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An hour later and Ra'Jirra had stripped to her underwear, panting on the bed like an overheated dog. Sarosh was on the balcony and dressed similarly (except for the bra) and settled in for the night. She might have been a little jealous, but he was right. Another Redguard sleeping on a hotel balcony was nothing to attract attention. A khajiit in her underwear would be.

When he'd pulled his shirt off, she was pleasantly surprised. The man had been training. Her estimation of him rose a notch. But now she was just miserable. "How do people live in this heat?" she asked him quietly. They were still speaking in Ta'agra but fortunately he was fluent.

"Any way they can, Raj."

Her hair was bothering her. She pulled it up and flipped the pillow over again. At least the place was clean. She did give it some points for that.

"You want to go back to the Pendant later?" he asked her.

"No. Like you said, it might attract attention. I'll manage."

"In the morning let's go back to my place. I need to write a message for Romanov and the drop off is near it. We can get cleaned up there."

"Do you have Air Ice?"

"No. But it will be cooler in the morning. You'll see."

Ra'Jirra picked up the flyer beside her and began fanning herself again. She couldn't sleep. She kept running the scenario over and over in her mind. The noise, then the man falling dead, a hole through him. Square through his chest. Everything screamed of another gun, but the only other person who was there was the amateur in the street. But surely the three were working together. And from that distance... From her own practice with her weapon, she knew it was inaccurate at range. In a pinch it might work - with luck - but things just didn't add up right. And how would a Redguard, and amateur spy no less, have managed to get his hands on a top secret weapon designed by Elsweyr?

She thought about the position of her assailant when he'd been killed. He was turned a bit away from her, which is why the blood hadn't hit her. And leaning down to ready another swing of the iron. But the projectile had to have entered almost exactly parallel to his body to pierce it so straight. And then she saw it in her mind's eye. An imaginary line, from the man's chest to his back, then extending not only outward but upward. He had been bending over to attack her when the noise had happened. The projectile must have come from up high. How high? Not across the street. That would have been too far.

The roof. The shot had to have come from the roof beside the alley. It had been, what? 2 floors? 3? But it lined up. Someone had shot him with a weapon similar to her gun from the rooftop. Another player? On her side?

"Dammit," she said, turning the pillow over for the fifth time. "I can't think straight in this heat!"

Sarosh was snoring lightly. The sounds outside were dim and far away. A couple talking on another balcony, maybe across the street.

"Fuck it. He's a professional, and I've got my fur to cover me. Mostly. Modesty be damned."

She took off the rest and closed her eyes, continuing to fan herself. It helped. She drifted off, imagining someone on the roof of the building with a gun. Still a long shot in more ways than one. The mysterious gunman might well have intended to shoot her instead, but she somehow didn't think so. Romanov? From all she'd read, the girl was just a mid level cyber security expert. Not the type for field work. She dreamed of a khajiit on the roof, looking down at her. The khajiit was naked.

She woke at the first light of day. It was cooler. She put her underwear back on and checked on Sarosh. Still sleeping. She roused him and they got dressed. The streets were empty at this hour, and she hadn't gotten enough sleep, but it was a good time to get moving. There was no sign of any patrolling guardsmen on the street, so they hailed a cab and made good time to Sarosh's apartment.

The building was just like the man. Nondescript. Average. Not rich, not poor. He must have at least lived like one of the mythical middle class he had mentioned. Maybe there weren't many in the city, but there were a few. No rising boxes here, they climbed the four flights of stairs and walked down towards his apartment.

He pulled out his key, then stopped.

"Wait," he said, and looked around the floor. He found what he was looking for a few feet away. A thread, too small to notice unless you were really looking for it. It served the same purpose as her scrap of paper had. Someone had been here since he had left. He signaled to Ra'Jirra. She nodded and pulled her weapon from her pocket and held it in safety position, pointing up and standing beyond the door frame while he opened the door.

"Relan? Phelix?" he called as he opened the door, but Ra'Jirra noticed the tripwire in the gap at low level. She rushed at Sarosh and tackled him at the waist, sending them both to the floor on the other side of the door frame before the explosion hit. The wall of flame that instantly burst from the apartment singed the leather of her boot. Then, just as suddenly as had started, it was over.

