Catalyst (Flashpoint Book 2)

by Rachel Grant

  “It would have been rape, statutory or not. And I was a child.”

  He released her chin. “You were never a child, Gabriella. No child poses like you did. You wanted to fuck. The pictures say it all.”

  It was this kind of sick bullshit that made her hate her mother for pushing for the photo shoot. She’d been a kid. Playing in front of a camera, not really understanding how men would interpret it. She’d had no concept of sexuality at thirteen. Had no clue what sucking on a popsicle would signal.

  Modeling had been a lark.

  “I would have married you,” Nikolai said. “If you’d fulfilled the agreement. You’d have been my empress, my czarina. But you defied me. The only woman who ever dared. So I’ll just take you. Use you. You aren’t worthy of my name. You’ve soiled your body with too many men. You aren’t that innocent girl you were at thirteen.” He scanned her up and down. “You’re still skinny with small tits, but I hate short hair. You will grow it long again.”

  He was insane, and she was done humoring him. She’d hoped to glean information here, but he was a lost cause. She took a step away, toward the ballroom. Bastian had to have noticed she was gone by now and would probably be pissed she’d broken their one agreed-upon rule.

  Nikolai grabbed her arm. His touch wasn’t gentle.

  A man entered the hall, lit from behind she couldn’t see his face, but he didn’t have Bastian’s build. He walked slowly down the long corridor, his footsteps soft on the tile. As he drew closer, she took in dark hair, brown eyes, and a handsome, tanned face with a thick beard. He gave Nikolai a hard look and said something in Russian, his tone commanding. Instantly, her arm was released.

  She rubbed her bruised skin, wondering who the hell this man was and why Nikolai feared him.

  The newcomer flashed a warm smile. “This must be the American I’ve heard so much about,” he said in a heavy Russian accent. He held out a hand. “I’m an associate of Nikolai’s and delighted to meet you.”

  She took his hand, and he pulled her to his side, away from Nikolai. Next thing she knew, her arm was looped through his and he was leading her back to the ballroom.

  “Such a beautiful evening. You must dance with me.” Once they were out of earshot, he added, “You shouldn’t have gone off with Nikolai.”

  “I realize that now. Thank you.”

  “Your soldier is looking for you. I told him to let me extract you. I have…sway with Nikolai.”

  “I noticed. How did you do it? He obeyed you like a dog.”

  The man smiled. “He knows I can bring the world down on him like a hammer.”

  She had no doubt Russia had kompromat on Nikolai. It was how they controlled all their oligarchs. As rich and powerful as Drugov was, he couldn’t outrun his government. This man must’ve been sent by the Kremlin to ensure their wealthy pawn stayed in line.

  The Russian led her into the ballroom and past Bastian, taking her straight to the dance floor, where he took her in his arms as the singer crooned a song by Adele.

  “Why are you here, Ms. Stewart?”

  She was surprised he used her legal name. Everyone here was determined to brand her with Prime. “I’m on vacation. Recovering from an ordeal. Why are you here, Mister…?”

  “I’m monitoring my boss’s investment.”

  She noticed he didn’t bother giving her a name. Again. “And who is your boss?”

  He merely smiled and tightened his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. His secrecy—everything about him, really—should have her on edge, but for some reason, she didn’t fear him. Maybe it was because he’d rescued her from Nikolai or maybe it was because his manner toward her wasn’t the least bit threatening. But one thing she was certain of, the man was dangerous.

  She hoped to hell he’d prove to be an ally.

  Bastian cut in on Brie’s dance with the Russian who’d helpfully extracted her from Drugov without causing a scene. The Russian bowed to Bastian and Brie, said, “Stay out of trouble, Gabriella,” and left them.

  Bastian swept Brie into his arms, relieved but still a little angry she’d left with Drugov in the first place.

  “Who is he?” she asked, glancing toward the retreating Russian’s back.

  “My best guess is he’s GRU.”

  She leaned against Bastian, pressing her temple to his collarbone. “What is GRU?”

  He tightened his arm around her waist, glad to have her safe against him. “Russia’s largest intelligence agency. Like our CIA.”

  She raised her head and glanced in the direction of the mysterious Russian, then whispered, “I was dancing with a Russian spy?”

