“That’s progress.”
“For real.”
“So, when are you going on a date with me?”
All of the times they’d been together, he’d never classified them as an actual date. They’d hung out, eaten mostly healthy since they both leaned in that direction. She’d enjoyed the splurge of homemade pizza and a movie. But they’d never called any of it dating.
She laughed. “You’ve asked me out several times.”
“And you’ve said no every single time.”
“I’ve had some things to work through.”
“I know, and I can wait as long as you need.” He took her arm, pushed the sleeve up, and traced the white scars.
“What are you doing?” But she didn’t jerk away.
“I want to tell you what I see when I look at you. What I think these scars now represent.”
“O-okay.”
“I see the evidence of how strong you are. The proof that you don’t quit. I see a woman whose scars and other past baggage won’t define her because she refuses to let it.” He locked eyes with her. “I see someone who invests in others’ lives so they can see they have a hope and a future.”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “I think she sees that.”
“I’m sure she does. I see someone who doesn’t understand how God could let her best friend die, but still believes he’s a good God and his plan is the best one.”
“Yeah,” she whispered past the growing lump in her throat. “That one’s hard, I won’t deny it.”
“But you believe it.”
“I really do. I don’t like that bad things happen. I won’t deny that I sometimes want to question God’s wisdom, but in the end, I know it’s far greater than my shortsightedness. I know that God doesn’t like the bad stuff either, but we’re not robots or puppets and he doesn’t pull the strings. We have free will. We all make our own choices. The bad stuff?” She sighed. “It’s this fallen world we live in. But God’s plan will redeem it all in the end and that’s what I have to hang on to.”
“You know what else I see?”
“What?”
“I see a woman who makes me want to be a better person. Someone who’s changed my life and my faith and made me realize that what I went through with Krystal was bad, but I don’t have to blame myself for being unable to help her. I tried. She made her choices. And while I wish things would have ended differently for her sake, the fact that it didn’t doesn’t have to dictate my future.”
Tears spilled over her lashes and he thumbed them away.
“You trust me not to turn to the painkillers?” she asked. “Like Krystal did?”
“Have you touched one since you quit?”
“No. Not one.”
“Then if you didn’t turn to painkillers when someone was trying to kill you, and your stress level was through the roof, I’d say you’ve got it beat.”
“Yeah.” She fell silent. Sighed. “I won’t say I don’t ever think about it.”
“I know. I get it. And I’ll help you.”
“And I’ll let you,” she said. He was right and she was letting time tick by when she could be doing life with this amazing man. “Ask again.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Ask me out. Again.”
His eyes brightened. “Emily, will you let me take you out to a fancy schmancy dinner and treat you like you deserve?”
She blinked back tears. “Yes.”
“Do you believe I can—and will—do that?”
“I do.”
“Good answer. Say it again.”
“What? I do?”
“Yes. Again.”
“Brady . . .”
“We’re practicing. Now again.”
“Practicing for—” She gasped. And knew her face went bright red if the temperature of her neck and cheeks was any indication. “Brady St. John!”
“What?”
She grabbed his face in her hands and pulled him down to kiss him. “I love that you make me laugh. I love . . . you.” There. She said it. And she didn’t die. Or have a panic attack. She simply felt . . . happy.
If the look on Brady’s face was any indication, his feelings were in agreement with hers.
Emily turned at a particularly loud shout from the porch. Linc had Ruthie in a bear hug while Derek tickled her ribs.
“Uh-oh,” Brady said.
“What?”
“Ruthie must have been caught cheating.”
“At Phase 10?” she asked.
“Oh yeah. We’re a very competitive group, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“They don’t scare you?”
Ruthie’s shrieks had diminished to giggles while her husband, Isaac, watched and grinned.
“They don’t scare me,” she said softly. “They’re confirmation that God sometimes really does answer prayers just the way you want him to.”
He swept a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. He sure does.”
And he kissed her again. And again. And again.
Until Derek dumped the playing cards on top of their heads.
1
FRIDAY AFTERNOON
VLADISLAV NEVSKY’S HOME
COLUMBIA, SOUTH CAROLINA
FBI Special Agent Allison Radcliffe fingered the key in her apron pocket and debated about breaking into Vladislav Nevsky’s office. “Are you there?” she asked, her voice so low only the person on the other end of the COMMS could hear it.
“Always.”
Linc St. John, her partner—and the man she was falling in love with against her better judgment—answered immediately. She smiled, secure in the knowledge that he had her back. Just like she’d have his should their roles be flipped.
Focus. She walked past the office and into the kitchen. Follow the routine.
“I think this is my chance,” she said.
“You’re sure?”
“Somewhat.”
“That’s not good enough. We’ve waited this long, we can wait a little longer.”
