Move through the world like a feather falling onto snow—that was the only way to endure eternity, Sirje taught. Watching crimson rivulets crawl towards the sink's drain, I wondered what she would think of me now. 

Malle, my foolish girl, her voice whispered indulgently in the back of my mind.

I bumped the faucet's handle with my elbow and cold water sprayed down onto my hands. Red became orange, which became clear. I dipped one of the hotel room's washcloths into it and cleaned my face next, moving gingerly around a few bruises and fingernail scratches.

Nothing that wouldn't heal by the time I made it down to the lobby.

I checked my shirt for spatter, but the ruby fabric was unblemished. The beauty of standing behind and wearing a dark blazer, I supposed. Another woman might have checked her makeup, but I never wore it. Too much trouble to try and attend to it without the use of a mirror, not that I needed it. Sirje's kiss had given me a countenance as cold and beautiful as Nordic winter.

The cellphone in my pocket chirped as I stepped out of the bathroom, pulling my blazer off the back of a chair. "Allo?"

"Are you finished up there? His bodyguards just got out of the car. They still looked pretty groggy, granted."

I looked over at the body sprawled across the bed, the yawning gash under his chin. Wearing a death mask of contorted horror, his vacant eyes were frozen towards the ceiling. "I will be down presently."

"Job well done?"

I flicked open the curtain about an inch and looked down at the parking lot. Illuminated by the street lamps, as Dieter reported, the two bulky men were weaving their way towards the hotel, still not quite their usual selves. "You can inform our employer that his message was delivered."

"Pics or it didn't happen."

I turned and snapped a picture of the body with my phone, then sent it to my partner.

Dieter let out a brief hum of approval as he viewed it. "I'll forward it."

"Please do." I checked to make certain the hallway was empty before stepping out fully. The do not disturb sign still hung on the door knob, as it had when I'd entered. I strode down the hall towards the stairs, keeping the phone up to my ear. "Let me know if they seem to be doing something foolish."

"They do have guns out, if that helps. Just bolted through the lobby and hopped in the elevator."

"Brandishing firearms in public?" I clucked my tongue. "Liable to get themselves arrested."

Dieter chuckled. "I could put in an anonymous tip."

"Tempting, but no." I opened the door to the stairs and started down, flashing a smile at the harried vacationing family hurrying up to their rooms. It was a nice hotel, but not luxury. My last project had been trying to keep a lower profile.

Unfortunately, the gravity of his transgressions made his former friends willing to go to great lengths to send his new friends a very clear message, at his expense.

Somewhere above, I faintly heard the elevator ding and hurried footsteps. I kept moving as if I had somewhere to be, sauntering with a casual purpose. Attired in a basic blazer and slacks with sensible shoes, no one paid me much in the way of attention. Even a pretty face can be made unremarkable by simple posturing, if you know what you're doing.

Dieter was waiting with the car, a silver sedan with a modest price point that was a few years old but still in excellent condition. I slipped into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed. Almost immediately, my nose wrinkled in automatic disgust. I picked up the bottle sitting next to him. "Really?"

My lookout shrugged and took the bottle of spit and tobacco juice from me, setting aside his paper. Dieter was the very picture of average with brown hair cut sensibly rather than stylishly and hazel eyes sheltered behind wire-framed reading glasses that had been bought at a drugstore rather than some high end retailer. His suit was off the rack and slightly rumpled. He also reeked like chewing tobacco and the lump in his cheek would have confirmed it if his waste receptacle hadn't. "Yeah, gross and whatever. Unless you and I are suddenly on kissing terms, I'm not counting your opinion, Malle."

Shaking my head, I was wise enough to refrain from a rebuttal.

His phone let out a cheerful bing and he checked the text. "Mr. Ortiz wants to meet. He says he's ecstatic with how this worked out."

I frowned, checking the side mirror for any sign of a tail as we drove a few blocks down and then pulled into a supermarket's lot to park.

"Yeah, I know." Dieter punched in a phone number and set it on speakerphone.