She couldn't hear a thing at first, but the ringing in her ears slowly faded. Sarosh was saying something, but he indicated his ears and shook his head. He was deaf too. They looked inside the apartment, but it was utter devastation within. She heard voices outside, her hearing returning. Sarosh recovered a metal box and they left quickly.

***********************

"Good. Very good indeed!" La'Dasha said quietly to the grate. "You're sure she wasn't hurt?"

"No. The weapon performed perfectly."

"Where are they now?"

"I lost them last night, but I picked them up again at his apartment this morning. There was an explosion."

"WHAT?"

"Not my work. Someone booby-trapped the door."

"Are they okay?"

"Yes. No one was home and the khajiit stopped him from entering. I must assume she sensed something."

"Dammit, she can't die yet!"

"Continue with the plan then?"

"Of course."

The voice was gone. They bombed the man's apartment? Someone must be really pissed off. And that was good. That was the point. But she mustn't be killed this soon. She rose and hailed a taxi.

"The Pendant," she said to the driver, and closed her eyes, remembering the previous night's entertainment. It had been glorious. Against all odds, the man had made for an excellent lover, and he fought well for a human. But she would have to find another hotel. The mess had been too much to clean up. She imagined the look on the maid's face when she came in this morning. What a sight that would be!

******************************

Sarosh had written two letters that morning, one encrypted that he placed in the drop, the other she didn't ask about, but he explained anyway. "A contingency plan. The family won't be returning."

She took his hand as they sat on a bench near a park. "I'm sorry Sarosh. I didn't expect anyone to recognize you."

"No need. It's a good thing. I had no idea my cover had been blown. Now I know and everyone is still alive. It is the best outcome. But I will have to leave Rihad."

"Any ideas who did it? It's doesn't sound like the work of a Hammerfell agent. They would just have swept in and taken us both."

"I've a good idea. I think it was retribution for that guy last night. Bombing is a favorite of the local secret police, and those guys looked like the type. And their clothes were classic 'plain clothes'. Cheap but spotless. But it wouldn't have been officially sanctioned. My guess is it was that other guy. We killed his buddy, and he knew where I lived."

"But we didn't kill him!" Ra'Jirra protested.

"He thinks we did. I need to find out who he is. He won't stop when he finds out I'm still alive. He'll be stationed at the main headquarters downtown. I'm going to stake out the place and see if I can spot him."

Ra'Jirra shook her head. "No Sarosh. He knows you. He doesn't know me. I'll go."

"He knows you too," Sarosh protested.

"Ha. Even you've said we khajiit all look the same. A change of clothes and I'm a different cat."

"The hair is pretty distinctive."

"I'll wear it up. You leave that to me. I got a good look at him too. I'll recognize him. No, you lay low for a while. I've got to go back to my room and change."

Sarosh nodded. "I'll meet you tonight at dusk at your room."

She returned to the hotel and found the scrap of paper still lodged in its place, opened the door, and spruced herself up a bit, but she did not bathe. For the role she planned, she should be unkempt. Then she pulled on some shabby clothes, tied up her hair, making sure it was mussed a bit, then caught a taxi to the police headquarters.

"No!" she said to the desk officer. "This one will remain here until they bring him in."

"Okay ma'am, but I'm telling you there's no report of a khajiit kid arrested last night. But if you must wait, you can have a seat over there. If I hear anything, I'll let you know."

She nodded acceptance and made herself as comfortable as she could. It was getting hot again. She spent the next four hours scanning the personnel that came and went until at last a big man came in wearing civilian clothes. He waved to the desk officer who unlocked a side door and let him in. She watched the man until he was out of sight. Hadn't even changed his clothes, and he looked pissed off.

"That's him," she said to the desk officer when he had gone. "That's the man who took my boy."

"Who? Detective Royan? Couldn't have been. He was on a stakeout last night. Besides, he doesn't do grunt-work like arresting shoplifters."

"That's the man," she insisted.

"Listen, lady, if he took your boy, I don't think you'll see him again honestly," the desk officer said quietly. "I'm sorry, but he's on a special task force, and your boy was involved in more than shoplifting."

"Oh!" Ra'Jirra squealed, as if suddenly in anguish. "It's those hooligans he hung around with, wasn't it? Always talking about revolution this and insurrection that. This one knew he was in with a bad crowd, but she never thought... This one told him they would cause him trouble."

