The Missing Trick List excerpt

Chapter 1

Justine LaSalle scowled at the swarthy man in the gray suit across the desk from her. “Say that again?”

The man shifted in his seat. Justine was pleased to see him uncomfortable. She enjoyed making men uncomfortable. The money was just icing on the cake for her. The man inhaled to speak, but she held up a finger. “I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“Misha Surenko,” he grumbled. “Misha is boy’s name. Like Sasha is boy’s name. I do not understand why people in your country insist on giving girls the names for boys.”

Justine nodded. “Mr. Surenko. You’re telling me that Petrov is offering me protection? Me?” In the far corner, Jason, her bodyguard, stood as unobtrusively as his six-foot-two-inch athlete’s body would allow and sipped an orange juice. He shot her a quick glance, but she reached to the strand of pearls around her neck and fingered them. It was a pre-arranged signal Jason would recognize as “Your ass-kicking services are not required at this time, but stay sharp, and don’t drink all the OJ.”

Misha flicked a glance over his shoulder, and apparently satisfied that Jason wasn’t bearing down on him, nodded his head once. “Yes.”

She leaned forward in her Aaron chair, letting her elbows rest on the mahogany desk and a little more of her cleavage peak out through the folds of her silk kimono. “Or what, exactly?” She decided to find out how far this moron, as that was what he surely must be, would press this charade. He reached out and grabbed her hand in his. The rough skin of his palms spoke volumes to her—of a hard youth and a harder adulthood—and he squeezed. Justine jerked in surprise.

Across the room, Jason’s glass found the counter. Misha leaned close enough that she could make out the cheap aftershave and said, “If boy moves, I will break.”

To emphasize the point he closed his hand tighter on hers. The pressure across her knuckles climbed and became a searing pain. She allowed herself a quick intake of breath. He was a man who knew how to cause pain.

He went on in a low growl, “Riding crop not much good with broken hand, eh?”

The only response she gave him was an icy stare, but perspiration broke out on her forehead. She held her free hand toward Jason. He stayed where he was, but he slowly rolled his shoulders to prepare himself. She let a smile creep onto her lips. “I think we can come to some mutually satisfactory agreement.”

He increased the pressure on her hand again. Her eye twitched.

“You pay protection. You keep working. Is satisfactory agreement, no?”

She let her smile widen. “Is satisfactory agreement, yes.”

Misha released her hand. “Good. We understand each other.” He leaned back and grinned at her. His teeth were stained from years of tobacco and the left front had a small chip in one corner.

She withdrew her hand, rubbed it with the other, and returned his grin. “I think we do.” She shook out her hand and stood. “Do you mind if I get some ice for this?”

He gestured her to go ahead while he sat back in his chair and crossed a leg over his knee.

Justine sauntered around the desk, scooping up a tiny, cut glass perfume atomizer from its spot on her desktop. She held it up, letting the afternoon light catch the facets, throwing rainbows around the room as she slowly turned the bottle and slid her hip onto the edge of her desk, letting the silk fall away from her leg. “Do you have a lady, Misha?”

“Are you applying for job?”

She chuckled once, low in her throat. “No, thank you. I was wondering, though. This is my favorite. Very exclusive. Very expensive. I could send your special lady a token to seal our deal. It’s a very light scent. Hold your hand out, please. I’d like you to smell it. It’s… sweet, but very delicate.”

He relaxed and held a hand out and shrugged. “I do not have lady friend, but you never know.”

She leaned in, exposing more of her cleavage, watching as his eyes tracked the edges of the silk to where they crossed, seeing them go hungry as his gaze slid from her neck, over her décolletage, toward the soft warmth under her kimono. She leaned a little further, turned the carefully altered nozzle toward his widening eyes, and pressed the bulb, sending a spray of diethyl ether onto Misha’s face and stepped back, out of reach, and squeezed the bulb four more times.

His eyes flared fierce. The lunge was cut short by a coughing fit before his brown eyes went dull, his face went slack, and he dropped to the floor in a semiconscious stupor.

She straightened and returned the bottle to its place on the desk.

