His Kind Of Trouble

by Vivian Leiber

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Austin said. He felt Bob at his side and, beyond the French doors, he noted three team members surrounding Dikko. The guests had begun drifting toward the far courtyard wall, not panicking but clearly uneasy. The Nigerian ambassador stared expressionlessly at the unfolding drama in his foyer—he had been through many times of turmoil and wasn’t easily ruffled.

  Austin’s fingers worried his holster. He glanced at Bob, who had gone white as a sheet.

  “There are two reasons why you’d never harm me,” Karinolov said archly. “One is that you are a man who believes in law and in honor.”

  Austin felt Bob pull at his sleeve. Irritated, he glanced at his friend—if Bob would just leave, he’d be tempted to pull the gun now and be done with it.

  But Austin wouldn’t put him in danger. Wouldn’t leave a widow and two fatherless girls.

  Because Austin had no doubt that while he’d get the first shot and it would fire true, he wouldn’t get the second shot or the third shot or the last.

  He didn’t care if his life ended tonight, but Bob was different. He had a family to think of.

  “Sometimes the law doesn’t work,” Austin said evenly. “That’s when honor takes over. A man can believe in one but not necessarily the other ”

  Karinolov looked him up and down as if seeing him for the first time.

  “You’ve changed a little in the last two months—you’ve lost that all-American look and that all-American belief that the good guys always win. There’s something darker about you. Maybe you could pull that trigger—oh, but I forget. There’s still a second reason you’d never lay a finger on me.”

  “What is it?”

  “Vlad is still alive.”

  The words took a moment to sink in. And then Austin felt his heart soar. Alive! He had given up all hope.

  “Don’t think we’re releasing him anytime soon,” Karinolov cautioned. “When we finally take out the last of the Romanovs, we’re going to do it in a very public, very splashy way. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a party to attend.”

  He brushed past Austin and walked across the woven jute rugs of the receiving room.

  “By the way,” Karinolov said over his shoulder. “How’s that beautiful woman of yours? Her name was Tarini. If it was in my power, I’d trade you Vlad for her. She would give me even more pleasure than the opportunity to shoot Vlad myself.”

  Austin’s blue eyes narrowed with distaste. And with shock. Their relationship had been a secret.

  “How did you know about—”

  “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Karinolov chastised, eyeing the buffet table with apparent interest. “And Tarini was such a tease, wasn’t she? Always made a man feel like he was the first. I once loved her, once long ago. But then I learned.”

  Austin felt the blood pounding at his temples. He had never asked about her experience and Tarini had never volunteered any information. He had reasoned that she must be sophisticated and sure of herself. And yet, something deep inside had often wondered at the fresh, innocent quality she brought to their lovemaking. Had it been an act? Had Tarini shared Karinolov’s bed, as well?

  “I wouldn’t mind trading her for Vlad, myself. But Tarini wasn’t my woman,” Austin said firmly. Even her name tasted bitter on his lips. He had awakened too many nights with her image burning in his mind—and he had applied every ounce of self-discipline to forget her.

  Karinolov stopped abruptly. He spun around, his face twisted with puzzlement.

  “What do you mean, she wasn’t yours?”

  “She was engaged to Vlad,” Austin replied. “If it weren’t for her, I could have gotten him out of the country that night before you arrived. I might have saved him. At the least, I would have reached for the gun instead of throwing her out of danger.”

  “Is she carrying his child?”

  Austin startled. He hadn’t even thought of that possibility. When she’d been with him, she had been very careful about birth control. Had she been trying to have Vlad’s child at the same time? Was their wedding a conjunction of her pregnancy and Vlad’s sense of honor?

  “I…I don’t know that she was pregnant,” he said, the question catching him so off guard that he didn’t stop to think what effect his candor would have.

  “Would it have been yours or his?” Karinolov asked.

  “Or yours?” Austin countered, recalling both Karinolov’s slur and the way Karinolov had been so entranced by her that night at the mission. As if they had met before. As if Karinolov knew her well.

