Ava Gray - Skin Game

“I don’t want you doing that,” Reyes said immediately.

She curled her lip. “I don’t give a shit. Use your head. If we go in like this, I’m the weakest link. I can defend myself in most situations, but this place will be crawling with Serrano’s goons. I expect a bloodbath in getting to him, don’t you?”

“And we’ll have to cut a path through them,” he agreed. “All right, then. I have a stop to make before we go in. What do you suggest?”

“We’ll take care of your business first.”

It made sense to get everything done before she found a target, so the least amount of time elapsed before they reached the address Foster had given them. First they went back to the apartment, taking a bus because cabs were easier to follow. They couldn’t afford to get hung up by thugs who might not have the latest game plan. Though it took a little longer, and their mission was time-critical, Kyra knew she had to make this count. They wouldn’t get another chance to save Mia.

At the loft, Kyra changed into a pair of tight black workout pants. They’d offer the best range of motion for fighting, even if they didn’t offer anything in the way of protection. But she was fresh out of flexible body armor, so this would have to do. A black T-shirt and sneakers completed the outfit. Boots would do more damage, but she wouldn’t be able to move as quickly.

With what she was planning, speed and reflex would come into play. While waiting for him—Reyes had gone to rummage around upstairs—she checked the phone book and then wrote down another address. They were almost ready. A few minutes later, he came back down apparently empty-handed.

“Got what you need?” she asked him.

He patted his jacket pocket. “Yeah, I’m good.”

They took the Marquis. From this point, there was no reason for subtlety. Serrano knew they were coming, and he wanted them to. Reyes gave her directions. The night was dark except for the neon everywhere. It gave everything a surreal painted air, as if they’d stepped into a modern art painting.

As it turned out, he needed to stop at a storage locker. It was a small place downtown set between a daily parking lot and a building that looked as though it ought to be condemned. Reyes had a key to the gate that led around back to a warehouse, and then he used a second key to unlock the padlock on a back unit. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but she found a bay full of junk: cardboard boxes, crates of dusty books, and even a dress-maker’s mannequin. It looked like he’d cleaned out somebody’s attic.

“What is all this stuff?” she asked.

“Camouflage.”

He ignored the rest and went directly to a brass-bound trunk across which he’d tossed a colorful knit afghan. Inside the trunk lay a bunch of pulp paperbacks from the thirties and forties. Reyes got out a penknife and slid it down the side, popping out a false bottom. From inside, he lifted out a black duffel bag, then he replaced the wood back in place and rearranged the books before closing the trunk and covering it again.

“Your weapons cache,” she guessed.

His smile came and went like a shadow. “I keep one in every town where I work. You never know when you’ll find yourself needing firepower.”

“We will. I can shoot,” she added. “But if we’re fighting inside, it may be dangerous to rely on weapons.”

She took his silence for agreement. They went back to the Marquis, which they’d left in the alley outside the storage facility. The night air was cool for Vegas, a desert-scented wind sweeping the city. In the light from the dashboard, she read the address she’d scrawled. Mentally, she mapped it, and then started the car.

“Where are we going?”

Kyra didn’t answer. She didn’t want him here, didn’t want his help. But she wasn’t stupid enough to try this alone. Little as she liked it, she needed his expertise, so this would be the last thing they ever did together, and then she’d start forgetting he’d ever existed. She just wished it didn’t hurt so fucking much.

They pulled up outside a martial arts studio. Kyra had checked the hours in the phone book ad, and they slid in just before the place closed. It was one of the few open this late. The last class had already gone, and the sensei was getting ready to lock up. Master Li was a small Japanese man in his late fifties, his salt-and-pepper hair worn clubbed back in a plain elastic band. According to the credentials on the wall, he was also an eighth-degree black belt.

“Can I help you?”

Kyra offered a sweet smile. “My husband was wondering if you had any positions open for instructors. He’s studied Jendo, capoeira, and tarung derajat. Tell him, honey.”

Seeming not to mind, Reyes recounted how he’d studied in Brazil, the Philippines, and Indonesia. Then he executed a few katas, showing his stuff. Despite everything, Kyra still felt a traitorous pleasure in watching him move. He possessed all the dangerous beauty of a honed knife.

Master Li asked Reyes a few questions and then said, regretful, “I don’t have any openings at the moment, but your skills are most impressive. I wish I could help you.”

She offered her hand. “Thanks anyway.”

The sensei shook it, sending a spike of pain straight through her temples. Kyra swayed and Reyes supported her. “We need to get you something to eat. She has low blood sugar,” he added, presumably for Master Li’s benefit.

By the time he got her out to the car, she felt a little better. Apex’s skill and the combat expertise she’d lifted didn’t utilize the same part of the brain, so this would be tolerable. The aftermath would be brutal, given that she’d be making contact with a lot of people in the melee, but Kyra would worry about that after they saved Mia.

“Give me the keys.”

For half a second, she considered arguing, but in truth, she needed the time to let things settle in her head. That would be easier with her eyes closed, doing relaxation and breathing exercises. So she tossed them to him, and he caught them in a jingle of metal.

Kyra slid into the car and leaned her throbbing head against the window. She breathed deeply, holding it for two beats, and then pushing the air out through her nose. After five minutes or so, the pain had dulled enough to be manageable. She wouldn’t win any spelling bees, but she could fight, and that was all that mattered.

“Better?”

“I’m fine,” she growled. “Just get us there.”

Before I crash.

When they pulled into the neighborhood, it wasn’t what she expected. No lavish mansions, no gated communities. This was an average middle-class subdivision, each house more or less like its neighbor. She supposed he’d holed up at some unoccupied rental property; it wouldn’t do for Serrano’s own home to be spattered with blood. There were limits to what a cleanup crew could do.

“I’m parking here,” he said quietly. “They know we’re coming but there’s no sense in making it easy for them. We’ll go the rest of the way on foot.”

Kyra nodded mutely. From Master Li, she had taken an unexpected lightness of movement. Her bones felt liquid, as if she could flow from place to place like the wind itself. She followed behind Reyes as he set off down the street.

At their turn, he stilled, and then pointed to the dark Ford Expedition parked near the curb. It was only one of two vehicles on the street. Everyone else had garaged their cars for the night. He tugged her arm and they slid sideways, which gave her a better vantage. She saw two men in silhouette from a driver passing in the other direction.

Lookouts.

Reyes motioned for her to get down, and she complied. By his gestures, he intended to take the driver, and he wanted her to get the guy on the passenger side. Kyra didn’t need to be told this needed to be a permanent solution. The windows were rolled up, so that would make it tough hand to hand.