Jason pulled the other man’s hands behind his back and slipped a zip-tie over his wrists before going through his pockets. He handed her Misha’s iLink earbud and wrist unit and put what Justine recognized as a four-inch Benchmade folding knife on the desk, next to his wallet. Jason finished by placing a compact semi-automatic .380 next to the wallet. She nodded in appreciation as Jason used his handkerchief to remove his fingerprints from where he’d touched the gun and knife.

Justine wiped the earbud on Misha’s suit coat and pushed it into her ear. She stroked the screen of his Personal Communication and Organization Device and scrolled to Petrov’s contact link. “Jason. Mr. Surenko will want a glass of water in a few minutes.” Pulling the kimono closed around her legs, she slid a hip onto the desk as the device connected as Jason left the room.

A soft male voice answered. “What do you want? I thought I told you not to call—”

“Andrew.” She said it with the same annoyed voice she would have used on a misbehaving child. Silence answered her. “This is Justine LaSalle. Did you send one of your relatives over here to strong-arm me as a joke or a training exercise?”

“Justine.” The voice in her ear carried enough honey to give her a toothache. His three-dimensional, holographic image appeared above the PCOD’s screen. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Hold on a second.” She turned the wrist unit’s camera toward the unconscious thug and snapped a picture. A couple of finger movements had the photo on its way. “Does the bad haircut or the cheap suit look familiar? If not, I’ll see to it he’s—”

“He’s mine.” Petrov sighed. “He’s new. I see he is no longer bothering you.”

She smiled into the camera. “He was trying to sell me an insurance policy.” She winked at Petrov. “He was very persistent. With a little training, he might be a good salesman.” She let her gaze go cold. “You may want to discuss high-pressure selling to the already over-insured.”

A soft chuckle made its way through the earbud. “I see his efforts were not fruitful.”

“Andrew. Please speak to your apprentice. Would you really like it to get out that you initiated unpleasantness with the therapist who treats your sister?”

He cleared his throat. “No. I would not like that to become public knowledge. You know this. We have enjoyed an arrangement that has been satisfactory to everyone involved. I had no knowledge he was visiting you. Please believe me.”

She allowed the smile to touch the edges of her mouth again. “That’s what I thought. Your sister will continue to be safe and… satisfied, and we will coexist nicely.” She turned the camera onto the unconscious thug gracing her beige carpet. He stirred. A weak cough escaped him.

“Justine. If you will see to it he is returned, he won’t bother you again.”

“Oh, Andrew.” She let the hint of a smile flow into a full grin. “I knew we could come to a mutually fulfilling understanding. Wonderful. And Monica can, of course, continue to come over and play anytime she wishes.” Justine allowed herself a wicked smile at the thought. “We’re always happy to have her.”

Misha stirred on the carpet. He let out a hoarse cough, followed by a slurred, “I will kill you.”

Justine raised an eyebrow at the holographic projection of Petrov. “Andrew, would you…?”

Petrov rolled his eyes in response. “Please hold the phone to his ear.”

Justine straddled the thug as he regained consciousness and bent to push the iLink earbud into his ear. Petrov’s voice grumbled as she stepped away, not wanting to intrude on his privacy.

He shifted, said, “Da… But… Da.” After a long moment, he said, “Da, I understand.”

Even from her vantage point on the far side of the room, Misha sagged under the weight of his boss’ rebuke.

“I am instructed to make apology and to show you respect,” he said. “I apologize for my bad manners, Ms. LaSalle. I will be perfect gentleman if you would please remove restraint.”

She strode to the desk and pulled a pair of Fiskars from the top drawer. Straddling him again, she bent forward and slid the lower brushed steel jaw under the plastic tie. She gripped the scissors and pulled his wrists up until he grunted. “I hold no ill will toward you, Misha. Do you understand?”

“Da, yes,” he grunted, face pressed against the carpet.

“You should know, if you misbehave in my home again, I will make you long for a Turkish prison. If you
retaliate in any way against me or my business, I will discuss the matter with Andrew. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” She snipped the zip tie. “You should always know when you’ve been beaten.” She stepped around the desk and touched the inlaid screen. “Jason? Will you please show Mr. Surenko to the door?”

Jason’s voice came from the hidden speakers. “Yes, Justine.”

