12: Level of Excellence

SASHA POV

"So. What new intel on Drake?” Rika asks me as soon as I close the door of the SUV behind me, joining her and Zoe in our WASP-issued vehicle. I avoid her eyes for a second or two, trying to get my thoughts in order; my mind is still spinning from my conversation with that particular lycan.

“He believes in the ideal of justice, in defending the innocent,” I tell them emotionlessly. They’ll know what that means to me, regardless. Their eyes are burning with curiosity, even more intensely after that answer.

“I mean, that’s nice. I take it he hasn’t signed his own death warrant yet?” Zoe presses as she starts the SUV and starts trying to work out how to get us back to our temporary lodgings. Thank Bast. I really need to take a nap.

“No. It could have been a conversation between two humans.”

“Anything…steamy?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively at me in the rearview mirror.

I roll my eyes. “He was actually quite a gentleman. Didn’t even try to touch me. Least eventful encounter with a target at a bar ever.”

“Well, that’s lame,” Rika mutters. “Are we sure he fancies you?”

“Yes,” Zoe and I deadpan simultaneously.

“You texted me about it, even,” I continue irritably, “and I’ve never known you to doubt your own instincts.”

“I mean, I know. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you,” Rika grumbles. “But given what he is, and that he’s mateless, and that he didn’t make a move—”

“I think coming out to talk with me when I’d already told him I didn’t need an escort was risky enough, in his mind.”

“Well, it’s not like we won’t see him again,” Zoe chirps, ever the optimist. “Callum and I will be texting about our group weapons outing this weekend. Although it’s a shame Drake doesn’t have a way to contact you directly, Sasha….”

“I gave him my number.”

“WHAT?!” Zoe and Rika exclaim.

“You were so pissed that he’s into you, though!” Zoe protests.

“That hasn’t changed. This is far from ideal. But that doesn’t mean that I won’t do my job. I’m just…not going to seduce him.”

“From what I’ve seen, there’s no seducing to be done,” Rika observes, “or else he’s the one seduc—”

“Not a chance,” I growl. “He’s still a dog. Cats and dogs don’t mix that way.”

“Do you think he has any idea what you are?” Zoe wonders.

“Probably not, based on the intel,” Rika responds, beating me to the punch. “By all accounts he and the other two have lived fairly sheltered lives in Maine. They’ll know what I am based on, y’know, the lack of a heartbeat, but they probably don’t have a clue about either one of you.”

“How were Xander and Callum after I left? Any chance of double or triple dates?” I ask, dearly hoping to get them off the subject of Drake and me. What the hell even was that, back there in the parking lot? Just a conversation, and yet…. There was that moment, when he asked where I was from and I had to choose between making something up that Rika and Zoe and I hadn’t discussed when creating our aliases, or telling him the truth, and I….

I told him the truth.

I don’t know why.

I’ve never done that on a job before.

“Probably not. Neither of them were nearly as into either of us as Drake seems to be into you,” Zoe answers my question dismissively. “Things were pretty unremarkable after you left. Although, I have to say, Xander is straight up obsessed with that band.”

“Annoyingly so,” Rika agrees. “I think it’s worth noting that Callum played wingman, getting Drake to come find you—”

“So someone did put him up to it,” I interrupt. “I thought it was the two of you.”

“Nah. We were content to let you have a break. You did pull off a fairly impressive mass execution tonight,” Zoe replies airily. “But Callum looks out for his friends.”

“A noble quality, in most circumstances. But of the three of them, he’s the one most likely to make this job difficult for us,” Rika observes darkly. “He’s not entirely enthused about seeing us again, I don’t think.”

“No. But I’ll fix that. You just leave him to me.”

Before either Rika or I can comment on Zoe’s boundless confidence, the SUV’s speakers begin blaring our bluetooth ringtone. The touchscreen on the dash lights up.

CALL FROM WASP HQ

“No,” I hiss. The last thing I need right now is to deal with Anselm and his bullshit.

