by Lauren Smith
“Yes . . . Oh God, please . . .” She threw her head back as he slid a finger inside her. She tensed, but he murmured soft words of comfort in her ears, praising her bravery, her courage, her beauty, and how she pleased him. He thrust his finger in and out slowly at first, allowing her to get accustomed to the feel of him.
“Please, sir, harder.” She wasn’t afraid. She wanted him to send her over the edge, and she didn’t need gentleness just then.
“Such a bad girl, kiska,” he teased her. Rather than frighten her with the threat of punishment, he rewarded her with pleasure. He added a second finger, stretching her, and then he moved his hand faster, his long fingers sinking deep into her aching wetness.
So close . . . So close . . . She was almost there. Tears of frustration clouded her eyes as she suddenly feared she might never climax again.
“You are mine, forever, kiska. Bound to me always,” Dimitri growled.
It was that possessive promise that sent her over the edge. She gasped, too overcome to scream as a tidal wave of ecstasy ripped through her, devastating her. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed against the glass of the window. Dimitri held her up, his fingers still inside her, but gentle now as he drew out her orgasm, encouraging little aftershocks that made her body twitch with pleasure until she sagged in his hold. Then she was lifted up in his arms and carried to the bed. Dazed, she lay still as he unbound her hands and massaged her wrists.
He pulled back the comforter and tucked her beneath the blankets. She was cocooned in heat and decadent softness, and suddenly it was too much. She began to cry in great, choking sobs. He joined her in the bed, curling her body into his, holding her as she rode the roller coaster of emotions until she was too tired to do anything more than peek up a few times and nuzzle her face against his chest.
“You’ve been very brave tonight, kiska. Those are tears of joy. You have regained your desire and pleasure tonight. You did that. Do you understand?”
She nodded, too tired to speak, but he was right. Her tears were ones of relief and joy. She was no longer Vadym’s captive. Her body was becoming her own again.
Viktor Ivanoff checked the zippers of his black wet suit. He sat on the edge of a small motorboat that was anchored half a mile out to sea from the shore that faced a row of expensive Malibu beach houses. He checked his watch. It was nearly midnight. He would wait a little longer and then go ashore.
His burner phone vibrated on the seat beside him. He picked it up.
“Yes?”
“The photo you sent didn’t come back with any matches.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive. The woman must have met him in Moscow. She was one of Vadym Andreikiv’s little whores. You know how those women are. She probably moved on to the next man after Vadym was killed.”
Viktor was familiar with Vadym’s file. After his mysterious poisoning, the Kremlin had wondered if it might be related to a string of disappearances of several Russian mob bosses in the last six months. The only thing that set Vadym apart was the public nature of his death. The other men had simply vanished, leaving their operations in disarray. His right-hand man, Jov Tomenko, had gone mad and shot at some Americans as they fled toward the US embassy in Mongolia, which had in turn gotten him shot by US Marines. But Vadym had other underlings who would have taken Elena Allen and killed her when they were done with her. Yet somehow, she had escaped and left the country. Was this why she was Viktor’s new target? Had she seen or heard something she shouldn’t have while sleeping with Vadym?
Viktor had been trained never to ask questions, but this mission bothered him. He had no qualms about killing the woman, but he didn’t like it when he sensed a bigger issue was at play and he wasn’t informed about it.
“Finish her and send a report, then return to Moscow.”
Viktor hung up, placed the phone inside his wet suit in a waterproof pocket, then picked up his air tank, scuba mask, and fins. When he was ready, he fell backward over the side of his boat and sank into the dark water and headed for shore.
Dimitri held Elena in his arms for a long while. She slept as though she would rest for a thousand years, and for that, he was glad. Tonight she had proven she had a soul that darkness could not conquer. The small flame had grown to a healthy fire, but there was still a long road ahead to bring back her inferno.
Yet he had hope. She had come so far in only a few days, farther than he’d imagined. However, he would have to be careful not to push her too hard or too fast. Any misstep had the possibility of sending her crashing back down. That was the last thing either of them wanted.
He pressed his lips to her cheek and closed his eyes. He tried not to think about his own reaction tonight. He had claimed her, she was his forever, but could she handle forever with a man like him? Playing these games to become comfortable in her own skin again was one thing, but sharing her life with a man who had dark desires and a darker future . . . that would be too much for any woman. It was why he had never settled down. If he dared to love a woman enough to marry her, to build a life with her, he would only ever subject her to a life of lies and danger. She would never truly be safe. This life had killed his parents. He couldn’t let it claim the life of a woman he loved. Yet, even knowing that, he couldn’t help but crave a different life, one he could share with Elena.
It was well past midnight when he felt the urge to relieve himself. He kissed Elena on the forehead and slipped out of bed. After using the restroom, he walked back into the room and stared for a moment at the moonlit sea. He couldn’t shake the restless feeling inside him. Was he being paranoid? Maybe it was only because someone like Viktor Ivanoff was here. He didn’t believe in coincidences. Too much had happened in his life to make believe that things like this just happened.
