Samurai Game (GhostWalkers 10)

Several waiters rushed toward the couple on the floor. Frankie moaned and started to sit up, the effects of the drug making his mind slow and fuzzy. He looked very drunk. She sat, trying to look dignified and offended. The bodyguard Whitney had spoken with loomed over her, offering his hand.

"Frank, on your feet, now." His voice was filled with authority. "And start drinking coffee." He pulled Azami to her feet and dusted her off before the waiters got to her. "I'm sorry, ma'am. Are you all right?"

"She's a fuckin' escort," Frankie hissed, slurring his words.

"Most of the women in here right now are," the man snapped. "Go back to your table and we'll deal with this later."

Whitney would never have sent someone to rescue a woman, especially one he would consider a whore. She tugged her dress down and smoothed back her hair, trying to look as if she was affronted.

"I'm leaving. I just need to get my purse," she said, loud enough for the waiter to hear. "I've never been treated like this before." She pushed through the little knot of men and stormed past Whitney's table without glancing at him. She was certain the man was nothing more than a double.

"You'd better handle this, Frank," the bodyguard commanded.

Frank stumbled after her, apologizing as he caught up with her. "I don't know what got into me, Lila," he said, but his eyes burned with anger. "Stay and finish your dinner at least."

"I'm so embarrassed," she said, loud enough for Melanie and Sheila to overhear. "And I want to leave."

Frank caught her wrist and twisted hard. "You little bitch," he hissed. "I paid for you. You're going to sit in that chair and eat your food and smile at me and when we leave here, I'm going to teach you a lesson you're never going to forget."

She knew Melanie and Sheila overheard him. Both of them giggled like schoolgirls. Azami teetered back toward their table, stumbling when Frank yanked her, knocking into Melanie as she did so.

Melanie shoved her hard back toward Frank. "You're not much of a man if you can't handle that," she taunted, deliberately fanning Frank's anger.

Azami moved with blurring speed, sliding one hand over Melanie's arm as she stumbled back into Frank, her hands so fast, neither Melanie nor Sheila saw her.

Melanie scowled and rubbed her forearm. "Women like that give me the creeps."

"She's just making a living, Mel," Sheila pointed out. "Just like us. If you hadn't helped me, that could have been me."

Melanie nudged her with a little grin. "But you like sex. You would have gone into the men's room with him."

Both women burst out laughing. "Bitch," Sheila said.

Azami settled into her seat and brushed back her hair with a shaking hand, looking up at Frank imploringly through long lashes. "I just wish to go home."

"Well, you're not going home. You're going to do what I tell you to do." He pulled out his cell phone and, staring into her eyes, spoke into the phone. "Yeah, buddy. It's me. You feel like partying with a little china doll tonight?"

Azami thought it was a miracle she managed not to roll her eyes. She was Japanese, not Chinese.

"Yeah, I got one that needs a little lesson in manners. I want her fucked up and begging to do anything I tell her by the time we're through. Are you in?"

Azami took a sip of her wine. She thought about making another scene, throwing the wine in his face, and stalking out. She knew she could get away with it, and it was what she should do. The poison absorbing into Melanie's skin right now would take time to work. She'd be long gone when Melanie died, and no one would connect her to the woman's death, but now Frankie boy had just managed to bring her nasty little temper out.

There were several women in the room from the escort service she'd used for her cover. Any one of them could have drawn Frank as their customer for the evening. She knew it was a hazard of their business, but still, the man was in serious need of a lesson in manners.

"We'll meet you out in the alley behind the restaurant. It will be fun." Frank snapped his phone closed and grinned at her. "Won't it, little china doll? We'll have a fun time partying. You'll like my buddy, Ross. He's has a thing for women like you."

Sheila nudged Melanie. "They're going to hurt that girl," she whispered.

"So what?" Melanie shrugged. "She's probably used to it. She wouldn't be in that business if she didn't like it a little rough. You just told me Sam Johnson is coming home in a coffin and yet you're all sad about a little ho. Are you going soft on me or what?"