The man on the other end answered on the first ring. "Ah, Mr. Hahn, perfect! I was hoping—"

"Mr. Ortiz, I was under the impression that our business was concluded." Dieter flicked through to an app and carefully typed in his password. "Except for the fact that you haven't transferred the second half of the payment that we agreed would be delivered upon completion."

"I'd like to meet and discuss future—"

Dieter frowned. "Mr. Ortiz, you are currently in breach of contract. Whatever your intentions vis-à-vis social calls or prospective jobs, there is an unsettled account that needs to be settled before I can discuss anything else."

"You are such a stickler, Mr. Hahn."

"It makes me very good at my job, Mr. Ortiz. Regardless, the contract was already signed and your request was fulfilled to the letter."

The man chuckled, apparently not at all offended by Dieter's laser focus and sharp curtness. "Of course. I am transferring your payment now."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Dieter watched the screen carefully, noting when it registered the sizable deposit we were due. "A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Ortiz."

"I would like to invite you and your partner to dinner. I have another job lined up."

"If you read our contracts, Mr. Ortiz, you'll note the transactional confidentiality clause. I would be more than happy to attend dinner with you, but my troubleshooter's absence is non-negotiable. We find it causes fewer problems to maintain a healthy amount of anonymity."

I closed my eyes, picturing the tightening of Ortiz's sculpted jaw. While he had never met me, I was well acquainted with him from video and audio surveillance—not to mention the rather comprehensive dossier Charles had pulled together at the initial hire.

"Now see here—"

"I apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Ortiz, but I need to conclude this phone call. I have another obligation in less than a half hour," Dieter lied politely. "Good evening." He tapped the red icon to end the call.

"I doubt he appreciated that," I observed.

"Yeah, well, he's an asshole who tried so hard to underpay us I damn near shot him myself," Dieter grumbled. "Let's head back to the Internationale. I reserved a suite for you. All the luggage and everything customs-related is taken care of. You should just be able to kick back and relax"

I leaned over and kissed Dieter's cheek. "You take such good care of me."

He laughed. "Gotta look after my sugar momma somehow. It's not like I can do your half of the job."

I settled down in my seat and leaned my head against the window, watching the light show that was downtown Los Angeles at night.

"By the way, how was your vacation?"

I sighed. "Still no sign."

"She's probably dead, Malle." Dieter tried to say it gently, but he wasn't a gentle man. I heard him spit into the plastic bottle. "You told me you barely got out of Paris alive. That puts her chances in my book as slim to none, because I have never met a cooler cucumber than you."

I closed my eyes. "Sirje was something extraordinary. I refuse to believe that was her end."

"So why hasn't she contacted you?"

"I do not know."

He sighed, chewing thoughtfully as he hunted for words. "Occam's Razor, Malle."

"Perhaps."

Dieter knew from my tone that the conversation was at an end. "You want me to arrange a meal?"

Disjointed visions flashed through my mind, half-recalled memories that had never been mine. Until now, at least. "Already taken care of. We should contact Charles and I can give him the details of the money laundering Mr. Mark was doing. That should be worth more than enough to finance your next impulse buy."

He sniffed in irritation. "Hey, do not knock that last purchase. It was Glenlivet Winchester. Do you know how many scotch snobs would kill to get their hands on a bottle?"

"I am afraid I cannot see the appeal."

He hesitated a second. "You ever miss it?"

I offered him a faint smile so he would know he hadn't caused any offense. "Not particularly."

Dieter shook his head slightly. "Sometimes I forget."

"That I cannot enjoy so many things that you do?"

"That you're...well, you know."

We pulled into the parking lot of the gorgeous old hotel a full hour later, slowed by the congestion of a busy Friday night clogging the streets. Neither of us had seen anyone following our car on the drive, and even if we had missed it, the Internationale was as safe a place as we could be. It catered to distinguished—and dark—clientele who liked their privacy. Dieter arranged most of my work in their lounge, so we seldom entered together.

He got out first and came around, opening my door for me like a particularly chivalric gentleman. The parking garage was mostly empty of people, though full of cars. "Ortiz will probably show up and ask for me. Better that you stay out of it."

"Unless he tries to have you killed," I said mildly.

