I smiled, took the glass and headed toward the end of the cloth-covered table. Vayl followed closely, too closely. I stopped short and he nearly mowed me over. Turning to face him, I laughed lightly, but under my breath I said, "Are you sniffing me?"
His expression could've been chipped from granite for all it gave away, but his eyes had gone a stormy grayish-blue. "Who kissed you?" he hissed. "And who else hugged you?"
"What makes you think I've been making out with two different men?" I turned to get a plate, fork and napkin, then walked to the opposite end of the buffet, forcing Vayl to dodge several couples and a white-coated caterer to keep up with me.
"Two distinct scents cover your own," Vayl whispered when I finally stopped long enough to spoon some mini-sausages onto my plate. "And what is left of your lipstick is smudged."
I made my smile icy as January rain as I wiped my lips clean with my napkin. "It's a long story," I said, "and we have a job to do." I spooned more goodies onto my plate while Vayl waited for a couple of B-movie stars to clear out. He added more stuff to my plate as he continued our murmured conversation.
"Oh yes, we are working tonight, aren't we?" Vayl and sarcasm went too well together. The mix made me want to punch something. I settled for stabbing a bowl of caviar repeatedly with a serving spoon. Vayl watched me beat the fish eggs into submission as he continued, "The security system will be easily compromised. The guards, well, we will have to watch them more, get a sense of their movements even though the party will take them somewhat out of their normal routine. That is, unless you would rather pop out an uzi and mow them all down right here."
I glared at him. But I was more mad at myself. I did seem to be developing a tendency to jump first and hope for a parachute later.
"Talk," he demanded.
I retreated to a corner beside a tall, potted fichus and stuffed sautéed mushrooms down my throat while I tried to figure out how to make what I'd just done sound remotely logical. I shook my head. Once I'd been a sensible person. Now, well, there's just no explaining me. At least not without using words like "insane," "stupid," or "Night-time Nyquil."
Vayl came in close, towering over me like a grade school principal. I looked up at him and swallowed a grape in one guilty gulp. "Can we have this conversation never?"
"What. Happened."
So I told him—everything—start to finish. And damned if it didn't come out sounding like an episode of Nancy Drew.
"So, do you make a habit of kissing strange men in bathrooms?" Vayl's eyes had darkened to jade with swirling gold flecks that made me slightly dizzy. When I didn't immediately reply he added, "Because it certainly was not mentioned in your file."
What is it about the people who know you best? You never reveal to them the secret location of your make-me-crazy buttons and yet, like toddlers at preschool, they root them out and push them again and again and again. Mine are directly connected to hand grenades. So as soon as Vayl finished speaking I heard the tell-tale clatter of a pin rattling on the floor. My file? I wish it was in my hands right now. I'd smack you over the head with it so hard your bell would still be ringing for church next Saturday night!
Then I'd clonk myself, hard, on the frontal lobe. Maybe that would cure me, and I would never again have to be embarrassed by what we in the C.I.A. like to call my PDD (Previous Dumbass Decisions). However I was not done digging my grave.
"I don't make a habit of kissing anybody thanks to you!" Realizing Freud would have a field day with that statement, I rushed on. "It was a spontaneous action, something I'm sure you have no experience with, and though as my boss I can see how you might be upset that I helped him considering what we're here for, you might also congratulate me for defusing a situation that might've interfered with our plan."
"Do you think these two men will remember you?"
"I sure as hell hope so!"
"So when the police investigate Assan's passing tomorrow morning, and they question everyone whose invitation lies in that lacy little basket and cannot find Lucille Robinson, these men will be able to describe you quite easily?"
My stomach clenched and all the food I'd just wolfed down spontaneously combusted. "Hey, when you're done lecturing me, could you speak to my ulcers? They seem to be misbehaving as well."
Vayl took my plate in one hand and my arm in the other, marched us both to the garbage can where he chose to dump the plate (though I'm sure he considered leaving me there instead). Then he escorted me out of the parlor, into the dining room and out an ornate metal-framed screen door to the pool area.
"Uh, Vayl, I know you haven't lived in America long by your count, so I'd just like to point out that bosses don't generally drown their subordinates when they've screwed up royally."
He grabbed my right hand and brushed his thumb across my empty ring finger. The corners of his mouth dropped, what in anyone else would be described as a grimace. "You have jeopardized our mission and my high opinion of you." he frowned harder, "What possessed you?"
More like who, I thought. Lucille Robinson. A girl who looks just like me, but who has never, not once, blacked out or spent entire afternoons trying to get the song B-I-N-G-O out of her head. In those moments with Cole, she'd felt… real. And that was wrong in about fifty different ways.
"I'm sorry, Vayl." I hung my head. I'd been so careful, but he was finally figuring what a spaz I truly was. I should've known my run with the Agency couldn't last. But the hope of sticking the broken pieces of my career back together had been the only thing that kept me from jumping in front of a train after my, uh, incident. Guess I should've used brand-name glue.
Vayl pulled me into the shadows between the house and a wrought iron dining set. For a minute I thought he'd snapped and I was going to find out first-hand how much it really hurt to be vampire-bitten. "I can smell your desperation too," he whispered. "It is like burnt metal on my tongue. But above all I sense determination. Courage. The instincts of a predator and the skill of a master. It is a confusing combination, Jasmine. Can I trust it?"
What? It doesn't take me long to move from any strong emotion to pissed off. Mom used to blame it on the red hair. I guess a shrink would have a different theory. But suddenly I felt like wadding up the last six months of watching his back and shoving it down his throat.
"I wouldn't be here otherwise," I hissed. "Pete made it clear, and I agreed. My life for yours. If that's how it goes down, that's how I go. No questions asked. I know your value." Just as well as I know my own.
I glared at Vayl, mostly to give the tears that threatened a big, fat nuh-uh. He responded with his most inscrutable look. I thought of Cole's sparkling eyes and love-me smile and wondered how many times a man would have to smother his own feelings to get to the expression on Vayl's face. "I am not talking about my life," he said.
Okay, now my brain was going to melt. What the hell else could he possibly trust me with?
We heard a bell ring and noticed people begin moving into the dining room. Though I felt like I'd been shoved off a train in Siberia during a blizzard, Vayl's short nod signified he'd made up his mind. "Will you join me?" I knew he wasn't just talking about supper.
I wanted to say No, let's do this another day, when I'm not shaking like a strung-out crackhead. Instead I nodded, tucked my hand into the crook of his bent elbow and allowed him to escort me inside. Lucille's smiling face met those of the guests who'd begun to gather in the dining room, and not one of them guessed that behind the facade lurked a hired killer who sometimes thought it would be a great relief to finally die herself.