  If Tarini carried a child, it couldn’t be his, Austin thought, knowing deep in his gut that he himself had been careful. She couldn’t possibly be pregnant with his child, could she?

  Karinolov’s laughter was rich and deep, and utterly without humanity.

  “With her at my side,” he said slyly, “I could have all of Byleukrainia. The Schaskylavitch name still means a lot. It would be a pleasure to call her child my own.”

  Austin’s response was swift and visceral. He acted as a man and not as a professional. He took one hard right punch that wiped the smugness off Karinolov’s face and landed the ambassador on the floor. Instantly, three bodyguards lunged, throwing Austin to the ground and drawing their weapons.

  “No, guys, don’t!” Bob shouted, yanking Austin’s shoulder. But Austin shrugged him off.

  Karinolov barked at his bodyguards in a mixture of English and Byleukrainian.

  “Men, leave him alone,” he said, getting up and wiping the blood from his jaw. “This American means nothing to us.”

  As he stepped past Austin, Karinolov let loose a rapid-fire oath in a mixture of Byleukrainian and English. His entourage seemed baffled, then visibly upset, even panicked. They hustled to the door, shouting contradictory instructions to each other in their native tongue.

  “Wait a minute,” Bob said, blocking the door before Karinolov could leave. “I thought you guys were all fired up about crashing the party.”

  “Forget the party,” Karinolov said, sneering. He narrowed his eyes at Austin. “Where is she?”

  “Tarini?” Austin asked. “I have no idea. I wouldn’t want to see her again if…What exactly is she to you?”

  “Nothing. Everything. Nothing,” Karinolov snapped, and then he issued further angry instructions to his staff. The entourage left, trotting down to the street where the limo waited.

  Karinolov turned one last time to Austin.

  “Next time we meet, Austin, I won’t be so picky about killing an American. After all, I do have diplomatic immunity and maybe I should use it to more advantage.”

  “You can’t.”

  “Oh, but I could. I could shoot you like a dog and there’s not a thing this cop friend of yours could do about it.”

  With a shove at Bob, Ambassador Karinolov ran down the steps, past the Nigerian ceremonial guards and into the open door of his black stretch limo.

  Austin stared after him.

  “What was that all about?” Bob asked.

  “He said something very odd,” Austin said.

  “What was that?”

  “He was talking in Byleukrainian and I don’t think he knew I was paying attention or that I know some of the language. He said he wanted the last of the Romanovs. The very last of the Romanovs. Bob, he wants Tarini.”

  “Why?”

  “If she’s pregnant with Vlad’s baby, she’s carrying the very last in the Romanov line,” Austin said. “And Karinolov and his crowd are determined to kill every member of that family so a monarchy can never be restored to the country.”

  “So they want to kill her?”

  “Yeah, but I’m going to get to her first.”

  “Tell me, buddy,” Bob said. “Truthfully, what is she to you?”

  “Nothing. We had an affair,” Austin admitted. “But it’s over.”

  “An affair?”

  “Very brief. In December. She dumped me right after the new year.”

  “She dumped you?” Bob’s face
reflected his disbelief. No woman willingly left Austin’s bed.

  “Yeah, but…but it was a good thing. She’s a snake.”

  “So now she’s nothing to you?”

  “Nothing at all to me personally. But she might be carrying something a lot more important than the last Romanov.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My friend’s only child.”

  Chapter Two

  Karinolov looked critically at the young woman sitting before him. She would do, for his purposes. Her hair didn’t glisten quite as brilliantly as her sister’s. Her mouth was not as lush and inviting. Her eyes didn’t have the defiant fire of her sister’s. But, then, his use for Tanya wasn’t the same as for Tarini.

  He had felt a deep, razor-sharp sense of betrayal when he’d heard Tarini call for Austin with her last conscious breath. He had felt such revulsion.

