She shook her head and laughed, and it was surprisingly sweet sounding, bubbly, at odds with her sophistication. ‘I’m saying that you’re probably used to having your way.’ Her voice dropped. ‘I don’t want to be something that you’re used to.’
She was very good. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Ma’at.’ Her eyes flickered as if she’d said something wrong or given too much away. Her confidence had faltered. ‘Friends call me Mattie,’ she added.
I nodded and took her hand, shook it, let my thumb stroke the back of it. ‘Hi Mattie. I’m—’
She leant in closer and wafted her scent in my direction: mellow, honeyed. ‘Nefertiti Ay. Everyone knows who you are.’
I allowed a finger to circle a spot on her wrist. I felt her pulse quicken. ‘Everyone knows parts of who I am. And, actually, it’s Nefertiti Aten. Nefertiti Ay was a girl. I haven’t gone by that name in years. And even then, very few people here know me by that name. Most of them are dead or feds.’ I looked up from her wrist and directly into her eyes.
Ma’at’s smile froze on her face and I saw her swallow tightly. I kept my voice jovial, and switched so I was holding her wrist gently, but firmly. I caught Bastet’s eye from across the room, as she was speaking to a dancer. She raised a brow in question and I gently shook my head. I had this. I looked back at Ma’at. She was still trying to hold it together, trying to play seductive again, hide the panic in her eye. I flashed her a grin.
‘You’re new to this, aren’t you, Mattie? I can tell. What, did they just upgrade you to the undercover unit? And you were excited for your first case to be me, weren’t you? It’s glamorous and I’m meant to be such a charming bitch, so you could have fun with it too.’
She let out a little choked laugh, ever the consummate professional. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re clearly a little paranoid . . . tense. I can help with that—’
I continued, ‘I get why they chose you. Dedicated.’ Something shifted in her eye, not defeat but adaptation. She was trying to figure out a way out of this.
‘You also have the look.’ I lowered my voice and tilted my head. ‘You’re gorgeous. And you’re smart. You made me come to you. That was a smooth move. See, usually when they send a pig in here – once in a while, but they do – she’s obvious. Garish fashion sense, too flirtatious, sloppy. You, though? You have taste—’
I reached over to take a sip of her drink and grinned. ‘You’re professional too, so you wanted to keep a clear head, go teetotal for the night. I respect that. It’s unfortunate that you slipped up and told me your real name. You’re pissed at yourself because it was such a silly, rookie mistake. I can tell it’s your real name because you regretted saying it as soon as it left your mouth. Ma’at. Then you decided to lean into it, by telling me your nickname. It’s pretty. Mattie. Both names are.’
Ma’at nodded slowly, and something slipped from her face, revealing an even more devastating beauty. She wasn’t scared of me. She smiled. ‘Thank you. So . . . what now? You kill me?’
Her voice was so warm and so soft against my ears and, at that moment, I felt something cold and hard and sharp against my thigh. I glanced under the table to see that Ma’at was holding a tiny hunting blade to my flesh. I laughed in surprise and genuine delight.
‘How did you slip that in here? They didn’t pat you down?’
‘Oh, they did.’
She was, truly, a worthy opponent. I had to give her that. We both knew she wasn’t going to do a thing; she couldn’t. She was surrounded. She was technically in an unsafe, hostile territory. I could gut her if I wanted to. She’d put my family in danger. This was what made the blade against my thigh fascinating; it was a statement. She wasn’t afraid of me. She wanted me to know that she was dangerous too. It was sweet, really. She was playing with me.
I smiled. ‘Don’t be crude, Mattie. Of course we’re not going to kill you. There’s no need for all this. You’ll just go back to your bosses and say you couldn’t get in. Ouch, by the way.’
She’d pressed the blade a titch too hard, so that it pierced the flesh a little, a minuscule prick I felt across my whole body. It was the opposite of painful.
She cleared her throat. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I . . . that was an accident.’
In a swift, slick move, she flipped the blade shut and slipped it somewhere into her jumpsuit. She lowered her hand back under the table, against my thigh and stroked a finger across the soft plump. She brought up a smear of blood on her fingertip, dipped it into her mouth. Her face was impassive and something sharp and hot ran through me. She was playing with herself too, seeing how far she could push this with me, seeing how far she could withstand our physicality without compromising the reality of it all.