Shadow Assassin

by Elle James

  “And your self-defense techniques are too well-honed for you to be simply a translator,” the man in front of her said. “So, what else are you? A spy? A call girl?” His gaze narrowed even more as he pinned her with his gaze. “Or an assassin?”

  Her tight lips eased into a sultry smile. “I’m a translator,” she said, “and you’re keeping me from my duties. Now, either you move, or I scream.”

  He held out his arm. “Allow me to escort you back to the reception hall.”

  “I can get back there on my own,” she reminded him.

  “I know that, but I don’t trust you to follow me in. You might be hiding another knife under that silver dress. I’d venture to guess you probably wouldn’t trust me to follow you in, considering I still have the knife with which you tried to kill Petrov.”

  She frowned. “I was not trying to kill the man. He just needed to understand that no means no.”

  Daniel’s lips widened into a grin. “Or nyet means nyet.”

  “If you were close enough to hear me say that, you were close enough to know what was going on.”

  Still, he held out his arm refusing to move until she took it.

  “Fine.” Alex hooked her hand through his elbow, and they started toward the reception hall moving down the long corridor.

  The arm under the tuxedo sleeve was thickly muscled. The man’s chest was broad and probably as muscular as his arm, making her feel small next to him. As she’d noted, he’d easily disarmed her when she’d been holding the knife over Petrov’s chest.

  She’d been angry with Petrov for grabbing her and refusing to let go. She had not intended to kill him, yet. Her intent had been to reinforce the idea that not all women wanted to make love with him.

  Alex had briefly toyed with the idea of holding him at knife point to get the answers she wanted about who had given the kill order for her parents. It was probably just as well that Daniel had stopped her before she had gotten to that point. Her anger might have been her downfall and exposed her as the phantom assassin responsible for the deaths of a number of Russians, including the team that had been sent to kill her parents, and the middle-men who’d passed along the order.

  One government official who had passed that order along, a man her parents had worked closely with for many years, someone they had trusted as a friend, who’d been to their house and shared meals with them, had been their Russian contact when they’d first come to Russia.

  Alex might have spared him when she had gone to question his role in her parents’ death, but things hadn’t worked out that way. He had been surprised to see her and apparently scared, afraid that she knew too much and could expose him to the government officials with whom he worked closely. More than that, he seemed afraid someone would find out she hadn’t died in the fire that had consumed her home and parents.

  When he’d attacked her, she’d had no other choice. The man she’d considered a family friend had become just another puppet to the one who’d given the order to kill her parents.

  Thankfully, they had met at a quiet place by a river. She suspected that he had chosen that location for easy disposal of her body. It had served that purpose, but she had disposed of his body in the river instead.

  Anatoly Petrov had been his boss. Alex knew from all her research that Petrov reported to the President of Russia. He also had connections to the Russian mafia that dealt in a number of illegal activities, including human trafficking and drug trafficking. Alex suspected the mafia was also involved in siphoning off natural gas, selling it to other sources in Russia and to other countries.

  Petrov wasn’t the one calling the shots. Though Alex had been tempted, she wouldn’t have killed him until he’d given her the name of his connection to the mafia and the one ultimately responsible for putting the hit out on her parents.

  The team that had performed the hit had not been Russian military or Russian police. They had been a highly trained mercenary team, their payment source a Swiss bank account.

  Alex had established several contacts on the Dark Web, who were still working on who owned those Swiss bank accounts. She didn’t hold out much hope that it would lead to one individual. Those accounts were carefully buried in a number of organizations that appeared legit on the surface. In the meantime, she had to follow her own leads, thus her interest in Petrov and potentially, Sergei Baranovsky, another cog in the government wheel and potentially part of the Russian mafia.

  “I noticed you with Natalya earlier,” Alex said as they neared the reception hall. “Won’t she miss you and be a little concerned when you show up with another woman on your arm?”

  “So, you were watching me?” he said with a smile.

  Irritation burned in her chest. “It’s part of my job as a translator to read body language and to study the people around me.”

  He cocked an eyebrow and stared down at her. “What did my body language say?”

  “You were only there to be polite to the older woman, and you were also studying the people around you.”

  “Natalya might be older than I am, but she is still a beautiful and vital woman and in the same profession as you.”

  Alex shot a glance in his direction. The way he’d emphasized the word profession made her blood boil. She had suspected Natalya did more than translate. She managed to be at every political rally, diplomatic reception, and government-sponsored event. Where there were government officials of the Russian country, she could always be counted on to be there in beautiful, expensive dresses and jewelry.

  Most translators didn’t get paid enough to afford that kind of couture. Several options came to mind on how she’d attained the wealth needed to wear that kind of jewelry and clothing. Natalya had received gifts of jewelry and enough money to keep her in the lifestyle to which she had become accustomed. She could have traded something other than her translation services for the items, or she had a source of income other than translation services.

