my place and stick it in storage.