  Bastian laughed. “And now you’re dancing with an American Green Beret. Which is better?”

  She grinned wickedly. “Wellll…” She kissed him. “He’s not my type. What does it mean that he’s here?”

  She was three inches taller in heels, and he liked the way she fit against him as they danced. He spun her in a slow circle. “I think it means Russia knows Drugov’s got a screw loose and they’re shutting him down.” He turned to see the probable GRU agent had disappeared into the crowd. Bastian wanted to get the man’s fingerprints on a glass, but he wore white gloves with his tux. Not unusual at this party, but still worth noting.

  “Nikolai is really crazy,” Brie said. “Worse than he was a decade ago.”

  Bastian turned his gaze back to her. “Rumor has it he had his old man killed so he could take over the family business.”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “Savvy. She briefed SOCOM on him at length after you left the meeting.” His gaze narrowed. “You promised you wouldn’t go off alone with him.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I won’t be stupid like that again. I just…I hoped he’d say something he wouldn’t say in front of you. He did, but it wasn’t about Lawiri.”

  “You asked him about Lawiri?”

  “I didn’t have a chance. He was too busy telling me how he bought my virginity with the villa.”

  “What?”

  She explained how the villa next door had belonged to Drugov’s family, and they sold it after this house was built, apparently for below market value, because Brie’s daddy had no problem including his daughter in the deal.

  “Maybe he never really expected Drugov to try to collect payment,” she said. “It could have been something verbal—a joke—that my dad laughed off. There were a lot of gross comments about me back then, thanks to the makeup ads. It’s possible my dad didn’t realize…but then when I turned eighteen, Nikolai insisted on collecting.”

  He heard the note of hope in her voice, that maybe her dad hadn’t sold her all those years ago, long before she ever found herself in a slave market in South Sudan.

  She met Bastian’s gaze and stopped swaying to the music, her eyes wide with horror. “How many times have I been sold?” Her thoughts must’ve flowed down the same lines.

  He tightened his arm around her. There were so many things he wanted to say to comfort her, but this wasn’t the place. “Dance with me, sweetheart,” he whispered in her ear. “Let me hold you.”

  She settled against him. One song ended and another began. Before he’d cut in, he’d made a song request, and with perfect timing, the singer’s clear voice rang out with the sultry lyrics of “Kissing a Fool.”

  He held her tight and pretended they were in a muddy field in South Sudan, dancing under the stars, and hoped she was doing the same thing.

  Dimitri Veselov watched the Americans dance. One thing was clear: the relationship between them wasn’t a charade, as he’d initially thought. For his purposes, that was good, because he couldn’t spend all his time trying to keep Drugov from the woman when he needed to get into the lab.

  From Chief Ford’s bearing, Dimitri could tell the sick bastard Drugov wouldn’t get another shot at cornering Gabriella again.

  Now…how to lead the couple to the truth without compromising himself? If he could get Chief Ford to destroy the contamin
ated stockpile, it would save the world a lot of grief, and Dimitri might be able to sleep at night.

  If Drugov’s orders from the Kremlin were what Dimitri believed, he would have to expose himself—putting his sister and her son in danger—to stop a genocide. But if Chief Ford swooped in and exposed Drugov and Lawiri and the atrocity they would commit to end South Sudan’s civil war, then Dimitri could quietly return to his regular gig, and his sister and nephew would remain safe.

  He rubbed his chin, glad he’d opted to wear the beard on this assignment. He hadn’t expected to come into close contact with American Special Forces. The beard would disguise him if the Green Beret managed to get his photo. Combined with the darkened hair and colored contacts, he looked nothing like his picture in US government files.

  His time was running short. He was expected back at his post in three days. He needed to finish this job and return home, hoping his handlers didn’t guess he’d helped the Americans on this one.

  If they figured it out, Sophia and Yulian were as good as dead. He wouldn’t let that happen. And for once, he’d find out what it was like to be on the right side.

  35

  “We can’t search the house.” Bastian crossed his arms and stared at her, unable to believe she’d suggest something so ridiculous, especially after her scare with Drugov earlier.

  “Why not?” Brie asked. “It’s what we came here for.” She fiddled with one of his pins and pursed her lips.