  An American, he had thought, she was sleeping with an American. The American he hated with a passion that nearly, but not quite, matched his loathing for the pampered Romanovs.

  And now, to know that she had been Vladimir’s woman. His heart thrilled.

  After all, it meant she was only doing her duty as a Schaskylavitch, serving her country by bringing her body to Vladimir’s bed. She had done nothing more than be obedient to the dictates of patriotism. Her mother probably explained to her the generations of service the Schaskylavitch family had performed for the Romanovs.

  Pity that she now bore his child.

  He turned his attention and his charm to the younger sister, who sniveled on the couch.

  Tanya was a bundle of nerves, just the right mixture of fear and awe and infatuation. For him.

  He stood towering above her, using his height to psychological advantage, drawing her to look up from the impossibly low, cushioned couch. He despised the worn rugs and crowded furniture of the Schaskylavitch apartment.

  Poverty, even the genteel poverty of refugee nobility, had always repulsed him.

  Still, he smiled—just enough to calm her, but not enough to put her completely at ease.

  “Where is she, Tanya?” he asked softly.

  Tanya swallowed, her slender neck bobbing.

  “I really, uh, can’t say,” she moaned, twisting a handkerchief.

  So touching, this little display of sisterly loyalty.

  He crouched next to Tanya and threaded his fingers in hers. He looked at her from beneath his full lashes. He leaned forward, close enough to kiss her, and then backed away, as if bashful.

  Tanya melted, as women always did. What was she? Just twenty, he guessed.

  “Tanya, I’m sorry if I’m so forward, I’m not…very good with women.”

  “But your reputation…”

  He smiled crookedly, and jerked his head down, catching just the right note of boyish embarrassment.

  “What people say about me!” He laughed. He was delighted to see her innocent smile. “I’m really very old-fashioned.”

  “You are?”

  Ah, reeling her in—Karinolov had to stop himself from showing his hand. She was so trusting, so damn trusting. Not like her sister, whose heart had been forged on the refugee trail.

  No, Tanya had been only a toddler when the Schaskylavitch family made it to America. She probably romanticized the homeland, romanticized his life as a soldier, as young women often did.

  “Oh, yes, I’m very old-fashioned,” he repeated, drawing his head closer to hers to share a confidence. “But I hope that when this time of troubles is over, you’ll allow to me to…call upon you.”

  She glowed.

  “Now, you must tell me where your sister, Tarini, is,” he said, and when she pulled back, he held fast to her hand. “She got mixed up in the wrong kind of crowd. Romanov supporters are looking for her. She is in danger.”

  “She is safe with you?”

  “Oh, yes,” he said, and he suppressed his excitement as he knew that he had Tarini’s whereabouts within reach. It had been his idea to charm Tanya instead of bringing in his goons. A very good idea, he congratulated himself. “What has she told you?”

  “She only said that you sent Vlad back home from the mission.”

  “Had to be done.” He looked down poignantly. “I am at heart only a soldier. I follow the orders of my leaders. What else did she say?”

  “That…she was pregnant.”

  “And the father?” Showing concern.

  “She didn’t tell me. She said it was better for me not to know.”

  Karinolov mulled this over and then noticed Tanya seemed to be reconsidering her trust.

  “You are a true patriot,” he assured her. “And a good sister. But she needs protection. If Romanov supporters think she’s carrying Vlad’s child, they’ll stop at nothing to imprison her. Where is she?”

  Tanya searched his face and Karinolov thought she might see the absurdity of the lies he told. Then what would he do?

  Something much more extreme than mere charm, because Tarini’s location was vitally important to his country—and to himself. He willed his eyes to open wide, showing the pale blue to best advantage.

  “Tanya, I want to help her.”

  She relented. As she gave him the address, he had to stop himself from shoving her hand away from his and running from the claustrophobic apartment.

  No, no, he told himself, Tanya could turn out to be useful to him in the future.

