A few hours later, the soft chiming of bells rang through the air as Mirelle stepped from the small corner store, shifting her bag slightly higher on her shoulder. She was alone, although both young women had stopped by the apartment right after their meeting with Andre. The blonde Corsican had wanted to get started right away; Kirika, on the other hand, had begged off to pick up a few more art supplies at one of her favorite stores. After assuring her partner she wasn't going to see anyone, the Japanese young woman had happily taken off with her backpack full of sketchbooks. Mirelle herself had made the rounds to a few of their nearby contacts, looking for any news about Garrison and his people. None of them had heard anything yet, but now that they knew she wanted the information, it was likely one or more of them would get back to her in the next few days. Once that was done, she'd found herself near a cluster of small gift and novelty stores, so the blonde had decided to take a look around. Smiling cheerfully, the Corsican assassin started off toward home, swinging her purse a bit as she strode along. Though the stores had been small, she loved shopping in general, and she'd come across a few small treats and trinkets she happened to like. Again, that small mental voice popped up in her head. And of course, you just had to find the perfect box of chocolate for Kirika. Mirelle sighed inwardly, but she couldn't argue with herself. She had spent quite a bit of time in the last store, trying to find some of those white chocolate rounds with peanut butter filling Kirika had liked before. A small, square box of the candy was currently tucked safely in one corner of her purse, gift-wrapped with a pretty little length of red ribbon. She deserves it after last night. Maybe I'll even get home soon enough to cook something good. Maybe ravioli? Though we had pasta last time. Chicken and rice? The blonde Corsican was so wrapped in her thoughts, she almost missed the tiny crying noise that squeaked from somewhere nearby. Still, the lost little sound prodded in her mind, and she stopped dead in her tracks, looking around with a small frown. It sounded almost like a baby's whining – but what would a baby be doing here? To her right, an alley stretched along the back of two stores, dumpsters and small piles of trash lining either side of the grubby brick walls. Listening again, Mirelle's frown deepened. The noise was definitely coming from that direction, but now that she was focused on it, the cry didn't seem to be a child at all. A flash of pale, pale gold caught her eye, striking and vivid against the dented dark green of the nearest dumpster, stalking silently along the garbage-strewn ground. Mirelle stole curiously closer, her own boots making hardly any noise against the dingy concrete, intent on the movement. Her eyes widened as the creature finally slipped free of some crumpled newspaper and leapt on its target. It was a cat – well, more of a kitten, she realized after a moment. It hardly looked old enough to be out on its own. Certainly it didn't seem to be faring too well. Its apparently-beige fur was matted and covered in grime, one ear obviously torn and infected, its small body nothing more than skin and bones. Mirelle watched as the little beast lifted its paws carefully, revealing the prize beneath – a beetle of some kind, no more than a quarter-inch long, half-squashed already from the minimum weight of its executioner. A sharp pang of sympathy touched the blonde. The poor thing was eating bugs and garbage? But she could hear the soft whimpering noise clearer now, and she could tell the feline wasn't doing it. If the kitten wasn't making that sound, what was? While Mirelle looked on, the dirt-covered ball of fuzz bent its head and snapped up the partly-crushed beetle. But instead of eating it, the small creature turned and raced back around the dumpster, treasure still held carefully in its jaws. Entranced, Mirelle found herself stealing after it, still quiet as only a trained assassin could be. On the other side of the metal container, she found a ragged, torn-apart packing box, stained with water, oil and other unmentionables. Turned on its side, there seemed to be a little 'nest' inside, ratty bits of cloth and claw-shredded papers pushed together in mostly-damp clumps. And tucked in that mess? Mirelle felt her heart turn over. A second little kitten huddled weak and miserable in the largest crumpled pile, deep black fur just as dirty and trash-covered as its companion's, body even skinnier, if such a thing were possible. It was this tiny creature that was making the heartbreaking mewling cry, eyes closed and ears flat against its small head. The little beige kitten made a beeline for the box, dropping its offering just in front of its fellow sufferer's mouth and nuzzling gently at it. Now Mirelle understood. The first feline had been hunting bugs to feed the second. Protecting her partner. The thought made her throat strangely tight – she understood that driving urge better than anyone. Drawn to the sodden, pathetic little creatures, the blonde Corsican