He turned back toward the bed where Elena slept, and his heart clenched in his chest. It was madness to want her, to crave all of her the way he did. He knew so much about her, but those were facts sorted into a dossier. He wanted to know all the things his network would never know. What did she dream about when those dreams weren’t tainted by nightmares? What inspired her as she lived day to day? What were her favorite books? What side of the bed did she actually prefer? Did she like to exercise? Did she enjoy the beach as much as he did? He felt like a foolish teenager, wanting to know everything, and that was exactly his problem. He should be keeping his head on straight and not acting like a lovestruck fool.
The temptation to return to her in bed was almost overpowering. He opened the balcony door instead and stepped out onto the stone balcony. It was bright enough that he could see the sand clearly on the ground below. It was pristine, untouched as the tide came in . . . almost. He leaned farther over the balcony railing to get a better look. His blood chilled in his veins. A set of footprints led out of the water toward their beach house.
Leo Antonov leaned back in his chair, feet braced on the edge of his desk as he held a baseball in one hand. The screens of his computer displayed the progress of a deep analysis of Elena Allen’s blood, which had arrived by private courier an hour ago. All he had to do now was wait for the tests to finish.
Nicholas called out from behind him, “Toss it here!”
Leo tossed the baseball over his shoulder without looking, and he heard Nicholas chuckle. “How is the science coming?”
Leo dropped his legs from his desk and spun around. “The DNA analysis should be done soon. So, when did you get back?”
Nicholas shrugged. “Just now.”
Leo, Maxim, and Nicholas had lived in the small manor house outside St. Petersburg for the last ten years, ever since the old palace near the lake had been abandoned and the remnants of the White Army had been sent into hiding. Dimitri also lived with them when he was in town, but he was usually in Paris or Moscow for most of his missions. They used to joke that they were the four musketeers, like the heroes in Alexandre Dumas’s book.
Nicholas threw himself onto a couch and tossed the ball into the air
. It was one of Leo’s favorite possessions. He had caught a foul ball at Wrigley Field when he went to a Chicago Cubs game one day while he was in the United States on assignment for a year.
“Where is Maxim?” Leo asked.
Again, Nicholas shrugged. “Out.”
Leo’s lips turned down. “Call him. We need him back here.”
“Why? He’ll only be all doom and gloom.” Nicholas put his feet up on the ottoman. This was Leo’s office, but for as long as they had lived here, his office had become a place for Maxim and Nicholas to relax. Leo usually didn’t mind, but tonight he was concerned.
“Nick, I’m serious—” The chime of his computer cut him off, and he turned back to his desk to analyze the results. There were dozens of matches filling the screen, but several were highlighted in red by the analyzing software.
Leo stared at the screen, his jaw dropping as he forgot to breathe.
“Leo?” Nicholas’s voice began to cut through the sudden ringing in Leo’s ears.
“Nick, call Dimitri now!” He could barely get the words out.
“You’re scaring me.” Nicholas was suddenly behind him, peering over his shoulder. “What is that?”
Leo pointed to one particular line on the screen in red.
“Twelve point five percent match,” Nicholas said. “Match to whom?”
“Nick, call Dimitri. This is an emergency.”
Nicholas pulled his cell out of his pocket and dialed Dimitri, put it on speaker. It went to voice mail.
“Dimitri, call us back. Code 78,” Leo said, then nodded at Nicholas, who ended the call.
“Are you going to tell me who Elena Allen’s blood matches?” Nicholas asked.
Leo shook his head. “You won’t believe it. I’m afraid even to tell Dimitri over the phone.”
Nicholas dialed Maxim’s number and left the same message with the Code 78 for him.
“We have to get to Los Angeles now. Pack a bag.” Leo coded the DNA file analysis of Elena’s blood so deep only he would ever be able to decode it again.
“That serious? What about Maxim?”
Leo shut his computers down and removed the portable hard drive. “He can meet us at the airport.” He secured the drives in the dining room under a floorboard up against the wall. The entire room had metal plates throughout the floor to give off false readings if anyone swept the room with any detection devices. They couldn’t take any chances.
Dimitri was guarding a ticking time bomb. If they couldn’t get there in time, everything they had been raised to fight for would be in vain.
Elena woke when she stretched out and felt only the empty bed. Dimitri had gone . . . so soon after she had opened herself up to him. Her heart clenched, and she curled in on herself in deep pain. She lay there a long moment, trying to focus on breathing. That was when the lightest of sea breezes tickled her face.
She sat up and stared at the open balcony door. She pushed back the covers and slipped out of bed to go check the deck. It was empty. She shivered and closed the door, flicking the lock into place. Why had Dimitri left the door open?
Something crashed downstairs, and she jerked toward the door, intending to go see who it was. But she froze. A man stood in the doorway, a gun pointed at her. He was tall like Dimitri but older, in his forties, perhaps. He had an unremarkable face that would blend easily into a crowd and cold, dark eyes. She pressed herself against the glass of the closed balcony door.
“Who are you?” the man whispered in a Russian-accented voice. “What makes you so special?”
Another Russian. Another man like Vadym. He took two steps into the room. There was another distant sound of shattering glass. Elena’s eyes darted toward the door.
“Your boyfriend was hard to put down, but those bullets in his chest will catch up to him eventually.” The man laughed at his own joke. Elena’s stomach turned.
