Cat and Mouse ↣ Natasha Romanoff

Prologue

Tristan Win usually preferred not to leave any loose ends lying about when he wrapped up his work hours for the day. But sometimes that just couldn't be avoided.

He wished he could tell exactly why the driver of his taxi was crinkling up his nose, but his money was on the extensive amounts of three brands of cologne and perfume he'd sprayed all over himself and his package. Especially his package.

Tristan adjusted his glasses—the lenses were hopelessly thick, but it boosted the look he was going for immensely. Anyway, the scent stopped the driver from asking any questions. In ten minutes he'd arrived at the Hotel Fontéin. His eyes fell on the sultry woman reclining on the sofa.

"J-Jessica," he stuttered. She smiled and stood, walking over to him.

"What took you so long?" she asked, her voice a whisper in his ear. Her tone did not fool Tristan.

"Traffic," he answered with as much conviction as he could. "Something came up, made getting here a lot more difficult—"

The woman placed one hand on Tristan's shoulder. "Let's talk in the room," she said in her lowest purr yet. Following after her, Tristan stayed silent until they'd gotten to her room. He stepped past her and took a gander at his surroundings—the sleek, white bed; the television; the bowl of fruit; and, most interesting, the set of guns laid out on the table before him.

"Your cologne is terrible, Win." This jostled Tristan out of his curiosity and he turned.

"It was a necessity, Madam."

Kendra Valient's eyes traveled to the duffel bag. "I don't suppose you have Melinda Schuyler in there."

"I do, actually. But she's a mess." Tristan leaned forward, slowly unzipping the bag, and Valient glanced swiftly at the decapitated head of Melinda Schuyler before gesturing for Tristan to close the bag once more.

"Body?"

"Properly disposed of."

"Witnesses?"

"None."

"Taxi driver?"

"Not a threat." Tristan kept his voice level.

"Excellent," said Valient. "I'll take care of the rest of Miss Schuyler. Meanwhile, you've another task. And this one's much more important than a banker with a secret vendetta."

"I'm listening," Tristan said.

Valient reached into her own suitcase and promptly handed Tristan a thin folder. The thinnest he'd ever seen in his job.

"She goes by many names, many aliases, many stories. Russian heritage. A fellow assassin." Valient walked over to the array of guns and picked one up, studying it carefully. "I'd advise caution, Win."

Tristan traced the small printed words with his finger and looked up at his boss. She cocked a mirthless smile.

"Say hello to Natasha Romanoff for me."