stepped forward, a soft intake of breath betraying her presence. The reaction from the beige kitten was dramatic. Whipping around, it gave a furious yowl, back arched and claws dug in, hissing and spitting. It was a display that would actually have been frightening if the little thing hadn't been so torn up. Shocked, she realized the pale gold feline had deep, vivid blue eyes – the exact same shade as her own. One hand came up gently, comforting. "Shhhhh." She soothed. "It's alright. I'm not here to hurt you, I promise." Digging in her bag, Mirelle's fingers danced over the various packages until she found the one she wanted. She wasn't sure whether or not they could eat chicken, but the pre-cooked slices for dinner salads were the only meat she had with her. The bag came open with a sharp tug, and the blonde gently held out a few pieces in the flat of her palm, crouching down to their level. "See? Here's a snack – I bet it's better for the two of you than a bug." With an angry snarl, the beige cat stood its ground, tail whipping back and forth. For a moment, Mirelle thought it was growling, too; then, with a sharp pang, she realized it was the small creature's stomach rumbling at the smell of food. The young woman rolled her hand to let a bit of the chicken fall in front of the little beast. "Okay, you don't have to take it from me. Just eat." The first kitten hesitated, ears still twisted back, and Mirelle understood. It thought she was trying to distract it with food. Then the smaller dark kitten whimpered, and the creature seemed to make up its mind. Inching forward, the beige feline snapped the meat up in its jaws, dragging its new prize swiftly back to its partner. The little creature gulped and practically inhaled the food. Mirelle smiled, dropping another piece and watching as the small beast ate that, too. She didn't know what she was going to do with the two of them. They were so beat up and hurt . . . I can't keep them – it would never work, I told Kirika that before – Wide eyes like warm amber met hers, a quiet mew sound touched her ears, and the rest of her jumbled objections vanished in a rush of awe and sweetness. The dark kitten had exactly the same color in its gaze that Kirika did. That rusty-red shade, like liquid mahogany, so soft and full of hope it tugged at her heart. Mirelle blinked, captivated. It even sounded like Kirika's question noise. "Mon petite ange." The whispered words were so soft she didn't even realize she'd said them. Mirelle's face sharpened with decision, and she nodded suddenly, swiftly. To hell with all of it. Her hand moved with the assassin's quickness, scooping up both tiny forms and cuddling them close to her chest. The pale gold kitten gave a struggling hiss of fury, slashing at her with small claws, but after a moment, the small creature calmed, as if it realized she meant them no harm. Standing, she shifted the little animals carefully to the inside of her coat. She had to get them to a vet, quickly. ----------------------------------------------------------- "Miss Bouquet?" Glancing up, Mirelle nodded, fingertips still trailing gently over the pale gold head of the larger kitten. She had to be mindful of the poor thing's ear, but it seemed to grudgingly enjoy the petting. The smaller dark feline was curled in a ball under her palm, almost asleep, its little body rising and falling in soft rhythm. Around them, the scents of hospital and animal mixed, seeming to rise from the very walls of the examination room, but Mirelle didn't much care. "I'm Dr. Lucas." The vet – a woman that looked to be in her early or mid thirties, with soft, reddish brown hair tied back in a bun, pale skin and blue-green eyes – smiled cheerfully and moved farther into the room, shutting the door with one hand while striding to the examining table. Mirelle had spread one of the nearby folded towels onto the steel surface so her little charges wouldn't be cold or uncomfortable, its bright colors especially vivid against their grimy mats of fur. Dr. Lucas gently lifted the beige kitten first, standing the feline up and running both hands over the small body. The little kitten meowed, sounding rather annoyed, but it put up with the touching after a gentle pet from Mirelle. "So you said you found these two pretty little girls out on the street?" The blonde Corsican nodded again, slightly anxious. After getting out of the alley, Mirelle had hailed a cab and headed directly to the pet store and vet at one of their favorite boutique malls; she and Kirika had stopped there often to look at the pets on offer, and she knew the people there were good at their work. The cabbie hadn't liked the idea of animals in his cab, especially unwashed street animals, but double the fare with a generous tip had convinced him to make top speed. "They had a few little pieces of cooked chicken, but I don't know when they got to eat before that." "Well, let's have a look." Lucas returned the pale gold kitten and used both hands to cradle the smaller feline, gently drawing the little creature closer. Her eyes were intent, focused on this examination, though the tiny beast