No . . . Please no . . . Dimitri was hurt. Dying. And she was alone. The living nightmare had returned.
The man stalked toward her, and before she could run, he had her by the throat.
“What makes you so special?” he demanded again, tightening his grip on her throat and using his other hand to dig the barrel of his gun into her stomach.
Tears blurred her eyes as she tried to claw at his throat. “I’m not special,” she gasped. “I’m nobody.”
“Then why does my government want you dead?” He shook her like a rag doll, and her head smacked against the thick glass of the balcony door behind her. Pain exploded through the back of her skull, and white stars dotted her vision. It was getting harder to breathe. The man pointed the gun at her temple as he leaned over her. She gazed up at him, her body losing its strength. His eyes bored into hers but suddenly widened, his brows lifting.
“You look . . . No . . . That is impossible . . .”
Elena’s hands dropped and fell against her sides. When her fingers collided with the glass of the patio door, she had one last idea. She flipped the lock behind her and began to slide the door open.
For a moment, she and the Russian man were free-falling. Then he caught himself, but he had to release her to do so. She fell onto her back, the air rushing out of her lungs, and he loomed, glaring down at her.
“Stupid bitch,” he muttered as he raised his gun again.
“Actually, she’s rather clever,” someone said behind him. He started to turn, but then half a dozen bullets ripped through him, the sound deafening. Elena clutched her ears and curled into a ball.
A second later, the man stumbled and collapsed to the ground. His gun clattered to the floor, just out of reach. Elena scrambled to grab it and pick it up, afraid he might get up again. Dimitri emerged out of the shadows of her bedroom, a gun in his hand. His other hand gripped his side, and blood was trickling down the side of his face.
“Dimitri,” Elena gasped. He winced as he stepped over the dead man’s body to take the gun from her trembling hand. He tossed it onto the bed and then held out his hand to her and pulled her to her feet.
“Did he hurt you?” Dimitri pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her in a fierce embrace while he kept his other hand ready to fire.
“Not much. But you . . . he shot you.”
Dimitri pulled back and opened the buttons on his shirt to reveal a bulletproof vest underneath. “Yes, but I was prepared.”
“When did you—?”
“I will explain everything, kiska, but first we must clean the scene and go. Someone might have heard my gun firing.”
“Go?” She stared numbly at the body lying on the balcony floor. What would they do with him?
“Yes. Get dressed and put on your running shoes and some comfortable jeans. Pack your suitcase.” Dimitri released her and grabbed the man’s limp arms, dragging him through the room and into the hall.
“Kiska, now!” Dimitri’s tone jerked her focus back. Within fifteen minutes, she was dressed and packed, her bag standing up by the door. He came down the stairs ten minutes after her, his bloody face cleaned and his clothing changed.
“Where did you . . . ?”
“The basement.”
“But won’t someone . . . ?”
Dimitri shook his head. “I have friends who will take care of the matter.”
Elena cut herself off before she even tried to ask a question. He had friends who would dispose of a body and clean a crime scene?
“We must go.”
He ushered her out the door. She got into the car, feeling even more uncertain about her future than before. She heard the words that Russian man had spoken echoing in her head.
Why are you so special? Why does my government want you dead?
9
Dimitri’s hands shook as he gunned the engine of the Aston Martin. They would have to abandon it soon, but he needed to call a few people to help since he hadn’t planned on running like this.
Viktor Ivanoff was dead. That was the only good thing to come from all of this. Dimitri glanced over at Elena. S
he was quiet, her eyes focused on the road straight ahead. He clenched his fingers tight on the steering wheel as he saw the angry red marks of Viktor’s handiwork on her throat.
I almost lost her. The thought made him sick. She was supposed to be safe, and he had brought danger to her door.
“What did he mean?” she asked, finally turning to him.
“What?”
“He said, ‘Why does my government want you dead?’”
“What?” The man had told Elena his government wanted her dead? Shock ricocheted through him, but it explained so much. Dimitri had let the man think him mortally wounded after he’d unloaded two shots into his chest. Viktor should have tried to finish him off with a shot to the head, something Dimitri was ready for, but instead, he’d gone straight up the stairs. Dimitri had tried to break a few things to draw him back down, but Viktor had been focused on finding his target.
Dimitri turned down a darkened side street and stopped the car. “You were the target?”
“Yes. But why? Why would he . . .? I’m not . . . Is this because of Vadym? I knew he had friends in high places, but I didn’t think they would come after me here in the States.”
“It’s possible. Maybe the government assumes you overheard or saw something that could hurt them.”
“But I didn’t,” she insisted.
“It does not matter, so long as they believe you did. It would be safer for them to kill you.”
“Oh God . . . My parents! Are they in danger? They were coming to visit me in a few days.”
“Call them now, and then we have to ditch your phone. Tell them to cancel their visit.”
She pulled out her cell and left her parents a voice mail, and then he took the phone from her. After removing the SIM card, he tossed it and her phone out the car window.
“Wait—”
“I promise I will get you a new one, kiska.” He caught her chin and turned her to face him. “You need to trust me. Do you understand?”