“I don’t think so. He was livid when his keys went missing then mysteriously turned up under his favorite recliner in the den. Even though I was subtle about it and made sure I was careful, I still think he knows it was me and is just trying to figure out what to do about it.” She rubbed her palms together. “My Spidey senses are tingling and telling me time is running out.” Unfortunately, she still hadn’t located the person she’d hoped most to find and her main reason for pushing for the undercover assignment.
“Then forget it and get out.”
“No way. My whole life has been leading up to this. I’m not leaving without getting in that office. Soon.”
“Your whole life?”
She bit her lip. “In a manner of speaking.”
Shut up and do your job.
One year ago, Russian Mafia head Vladislav Nevsky, also known as the Pakhan, had moved part of his New York–based organization to South Carolina and the outfit had proceeded to grow like a cancer. Ending part of it was better than none of it, but they’d all agreed taking out Nevsky was the only way to start the process of eradicating the worst of the disease.
They just needed evidence to do so. Solid, undeniable evidence. They’d finally found a way to infiltrate his home.
“He likes to eat,” Allie had said, slapping the conference table covered in surveillance photos.
Linc had blinked. “Huh?”
“Look at these pictures. What do you see?” She jabbed a finger at the nearest one. Then another and another. “Nevsky is eating in just about every picture. Well, guess what? I like to cook. Not only that, I’m good at it. Very good, thanks to a college roommate who studied to be a professional chef. I’m going undercover as Nevsky’s personal cook. Let’s make that happen.”
Her supervisor, SSA Henry Ogden, and Linc had exchanged glances, shrugs, and finally nods. Only they hadn’t known who else she’d seen in one of those pictures.
G
regori Radchenko.
So, here she was. Looking for a way to take down Nevsky and settle an old score with Radchenko.
Only time was running out and Radchenko was nowhere to be found. It was better to get what she could and get out—and live to fight another day. “No guards in the hallways,” Allie whispered. “None in the kitchen either.”
The study, accessed from the hallway or directly from the master suite, had been her goal since entering the home. Unfortunately, finding a way into that room had proved impossible thus far, since Nevsky had almost as many surveillance cameras inside his home as he did outside. With no way to disable them without setting off alarms, she’d have to get in the office, get what she needed, and get out. Then pray he didn’t have any reason to look at the footage before she could slip out of the house once and for all.
While her mind grappled with when to act, she grabbed the flour from the pantry along with a bag of apples, cinnamon, and everything else she needed to make a mouth-watering apple pie. Nevsky’s favorite dessert next to baklava.
“What are you making today?”
Allie swallowed a startled screech and popped out of the pantry to find Nevsky’s seventeen-year-old daughter, Daria, perched on one of the stools at the kitchen island. “You scared ten years off of me,” Allie said, pressing a hand to her beating heart.
“You’re young, you can spare them.”
“Ha. No one can spare ten years. Are you looking for another cooking lesson?”
“Nope.”
Allie lifted a brow. “Okay.” Usually Daria showed up about this time every day after school and the two spent the afternoon preparing dinner. As long as her father wasn’t home. If Nevsky was home, Daria sketched or painted. But today was supposed to be different. “What are you doing here? I thought you had that field trip to the museum downtown.” She glanced behind her. “And where’s Gerard?” Daria’s bodyguard was usually ten paces behind her.
“He’ll be along soon enough. I gave him the slip.” She rolled her eyes. “And I did.”
“Did what?”
“Have a field trip. I cancelled it—or at least my participation in it.”
“Because?”
“Because life is short and it’s time to live, take the bull by the horns, and chart my own course,” the girl said. “Or something along those lines.”
“I’m sorry, what?” The teen was forever speaking in riddles—or saying one thing and meaning another. Usually, Allie could follow along, but today, she’d been caught off guard by Daria’s appearance.
Daria grinned, twin dimples peeking at Allie as she swept her long blonde hair up into a ponytail, then hopped down to turn on the sink. She stuck her hands under the water. “I’m going to do the whole thing by myself.” She paused mid-lather to frown. “Unless you don’t think I can?”
“I totally think you can. It’s just . . .”
“What?”
“Well, it’s my job. It’s what your dad pays me for, remember?” Allie let out a little laugh. She grabbed a few ice cubes from the freezer, dropped them in the blender, and flipped it on. She leaned in close to Daria’s ear. “You and I both know he wouldn’t approve, and if he finds out— which he will if he looks at the security footage he has going 24/7—then he’d probably fire me.”
“And I don’t really care—about the approval and finding out part, not the firing part.” Daria’s eyes darkened for a fraction of a second. She lowered her voice. “He does plenty of things I don’t approve of.”
“Oh?” Allie said, keeping her own voice casual and soft while she pulled measuring spoons from the drawer to her right. “Like what?” she whispered. She cut the blender off and dumped the ice into a glass.
Daria shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters.”
She gave a small, curiously unreadable smile. “Let’s just say”—she motioned to the blender again and Allie refilled it with ice and turned it on—“he’s not as smart as he thinks he is.”