didn't make a single noise of complaint. After a few minutes, the vet released the dark-furred kitten and sighed. "Just as I thought." She looked frankly up at Mirelle, voice blunt. "I don't think I've seen many worse cases. They're dehydrated, starved, covered in dirt and fleas and god knows what. The gold one has a bad infection in her ear and nose, and the little one here has what feels like a broken ribs. It looks like she might have been hit with a moped or a motorcycle." There was a pause. "I don't even know if they'll survive the night." "They're fighters." Mirelle replied softly. The little black kitten pressed her fuzzy face into the Corsican's arm, nuzzling, and Mirelle smiled softly as the small gold curled up beside her companion with a low, growling sort of purr. Side by side, warm and safe and content with each other – it seemed almost like an omen. "Whatever they need, they'll get. Money doesn't matter. I just want them well." To her surprise, Dr. Lucas smiled back, eyes knowing. "Somehow I thought you'd say that." She agreed, nodding. Pressing a button on the small intercom against the wall, she spoke briskly. "Lisa, please bring in one of the little fuzzy beds." "Yes m'am." A female voice answered briefly, and a moment later, the door opened once more. This time, it was a young woman of about the Corsican's own age, her long, straight blonde hair tied back in a businesslike ponytail and arms full of clipboard and cushion. She was rather pretty, with pale skin, delicate features and large, intelligent gray eyes. Mirelle was surprised to see those eyes widen just slightly after a curious flick in her direction, lips parting in a flare of shock, but the expression vanished so quickly the blonde assassin thought she might have imagined it. The girl – Lisa – settled a small, open-topped bed for cats at one end of the table, its plain blue fabric outside a nice contrast to the comfortable-looking sheepskin lining. "Should I set up cages?" Again, the eyes moved swiftly from the vet to Mirelle and back. "They should stay together." The words were out before Mirelle realized she was speaking, but Dr. Lucas' smile just widened. "Just one. And make sure the IVs and the worm tests are ready for me when I get back there, huh? We'll wash them up and give them some meds for tonight." "Names?" Lisa raised an eyebrow, pencil poised and waiting in her left hand. Mirelle gently scooped up the fuzzy pair, holding them close for a moment and ignoring the rank smell from their fur. The little dark kitten meowed softly, licking her hand; the pale gold feline simply kept up her purr, tail flicking back and forth. "They – don't have names yet." She hesitated, thoughtful and slightly embarrassed. Naming the kittens was the intelligent thing to do, something she should have done earlier. She should have made up names if she needed to. But it just didn't feel right. Naming them wasn't her privilege. "Kiri – someone else is going to name them, when they come home." "Your little flatmate." Dr. Lucas made it a statement, eyes dancing. When Mirelle glanced at her, she laughed. "I've seen the way she looks at the kittens, dear. I'm fairly sure she'll adore these two." Turning back to her assistant, the vet added cheerfully, "Just put them under Bouquet one and two, Lisa, we'll know what it means." The Corsican nodded, lightly setting her little charges in the soft, fuzzy warmth of the cat bed. Running her fingers over the small, matching heads, she was startled to realize she didn't want to leave them. So tiny and helpless – they seemed to push buttons in her she hadn't known were there. Like Kirika, her mental voice pointed out, flashing the image of her partner's gentle, delicate face. "I'll be back." She whispered, the soft tone for their ears only. "I promise, Blue-Eyes." The little golden kitten stared back at her, seeming to understand, though the other feline whined softly. Mirelle's lips curved up. "You too, Shadow. I'll come back for you." Straightening, she noticed the vet smiling. "Nicknames of Blue-Eyes and Shadow." She dictated to Lisa, who nodded appreciatively. "Don't worry, Miss Bouquet. They're in very good hands." Her face was bright. "And if you'll leave your cell phone number, I'll call that to keep you updated. That way it'll be a surprise, no?" Slowly, Mirelle smiled too. "That would be wonderful." She watched as Lisa gently stroked the little heads, letting the small creatures sniff at her scent before carefully picking up the cat-bed. Both kittens evidently approved; the last thing Mirelle saw before the door closed was the two of them cuddled around each other, almost asleep. The Corsican took an offered pen from Dr. Lucas and scribbled a number in the marked box of the intake sheet. It was untraceable, but it would route to the cell phone she carried in her pocket, so there wasn't any worry there. "Thank you, Dr. Lucas. I have to run – do I just pay at the front desk?" "Not a problem." The vet smiled. "And that's just fine. We'll be here when you get back." Mirelle nodded. A few minutes later, she had paid for a week's stay for the two little kittens