Ian released my arm with a frown. “Let me go first.”
I swept a hand toward the door without a word. He paused for a long moment, then led the way downstairs. The rain had stopped, but the wind still whistled through the streets and tugged at my cloak as we stepped outside.
A sleek black transport waited for us, perhaps a bit nicer than most in Brava but otherwise indistinguishable from the exterior. The interior was a different matter. The space was luxurious and came with a small, built-in synthesizer for custom cocktails. But look past that and you would find the transport didn’t have any windows or the ability to input a destination. Climb in and you were at the mercy of whoever had sent it.
I entered and sat on the right. Ian sat across from me. The transport door closed and the wireless signals in the air died. Interesting. Whether by design or as a consequence of the lack of windows, the transport acted like an isolation room.
The ride took twenty minutes, long enough that if we’d flown in a straight line, we’d no longer be in Brava. The transport door opened to reveal a small, unadorned hangar. A burly guard in a black suit indicated we should enter the door next to him.
Ian stepped out of the transport then offered me a hand. As much as I’d have liked to decline, we were being observed. I took Ian’s hand and allowed him to assist me from the vehicle.
The guard said, “All weapons must be left with me. They will be returned when you leave.”
I removed my blaster and knife and handed them over. Ian produced a remarkably large pile of weapons, including a pair of blasters, three knives, and a stunstick. Where had he been hiding it all?
The guard held up a scanner and ran it over both of us. He nodded at me. “Mr. Guskov is waiting for you, Lady von Hasenberg,” he said.
“Thank you.”
We were ushered through the door and into the room beyond. It was as lavish as the hangar was sparse, with real wood floors, thick silk rugs, and delicate antique furniture far nicer than anything in his shop. This was not his house—Peter Guskov was no idiot—but it was one of his finer meeting sites. He was playing nice.
The man in question stood at a sideboard, pouring himself a drink. He was a bear of a man, nearly two meters tall and barrel chested. He wore a dark blue suit with a white shirt and silver tie. He had a full, dark beard, neatly trimmed, and his black hair was cut stylishly long, brushing over his ears.
He wasn’t handsome, not in the traditional sense, but he was arresting, like a viper wearing a shiny bow. Gold rings glinted from the fingers he’d wrapped around the heavy crystal tumbler. He raised the glass in salute. “Lady Bianca, I am delighted you could join me. Would you care for a drink?”
“Mr. Guskov, thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice,” I said. “I would love a glass of wine, if you have a bottle open,” I said.
“For you, my lady, I would open a cask,” he said with a charming smile. A servant stepped out of a hidden door carrying two bottles. He approached and showed me the labels. Guskov had selected two bottles of wine from a winery I owned through a shell company. I laughed and inclined my head. Point to him. “The white, please,” I said to the servant. He bowed and retreated to the sideboard to open the bottle.
“And for your guard?” Guskov asked, as if Ian Bishop were a normal bodyguard and not the director of House security.
“Nothing for me,” Ian said. Guskov kept looking at me, ignoring Ian. Interesting.
“Nothing for him.”
The servant handed me a glass of white wine. I raised my glass in a silent toast to our host, then took an appreciative sip. This vintage had turned out to be lovely.
“Come, sit,” Guskov said, indicating a pair of leather chairs. He waited for me to sit, then sat beside me, leaving Ian to hover at my side. The move had to be intentional, but I didn’t know what game he was playing.
“What can I do for you, Lady Bianca?”
“I am looking for information on the next Syndicate party,” I said, cutting directly to the heart of the matter. “I have reason to believe it’s soon. I need to know when and where.”
“And you think I have this information?” Guskov asked.
“I think if anyone does, you do,” I said with a smile.
Guskov sat without speaking for a few seconds, then said, “You’re right. If the Silvas were having a party soon, I would know.” He paused again, his dark eyes sharp. “The Syndicate is not having a party. Your information is wrong.”
I hummed quietly, not quite in agreement, not quite in disagreement. I had to give it to Guskov, he made lies sound like truth.
“How sure are you?” I asked.
“Absolutely,” he said.
“Then swear it’s true on Svetlana Guskova’s life.” Rumor had it that Peter Guskov would throw every member of his family under an oncoming freighter with one exception: his paternal grandmother, Svetlana Guskova. She was one of the only living members of his extended family, thanks in part to those pesky oncoming freighters.
He didn’t flinch, but he watched me carefully. “You don’t trust my word?”
“You told me you were absolutely sure about your information, so I don’t see any reason for you to hesitate now. Unless, of course, you are not absolutely sure, and you know that I would take a vow on your grandmother’s life literally. I do not suffer betrayal lightly.”
He kept his expression perfectly blank. “If you don’t trust my word, then I believe we are done here. Do not come to me again.” He stood.
I remained sitting. “I always liked you, Peter Guskov, because I always thought you dealt true. And yet we’ve come to this.”
Ian tensed beside me, a tiny shift that I caught out of the corner of my eye. Whether it was because he knew I was on to him or because he thought Guskov might attack was anyone’s guess.
Realization dawned in Guskov’s expression and he dropped back into his seat. “You know.” He looked from me to Ian and back again, then anger reddened his cheekbones. “You were testing me?” A blaster appeared in his hand, pointing lazily at my chest. Ian moved closer to me. “I do not care to be tested.”
“No,” I said, the word sharp. “I am being betrayed from multiple directions tonight. I am just dealing with you first.”
I’d caught both men off guard. Ian was better at hiding the surprise, but I’d bet my fortune that he was furiously trying to figure out how I’d intercepted his messages.
Begrudging respect glowed in Guskov’s eyes, and he inclined his head. The blaster disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. Point to me.
“Forgive me this error, Lady Bianca, and I will tell you what you want to know. But I keep the money already offered,” he said.
Ian started to object, but I spoke over him. “I am a very forgiving person—once,” I said. “The money is yours.”
Ian’s fists clenched, but he remained silent.
“The next Syndicate party is tomorrow,” Guskov said. He paused for a second to think, then continued, “Well, since it’s after midnight, I suppose it’s technically today. It’s being held in Matavara on Chi Cassiopeiae Dwarf Six.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure you’re not just trying to get me killed?”