Wickedly Wonderful(89)
Beka sighed. This wasn’t turning out exactly the way she’d planned. But at least after tonight, she’d know, for better or for worse. She only hoped that Chewie was wrong, and it didn’t turn out that her one friend was really her enemy after all.
* * *
“IT’S TOO BAD Mikhail isn’t here,” Alexei said in what passed for a whisper with him. It wasn’t very quiet, but so far, no one had come anywhere near the bluff where they were situated, well above the dock, but with a clear view and an easy path they could use to descend upon the area if their guy ever showed. “He’d love this part. Skulking is one of his favorite things. Although I’ve never understood how he manages to hide so well while wearing white from head to toe.”
“Hmm,” Gregori muttered in his much softer voice. “I don’t understand what is keeping him. It isn’t like Day to miss a party. Or to let down a Baba Yaga when one needs him.”
Beka nodded. She was starting to get worried about their missing Rider too. But at the moment, she had much more urgent matters on her mind. Please don’t be Kesh, she thought. Please don’t be Kesh.
She’d already lost Marcus. She didn’t think she could handle losing Kesh too. Even if she didn’t even really want him. She was so confused. Maybe she just didn’t want to have been that wrong about someone she cared for.
“Look,” Gregori said, pointing one slim finger down toward the road. A Mercedes SUV came slowly down the rutted path that led toward the deserted warehouse. It paused briefly by the dock itself, where a medium-sized man wearing expensive clothes and a disgruntled expression climbed out. He looked around and appeared even unhappier at not seeing whatever or whoever he was expecting, then opened the back of his vehicle and half rolled, half carried two canisters onto the splintery wooden surface. They weren’t particularly large, but they must have been heavy, if his muttered grunts and curses were anything to go by.
He waited there for another long moment, then climbed back into his vehicle and backed it partway up the path again, obviously preparing to wait in greater comfort, or perhaps not wanting to be in the company of the canisters for any longer than was necessary. Or both.
“Is that him?” Beka whispered. She felt a brief burst of relief; that guy looked nothing like Kesh. He was too old, for one thing, and too pudgy to ever be mistaken for Kesh’s whipcord slimness. Maybe Chewie had been wrong after all.
Gregori shook his head, one finger to his lips to remind them to be quiet. His reply was barely more than a breath on the quiet night air. “Not him. Must be he is meeting our guy.”
As if on cue, a low sound cut through the silence. Little more than a mechanical purr, it heralded the arrival of a glossy black motorboat, low-slung and fancy, like the ones used by smugglers and pirates on bad TV shows. Maybe it was that kind of association that made Beka imagine an ominous, dangerous look to the boat and its occupant. But maybe not. A shiver ran down her spine, for all that the night was warm and pleasant.
Next to her, she could feel Alexei growl happily, always more comfortable with action than with waiting, but Gregori put a restraining hand on his gigantic bicep.
“Wait until he is out of the boat. We don’t want him to spot us and run away.”
Beka nodded. They had a boat of their own, procured by the Riders, tied up nearby. But it would be better if they didn’t have to chase him. On the other hand, they’d already discussed the possibility of following their quarry, if it looked as though he wasn’t the man they sought, so she’d prepared the boat with a “silence and invisibility” spell, just in case.
She held her breath, but the man just sat there, unmoving. His boat rocked gently, its polished ebony rubbing against the faded wood of the dock, making tiny creaking noises in the almost silent night. The nearly full moon didn’t cast enough light for them to be able to make out his face, since the boat itself sat in the shadow of the old, falling-down warehouse.
Get out of the damned boat, Beka thought to the figure below. Get out and let us see you.
* * *
CHARLIE KELLY SHIFTED restlessly from one foot to the other as he waited for the diver to disembark from his black speedboat. But the guy just sat there, his craft butted up against the dock, his dark eyes seeming to reflect the night’s eerie stillness.
What the hell was this? Was this ass playing games with him? Charlie had gotten a message, tucked under his windshield wiper in the supposedly well-guarded parking lot of the power plant, telling him to come tonight to meet his contact. Not asking him, mind, but telling.
Meet me at the usual spot. Midnight. Alone. For our mutual best interests.