Sheila shrugged. "I guess it reminds me of my childhood."

"Well, stop. You're so far above that little whore," Melanie stated. "Do you want coffee and dessert or shall we call it a night? They have that chocolate volcano thing I love."

"Dessert is fine," Sheila agreed. She signaled the waiter who was hovering just to make certain Frank and Azami didn't cause another scene. "It's important what you do, Melanie, you know that, don't you?"

Melanie smiled at her. "I know. Don't worry, I'm not thinking about getting out. The money's too good. I get paid a good salary and Whitney has my retirement set for life. One thing about working for him, he pays better than anyone I know."

"You really have to be careful," Sheila reiterated, afraid Melanie wasn't listening to the warning. "We've lost a few people recently. I don't want anything to happen to you. Maybe you should lie low for a while, not contact us."

"I'm not in any danger," Melanie said. "I work in a secure building and live in one. I don't go out that often, and when I do, it's usually to meet you. We're friends. That has nothing to do with Whitney."

"I just think it would be a good idea for you to take a few precautions," Sheila warned. "It's not like I have a lot of friends and now that Violet's back in the fold, things aren't going to go well for me. She doesn't like women and she's absolutely fawning over Whitney these days, like she's mad crazy in love with him."

"There's always been something off about her," Melanie said. "And you're right to watch your back. She has a way of making people she doesn't like disappear. Don't get on her bad side. She's all kitten cute to men, but pure ice and nasty with women, even in Washington, but people love her."

"It's her voice," Sheila said. "I think that's part of her enhancement. She's one of them, you know, and for some reason, Whitney treats her differently than the others."

"He can use her ambition," Melanie pointed out. "But she's dangerous, Sheila. More dangerous than Whitney. He skates around the law for the sake of advancing science for humanity and his country. Violet simply wants power. She won't tolerate any woman around Whitney if she's set her sights on him. Seriously, Sheila, she's poison."

Sheila ducked her head. "She killed the senator. She had him living like a vegetable all those months in the hopes of saving him and then she just went into his room and yanked all the equipment off of him herself. I used to feel sorry for her. I thought she really loved that man."

"I thought so too," Melanie said with a small frown. "I used to watch her with him and she was totally into him. She never looked at other men unless he told her to flirt with them, which, just for the record, he did. I heard him once at a party. He said to 'go make nice' with another senator. He wanted her to make certain the other senator sided with him on some issue. She trotted off all smiling and had the other senator eating out of her hand."

Melanie clearly was the dominant in the relationship. Azami had studied Sheila Benet and had rarely seen her so animated with anyone. As a rule she was cool and aloof, rarely engaging even in small talk. She was Whitney's main go-between, and Azami had hacked her computer and phone, had been in her posh apartment numerous times--even stood over her while she slept in the middle of the night.

The woman had money, but she spent little of it on anything. She wanted to belong desperately, and she'd found that belonging and sense of purpose working for Whitney. But she clearly wasn't working for Whitney solely for the money. She wanted to keep and solidify her connection to Melanie.

Azami wondered idly how Sheila

would react if she told her Melanie was already dead. There was no saving her now. Whitney and Sheila would have to recruit someone new to help murder an elite team of soldiers.

She enjoyed the salad, ignoring Frankie's threats. The man's head was definitely spinning now. Most of the time he just propped it up with his hands and moaned. His groin was on fire, a relentless ache that wasn't going away any time soon and would definitely slow him down when he tried to make his move on her. She considered kicking him hard under the table and walking off, but she needed to play the entire evening out. There were a dozen escorts in the room. She might be remembered, but no one would connect her with Melanie's death. Most likely, no one would connect the evening with Melanie's death.

"Are you seeing anyone?" Sheila asked, her tone a little wistful.

"Not regularly. I'm looking for the right man to hook up with, someone that will be of some use to Whitney, at least whatever information I can get from him, and he's got to be damned good in bed." Melanie laughed. "I'm selfish, Sheila. I don't want to have to share my apartment and time with a man. I don't want someone permanent, so if I invest more than a night or two, he'd better have something special to offer."