and was heading out the door. Home was only a few blocks away – she'd probably still get home before Kirika. The familiar vibrating jingle of her cell came faintly to her ears, and she frowned slightly, reaching for the palm-sized piece and glancing at the front screen. Speak of the dark angel. Flicking it open, she held the blue phone to her ear. "Kirika, what's wrong?" ------------------------------------------------ Meanwhile: Backpack swinging absently from her shoulder, Kirika pushed open the door to one of her favorite art stores, smiling slightly as she breathed in the scent of open paint and fresh pencil shavings. It wasn't a large shop – on the whole, it carried mostly basic supplies – but it was a great place to get the type of charcoal and pastels she liked to use. Mirelle had said she was checking with a few of their contacts. Warm softness flickered in her rust-red eyes. Kirika knew if her partner found a new boutique that caught her eye, the blonde Corsican could be gone for hours. If she hurried, Kirika should have time to get home and color a few of her 'special' sketches. There was one in particular she wanted to work on – Heading directly for the crayon aisle, she stepped around a large stand of postcard-sized prints and stopped dead, eyes widening. A familiar figure stood casually in front of the pastel section, two different blue crayons held up in his hand as he compared their shades. Kirika was stunned. Alexander! What's he doing here? Common sense intruded a moment later. It's a public shop, and it has decent supplies. Any artist in the area would stop in if they needed something. I've probably seen him in here before, but I wasn't paying attention. Still, she'd made a promise to Mirelle that she wouldn't spend time with him, and she meant to honor her word. Stepping silently backwards, the Japanese young woman shifted her pack higher and turned again. She'd go get the things she wanted at one of the other shops a few blocks over, and Alex would never have to know she was here. At just that moment, Alexander lifted his head and spotted her. His own eyes widened, and a large grin split his face. "Kirika!" Setting down his supplies, he trotted over, laughing. "You're here – so how was last night? Was your friend surprised?" Damn. The rare curse flicked through Kirika's mind for a split-second, although she couldn't help but smile at his cheerful attitude. "Yes. Thank you again for the ride." "No problem – it was my fault anyway." He grinned, motioning toward her bag. "You here for something in particular?" "Oh – no. Just some looking." The lie came easily to the young woman's lips, face calm and voice just a tad cooler than usual. If he was busy here, she could probably make a quick exit. That was graceful, wasn't it? Unfortunately, she had no such luck. "Great! You can come tell me all about it." With happy abandon, Alex tugged lightly at her arm. "There's a cute little fountain square over at the end of the block. The benches are great for people-watching." Mirelle would have made a no-doubt funny remark about how "people-watching" seemed to be an unhealthy habit of his. Of course, Mirelle wouldn't have gotten caught in something like this in the first place. This was not quite going the way she'd hoped. But it was nice to see him again – and it wasn't entirely her fault. She had to talk with him now, didn't she? She couldn't risk blowing her cover by just suddenly brushing him off. Besides, this would be the best way to let him down gently. That decided, she followed her 'friend' back down the sidewalk, where a park-like square in the center of the block had been set up as some kind of urban park. A large rectangular fountain sat in the center, cement fish spouting water upward into the cool evening air, while around it, green-painted wooden benches and carefully trimmed foliage were laid out for passerby to stop and take a few minutes. Alexander flopped onto the nearest bench, his lanky frame sprawling along one side as he grinned up at her. His voice was almost infectiously cheerful. "So how did it go? I bet the food was spectacular." Kirika nodded with just a trace of her usual shyness, settling herself on the other end. Her backpack thudded softly on the wood between them, a subtle enforcer of personal space. "The veal turned out just right. And you were right about the vanilla ice cream with the Dutch apple pie." "It was always Lisa's favorite combination." Obviously pleased that he'd helped, Alex leaned back and folded his hands behind his head, raising an eyebrow. His eyes shone with happily wicked humor. "So what did she bring you?" What did he mean, saying it like that? Kirika blinked, a strange ripple of unease starting in the pit of her stomach. Still, she answered honestly. "A suncatcher, a plush toy and a novel." She paused. "Oh, and a small pillow." Now it was Alexander's turn to blink. He stared at her a few seconds, obviously confused, then burst into outright laughter. "Kirika, you're so innocent." He kept chuckling, shaking his head. "I should know better than to tease you." Kirika's eyes widened, stunned. Innocent? Alex