“How so?”
Daria pursed her lips and her eyes flashed. “He thinks everyone and everything can be bought,” she said, her voice so low Allie had to move even closer to hear her. “More than that, he thinks I’m stupid and therefore I’m invisible to him. If I was a boy, I’d be his favorite person. Like my brother.”
Allie blinked. “You don’t have a brother.”
“Actually, I do. He’s older and he doesn’t live here, though. I never see him. I think I’ve been in the same room with him maybe four times that I can remember. Truthfully, I’m not even sure he knows I exist. Which is fine because he’s just as evil as my father.”
A brother? There’d been nothing about Nevsky having a son in their copious amounts of research.
“But I’m just a girl,” Daria said. “A stupid, worthless, invisible girl.” She doodled on the napkin in front of her. A unicorn emerged beneath her skilled strokes. “But I did something he’ll notice. Something he definitely won’t approve of.” A giggle slipped from her.
“Daria?” Allie wanted to shake her. “What’d you do?”
“It’s funny how such a smart man can be so very foolish.” At Allie’s blank stare, she sighed. “You know what they say about the foolish man who builds his house upon the sand.”
“No, what do they say?”
“When the rains come down and the floodwaters rise, the house built on the sand will meet its demise.”
“You’re talking in riddles again.”
Her smile flipped. “It’s the only way I can talk around here so I don’t get into trouble,” she whispered.
Allie bit her lip and avoided glancing at the camera in the far corner of the room. “What are you really trying to tell me here?”
The teen laughed and waved a hand in dismissal. “Nothing. I want to make a pie. You’ve got the roast in the slow cooker. I can handle the other veggies just like you’ve taught me. I’ve got this, so you can take the afternoon off. And that’s no riddle.”
“But—” Allie turned the blender off. She’d already left it on long enough for Nevsky to be suspicious should he decide to watch or listen in on the footage. “Seriously, Daria—”
“No, no, no. No buts allowed. Literally. So remove yours from the premises and go read a book or something. But first, pass me the apron and then I don’t want to see you until six.”
Allie’s adrenaline flowed a bit faster. “You’re sure? I really don’t want to get you in trouble,” she said, handing over the apron after slipping the key from the pocket.
“One hundred percent.” The girl’s face softened. “You’ve taught me so much. I love to cook, and since Papa’s not going to be here for dinner, this is the perfect time for me to put my new skills to the test.” She bit her lip, then gave Allie a quick hug. Then looked at the blender. “Then maybe I can surprise him one day with something he loves and he’ll be glad I took the time to learn.” She sighed. “Then again, probably not.”
“All right, then. Holler if you need me.”
“Will do.”
Allie slipped from the kitchen and hurried down the hallway toward the study located past the circular stairwell and the massive living room. The house spanned twelve thousand feet, and at first, it had taken her a good two days to find enough time to sneak away from her duties in the kitchen and learn her way around. And the only thing she liked about the place was Daria’s artwork subtly displayed in various rooms. The teen was hands-down talented when it came to creating unique pieces using any medium she chose. Although she did seem to favor using everyday items from Chapstick tubes to measuring spoons in her creations.
After spending a little over four weeks undercover and sleeping in the guest room on the second floor across from Daria, she now knew the place as well as her own twelve-hundred-square-foot apartment.
“Allie? You there?”
Linc’s voice came through the earpiece. “I’m here,” she said softly. Low enough that any mics wouldn’t pick up her
words. “Did you get all of that?”
“Most of it. There were some spotty places because you were whispering, but I got the gist of it. I’d give my right arm to know what Daria doesn’t approve of.”
“Same here. I’d also like to know who this brother is that she’s talking about.”
“Ask her.”
“I will when I get the chance.”
“You’ve gained her trust.”
“I know.” A flash of guilt hit her. From the beginning, she’d played on Daria’s desire for a mother figure and had Daria’s adoration within days. At least she thought she did. Unless the girl was playing her as well as she played everyone else in her life.
Allie slid the key into the lock and gave a quick sigh of relief when it turned. She slipped inside the office and shut the door behind her. “I’m in.”
Without wasting any time admiring the luxurious decor since she knew the money used to outfit it had been gained via the deaths of good people—some of whom had been law enforcement officers whose families still waited for justice—she strode to the desk, inhaling at the sight of the laptop sitting right where she’d last seen it. Next to it were two new EpiPens. The man was terrified of bees, even though he had no allergy that they were aware of. “Is Annie ready to do her thing?”
“She is.”
Allie inserted the flash drive that would allow Annie, their IT genius at Quantico, to take over the laptop and crack the password. Once she was in, she’d copy as much of the hard drive as she could. Depending on how much was on the laptop, even with Annie’s high-dollar technology, Allie wasn’t sure she’d be able to get it all before she had to pull the device.
Code of Valor Page 28