Sheila shook her head, spooning more chocolate. "Only you would say that out loud." There was admiration in her voice.

"Well, really, I don't need anyone. Do you want someone telling you what you can and can't do and always questioning you on where you're going? You call and I don't want to bring some man along to our dinners, but he'd want to horn in." Melanie took the spoon from Sheila and licked the chocolate off it. "That's just not going to happen."

"Aren't you afraid of growing old alone?" Sheila asked.

Melanie laughed again. "I've got you, silly. We'll be old ladies together, maybe get a ton of cats and rocking chairs. When we feel like it, we'll go on those cruises and eat ourselves silly and ogle all the young men."

Sheila nodded. "Sounds good to me."

Melanie held up her wineglass. "To our future as little old ladies." She smirked as she clinked her glass against Sheila's. "Rich old ladies. Stinking rich old ladies. Maybe we'll get a few Italian boy toys and they can feed our little pussycats for us." She laughed merrily at her innuendo.

Azami kept the disgust from her face, sitting there with Frankie squeezing her thigh and the two women who had sent a team of soldiers to their death, toasting their own futures. She didn't understand, especially Melanie, who saw the work the teams did all over the world, the lives they saved, how it was possible not to admire them and want to keep them safe.

And Whitney. She could barely look at his double without her stomach lurching. She found it hell sitting in that room with all of them. Whitney's supposed soldiers, men like Frankie, with no honor. Women like Melanie and Sheila, who took money and sent men to their death while they drank wine and ate chocolate. The realization came slowly to her: Thorn didn't belong here. She was useless to Whitney. She needed to rejoice in that. She needed to be proud of herself that she wasn't like those two women, or these men willing to do a monster's bidding for his money and approval.

What had she been thinking all these years? She had a father who had shown her the way to live with honor, two wonderful brothers who loved her, and Sam. Her Sam. She had a narrow escape when so many others suffered for years at Whitney's hands. Why had she made him so big? So omnipotent? She'd allowed Whitney to color her judgment of herself for years. These people were those he considered worthy and she despised them.

Melanie and Sheila rose to leave. Melanie looked right at Azami and pursed her lips to send her a kiss. Sheila laughed. "That's so mean, Mel." There was a slight nervous giggle in her voice, as if she really didn't like what her friend had done but was afraid to call her on it.

In all the time Azami had been following Sheila, no one had ever made her nervous. She'd seemed cold, without feelings and very little nerves, yet Melanie brought out her submissive nature.

Melanie deliberately winked at Frank. "You really enjoy yourself now," she told him.

Azami realized Melanie knew she was making Sheila uncomfortable and wanted to prove she could do it. They had an interesting relationship. Sheila seemed dependent on Melanie. Once she was gone, what would happen?

Frank tightened his hold on Azami's wrist and stumbled to his feet, jerking her close. "I do intend to have a good time, little China girl. And you'd better make me very happy. You embarrassed me tonight and no one does that to me and gets away with it."

Azami let him yank her out of her seat. She caught up the small glittering bag, shoving it onto her wrist, allowing her hand free. Teetering on her heels, she took small, mincing steps as Frank dragged her toward him. The moment she was near the table where Melanie and Sheila had been seated, her fingers swept beneath the tabletop to acquire the tiny bug she'd planted earlier. Deftly she palmed it, allowing her purse to slide down her arm so she could shove it inside with a poke of her finger.

Frank was going to learn a little lesson in how to treat a lady when they reached the back parking lot. She hoped they'd get there before his friend, so she would be long gone and his friend could escort him to the hospital.

"Stop struggling or it will be worse for you," Frank hissed, giving her a little shake as they approached the table where the Whitney double was standing to leave.

"A little anticlimactic," the Whitney double said to his bodyguard. "I don't know what I expected, but the meal was good." He gave a little laugh.