  “My services are limited to translation,” Alex stated firmly. She’d many of the same political rallies and government functions as Natalya over the past year that she’d been building her own reputation as a translator. However, Alex had never traded her body for money or jewelry and had no intention of starting.

  The self-defense lessons were for when she got into those situations where her clients or other people tried to take advantage of her. She then quickly reminded them that she was paid for her translation services not for any other skills they assumed she possessed.

  Daniel stopped short of the reception hall entrance and put his hand over hers on his elbow to keep her from withdrawing it. “What’s your story, Alexa?” he asked. “You speak fluent Russian, and yet, your English is purely American. Why are you really here?”

  She smiled tightly up at him. “I am using my translation services to support myself. And you can call me Alex.”

  “Alex, when you’re not in France, where do you live?”

  “Wherever the work takes me,” she said. “London, Paris, Moscow, the United States.”

  “You have no family, no children, no husband?”

  Her smile faded into a tight line. “I have no family. It makes it easy for me to travel around the world. What about you?” She refocused attention on him, deflecting it from herself. “I take it you don’t speak Russian?”

  “Guilty,” he said.

  “Do you at least speak French, since you’re here in France?”

  He shook his head. “I am relying strictly on my good looks, as you called it. The pay and accommodations are decent. I have no complaints.” He reached up and tugged at his tie. “Although, I’m not a big fan of ties.”

  She used that opportunity to slip her hand from the crook of his elbow. “And when your looks fade?” she asked.

  “Then maybe I’ll go back to the States, buy a ranch, settle down and raise a few kids.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t see that.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “No?”


  “You seem too cocky and sure of yourself to be relaxed.”

  “From what I understand, ranching is not a relaxing occupation. If I work during my good years and save enough money, maybe I can afford to have somebody else do the ranching for me. I can enjoy my time with my children and my wife.”

  “And you already have these children and a wife?”

  “No,” he said with a shrug. “But maybe someday.”

  Her stomach fluttered. She could imagine being the wife of this man who was cocky and sure of himself. She wondered if he would be the same in the bedroom. Heat coiled low in her belly. She stepped away from him as a natural reaction to keep from being burned. “Well, Daniel, I wish you well on your ranch with your wife and children. It wasn’t a pleasure to meet you, but I do wish you luck in your profession,” she said, emphasizing the word.

  He chuckled. “And I wish you luck in yours, as long as it doesn’t include assassinating Russian diplomats.”

  She kept a poker face and pasted a smile on her lips. “I’ll do my best not to…unless they deserve it.”

  He laughed out loud. “In which case, perhaps we should warn the Russian government you’re on to them.”

  She almost hated leaving the man. He tempted her and kept her on her toes. She would do well to keep an eye on him during the course of the two-day event. She still wasn’t convinced he was just an escort. The man’s moves were fluid. He’d handled her like a trained combatant. His big hands, firm on her wrists, and his broad, muscled shoulders were clear evidence of a life of discipline and training.

  “I suspect we’ll meet again,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” she said, and moved away from him.

  As she stepped out into the reception hall, she heard a scream. Alex automatically ducked.

  Daniel grabbed her around the waist, pulled her behind a wide column and then leaned out to view the crowd on the reception hall floor.

  Alex ducked beneath his arm so that she might see as well. “What’s happening?”

  “I’m not sure,” he said. “They’re gathered around someone on the floor.”

  “Well, we can’t find out who it is unless we get out there with them.” Alex pushed past Daniel.

  Daniel gripped her hand and hurried into the melee with her.

  Some guests scattered, while others gathered around. A couple of the security guards pushed their way through the diplomats. The crowd parted as the guards reached the center.

  Alex’s breath caught when she identified the man lying on the floor.

  Petrov lay with his hand clutched to his chest, blood oozing from between his fingers.

  “Looks like someone got the job done,” Daniel said beside her.

  “Apparently not,” Alex drawled. “He’s still alive.” She spotted Sergei Baranovsky and pushed her way through the crowd to him.

  Daniel followed close behind.

  When she reached the Russian, she spoke in his language. “What happened?”

  “I was on my way out the door when I remembered I needed to talk to Anatoly. He was just coming in from the garden and headed toward the bar to get a drink, when a group of people moved between us. A moment later, he was on the floor. Apparently, someone stabbed him.”

  In that moment Alex was glad Daniel had her knife in his pocket. If they’d found it on her, she would’ve been hauled off to some French police station and held for questioning throughout the rest of the Energy Summit.

  “Look,” Sergei said, “he’s getting up.”

  Petrov reached a hand up to one of the security guards.

  The guard shook his head.

  Petrov barked an order to him in French.

  The security guard shrugged, gripped Petrov’s hand and helped him to his feet.

  The Russian was still bleeding as he clutched the wound on his chest, but he nodded, smiled at the crowd and spoke in Russian. “I’m okay,” he said“This incident will not keep me from my duties at this summit.”

  At that moment emergency medical technicians pushed through the crowd with a wheeled stretcher.

  They urged Petrov to lie on the stretcher.

