Heart Strike (Project Kobra Book 3)
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Table of Contents
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About Heart Strike
Praise for the Project Kobra series
Heart Strike Title Page
[1] Odesa-Holovna Railway Station. October.
[2] Odesa, Ukraine. A few minutes later.
[3] Odesa-Kiev All Stops Train. A while later.
[4] Kiev, Ukraine. At the same time.
[5] Darnytskyi District, Left Bank, Kiev. The next day.
[6] Civil Registry Office, Kiev.
[7] Desniansky GUMVS, Kiev.
[8] Eminönü Pier, Eminönü, Istanbul, Turkey. A few days later.
[9] Private Jet Terminal, Atatürk Airport, Istanbul.
[10] Aloft Kiev Marriott Hotel, Kiev.
[11] Darnytskyi District, Left Bank, Kiev.
[12] Somewhere. Moving.
[13] Darnytskyi District, Left Bank, Kiev.
[14] Darnytskyi District, Left Bank, Kiev.
[15] Kalinsky Hotel, Downtown Kiev, Ukraine
[16] Aloft Kiev Marriott Hotel, Kiev.
[17] South of Pechers'kyi District, Kiev.
[18] Stari Petrivtsi. Four hours later.
[19] Stari Petrivtsi. A glass of tea later.
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About Heart Strike
She’s American, he’s Russian. No one wants them to be together.
As a victim of the Kobra’s bomb, and with unique access to classified information, Fabian Santiago isn’t content with justice being delivered someday. When the Seven Seas unit bogs down in trivia she heads to Ukraine to find the Kobra herself.
When she falls—literally—into the arms of Mischa Sokolov, a charming Russian living in Kiev, their affair is so heated she is distracted from her very personal mission…until she leans that Mischa is not quite what he seems, and that her coming to Ukraine is shaking apart decades old conspiracies…
This romantic thriller is the third book in the Project Kobra series.
1.0: Hunting The Kobra
2.0: Inside Man
3.0: Heart Strike
…and more to come!
Praise for the Project Kobra series
Just when you think you know exactly where the story is going she steers it in the opposite direction.
Tracy brings serious competition to the big boys of spy thrillers.
Every time I thought I had it figured out another twist or turn would make me second guess and start to suspect someone else.
An unbelievably good book! It is fast moving with so much going on that you will never want to put this book down.
Tracy Cooper Posey once again proves why she is a master at the Romantic Thriller genre.
Tracy Cooper Posey writes incredibly strong, intelligent female characters who shine in this series.
What a whirlwind adventure! I never saw that coming and now I'm stuck in another series! Awesome!
[1]
Odesa-Holovna Railway Station. October.
Until today, Fabian had never considered train travel to be dangerous. Only, this was the first time she had been on a train since the Hamilton hotel blew up with her in it. The therapists had warned her about stairs and ramps, about staying on her feet for too long. That was after she had refused the walking frame, and also the cane they had come up with next. There had been dozens of admonitions and dire forecasts about how awkward life would become, now. As if she hadn’t figured that one out.
All the cautions and counseling, and not a single person had mentioned trains might be a challenge. Of course, no one in Washington used trains. They all drove—something else she could no longer do.
Yet here she was, on a train in eastern Europe, on a rail line which apparently hadn’t seen maintenance since Ukraine severed itself from Soviet Russia.
The train clanked out of the station as Fabian moved into the next carriage in search of a seat. She was not the only one navigating the aisles, nor was she the only one hauling a rolling cabin bag. Everyone nattered in fast Ukrainian and Russian as they moved around each other.
Then the train rounded a sharp bend. At the same time, the wheels hit points and the whole carriage jerked and swayed like a swing dancer.
It was too much for Fabian’s leg. She made the mistake of thrusting out her foot to maintain balance and also her hand. Only, her knee buckled at the unaccustomed effort and her hand met nothing but air.
The carriage rocked again as it straightened up. This time she fell backward. It was a classic pratfall. She even cried out. She was going to land on her butt and sprawl. Nothing could stop it, now.
Only, she didn’t land. At least, not on the gross industrial carpet.
The back of her shoulders slammed against a padded wall. A pair of arms hooked under hers and held her up, while her heart fluttered and her breath bellowed. The man said something. It might have been Ukrainian or Russian. Fabian didn’t know either of them. She had only been in Ukraine for forty minutes and couldn’t tell the difference yet.
He sounded amused, though.
For a moment, Fabian sagged in his arms while relief made her tremble. “Oh my God…!” she breathed.
“English, hmm?” the man said. “Here, let me…” He lifted her with the power of a hydraulic press and put her back on her feet. Fabian gripped the handhold on the corner of the seat closest to her, her heart still zooming. She turned carefully. Don’t put torque on your knee! her internal therapist nagged her.