"Look, I could go bring the Detective over to talk to you, but I wouldn't advise it. He's not very friendly. If your boy comes home with a black eye and some broken bones, count yourself lucky. If he doesn't come home at all... well, that happens sometimes."

"Oh!" Ra'Jirra began to cry. "No... No, I'll do as you say. I'll wait at home."

With that she walked out of the station, caught a ride to the hotel, and went back to her room. The maids had been in, but she found nothing out of place. She took a long, leisurely bath, then put on her most elegant gown. A black affair, blackless and cut so low the top practically met the bottom. She smiled at herself in the mirror. Perfect, if she did say so herself. Then she went down to the casino.

She relished the looks she garnered when she walked in the door. She was in no way overdressed for the place, but when properly outfitted and trained, a khajiit woman was a rival in beauty to even the most elegant Altmer. Smiles went up on men's faces, frowns on the women. Mostly. She crossed to the long bar.

"What does a cat have to do to get a bite to eat in this place?" she asked the bartender in a pretty good imitation of a Hammerfell accent.

"Why, just ask!" he responded with a chuckle. "What would you like?"

"What I'd really like," she said, intentionally using the forbidden first person pronoun, "is a good sized plate of ground meat, lightly seared, water and a good stiff drink."

"You've got it lady! What kind of drink?"

"You pick. You're a bartender. Make me something special. But don't forget the water. I might not like it."

She scanned the crowd behind her. Various table games were set up. She watched carefully to see who was looking at her surreptitiously, but she caught no one, beyond those who obviously were watching her for other reasons.

The bartender returned with a colorful drink and a glass of water. She smiled at the bartender and dipped a finger in the drink, touching it to her tongue. It was sweet and strong.

"Mmm! What's in it? Is that pineapple juice?"

"It is. My own concoction."

She sipped and indeed it was tasty. "Thank you. What's your name?"

"Sam," he said simply leaning on the bar towards her.

Probably a lie, but she wasn't one to mind. "Listen, Sam. I need your honest truth. Which of these tables are fixed? Who's the sharks and who's the fish?"

"All our gaming is as straight as an arrow, ma'am. There's no..." he began before she interrupted.

"Sam," she started, giving him the Sultry Eye. "There is no such thing. Look, you can check my cleavage out as much as you want. I don't wear a dress like this because it's comfortable. But be a dear and give me the straight scoop, okay? By the end of the night I'll find out anyway, and you'll lose a nice tip."

"Table on the left is rigged," he said quietly. "Dealer is a card shark. Can deal himself any card he wants. The roulette table is legit, as is the card table behind it. But it's high stakes. That's where the local bigwigs go for an honest game though."

She smiled and bent over the bar a bit. A little tip for his honesty. "The drink really IS good. But I'm getting hungry. Would you mind checking on the food?"

"What?" he said, distracted. "Oh! Sure. Be right back."

He brought the meat back, with a little salad.

"Thanks Sam. Um... will they mind if I... eat this properly?"

"Maybe you can step behind the bar instead? There's a little room back here. No offense but, we've had khajiits in here before. I know what you mean."

She nodded and went to a little room where she wolfed the food down as she really wanted to, then came back to the bar, dabbing her mouth with a napkin delicately.

"Thanks," Sam said sincerely.

"No, thank you. It's annoying not to be able to eat the way we want to."

"By the way, your Hammerfell is excellent. Where are you from?"

"Oh, from here and there. I travel a lot. But sorry Sam, I've got to take your favorite cleavage away now. Nice to meet you!"

"You too! Say, want to go out later? I'm off at midnight."

"Sorry. Can't stay that long. Raincheck?"

"Sure. I'm here every night."

She took her drink and water and slunk her way around the tables in her best sultry walk, tail sashaying behind her with abandon.

"Say," the bartender called. "What's your name?"

She smiled. Bingo. "Ra'Jirra', she called back. "My name is Ra'Jirra." she repeated, emphasizing the forbidden first person possessive..

Heads turned. Some at the unusual sound of a khajiit voice speaking in a Hammerfell accent, others at the name itself.

"The problem with being undercover," she thought as she advanced on the high roller table, "is that you never know who sees through it. Better to have your cards exposed. Then you don't have to wonder."