In Chaos (Undercover Book 3)

by Adalind White

  I reached in for a bottle of vodka. I poured it on the driver until he jerked awake.

  “Tell your master he has forty-eight hours to have the weapons ready,” I told him. “Do you understand?”

  He nodded slowly, and he pushed himself up in extreme pain. He clearly had internal injuries, but he should thank his lucky stars I needed him alive. There was no cure for a bullet through the brain. The way he stared at Grigori’s mangled body made me think he realized that things could have gone far worse for him.

  I watched the car take off, leaving a trail of blood in the snow. When it was gone, I heard the engine of another car approaching.

  Petrov got out and lit a cigarette.

  “They’re going to take you seriously now,” Petrov said looking at the corpse. “Come on, let’s put this in the trunk and get out of here.”

  I didn’t ask him why he thought it was a good idea to drive around with a corpse in the trunk. He knew better than me what was the best way to go about things around here.

  “Good work,” he said, sounding genuinely cheerful.

  Maybe he knew that from now on I couldn’t look down at him anymore for killing Tatiana. Or maybe this was the proof Skye’s brother-in-law needed to consider me worthy of her.

  I dragged my feet through the snow to wipe the blood off my shoes. We got into the car and headed back into St. Petersburg. The dogs would come out in the morning and they’d deal with the brain matter and shards of bone from Ignatiev’s skull. The blood would wash away with the snow. It would be as if nothing had ever happened.

  “I take it you had your doubts before?” I said, not looking at Petrov.

  “Of course,” he said. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

  I looked out the window without saying anything. I wished I could say that was the first time I did something so monstrous to another human being. For many years, I almost managed to convince myself that killing my comrade with my bare hands in that sandy hell hole never happened. I almost believed it was a bad dream. A recurring bad dream that got more gruesome with time.

  We were silent the rest of way to the hotel. When we got out of the car, he held out a long fur coat for me, which covered my blood-stained suit. Nothing could cover the bruises forming on my face.

  No one stopped us in the lobby. No one talked to us in the elevator. Some people gawked at me, but no one was bothered by a middle-aged drunk who had been in a fight.

  “They’ll be at the Kirov in an hour,” Viktor said when I came out of the shower.

  He looked out the window while I got dressed. My bloodied clothes were in an attaché case on the table. We weren’t going to leave anything in this place.

  “Do they still call it the Kirov?” I asked.

  Back in the day, when I worked undercover, I prepared in minute details before any mission. Skimming on prep-work this time bothered me. What happened in the field had unpredictable elements, but preparation was one area of an operation I could control.

  “Took long enough to get used to the name,” Viktor said. “For sixty years it was called the Kirov. They changed the name back some thirty years ago. Being a foreigner, call it Mariinsky if you have to.”

  His patient tone reminded me he was used to preparing for undercover work. He rarely acted in a manner that made me truly believe he was a cop.

  “Is everything ready?” I asked.

  He recited the plan for the evening without a trace of annoyance.

  “The bomb will go off at 2000 at their casino. Aleksei will go to the scene because he’s the closest to the location. He will not take Skye with him. They’ve never been separated when they went out in public. He’s likely to leave a bodyguard with her, to take her home or to guard the door to their box.”

  “She won’t leave the opera,” I said.

  He didn’t pay any attention to my interruption.

  “If she stays, I’ll deal with the bodyguard at the door, and you go in. If she leaves, we’ll follow them, and I’ll take out the bodyguard before she enters their apartment building. Either way this goes, you have one chance to make contact.”

  One chance to reach her. All she had to do was scream and everything would be lost. We were both risking our necks on the belief that I could reach through the Spice fog. And if I succeeded, we both forfeited our careers for botching the mission intentionally.

  I looked at the four-poster bed in the middle of the room. If all went according to plan, in two hours I’d be there with Skye, making her scream in ecstasy.

  #

  I strode into the building in full Kingpin mode. The hulking former FSB agent walked a step behind me, completely immersed in his own character. Hired muscle making his presence known to all potential threats, but discreetly enough not to put people off their caviar.

  There were no people and no whiff of food on the corridors of the famous Mariinsky Theater. Not even beluga caviar.

  We timed our arrival so that I’d enter the box a few minutes after the opera started, when the lights were already off. The less people saw of me, the better.

  The FSB gave us the names of the people who had tickets in the right box, and Petrov persuaded them to stay at home that evening while I had my business lunch with Ignatiev. By the time the Stepanovs would get around to checking this, we’d already be out of Russia or dead.

  Petrov remained at the door to my box, waiting for the moment when Aleksei Stepanov and his goons would run out of the building, and he would get to work.

  After I closed the door behind me, I took a deep breath, pausing for a moment in the complete darkness behind the curtain. I had a vivid recollection of all the moments I spent with Skye, not only our scenes.

  The night at the Met was among my favorite memories. It went beyond the sheer pleasure she had offered me that night. I treasured that beautiful display of her trust in the depth of my heart.

  I was counting on the fact that the impact of that scene had been deep enough to survive the haze. Something of her love for me had to have survived.

