Dragonfly Read Online Free PDF

skirt, and it’ll take me about two minutes to piss you off so badly you’ll walk away to join the tarocchi table on the left.” He grinned at me, in full disarm mode.
    Despite myself, a smile tempted my own lips. He loved this playacting stuff. It came naturally to him. “So what’s at the table, then?”
    “The rest of your omega brief. Dark hair, blue silk suit, platinum rings on his right hand.”
    I didn’t need to turn around; I’d catalogued all the players already. Blue suit hadn’t tried to hit on me yet, though I’d hoped he might. Hypnotic dark eyes, long deft fingers that made me stare, sinful lips that put dirty thoughts in my head. He sat alone, no jeweled woman or handsome boy draped over his shoulder, and barely said a word. He drank top-shelf scotch and water, spoke Rus with a faint Espan accent, and had won a couple of hundred thousand sols while I’d been sitting here. A smart player. Cute.
    My skin prickled. I hadn’t known I’d be dealing with yet another agent. “I thought you were my source.”
    “I am. He’s Dragonfly.”
    I choked on a mouthful of martini.
    Blue suit was Dragonfly? He couldn’t be. He was too … normal. Too soft. I’d expected hardness, scorn. A monster. Surely, you’d recognize a callous killer like that. He’d be different.
    I studied him again from the corner of my eye, alcohol still burning my throat, but now my skin burned too, out of embarrassment that I’d thought him attractive. He looked harmless, insouciant, younger than I’d imagined. Not the vicious anarchist who’d murdered Mishka. Scorn stung my heart. No doubt he paid others to do his dirty work. I’d make him regret I’d ever laid eyes on him.
    Malachite tucked a stray curl behind my ear, his fingertips leaving a warm trail on my cheek. “He’s played here six nights running,” he said absently, as if I distracted him. “Games of skill. Tarocchi, baccarat. Never dice or faro. Sometimes he wins, sometimes not. If he’s cheating, he’s careful at it.”
    He gave a wistful smile, his fingers lingering on my lips, and I remembered the night we’d cheated the poker game at New Smolensk of two million sols to expose their crooked pit bosses. We’d made love that night in a heap of crisp plastic cash, high on winning and oblivion crystals, his fingers clenched around mine, our bodies slick …
    I flushed, and pushed his hand away, every breath of air shivering my skin. “Do Esperanza security know he’s on the station?”
    “Those clueless idiots? They’ve got no idea. They don’t even have imagery to facematch him. You’d think he’d been flying the spaceways with a bag over his head.”
    “But what’s he doing here? He can’t check vault security from the tarocchi room.”
    Malachite grinned knowingly. “That’s the question, isn’t it? He’s alone, no lovers, never the same friends two nights running. His ship’s in dock, epsilon five. Old Nebula class, new biochemical security.”
    Curiosity scratched my nerves. The latest biochem had likely cost more than the ship. “Why? What’s he keep in there?”
    He shrugged, dismissive, as if such a menial job were beneath him. “I thought you might like to look. If you really think you can get in.” His wicked eyes flashed a challenge.
    I tried to stay cool, but the old excitement bubbled inside me, the way we’d teased, challenged each other to impossible games. My pulse quickened, and I wanted to lick my lips, my mouth watering. I wanted to tease him back, say yes, compete the way we used to. Say his name, flirt like old lovers, taste that lost thrill.
    He knew what he was doing, the bastard.
    I hesitated. I could call Director Renko, tell her I couldn’t do this, that she should send someone else. The last carefree piece of my heart had shattered along with my fiancé’s skull, but Malachite—his real name is Nikita, if you’ve got the misfortune and the security clearance to be properly introduced, and it’s one real