"Eh, hotel security can handle anything I can't." He spit the last dregs of his chew into the bottle, ignoring my huff of disgust. "You going to stay in and relax?"

"I might spend some time down at the bar, but I have no intention of really going out," I said. "After a luxuriously long bath, of course."

"You do love those jacuzzi tubs."

I laughed. "You indulge in your vices. Why should I not do the same?"

"Well, maybe I'll see you down at the bar. If Ortiz shows up, don't worry about it. I can handle an asshole like him or his thugs without breaking a sweat." He winked at me. "After all, I learned from the best."

"Flattery. I am hardly the best."

"The minute I see you fail a job is the minute I'll believe that," he said cheerfully. "Now go enjoy your ludicrously long bath."

I flashed him a smile and headed straight into the Internationale. The concierge was unfamiliar, but I had also been away for almost a year now. Besides, the place had a certain amount of turnover in both staff and guests. "May I help you, ma'am?"

"Checking in," I said politely, checking his nametag and filing Simon away for future reference. "It should be under Hämarik."

My name seemed to send a little current of lightning through him. He straightened up abruptly as he handed over the key. "Here you are, Ms. Hämarik."

I leaned in as I took the key. "Is there a problem, Simon?"

His words came in a flood. "No, not at all. I'm sorry if I gave you that impression. I just, ah, heard about you from Marie, ma'am."

"I take it she told you I was very particular about manners and my accommodations?" Marie always told her staff only that I wasn't to be disturbed during the day unless there was an actual emergency. She never gave out other information, as a woman who knew how much a woman like me valued her privacy.

"Yes, ma'am."

I feigned distraction in my smile. "Very good. Now, my key?"

He nodded, relaxing a little as he handed me the keycard. "Of course, ma'am. The Tournesol Suite is on the seventh floor, the furthest from the elevator on the right."

I knew exactly where it was, but I listened politely and then gave him a faint smile. "Thank you. Is there any music this evening?"

He nodded. "Some jazz performers. I think they're all pretty good."

"Thank you, Simon." With that said, I headed for the elevator, fairly certain an ugly surprise would be waiting for me in my room. I called Dieter.

He picked up immediately, a sign he'd probably been checking correspondence on his own phone. "Shouldn't you be soaking your cares away right now?"

"There was a very poor liar named Simon at the front desk, probably a lookout. Whoever he is with told him at least something about me. He knew my name and reeked of fear." I kept my voice so low it was almost inaudible, putting on a show of waiting for the elevator.

"I'm backing you up. Where are you?"

"There is no need for you to get involved. Just notify Marie for me, if you would be so kind? I imagine she will be positively mortified."

Dieter knew that I preferred to avoid conflict when it wasn't required. "She's right by the bar. I'll see if we can get your room switched in case someone is either waiting for you or left you a present."

I waited until I heard hotel security talking to Simon to move away from the elevator. The sound of a woman clearing her throat drew my immediate attention. I turned.

Marie Renoit had been head of security for the Internationale for almost ten years. Gray was creeping into her curly black hair now, but she was as fit and trim as ever. She was from Haiti originally and a natural choice for her position because of the sheer amount of languages she'd mastered. "I'm so sorry, Malle. I'll have a thorough search conducted and we'll comp your room switch."

I smiled. "Not to worry."

"If there was any trouble waiting for you, there's going to be hell to pay," she said darkly before holding out a different key. "Would the Lavande Suite be acceptable?"

I gave her a brief nod. "That will suit me perfectly. I will enjoy the jazz while my things are moved. Besides, now I have an excuse to keep an eye on Dieter. You know how he behaves while intoxicated."

Marie cracked a grin at that. "At least there's no karaoke machine."

"When has that ever stopped him?" I combed my fingers through my red hair. "Thank you, Marie. I was not looking forward to dealing with trouble immediately after work."

"The Internationale prides itself on its discretion and security for its guests," Marie said firmly. "This was a serious fuck up. I told Hugh something like this would happen if he let the computer do background checks instead of me doing them."

I smiled. "You know best. I will see you later, my friend."

Marie nodded. "Enjoy the concert."