She wrenched her thoughts back on track. How would the Guard watch her when this was going to be out in the open on the roof? If Inkline had some auxiliary plan and security turned up, the wrong people might die.
The last flight of stairs took her out through a door with a newly disabled lock. Confirmation that they’d infiltrated the palace. Someone was out here. Francine followed her through. She stepped out under the stars, felt the cool breeze, smelled the tang of the sea off to the southwest. Her bustle ruffled and fluttered in the force of the wind.
Assassin’s garb, this was not. She hungered for a black slink-cloth coat and tights, with a side order of gauss pistol and knife.
The palace wasn’t made to be overlooked and the only structures, on the same level or above, were watchtowers a quarter mile away.
Hopeless. Where was security? They’d not given her the plan apart from engage him in conversation and keep him here.
Slowly her eyes adjusted to the low light.
Off to the right she saw the glint of moonlight on a swimming pool. In front of her, rendered in gray and black courtesy of the night, was a lounging area flanked by potted palms and sculpted plants in tubs. Ivy on lattice walled two sides of the garden. Inkline sat forward on a white sunning chair. The others, she detected and marked their position.
She went to him, stood there at parade rest. It was automatic even now. And, she wanted him to think her harmless.
“Good evening, Claire,” he said crisply. “How have you been?”
An inane question. She licked her lips. Nerves. Damn, she couldn’t afford nerves. She needed precision, unmistakable purpose. Instead she got nerves.
His bald pate glimmered with moonlight. Black shirt and leggings—he got to dress properly for the occasion—and a belt weighed down by a pistol on one hip, and sheathed bayonet on the other.
He unfolded, standing over her. Slick and malevolent, he drew the bayonet and crowded her eye with the tip. She strived not to lean away, succeeded.
“I’m well actually. I could take that off you in a millisecond.”
“Of course, but…I have four of my best watching us.”
She didn’t look. Let them think they were concealed. Francine would be the fourth. God knew where she’d found to hide.
“You are the fifth, darling.”
“Fifth?” The knife tip wavered at her lower eyelid.
“Yes, fifth best. And my, how well you’ve done since we parted ways. Found yourself a Theo and hung on to him. Waiting, were we? For instructions?”
“Mm-hm.” Fifth best? With sharp time she could run rings around the others. Not the strongest or smartest, but she was fast, and tonight, she prayed that was all she needed.
“What a pity he’s the wrong Theo.” He laughed. “Of course, I’m not stupid. You’ve been rutting your little brains out, haven’t you?”
Oh, hell. She swallowed. The knife tip slid down, pressed on her cheekbone.
“Haven’t you?” The knife went down her face and then throat, never quite cutting, then across to her left nipple. “Haven’t you?” He dug it in a little, and she felt a spike of pain and the wetness of blood on her breast.
“Yes,” she whispered.
“And here I was holding myself back because I thought I’d hinder your performance. Why did I bother? Tut-tut.” Even in moonlight she saw the narrowing of his eyes. “Well. It’s good though. After this I’ll know where to come for my relief. Won’t I?” He grabbed her breast, squeezed hard.
She winced. The churning mess in her stomach threatened to spew from her mouth. “So,” he said cheerily, with eyes as dead as stones. He stepped away, sheathed the bayonet. “Now we’ve settled that, I need you to kill the president. Don’t fail… Fail, and your lover dies. Understand?”
Oh God. My worst fear. She wanted to shut her eyes and scream. A droplet of sweat ran between her shoulder blades. Inkline doesn’t trust me at all. No one does.
She couldn’t walk away and let the palace security deal with this, wherever the hell they were hiding. Inkline alive meant Theo would die. He’d not renege on his promise.
“I understand.”
Inkline liked to pull all the strings. No second in command. The PME had stopped the assassination order. He was out on his own with no support. If she eliminated him, it would be over. Theo would live. The president would live.
“I’d like a kiss before we get down to business,” Inkline said.
She snapped her gaze back on him. The grin on his face made her ill. His lips were parted. His skin glistened.
Ugh. Her stomach flip-flopped at the thought of him pressing his mouth on hers. She backed away, circled. It didn’t matter if she lived or died, only that Inkline died. The others were fast, if not as fast as her. If she stabbed Inkline, they might still get her, and a knife might not kill. She needed something surer, something that couldn’t fail.
He turned on his heel, following her. “Where are you going? Stop…right…there.”