thought she was innocent? She'd been called quite a few things in her short life, but 'innocent' had never been high on the list. Actually, she wasn't even sure it was on the list before today. "What?" Her friend smiled and reached across the backpack to pat her hand, still snickering quietly under his breath. "I was – making a rather lewd joke." He paused in concern, eyebrows drawing slightly together as he looked at her with a question on his face. "She does know that you like her, doesn't she?" If Kirika had been stunned before, she was absolutely shocked now. Lips parted slightly, the Japanese young woman gaped, staring at Alex and trying to ignore the way her pulse had picked up. "Alex." Her voice was a mix of exasperation and an odd note of strain. "I can't like Mirelle." "Why not?" Alexander frowned slightly, puzzled. "Because – " Kirika's brain stalled, reaching desperately for the first excuse that came to mind. "She's a girl." "So?" Alex's tone clearly said he wasn't buying it. "So you're a girl, and she's a girl. Who cares? It happens." He shrugged, fixing her with an intent look. "Come on, anybody that listens to you talk about her would know you care about her. After the whole dinner thing, and the apartment – well, I just thought you were both close." "We are close." Her reaction was instinctive and defensive, though she couldn't stop the sudden feeling of tightness in her throat. Or the flash of anxiety that raced in her veins. Of course they were close. Mirelle was her partner, the only family she had, the only person who had ever cared for her as something more than a weapon. "Just not that way." Alexander's eyes were shrewd, cunning, though his smile was kind enough to take the sting out of his words. "Oh really." Reaching for her backpack, he unzipped it and flicked through the sketchbooks, pulling out one with a familiar, lead-smudged cover. Kirika's heart stopped. "I saw this yesterday." He said quietly, setting the spiral-bound pad ever-so-gently on his knees. "They're all very pretty – you really do her justice." Kirika wasn't sure whether to thank him or snatch her precious sketchbook back and run. Her hands were shaking now, a fine, frightened trembling. Wherever he was going with this, she really didn't think she wanted to know. Gently, Alex squeezed her arm. "You're not just close, Kirika." "You're in love with her, aren't you?" It was like Kirika had been struck with a bolt of lightning. For a moment, she couldn't breathe. Love. The fluttering in her stomach, the aching in her muscles, the tightness in her chest and the dizzying rush that captured her mind . . . it all fit. That was the word that she had tried so hard to find when she wrote her letter to Mirelle. Love was the single word that perfectly captured her feelings for the golden-hued, sapphire-eyed Corsican. Four simple letters . . . and the one word that could never, ever work between them. Her mind spun, a chaotic storm of fragmented thoughts and raw, jagged emotion. She didn't want to believe it. "No." Alexander watched her and nodded slowly, face filled with understanding and an odd sort of pity. "So she doesn't know." His voice was quiet, soft. "I wondered." Kirika shook her head slowly, almost unnoticeably, hair swinging slightly from side to side. The way Alex said it, there was almost no way to deny the horrible rightness of his words. But if he was right, then – all these feelings did have a name. She didn't just care about Mirelle. She was in love with Mirelle. Had been in love with Mirelle for a long time. It was a revelation that sent her reeling and left a black hole in her chest where her heart should be. "She – she doesn't know." She whispered miserably. "It wouldn't work." "Why not?" Alex demanded. He sounded almost belligerent, outraged for her. "You're sweet, you're smart and cute, and you obviously love her. Oh, God, she's not one of those cold people that doesn't like anyone, is she?" When Kirika just blinked at him, rather hollowly, the young man sighed and explained. "My brother had a girlfriend like that once. She was scary as hell. Gorgeous, just like your Mirelle – knew how to dress, how to act, how to wrap everyone around her little finger. But it was all on the outside. Inside, she was scary. Hardly ever really smiled, cold as ice, didn't seem to care about anybody or anything. Everyone besides her was expendable, you know? The kind of person that could kill somebody and not blink." Well, that last bit was certainly true. Mirelle had killed (and could, and would, continue to kill) without any remorse, regret or pity. And she did know how to dress well, how to act in society. Manipulating people, well, she had Kirika herself, didn't she? And she'd had Andre and Paula and the rest of her contacts for years, before they had ever been together. But Kirika knew there was more to the blonde Corsican. Intelligence, skill, warmth and care – she had seen all those in her partner over the year they'd been together, and especially since they'd returned from the Manor. And she knew there could be more. She'd seen that flash of heat in those sapphire eyes