Samurai Game (Ghostwalkers, #10)(109)

Melanie clearly was the dominant in the relationship. Azami had studied Sheila Benet and had rarely seen her so animated with anyone. As a rule she was cool and aloof, rarely engaging even in small talk. She was Whitney’s main go-between, and Azami had hacked her computer and phone, had been in her posh apartment numerous times—even stood over her while she slept in the middle of the night.

The woman had money, but she spent little of it on anything. She wanted to belong desperately, and she’d found that belonging and sense of purpose working for Whitney. But she clearly wasn’t working for Whitney solely for the money. She wanted to keep and solidify her connection to Melanie.

Azami wondered idly how Sheila would react if she told her Melanie was already dead. There was no saving her now. Whitney and Sheila would have to recruit someone new to help murder an elite team of soldiers.

She enjoyed the salad, ignoring Frankie’s threats. The man’s head was definitely spinning now. Most of the time he just propped it up with his hands and moaned. His groin was on fire, a relentless ache that wasn’t going away any time soon and would definitely slow him down when he tried to make his move on her. She considered kicking him hard under the table and walking off, but she needed to play the entire evening out. There were a dozen escorts in the room. She might be remembered, but no one would connect her with Melanie’s death. Most likely, no one would connect the evening with Melanie’s death.

“Are you seeing anyone?” Sheila asked, her tone a little wistful.

“Not regularly. I’m looking for the right man to hook up with, someone that will be of some use to Whitney, at least whatever information I can get from him, and he’s got to be damned good in bed.” Melanie laughed. “I’m selfish, Sheila. I don’t want to have to share my apartment and time with a man. I don’t want someone permanent, so if I invest more than a night or two, he’d better have something special to offer.”

Sheila shook her head, spooning more chocolate. “Only you would say that out loud.” There was admiration in her voice.

“Well, really, I don’t need anyone. Do you want someone telling you what you can and can’t do and always questioning you on where you’re going? You call and I don’t want to bring some man along to our dinners, but he’d want to horn in.” Melanie took the spoon from Sheila and licked the chocolate off it. “That’s just not going to happen.”

“Aren’t you afraid of growing old alone?” Sheila asked.

Melanie laughed again. “I’ve got you, silly. We’ll be old ladies together, maybe get a ton of cats and rocking chairs. When we feel like it, we’ll go on those cruises and eat ourselves silly and ogle all the young men.”

Sheila nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

Melanie held up her wineglass. “To our future as little old ladies.” She smirked as she clinked her glass against Sheila’s. “Rich old ladies. Stinking rich old ladies. Maybe we’ll get a few Italian boy toys and they can feed our little *cats for us.” She laughed merrily at her innuendo.

Azami kept the disgust from her face, sitting there with Frankie squeezing her thigh and the two women who had sent a team of soldiers to their death, toasting their own futures. She didn’t understand, especially Melanie, who saw the work the teams did all over the world, the lives they saved, how it was possible not to admire them and want to keep them safe.

And Whitney. She could barely look at his double without her stomach lurching. She found it hell sitting in that room with all of them. Whitney’s supposed soldiers, men like Frankie, with no honor. Women like Melanie and Sheila, who took money and sent men to their death while they drank wine and ate chocolate. The realization came slowly to her: Thorn didn’t belong here. She was useless to Whitney. She needed to rejoice in that. She needed to be proud of herself that she wasn’t like those two women, or these men willing to do a monster’s bidding for his money and approval.

What had she been thinking all these years? She had a father who had shown her the way to live with honor, two wonderful brothers who loved her, and Sam. Her Sam. She had a narrow escape when so many others suffered for years at Whitney’s hands. Why had she made him so big? So omnipotent? She’d allowed Whitney to color her judgment of herself for years. These people were those he considered worthy and she despised them.

Melanie and Sheila rose to leave. Melanie looked right at Azami and pursed her lips to send her a kiss. Sheila laughed. “That’s so mean, Mel.” There was a slight nervous giggle in her voice, as if she really didn’t like what her friend had done but was afraid to call her on it.

In all the time Azami had been following Sheila, no one had ever made her nervous. She’d seemed cold, without feelings and very little nerves, yet Melanie brought out her submissive nature.

Melanie deliberately winked at Frank. “You really enjoy yourself now,” she told him.

Azami realized Melanie knew she was making Sheila uncomfortable and wanted to prove she could do it. They had an interesting relationship. Sheila seemed dependent on Melanie. Once she was gone, what would happen?

Frank tightened his hold on Azami’s wrist and stumbled to his feet, jerking her close. “I do intend to have a good time, little China girl. And you’d better make me very happy. You embarrassed me tonight and no one does that to me and gets away with it.”