She noted that the bodyguard ignored him. Whoever the man was, he was considered disposable. He'd been nothing but bait and no way were the bodyguards there to protect him. He would have been sacrificed in a heartbeat. Had she made her move on the Whitney double, the "bodyguards'" sole purpose would have been to kill her, not save him.

Out in the night air, Frank's head cleared enough that he realized if anything happened to her, the waiters had seen his face. He didn't care much if they identified him, the records would show he had died in South America two years prior, but still . . . He pulled Azami in close to him and walked her quickly toward the back parking lot.

She went willingly across the asphalt, weaving through the few cars there toward the narrowing alley. A broken wooden fence partially hid the alley behind the parking lot. The gate, hanging by one bracket, was long gone, splintered and broken like much of the fence. Frank thrust her through it and paused to lean against the rickety wood, sweat breaking out on his face. Every step had to be painful with his groin so full and heat rushing through his body, elevating his temperature.

Azami took the opportunity to step away from him, kicking off her heels as her heart sank. Not one but two men were already waiting, wearing evil grins. She was really growing tired of the entire mess. Frank would present no problem to her. He could barely stand, but these two men were a different story.

He grinned at the two men. "Ross, I see you brought a friend. The more the merrier."

Ross laughed. "Damn right."

Her phone buzzed in her purse. She pulled it out and looked down at the text.

Team Two called out of the country.

She sighed. There was no way that was a coincidence. If most of Team Two was away as Daiki indicated, that left both compounds vulnerable--and that left the babies at risk.

"Gentlemen, I'm going to give you a chance here and just say, let's call this a misunderstanding. Frank is in no shape to party and I'm not really up for it, so let's just all go home while you still can."

The grins faded. She wasn't running, screaming, or in the least bit scared. Frank made a grab for her and she slapped his hand away and slammed her foot into his groin. He shrieked and went down hard, the breath exploding out of him along with a sound much like an animal in pain. He lay writhing on the ground, holding his groin, the scream fading to moans.

The two men separated, Ross pulling a gun, the other a knife.

"You bitch. I'm going to fuck you up so bad no one will ever want to look at you again," the one

with the knife said.

"Like I haven't heard that before," Azami said.

"Don't you move," Ross warned. "I'll gut shoot you and we'll still fuck your brains out before you die. You'll just die hard."

Frank staggered to his feet behind her. She could hear his continual cursing directly behind her. She took three steps toward the gunmen and then put on a burst of speed, angling toward the man with the knife just as the gun went off.

Frank folded in half, screaming, a crimson stain spreading across his groin. She slapped the knife hand away as she went in, the tiny one-inch blade a ridiculous contrast to his ten-inch blade, but razor sharp, it went into the side of his neck easily. She turned the blade as she withdrew it, twisting behind the man as the gunman fired again at her. His second shot hit his buddy in the chest.

Azami kept moving, coming up behind Ross while he was still firing shots at the spot behind his falling buddy.

"Oh, no, oh, no," he chanted over and over, but continued firing as if his finger was stuck on the trigger.

She took him from behind, slicing his throat and stepping back quickly, moving out of his sight so that the shots wouldn't have a chance of hitting her.

She waited until the last shot had been fired and all three men lay still on the ground before she collected her heels and went over the fence to walk calmly away. She walked several blocks until she found a dark doorway. Quickly she shimmied out of the dress and pulled off the wig, sweeping her hair back in a ponytail. She wore a spaghetti tank under the dress. From her small bag she took out a pair of trousers rolled tight. The dress was rolled and put in her bag, the wig shoved in it as deeply as possibly. Scrubbing her face clean with the wipes, she pulled out her phone to text her brother.

On my way.

She came out of the doorway looking like any teenager out to meet friends.

CHAPTER 18

Kadan glanced at his watch. It was 02:30. "Suit up. Check your oxygen. We're thirty minutes out. Double-check each other's gear." He did the same and waited for Sam to nod that he'd made certain Kadan's gear was good to go.