today, she was sure of it. Opening her mouth to answer, Kirika never got the chance. A shadow flicked swiftly across the pavement on one side, the sound of a footfall mingling with a peripheral awareness that set her internal alarms to screaming. Leg muscles, tensed, coiled, and she sprang forward, rolling free of the bench. Her attacker's thick, suit-clad arm fairly whistled past the space where her neck had been, curling around empty air instead. In one swift movement, lean fingers had closed on a large hunk of broken brick from the ground and flung it with deadly accuracy. The missile flew directly on target, slamming into the man's forehead with a distinct thunk. He toppled over, slumping across the wooden back of her former seat, as Kirika finished her move and came up on her feet again. There were at least eight more of them fanning out in a crude semi-circle now, dressed in dark blue suits and button-down white shirts, each with the unmistakable bulges of weapons in their waistbands. Strong and powerfully built, they looked like someone's hired muscle. All around, the street had mysteriously emptied out, small park deserted in the gathering dusk, the air close and ominously charged. Questions flicked rapid-fire through Kirika's mind as the young woman shifted to a fighting stance. This was obviously an ambush – who had planned it? Apparent she had been compromised somehow – or did someone just suspect she knew something, and was taking care of it? Was this connected to Garrison, and Andre's warning earlier? Not that any of it made a difference, as the man nearest her gave a lunge and trained instinct took over. Ducking around his beefy fist, she slammed the heel of her palm upward against his nose. The sound of it spearing up into his brain made a sickening crunch, but Kirika was already past him, unholstering the Beretta from the small of her back and firing one shot, then a second before the rest of the goons could even react. A fourth thug, slightly more intelligent than the rest, whipped a heavy foot at her midsection before jabbing in some kind of combination move. Kirika vaulted backwards, landing briefly on one hand, back arched as she aimed and took out his knee upside-down. He collapsed to the pavement howling with agony, and the partner that had been beside him leapt for her. Swaying smoothly to the side, Kirika's own hand shot out, pulling her attacker's arm and using his own momentum to send him stumbling. A sharp twist of his head as he passed, and his body tumbled to the ground. Firing a last shot to silence the knee-capped goon, Kirika paused, vaguely surprised for a heartbeat as there was no new assault. She was sure she'd counted nine attackers, including the first fool she'd taken out. With six of them dead, that would mean three were left – Then a familiar hand closed around her wrist, and she whirled to find herself face to face with Alexander. "Kirika." The young man released her as soon as she turned, holding his free hand up to stall the attack he seemed sure was coming. He didn't seem frightened or shocked by the gun in her hand, or her apparent prowess at taking out the thugs lying dead at her feet. Instead, the eyes that met hers were calm, competent and sharp, without a trace of pity or hesitation. "Kirika, we have to move. They didn't get you, did they?" Too surprised with his lack of reaction to answer right away, Kirika blinked once as Alex snapped up her special sketchbook, tucking it swiftly back into her backpack and tossing the bundle in her direction. She caught it, stowing her weapon away automatically before hefting the pack over her shoulder, eyes flicking to the bodies that lay scattered around them. A quick tally showed there were ten thugs; if she had only killed six, that left four of the deaths unaccounted for. Alexander grabbed his jacket, then hopped easily over the bench and took her wrist, pulling her away without stopping to look back. The two of them hurried down the street together, almost flying, steps nearly silent. About ten minutes later, both skidded to a stop at the loading docks behind another set of boutiques. Alex leaned against the smooth brick wall, hands on knees and hair falling in his eyes as he not-quite-panted. "Damn." He muttered. Brushing the thick dark bangs from his forehead, he looked up at her in awe. "Kirika, that was incredible. You were amazing." He wasn't frightened? Kirika didn't know quite what to do. He'd seen her kill – by unwritten assassin law, she should have put a bullet in his brain before ever leaving the scene. But the image of those muscled bodies intruded, and once again the count didn't add up. Mahogany eyes met his, distant but intense. "You killed those four men." "Yes. Missed the one you kneecapped." Alexander agreed with a shrug, obviously not broken up about the circumstances. His gaze was frank, interested and rather impressed, voice still slightly breathless. "You – You're Soldats, aren't you?" Kirika gaped, stunned. She couldn't seem to do anything other than stare. The inane thought that Mirelle would certainly kill her crossed her mind. She wanted to interrupt, to