The man bent to pick up a duffle bag he had clearly dropped to save her. That made it twice as embarrassing.
Fabian cleared her throat. “I’m sorry,” she said, as he straightened. “The sway of the carriage took me by surprise.”
He was a pleasant-looking man. Not overly handsome, not ugly. Except for his eyes. Either it was the color or the way his gaze settled upon her, with frank assessment. No quick look away as most strangers did because meeting the gaze of another stranger made them uncomfortable. His eyes were gray or blue—she wasn’t quite certain—and they were attention-grabbing.
He gave a small shrug. “It is of no problem at all. Another man might assume you were being clichéd, only you weren’t aware I was behind you.” His mouth shifted into a small smile. His accent was so mild it might not have been there.
Fabian felt her cheeks heat. Now he believed she had done it deliberately. Great. “I wasn’t expecting to deal with harmonic tremors and flank eruptions today.”
His brows lifted. “No, of course not. One doesn’t, in Odesa.”
Fabian swore silently at her slip. She’d said the wrong thing. She had to get better at this! Only, it was too late. It was out there now. So she veered away from it quickly. “Are you English?”
“I studied in Britain.”
She realized she was watching the way his mouth moved as he spoke. It was an interesting mouth, over a strong square chin and sharply defined jaw. And he was blond—a golden wheat color wh
ich was not Hispanic blue-black. His hair was trimmed neatly.
“I am not English, no,” he added. “Can I help you find a seat?”
Only now did Fabian realize they were holding up the progress of people moving up and down the carriage. A line of passengers behind the man waited patiently. Likely, there was a similar line behind her.
Fabian hadn’t felt this self-conscious and gauche since high school. “Yes, of course,” she said quickly, reaching for the handle of the cabin bag. “I mean, no, no, I can find a seat, thank you.” She turned carefully, with no twist to her knee. “You’ve already done your heroic deed for the day.”
As she maneuvered past them, Fabian murmured apologies to the people who had filled up the aisle behind her. She looked for a seat—any seat at all, now—into which she could sink and hide. So much for slipping into Kiev unnoticed.
“A hero, hmm?” His voice was amused and filled with warmth—and just behind her. He was following her. Of course he was. So were six other people. “And I thought everyone had forgotten that about me.”
Startled, Fabian glanced over her shoulder at him. “Excuse me?”
He shook his head. “A bad joke. Pay no mind. Look—there is a seat, just up there. Quickly—they’re leaving.”
He nodded ahead of her.
Fabian spotted where a family group were sliding out from the benches on either side of the narrow table. There were six of them, counting two children, which explained why they were looking for better seats. There were only two seats on either side of the table.
The family moved farther down the carriage. Fabian slid onto the seat as the last adult vacated it, then moved over to the window side. She grabbed the soft handle on the top of the cabin bag, telescoped the roller handle back down and pushed the bag beneath her seat.
The man gripped the corner handle on the seat. “Well…”
Fabian waved to the opposite seat. “Please. Sit. I will buy you a drink, as a thank you. Unless…are you traveling with others?”
“I am alone today.” He glanced up and down the carriage. “It is just…I would not like you to think I am, well…”
“Claiming your hero’s reward?” Fabian asked, lifting a brow.
He smiled. It was a nice smile, showing white, even teeth. “Yes, exactly.”
“A cup of coffee isn’t much of a reward. I think you can claim it with a clear conscience. Please sit down.”
As he lifted his duffel bag onto the first seat, then squeezed past it to sit on the seat opposite her, Fabian wondered why she was letting herself get tangled up with a local. Only, he had saved her from a bad fall. It didn’t matter that all falls were bad for her, now.
The train ride to Kiev was eight hours, for this was the slow train. She had missed the express. The train would get her to the capital shortly before midnight. She had chosen to take this one rather than sit at the train station and wait for tomorrow’s express.
Talking to someone who spoke English would help pass the time. It would also stop her from obsessing about why she was here. Considering it for too long churned her gut and made her feel sick. Then the anger would rise. She couldn’t afford to be angry—not while she was here. It messed up her thinking and she needed a clear head.
So, Fabian smiled at the man and reached for her wallet. “Or, do you drink tea?”
“Tea, of course. Not only do Russians like their tea, but the Brits like their tea even more, so I could not acquire a coffee habit even there. Let me get the tea. It will save you from having to gesture and pantomime what you want. It might be best if you keep both hands anchored for a while.” A humorous twinkle appeared in his eyes as he eased back out into the aisle.
Fabian would have protested, as it was supposed to be her reward to him, only dealing with Ukrainians right now really would be a pain in the butt. So she nodded. “Would the coffee be drinkable, here?”
