Wilderness of Mirrors Read Free Page B

Lanzarote.” Brad’s hands prodded the damage, and Nigel cranked open an eye. There was a reluctant ripping sound.
    “I paid a lot for those. They’re custom made rip stop UVA.”
    There was more tearing, and the side pocket was a memory. Then came sloshing from Brad’s canteen, aided by the helicopter’s upward sweep. Oddly, Nigel couldn’t feel the silver stream against his skin.
    “And fuck pretty doctors,” Brad swore, his latex-encased hands hard at it.
    “I was planning to.” Too late, Nigel flinched in regret at the raw memory of flailing white hands and lovely wide-set Russian eyes.
Not now, maya krasaveetsa. Not ever again
. He tried to banish the bitter wash of anguish from his features. Brad didn’t know what had happened on his most recent Moscow op. Didn’t know Nigel had been forced by Ivan and Jaak to kill his girlfriend, Irina.
    Brad ripped apart a plastic package. “They’d turn you down. You look like shit. Here.”
    Nigel dumped the pills into his desiccated mouth. He managed not to choke, then felt depressed for a moment until he remembered dead men couldn’t seek revenge. “Just don’t expect me to sleep with you.”
    “I’m not that desperate.” Brad’s retort blended with the rotor’s groan, and mercifully Nigel stopped noticing anything at all.

Chapter Two
City of Westminster, London
February 12 th , 2011
     
    I f Samantha had flown about Westminster on a black and cold night hunting for the perfect window through which to fly, she would have swooped right over the short columned balcony straight into the Regency’s sunny core.
    Which was to say, she had chosen the location of
Bond and Teller Interiors
design firm in the manner of a tired moth.
    And though her partner, Jane Teller, had not been selected in the same manner, she was certainly as iconic in style and warm in manner as the white brick manse.
    So it was unfortunate then, that like a teetotaler who may only admire champagne’s bubbly grandeur from a safe distance, Sam couldn’t truly enjoy either. She had to treat both people and possessions – Tam excluded - with the chary eye of a Roman tactician; because, unlike the moth, she would not be lulled by wool’s soft warmth only to be broken between angry fingers.
    Instead, when the time finally came, she planned on pulling those fingers with her straight into the flame.
    What a fucking disaster.
Sam stared at the massive boxes - muted gray with sleek black pinstripes - lying like toppled cities across her workroom’s battered oak floors. It had seemed a good idea at the time, customized packaging for catered affairs. Now it appeared excessive and more than slightly menacing.
    “Have you seen a roll of labels?”
I just had the damn things in my hand.
    Jane emerged from a crevasse of silk shaking her head.
    Reexamining the elegant, high-ceilinged interior, Sam fought disproportionate anger. They’d spent the better part of the day whirring about their chic universe like deranged planets and still seemed galaxies from finishing. “I should’ve hired someone to pack and load the drapes and centerpieces.”
I can’t believe I forgot. I never forget.
    Jane gave a tight nod and said, “Irishmen.”
    “Irishmen?”
    “Big burly ones. They could stuff the boxes, then us.” She broke from folding heaps of hand-dyed silk to illustrate the finer points of her lithe black-clad figure. “We could spin like roulette wheels until one of them fit just right.” She made a hatchet motion with her hand. “Or well enough a few whacks in the right places would set ’em straight. And ringa ding dong go the bells of St. Paul’s.”
    It had been a long time since Sam imagined relying on anyone, let alone a man.
Ever After
belonged on Netflix, where Dougray Scott would forever sulk in tights. She said as much.
    “You’re wrong.” Jane flipped the last of the custom draperies into a cavernous box. “I refuse to believe men can’t be molded into perfect mates.”
    Slipping