protest or deny it, but there were so many things humming through her brain she could hardly manage more than a single breathy word. "You?" Alex nodded, going on with an explanation as though it was the most natural thing in the world. "Family is – mostly Dad and my Uncles on both sides. I'm just a messenger boy." His grin was rueful, and a bit embarrassed. "I thought you were, you know – your shots were beautiful, no wasted motions or wild rounds. They didn't even get a finger on you." He – he doesn't recognize me? He doesn't know who I am? Kirika's thoughts raced. It seemed absolutely stupid that anyone connected with Soldats wouldn't recognize one of the two Noir. And yet – what was it Altena had said, back at the Manor? "Those that attacked you knew nothing, because the trials had to be true life-or-death struggles." If his family isn't highly connected, part of the High Council, he might not ever have even heard of Noir. Her heart leapt. If he thought she was just another member of Soldats – slowly, she nodded, just once. "Ha, I was right!" Alexander's face lit with slow glee. Lounging back against the wall, he folded his arms, almost laughing. "Well, that explains part of the problem with your friend Mirelle. She's your partner, isn't she? With work, I mean." Kirika nodded again, still not quite able to speak. This was – like talking to Mirelle after a hit. They had finished the job, and now they could go back to their conversation and their everyday lives. Alex shook his head, rolling his eyes with an almost exasperated sigh. "Ouch. That's gotta complicate things a little." He flashed a toothy smirk. "Though if she's as athletic as you are, that might open up a few interesting possibilities." Now that she understood the foolish joke, Kirika found herself blushing, cheeks flaming a dark pink. Alexander laughed, patting her shoulder. "Sorry, Kirika, I couldn't resist." He grinned a bit sheepishly. "I think it's a stupid guy thing. But seriously, I do get it. Figuring out a relationship like that has to be really tough." Kirika tilted her head, watching him, still not entirely sure this whole thing was actually happening. "I wonder who they were after." Her voice was soft. Alex sighed at the change of subject and looked thoughtful, running his fingers through his hair. "Not sure." He commented after a minute. "Don't think the family's made any ripples recently – Uncle Jean-Luke is into a bit of smuggling, but it's just small stuff. We're not high enough up to be much more than foot-soldiers most of the time. Did you guys do something big recently?" "Uh-uh." Kirika shook her head. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Mirelle's intruded in her head. Does he really expect an honest answer to that question? The glance she flicked at his face suggested that he actually might. Then again, she couldn't think of any lie she'd actually told him since they'd met – with the exception of the whole "just looking" thing earlier. And it was a valid question. Alexander shrugged, snickering. "Don't suppose it matters. Whoever they were, they won't be coming back in a hurry." She couldn't help a small laugh of her own. "Probably not." With a cheerful grin, Alex leaned his head back to look at the sky, eyes narrowing slightly as he took in the dark wash of blue-black across horizon. "Wow, it's later than I thought. Mother's going to have kittens if I don't head home." His eyes danced wryly. "Besides, you'll have to call Mirelle, and I reeeeeeally doubt she'll want to have me anywhere around." Kirika ducked her head, almost embarrassed. Shifting her bag where it dug into her shoulder, she eyed her friend from beneath a heavy fringe of bangs. "Probably not. It's not safe." "She's a smart woman." Alexander touched her shoulder gently until she met his gaze. "And if she's anything like you, she's probably very protective of the things she cares about." Ignoring Kirika's flush, he shrugged into his jacket. "Be careful, Kirika. See you later." "Goodbye, Alex." She watched his lean frame as he trotted casually to the end of the buildings and vanished around the corner. Letting him go went against the basic rules of her trade, her very life – and yet, she couldn't find it in her heart to even reach for her weapon. Sighing, she turned in the opposite direction, heading for the nearest side street with his comment about Mirelle still ringing in her ears. One hand dug into the pocket of her jacket and tugged out her cell phone, flipping it on and punching a familiar set of numbers as she walked. This wasn't going to go over well. "Mirelle?" "I need you to pick me up . . . " ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Yeah, if anyone thinks this will be a happy phone call, raise your hand. (rolls eyes) Next chapter - things begin to heat up on both sides of the Mirelle / Kirika situation. Alexander has a plan to bring the two of them together, but neither will make it easy. Who really hired those goons, and who were they after? And what's little miss Lisa doing hanging out with Breffort? Find out next time!
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