Misha pulled himself to his feet and pressed his fingers to his temples. “What did you spray me with?”

“Something that will give you a hell of a headache.” She reached into the bottom drawer and held out a bottle of aspirin. “Here. Take four or five of these. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

He took the offered bottle, pain etching his face into a caricature of itself. His mumbled, “thank you” was barely audible. He spilled some tablets into his hand as Jason sauntered into the room holding a glass of water. Misha threw the aspirin into his mouth and washed them down with the water. He nodded at Justine and followed Jason out.

She returned to her chair and pulled up the spreadsheet she was reviewing of her investments when she had been interrupted. “Now,” she whispered to herself. “Where was I?”

****

“Governor Anderson. Please come in,” Justine said as she stepped into the parlor off the front entry.

Anderson fidgeted. “It’s still Councilman Anderson,” he said. There was an edge to his voice this afternoon.

Good, she thought. Stress and discomfort were her trade tools. She mentally cracked her knuckles, preparing for his visit. “Only until the election, Councilman,” she purred. Justine mentally toyed with which costume she would wear. Basic black was always a hit, so to speak, but perhaps today called for something a little extra. She was still excited from dealing with Misha. Perhaps her red corset. It would match his… She frowned.

“Councilman. You’re not wearing the tie the I bought you. That’s very naughty.”

He stepped in her direction. “I know. I couldn’t chance being recognized. I—”

She stopped him with a hand to his chest. The feeling of power was intoxicating. He stood a full head taller than her five-foot-four-inches, and his stated weight of one hundred ninety pounds was sixty more than hers. A wicked smile curved the ends of her lips as she peered up at him from under her brow. She dropped her voice to a low, breathy whisper and said, “You have been very naughty, Richard. You will go upstairs to the courtroom, take your clothes off to your underwear, and kneel on the floor, facing away from the door.”

He swallowed, the look on his face contrite. “Yes, Mistress Justine.”

“And Richard? Today, I think you should choose your own switch while I change into something less comfortable. Place it on the floor behind you.”

“Yes, Mistress Justine.” His eyes closed and he trembled under her palm like an expectant puppy. She almost came from his reaction. This was going to be fun. The corset, yes, and the matching antique, real, red leather thigh-high boots. And, she thought, with a shiver of her own, her red masquerade mask.

She stepped aside, letting him make his way across the marble foyer to the steps. When he reached them, and before putting a hand on the polished wooden rail, he accidentally bumped the replica Asian vase that she’d specifically placed on the bottom step. As always, he sent it crashing onto the stone floor.

“Richard,” she said in the harsher tone she used for this part of their ritual. A quick smile flickered across his face. Oh, yes, she thought, with a delicious shiver as he climbed the stairs. This was going to be very fun.

As she started toward the stairs, a tinkling sound came from the library on the far side of the foyer. She exhaled past pursed lips. “Kennedy? Kennedy. Is that you?”

Kennedy McCall, stepped around out of the library, the bracelets on her wrists making the sound Justine had heard. “I can explain,” she started. The younger woman’s spiky hair was auburn today, and she had traded out the usual row of gold studs following the curve of her left ear in favor of silver versions, linked by a tiny chain. She wore an oversized Gators jersey and Justine had to look twice to make out the bottom edges of skin-tight, tan shorts peeking from underneath. God, she thought, but the girl had long legs.
Justine shook the thought off and stopped Kennedy with a roll of her eyes. “I thought we had an understanding about eavesdropping.”

Kennedy shifted from one foot to the other. “We did, but—”

“But nothing.” Justine laid her hands on Kennedy’s shoulders. “Our agreement was that you would work as my housekeeper and I would teach you the trade.” She turned Kennedy toward the dining room and gave her a gentle shove. “But dropping eaves is never a good habit.”

Kennedy blinked at Justine, her eyes two ice-blue crystals. “But in our profession…”

“Especially in our profession. Snooping is a good way to find out things that could get you hurt. Get dressed. Wear the secretary’s outfit. I have someone you can help with.”

A smile worked its way onto Kennedy’s full lips. “Yeah?”