  “Even my mother doesn’t know,” Tanya said urgently. “She thinks Tarini is stationed in another city with the INS.”

  “I promise I will keep this in confidence,” Karinolov assured her.

  He stood to leave, murmuring other soothing, flattering words. As she walked him to the door, he sighed regretfully.

  “May I return?” he asked, although the notion of coming back made him recoil.

  “Of course,” she replied.

  Just then, the door to the apartment opened and he was face-to-face with Mrs. Schaskylavitch. Elegant even in a simple black frock, her hair had just the barest touch of gray at her widow’s peak. Still as beautiful as the portrait of her which was recently found at the capital palace. She held a bag of groceries, which he reached to help with. She had permanently injured her leg in the war, he recalled, and he wondered at how she managed the stairs to the apartment.

  “Allow me to help,” he said.

  But she leveled a stony gaze on him and he retreated. He considered his next move carefully.

  “Mrs. Schaskylavitch,” he said, bowing. He held his hand out for the American handshake. She refused, as he knew she would. He nodded with wistful regret at Tanya and left the two women standing at the doorway.

  At the bottom of the stairs he paused.

  “Mother, how could you be so rude?” he heard Tanya exclaim.

  As the door to the apartment slammed shut, he smiled. He had known Tanya would do that.

  After all, she was his now.

  THAT SOUND AGAIN.

  Curling her long legs out from under her, Tarini sat upright on the cheap tweedy couch—alert, tense, eyes skittering across the gray shadows cast on the wall by the television screen. She had fallen asleep. Her nightmare tormented her.

  The feel of a coarse hand against her cheek.

  But what sound had awoken her?

  Nothing. Just a cat outside in the alley.

  “Tarini, you’re losing it,” she said.

  The apartment was secure. No need for panic. But a single woman in New York heard all sorts of sounds in the night. She glanced at her watch—one o’clock in the morning.

  She spooked more easily than she’d like. She wondered why. She didn’t use to be that way. She used to be a professional, used to be fearless.

  In the past two months, even the cats in the alley sounded ominous in that certain hour of the night. And no amount of extra dead bolts and window bars changed that. Even keeping her own handgun cleaned and loaded at all times didn’t put her at ease.

  Maybe because she had never lived by hers
elf before—a fact that would be considered odd for a twenty-eight-year-old American. But Byleukrainian women were expected to stay in their parents’ home until they married and moved into their husband’s family’s home. And though Tarini had embraced television, baseball and fast food, she had respected the most essential customs of her culture.

  Her culture didn’t allow for an unmarried pregnant woman.

  It was better to live in this self-imposed exile, Tarini told herself. Especially for her family, who would have been disgraced. Her mother would have been cold-shouldered by her closest friends, refused service in the tiny neighborhood shops. Her sister, just reaching marriageable age, wouldn’t have been welcome in any decent home, and a man would think long and hard before being seen with any of them. At least in public.

  Loose. Easy. Unvirtuous. Those and worse words would have been used to describe the Schaskylavitch women.

  Tarini could have borne it for herself—perhaps she even deserved it—but she couldn’t bear her mother and sister being punished for her sins.

  The sin of having loved so unwisely.

  She had packed her bags the morning after Vlad’s abduction, leaving her address only with Tanya, not having time to explain much before Mama was expected back from morning mass.

  “Pregnant?” Tanya had gasped. “My God, Mama will…”

  That sound. From the back of the apartment. Again.

  Tarini cocked her head.

  Steps on the fire escape.

  She stood, buttoning her jeans, which she had undone because she was starting to thicken in her middle. Cartons of Chinese food and leaky soysauce packages littered the coffee table.

  Slipping her feet into her sneakers, she walked noiselessly through the kitchen and paused at the door to the mudroom.

  Had to be the guy upstairs taking out the garbage. These yuppies didn’t get home from work until ten and they did their laundry and took out their garbage at the oddest hours. Oblivious to everything around them while they gabbed on their cellular phones.