“Not on this train,” he said, with a tone of experience. “It would be instant, just to begin.” He swayed closer to the seat as someone brushed past him.
“Then, tea it is.”
He pointed to his duffel bag. “Watch that for me?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll be right back. There is a bar in the next carriage.”
He moved down the carriage toward the connecting door. He did not seem to have any issues with the swaying of the carriage. He did not grope the corners of the seats as he went past or throw his arms up. He just walked.
Superb balance, Fabian decided, with a touch of envy.
As he went through the connecting door, Fabian could measure his height against the door itself. His head nearly brushed top of it. That put him at a little over six feet tall. He wore business trousers and a simple sweater over a collared shirt. It was relaxed, yet not casual. Was he a businessman? If he was traveling alone, that would make sense.
The man returned quickly, carrying two disposable cups with lids. The tags from teabags hung down the sides and steam rose from the ventilation holes in the lids. He put one in front of her as he settled into his seat. “Let it steep for a while,” he told her. “It is strong tea and when it is well brewed, it’s as good as coffee as a pick me up.”
“I bow to your expertise.” She left the cup alone.
He opened the lid on his cup and dunked the teabag up and down, encouraging it to brew. When he was not looking at her directly, Fabian found it easier to not get caught up in the quality of his eyes. She glanced over the rest of him, assessing.
He appeared to be in his late 30s or early 40s. He was not impossibly young. Instead, he had just enough worldly wisdom and character in his face. It said he had lived a little. He was not bulky with muscle although his shoulders were not narrow, either.
He put the lid back on his teacup and looked up at her. “I suppose we should start with names. Or shall we be mysterious strangers to each other? It will make a more interesting story, that way.”
She found her gaze coming back to his mouth once more. Was it the European background which made his mouth seem to move in a different way to every man she knew in America?
He held his hand out toward her. “On second thought, mysterious strangers are another cliché, aren’t they? I believe we’ve both reached our daily dosage on clichés. I am Mikael Sokolov. You can call me Mischa.”
Fabian took his hand and registered long, warm fingers against her palm. “I’m Piá Blanca.”
United States Botanic Garden, Maryland Avenue, Washington, D.C. At the same time.
Agata saw Cain’s unmistakable figure lingering on the pavement beside the Botanic Garden gate. Her heart leapt.
Her heart tended to squeeze every time she saw Cain after an absence, and her life was filled with absences. It dazed her to realize there was a man in her life who knew who she was and loved her, anyway.
“There he is,” she told Lochan.
Lochan steered the SUV over to the curb, threading through the light traffic with ease. He peered through the windshield, his eyes narrowed. “That’s him?” he asked, as Agata opened the tinted windows.
She leaned out enough for Cain to see her. She couldn’t help smiling as she waved to catch his attention.
“He looks short,” Lochan said, his tone disparaging.
“He is as tall as you,” Agata assured him. She was too happy to let his remark bother her. Lochan found everything objectionable these days, anyway.
As Cain approached the SUV, she thrust the door open and slid along the back seat to make room for him.
He bent to look inside the car before sliding into the seat. She approved of his caution. It was always possible she might have been forced to draw him to the car. Cain’s personal history gave him a native caution, and she had done her best to supplement it over the last few months. “It’s fine, get in,” she told him.
Cain settled on the seat beside her.
“Did you follow my instructions? Did you use the cut off, the way I explained to you?” she asked.
She cleared her throat.
Cain’s smile filled with wickedness. He was aware of what his kiss had done to her. “Yes, I used three cut-offs. No, no one followed me. Although I felt stupid doing it at six in the morning, weaving around all the joggers.”
“That’s usually when you need to be the most careful,” Lochan said. He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “That’s when most people are careless.”
“Cain, this is Lochan Soler. Lochan, Cain Warren. Lochan wasn’t in France last year.” She did not add the rest of her thought and hoped Cain remembered why Lochan had not been in France and would also not mention it.
Cain’s eyes narrowed, in recall. Then he nodded. “Nice to meet you, Lochan,” he said, his tone polite. “Now, do you want to explain to me why all the cloak and dagger at this indecent hour of the morning?”
Agata sighed. “At the moment, all the cloak and dagger is necessary. Especially today.”
Cain raised his brow. “Because of the wedding? That isn’t until later.”
“Anyone who learns of the wedding will assume everyone will leave for the wedding at a sensible time,” Lochan said, his voice drifting over from the front seat. “That’s why we are doing the unexpected.”
“I’m leaving for a wedding four hours before it starts?”
“It will give us time to shake off any tails, before we get there.” Lochan said, his tone snappy.
“Are you expecting tails?” Cain asked, his tone curious.
“We always expect tails.”
“Still?”
Agata could see Lochan’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. She watched them narrow and anger glitter. Cain had hit on a sore point.