Justine sighed. “Yeah.” Justine touched Kennedy’s waist with her fingertips and pulled her in for a deep kiss. “After that, I’d like us to spend some time alone.”

“Awesome.” Kennedy bounced up the stairs and headed toward the room Justine had indicated.

Justine inhaled and shook her head.

***

Justine lay in the sunken tub in her oversized bathroom and sipped Pinot grigio with her eyes closed.

In the dimly lighted master bedroom, Kennedy lay face down on the bed, nearly asleep in a satisfied haze. The bed pillows covered her head and she all but disappeared in the twisted covers.

Movement in the bedroom doorway caught Kennedy’s attention. Margot’s voice called out, “Justine?”

“In here,” Justine replied.

Justine’s quietly efficient administrative assistant and bookkeeper carried her briefcase past the bed and into the bathroom. If she noticed Kennedy, she made no acknowledgment. “If this is a bad time…” Margot started.

“No, now is fine. What is it?” Justine asked from the tub.

Kennedy opened a lazy eye to the sound of Margot’s heels on the bathroom tiles.

“There’s something I needed to show you,” Margot said.

Kennedy’s ears perked up. She couldn’t help it. The best things about people were always the things they tried to hide. She stilled her breathing, willing herself to be tiny under the sheets and invisible as she listened. She could see Margot from under the pillow, standing over Justine as she lay in the tub.

“It’s about the accounts receivable,” Margot said. “Is your—is Kennedy around?”

“We’re alone. What’s so important?”

Whatever this juicy bit of information was, it was bound to be good. Justine obviously thought Kennedy was asleep, otherwise, she would’ve shooed her off to the nether regions of the house to be out of the way—and out of earshot.

Margot put her briefcase on the floor next to Justine and out of Kennedy’s line of sight. It was probably some paper or something that needed to be signed.

“This.” Margot opened the case. As Kennedy watched in shock, Margot pulled out Justine’s cut glass atomizer that always sat on her desk and sprayed Justine in the face. Justine started out of the tub, but Margot sprayed her two more times. The fight seemed to drain out of Justine while Kennedy lay paralyzed, not believing her own eyes, afraid to breathe.

Justine slumped. Margot kicked off her shoes and stepped into the tub with Justine. Kennedy bit her lower lip to keep from making a noise as Margot pushed Justine’s head under. Justine’s arms broke the surface, flailing ineffectively against the assault.

“Jason,” Margot shouted. A second or two later, Justine’s bodyguard rushed in. He was barefoot and wore shorts. He grabbed Justine’s wrists as Margot leaned into the water up to her elbows.

Kennedy noiselessly slid off the far edge of the bed. Once on the floor, she rolled under the bed and continued to watch in wide-eyed terror as Justine’s resistance disappeared and her arms went slack.

After a few minutes that seemed like hours to Kennedy, Margot stood and regarded her handiwork. “I brought something dry to change into.”

“I put your bag in one of the spare bathrooms.” Jason lent her a hand out of the tub. Margot stripped off her summer-weight knit dress, wrung it out in the water, and rolled it up, handing it to Jason. She grabbed a towel and dried her legs. She tossed the towel into the laundry basket. They turned and strode through the bedroom to the door to the hall. “Don’t forget her PCOD,” he said as they walked. The only thing visible to Kennedy where she cowered under the bed were their legs and feet as they passed.
Margot spun on her heel and ran back to the bathroom counter. “Where is it?” she said with a snarl.
Kennedy could hear Jason moving beyond the foot of the bed, where she knew Justine’s dresser lay at an angle to the room’s corner.

Kennedy stiffened. If they started searching the bedroom, they were sure to find her.

“I have it,” Jason said as he led Margot to the other room.
From the hall, Margot’s voice filtered back to Kennedy. “Find the bimbo. She’s always around somewhere, listening at doors, looking in keyholes.”

Kennedy forced herself to move. If she stayed where she was, they would find her and kill her. She rolled out from under the bed and tugged her shorts and jersey on. She hesitated. The stairs were out. They were already looking for her. There was a small balcony outside the French doors. She turned the lock and stole onto the upper deck.

It was a good fifteen feet to the ground, but there was no other way. She straddled the rail, pulled her leg over, and stepped into space.