  I stepped silently from behind the curtain and took a seat in the middle of the box. I glanced at the stage, fighting the urge to seek her out in the audience immediately. I needed to watch them together and I only had a few minutes.

  We had chosen a box on the same floor as theirs, with a good line of sight. With a lump in my throat, I swept my gaze over the gilded balconies, passing over them with studied indifference until I got to her.

  She was breathtakingly beautiful. I turned my head to the stage but kept my attention glued to her. To them. I forced myself to see them as a couple. They weren’t touching, but the energy between them was clear from across the large concert hall.

  Aleksei Mikhailovich Stepanov was entranced by the music but from time to time he turned his head toward Skye. He looked at her adoringly, but not possessively. In all the recordings of their public appearances, Skye had stayed by his side, or sometimes a step behind. She acted to perfection as the part of the high maintenance mistress. For all the world she was a glittering jewel Stepanov junior paraded as a symbol of his status. A courtesan. A slave.

  Seeing them here, in the intimacy of their luxurious box, I sensed genuine affection.

  It had to be the Spice fog. It had to be.

  My phone vibrated. The message said Diversion successfully deployed. Thirty seconds later, the curtain in Skye’s box parted. A man with large shoulders and a crew cut leaned over to whisper in Junior’s ear.

  It was hard to call him Junior when he stood up. Six feet and some change, with narrow waist and broad shoulders. I watched him bow to her more elegantly than I thought possible for a man his size. He must have asked her if she wanted to stay or leave.

  The stage was so brightly lit when she answered that I was able to lip read her answer. Her dark cherry red lips contrasted strikingly with her pale skin. I watched her shape the words.

  “I’ll stay.”

  I c
ouldn’t tear my eyes from her mouth. How I had wished to hear those words from her! I would have traded her cruel I love you for I’ll stay.

  I expected him to kiss her when he left. Red hot jealousy burned through me like wildfire. I gritted my teeth to stop from screaming. Mine!

  He kissed her hand with such grace and earnest adulation, it made it worse. He worshipped her, and she allowed it. She enjoyed it.

  Jealousy had no room here and now. I had one chance to rescue her.

  Chapter 17. Nick – Extraction

  A few minutes later, I got the second pre-arranged text from Petrov. The coast was clear.

  Fear twisted in my gut. My imagination threw at me dozens of scenarios in which I failed. All it would take was one scream from her, and it would be over. There could be someone else from Stepanov’s gang in the building. They could try to stop us and I’d have to improvise. Even a well-meaning employee of the theater could try to interfere. I swatted away the thoughts that buzzed through my mind like flies. Nothing was allowed to interfere with my concentration.

  I marched the length of the U-shaped corridor, confident that the cameras would not capture my face. The witnesses from the concert hall, even if they paid attention, would be unable to describe me adequately.

  No one guarded her door. No signs of a disturbance. Petrov had done his job diligently and he would wait for us in the car.

  The door to her box opened noiselessly. There I was again, in the complete darkness between the outside world and the auditorium. I didn’t pause this time. I walked from behind the curtain and sat in the chair next to her at the same time as on stage, Mimi entered Rodolfo’s apartment.

  A small start was all the display of surprise from Skye. She turned her head slowly from the lovers on stage. When her gaze rested on me, my blood went cold. There was no spark of recognition in her eyes.

  One of my worst nightmares had come true. Skye had suffered an identity change due to intense trauma, or a chemically induced change.

  Skye’s experience in the field and her familiarity with deprogramming techniques would make it easier to break through the memory of a traumatic event. Her lack of experience with drugs would make it virtually impossible to fight her own body’s reactions.

  For all my scruples about messing with her mind for my own selfish purposes, I would have to do it for her good. She could hate me all she wanted once she was out of this place. She could curse me and run away again, but she’d be safe. Well… Safer than here.

  She arched a perfect eyebrow in invitation to explain my presence.

  “What is your name?” I asked.

  Her head twitched, and the tightness around her eyes conveyed an unexpected jolt of pain. Her brain was probably struggling to find a way out of the Spice fog.

  Her lips twisted, as if she fought the urge to answer my question and the deeper need to obey. Had Aleksei placed rules for her behavior in his absence? Would she be punished if she disobeyed him?

  She looked at me intently, her gaze roaming over my features with desperate hunger. It wasn’t lust, although the desire was evident in her widening pupils and quickening breathing. She was trying to remember me.

  “M-Marion,” she said in a stuttering whisper.

  “Take off your gloves, Marion,” I said softly.

  A muscle twitched in her face as she clenched her jaw. Her gaze sharpened, and I could almost see the question in her mind. Who the hell was I to command her?

  What would I do if she slapped me? In her haute couture dress and with her fancy opera gloves, she looked like the heroine of an old fashioned movie who would slap a fellow for being too fresh.

  My body began to stand to attention just by looking at her. Every inch of her skin was covered, but that didn’t detract from the effect her rapidly rising and falling chest had on me. I could tell she was wearing a corset under the dress. That must have made it difficult for her to take deep breaths. And it probably looked gorgeous.