“We can’t just ignore him,” Rika sighs regretfully.

“Maybe you can’t.” I would have said more, but one of my partners in the front seat pressed the button to accept the call.

“Special Ops 13. Report,” Anselm’s subterranean bass demands. My insides twist violently with revulsion.

“The assigned vampire threat has been completely eliminated, Commander,” Zoe answers with sparkling bright professionalism. “Support units handling cleanup. Full report to come once we’ve returned to our Columbus base. We’re on our way there now. We find it very likely that the bar used as our targets’ base of operations will be permanently shut down after tonight.”

“Excellent. Any problems or further intel?”

“No problems in the execution of justice. We scavenged some documents and flash drives from an office onsite, the value of which is yet to be determined.”

“Noted. I am certain that will be rectified once you reach your base. Any progress on your other objective?”

“Initial contact has been established with the lycans we determined were most likely to be problematic, based on the intelligence you provided, Commander,” Rika takes over, glancing at me sideways. I send her a venomous glare in reply. “We find the likelihood of subsequent encounters with them to be…extremely high, but their threat level has yet to be ascertained.”

“Considering that you left headquarters only 24 hours ago, these results are exactly the level of excellence I expect from you. How much time do you think you will need to finish the mission?”

“At this point, that’s hard to say. But rest assured that we always endeavor to achieve our objectives in the most efficient way possible. We will not spend more time on this mission than what is absolutely necessary.”

“I will hold you to that. I have no interest in leaving my best special ops team in Ohio for an extended period of time.”

“Begging your pardon, Commander, but do you have another assignment demanding our particular set of skills waiting for us?” Zoe inquires, tongue in cheek.

“Not as of yet. But the world is full of potential threats. I have no doubt that another threat worthy of Special Ops 13 will surface sooner rather than later.”

“Of course, Commander.”

“Sasha has not spoken. Is she indisposed?”

“Rather displeased that your call interrupted her obligatory post-execution catnap, nothing more,” Rika assures him in an uncharacteristically upbeat tone, shooting another glance at my definitively nonplussed visage.

“Obligatory catnap? We have no room for special operatives to be going soft.”

“Of course not, Commander. But rest is a necessary aspect of keeping ourselves performing at peak levels,” Zoe points out with an extra dollop of charisma.

“I would have Sasha speak for herself.”

That bastard. Guess I’ll have to say words this time. “Nothing to say, Commander,” I reply as apathetically as possible.

“Good. You are alive. I was worried.”

Liar.

“Our team would not be worthy to be called the best in WASP if you had any cause for such worry, about any of us,” Rika counters sourly.

“Perhaps not.” An ominous, contemplative pause. “Well then. I look forward to seeing your exceptionally detailed report on the vampire extermination in the next few hours.”

“You will have it, Commander.” Rika’s jaw is taut with irritation.

“And I expect daily updates on your progress with the lycans.”

“Of course, Commander,” Zoe agrees. Our eyes meet in the rearview mirror; she’s only slightly less displeased by this development than I am.

“Remember, there is no room for compassion. Only the law.”

“Justice must be served, and the law must be enforced,” Rika and Zoe chorus dryly.

Click. The screen goes black. Anselm’s rumbling has been banished from the vehicle, at least for now.

“Well then. That was…pleasant,” Rika hisses.

“I guess we’d best be seeing about meeting up with the lycans again tomorrow,” Zoe remarks, “although that’s not going to be the easiest thing, with our supposed studying schedule….”

As if on cue, my burner phone lights up with a message from an unknown number.

Hey, Nikki. It’s Drake, from Tipsy Griffin’s. That offer to continue our philosophical debate still open?

He’s probably spent every second since I left him in that parking lot composing that text. Fucking dammit.

“Consider it handled,” I sigh heavily, flashing my phone at my teammates before typing a response.

Only if you’re interested in continuing it in person, and if I have any brainpower left after my stats study group in the morning.—Nikki