  Petrov insisted on sitting up, refusing to lie down. He allowed them to wheel him out of the reception hall as he shouted over his shoulder in Russian, “I will be back.”

  As they wheeled him toward the door, security guards had already set up a blockade, banning anyone from leaving the reception hall.

  A French policeman arrived and stood in front of the onlookers, speaking to them in French, and then in English. “Please remain calm,” he said. “Be patient as we investigate this incident. No one will be allowed to leave until we have interviewed everyone.”

  Alex turned to Daniel who was annoyingly close to her. “Good luck explaining that knife in your pocket.”

  “What knife?” he said with a grin.

  She frowned in his direction. “What did you do with it?”

  “Let’s just say somebody else will have to explain why they have it in their pocket.”

  “Whose pocket?” she asked.

  “Sergei Baranovsky,” he said with a grin, “your Russian friend with whom you were just conversing.”

  Chapter 3

  Striker had stood beside Alex as she’d spoken to Baranovsky in Russian and while the French police officer briefed the crowd. After Sergei turned and walked away, Striker leaned close to Alex. “What did he say?”

  “Someone stabbed Anatoly Petrov. He didn’t see who did it.” Her gaze shifted upward to the corners of the reception hall.

  Striker’s gaze followed hers, and he noticed the surveillance cameras.

  “If you’re one of the security personnel, you should be able to view the surveillance videos.”

  He shook his head. “I told you, I’m not one of the security team, but there might be someone I can tap to gain access to those videos.”

  “We’re on it,” a voice said in his ear.

  Charley.

  Striker had almost forgotten the communications device through all the drama.

  “We’re reviewing the footage now,” Charley continued. “A laptop will be delivered to your room. Hopefully by the time it reaches you, we will have access to the videos from the Baie des Anges reception hall. We’ll download them to the laptop.”

  As Striker listened to Charley’s voice, Alex stared at him, her eyes narrowing. “Is there something wrong with you?”

  “Not at all. Why?” Striker asked, assuming his most innocent expression.

  Sergei had followed the emergency medical technicians toward the exit only to be stopped temporarily by the French police where they patted him down, searching for weapons. Striker held his breath, waiting for the policemen to find the knife in Sergei’s pocket.

  When the police officer allowed him to pass through the door, Striker turned to Alex frowning. “Could he have found it that quickly?”

  “Maybe he had a hole in his pocket,” Alex said.

  Hans Sutter, the German Minister of Energy was next to attempt to leave. When police officers noted his name on an electronic tablet, another checked his passport while a third officer patted him down, stopping when he reached the front right pocket of his trousers. The German frowned fiercely when the French policeman stuck his hands into the man’s pocket and pulled out a knife.

  Alex swore softly.

  Striker recognized it as the knife that he’d taken off her. While Alex had been talking with Sergei, Striker had slipped the knife into Sergei’s pocket. He only hoped that Sergei would touch it and smear their fingerprints, making them indiscernible.

  It took several hours for the French police to get through the entire crowd in the reception hall. Other than the knife they found on the German, it appeared as though the actual weapon used to stab Anatoly hadn’t been located.

  Striker and Alex were some of the last people to make it out of the reception hall. Though he was impatient to get back to his room and the potential viewing of the video from the recepti
on, Striker didn’t want to appear too eager. He didn’t want to leave and give the French police any reason to suspect him.

  When they were finally cleared to leave the hall, Striker headed for the elevator. Halfway across the lobby, he was surprised to see Alex keeping up with him.

  “Is your room in this wing of the hotel?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Not actually. You said that you might have access to the videos from the surveillance cameras in the reception hall. I want to know what’s on those.”

  “So, you think by following me, I’ll allow you to watch them?”

  She shrugged. “It’s worth a try.”

  “Considering you almost killed the man,” he pressed the button to go up and waited for the door to the elevator to open, “I would’ve thought that you’d know who attacked Petrov. Aren’t you two working together?”

  A bell rang, and the door slid open. He entered.

  She stepped in beside him. “I told you, I’m an interpreter. I was only defending myself. I wouldn’t have stabbed my knife into Anatoly Petrov. I need him to remain alive. I also need him to understand the boundaries. No means no.”

  “I do believe he understands by now. Perhaps he was making a pass at another woman after he failed with you. She might’ve had the same self-defense training as you.”

  She ignored his comment. “Hopefully, the surveillance videos will shed some light.”

  Striker pressed the button for his floor. “Who would want Anatoly Petrov dead?”

  “I can imagine any number of people, especially those people who don’t want the pipeline project to move forward.”

  “And are you one of those people?”

  She shook her head. “The people of Europe need that natural gas. They have to get it from somewhere. Russia just happens to be the number two exporter of natural gas. It makes sense to purchase it from Russia. Meanwhile, Europe needs to be researching alternative fuel sources. It’s unfortunate the German has been detained because of that knife. Nord Stream’s Pipeline #2 originates in Russia and will culminate in Germany.”