  For a moment, I pictured her wearing nothing but the tight corset.

  Being aroused by this woman felt like I was cheating on Skye. Reverse Clark Kent complex. Maybe I was experiencing a Lois Lane moment. I wished I could laugh at the thought.

  I stared at her, not trusting my voice while I tried to get myself under control. Of all the ways this operation could be ruined, my own desire would be the stupidest.

  “I want to touch you,” I said.

  Her right hand hovered over the left. Her eyes seemed unfocused when she looked at me. I didn’t know what tipped her over, but her eyelids slid closed and she took off her left glove.

  On stage, Rodolfo sang to Mimi about her cold hand and his desire to warm it. The poet had the right idea. I had to warm up my ice queen.

  I took Skye’s small hand in mine. Her skin was smooth and pale. She tensed when I rubbed my thumb over the back of her palm before turning it over. She let me open her hand. It was an oddly submissive gesture from this cold goddess.

  We stayed like that, while the tenor sang his life story to the woman he wanted to get into his bed, not knowing she would be the love of his life

  The room burst into applause at the end of his aria.

  “Come with me,” I said, holding her hand.

  Her eyes snapped open but instead of pulling her hand away, she held me tighter.

  On stage, the soprano was beginning her own story, telling the poet that people called her Mimi although her name was Lucia.

  “I know your real name,” I said.

  Skye closed her eyes and shook her head. Her poor brain was enveloped in the merciless fog. She fought valiantly, but there was no winning against chemistry. Her memories were probably scattered to the wind. If we were very lucky, she still had questions. I could use them to guide her, step by step, back to herself.

  “Come with me,” I repeated, and stood up, still holding her hand. “I can give you the answers you need.”

  She hesitated for a moment, and I relaxed my grip on her hand, letting her take it away if she wanted. She squeezed my hand and stood up. She didn’t even look at the sable fur coat on the wall but she clutched her bag convulsively. She must have a phone inside it and it would allow Stepanov to trace her. Asking her to leave the bag could ruin the tenuous hold I had on her. I had dozens of setbacks with other agents for little things like this.

  We left the box at the same time as Rodolfo and Mimi were leaving the apartment to join his friends at Café Momus, less than forty minutes into the opera.

  She walked slowly in her sexy black stilettos. I was tempted to sweep her up in my arms and run away with her. The opera setting always made me want to act more melodramatically. I reminded myself that this time, it wasn’t one of our games.

  I held her hand while we walked along the empty corridors. I couldn’t shake the fear that she was going to disappear. She didn’t feel real somehow, no matter how desperately she was crushing my hand.

  The closer we got to the exit, the more intense became the fear that someone was going to stop us. I took a deep breath of the cold night air when we exited the building. No one had taken her away from me.

  Petrov opened the car door for us. She threw him a cautious glance, with the same lack of recognition. Nothing had clicked in her mind at the sight of the man who had once tortured her. She had no idea who he was any more than she knew me.

  She closed her eyes when the car door snapped shut after I got in next to her.

  “Are you afraid?” I asked her while Petrov circled the car to get to the driver’s seat.

  She looked at me with her alien-Skye eyes.

  “I am beyond fear,” she whispered.

  Chapter 18 – True Love

  Skye

  Aleksei never mentioned exclusivity because he didn’t have to. It was understood that no matter what we did behind closed doors, for the rest of the world, I belonged to him.

  Allowing this stranger to get close to me put my life in
danger. And yet I couldn’t help feeling he wasn’t a stranger. I didn’t recognize his face, his name, or his voice, but he seemed intimately familiar to me.

  “You are safe here,” he said.

  I wanted to laugh at the notion. Going into his hotel room had probably signed my death warrant, and maybe not only mine.

  His eyes burned with a fire I couldn’t name. It wasn’t the usual lust and envy I saw in men’s eyes. They craved my body and hated me for the simple fact that belonging to Aleksei put me out of their reach forever.

  The self-assured manner and the expensive suit spoke of executive level power. The fresh bruises on his face and the split skin on his knuckles were saying operation level gangster.

  “What are you?” I asked.

  “You know who I am,” he said.

  I tilted my head as if to look at him from a different angle. The vague familiarity taunted me. My foggy memories shifted in my head, making me dizzy. I didn’t remember him. What if he had known me in that past I couldn’t recall? Uncovering that part of my memory was worth the risk of death. I had to have a past. Everyone had.

  “I…” my voice trailed off for a moment. “I don’t remember,” I said, dragging out the words with an effort.

  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment.

  “Yes,” he said. “I was afraid of that. Is there something you eat or drink every day or almost every day?” he asked. “Something that didn’t come in a sealed package or you haven’t bought yourself from the store.”

  “No,” I said, but then I thought better. “There’s the tea, of course.”

  My apartment had come with a generous supply of Vintage Narcissus tea and when I was about to run out, Aleksei had brought me another box. I loved its exquisite flavor almost as much as I enjoyed using the silver samovar. Aleksei had been pleased to learn about my daily tea ceremony.