  “Um, it’s dangerous?” His brow furrowed. The problem had to be the uniform. Mess blue wasn’t intimidating like his ACUs. No way would she be able to face him down if he was in full camo. Instead, she saw the bow tie and ribbons and figured he was like the other guys here, who she could manipulate with batted eyes.

  Did her eyes have to be so beautiful? And when she wore that dark makeup, it turned them all smoky and hot. Thank God she hadn’t had makeup in South Sudan, or he’d have been screwed.

  He got a grip. He was telling her why they couldn’t go off on a Lawiri hunt. “If one of Drugov’s goons finds us, they won’t be nice about it.”

  “There’s a light meal being served in the teal dining room. We’ll wander that way, like we plan to eat, then slip into the adjacent dining room and make our way upstairs. A door in the back wall of all the dining rooms leads to a servant hall, where we’ll find a staircase.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “When I was in my teens, we stayed at our villa a lot. My dad and Drugov’s dad would meet and work out their price-fixing schemes along with a few other oil bigwigs—there was a Federal Trade Commission probe more than once, but they always managed to cover their tracks. Having adjacent properties in a foreign country helped.” She glanced across the room toward the hall where Drugov had cornered her. “I was always desperately bored and creeped out by Nikolai, but when he wasn’t here, I hung out with his sister, who was three years younger than me. She and I would play hide-and-seek for hours in both our houses. I know this house and all the back passages. Better to search now, while Nick is in the front room, entertaining two hundred people. We won’t have a better opportunity later.”

  Shit. He didn’t know if it was her big brown eyes or the logic of her argument, but he found himself saying, “We’ll check out the hallway, but if it’s not clear, forget it.”

  She shifted her fingers from his decorations to his bow tie, and tugged. “And, if it’s clear?”

  He caved to the pull on his tie—and her damn beautiful eyes—and kissed her, then said, “We’ll scope out the second floor, but that’s all.”

  Her grin widened and her eyes warmed like he’d just set off a sparkler. Damn, he was a sucker.

  They wandered through the rooms on the way to the dining area. There they found a dozen round tables that sat ten apiece, set for dinner service. Half the tables were full, and waiters circulated with laden trays, some with appetizers, some with the main course, others with dessert.

  It appeared guests could just wander in and sit down for a multicourse meal served by waiters whenever they wished.

  “Wouldn’t a buffet make more sense?” he whispered in Brie’s ear.

  “That’s so delightfully frugal of you.”

  He laughed. He’d traveled the world with the Army and visited both exotic and expensive places, but these houses with their armies of servants really took it to the next level. His mom wouldn’t believe this story.

  Until yesterday, he’d never been in a house that required a complete staff: cook, maid, butler, chauffer, valet, gardener, and the still-undefined role of the guy who delivered drinks to the pool area. But now, day two in Morocco and he was on his third staffed estate. And he’d begun to believe it was passé to have only seven or eight domestics.

  That’s what they were called, right? Domestic servants.

  The word servant still felt wrong. Like a slur. But it wasn’t. It was just a job title, and the people who’d served in all three houses had been kind and strove for invisible efficiency.

  They bypassed the dining room, appearing to wander aimlessly, striving for their own invisibility. Without so much as a glance left or right, Brie entered the adjacent, empty dining room and made her way to the back wall where there was an arched doorway. A servant was there, carrying a tray, and he startled when Brie stepped into his line of sight.

  “Would it be possible to get a gluten-free meal?” she asked.

  The waiter’s eyes widened at her request, and Bastian guessed it was unusual in Morocco to deal with food allergies. But then, in many countries in Africa, food was scarce and people ate what was available, period. There was no accommodation for allergies, because there couldn’t be.

  The server went to the kitchen to check on her request, leaving them alone in the back hall. Brie took Bastian’s hand and led him to a dark, narrow enclosed stairway. They were halfway up the flight when the snick of a knob being turned alerted them they were about to have company.

  Bastian scooped Brie up and pressed her against the stairwell wall, as if they’d chosen this spot for a fast, private screw. He kissed her as if their lives depended on it, and she kissed him back with equal intensity.

  He hiked up her skirt and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist and sucked on his tongue. She reached for his belt buckle as the door opened fully, letting light spill up the stairs.

  A voice with a heavy Russian accent came to them from the bottom of the stairs. “Aren’t public displays of affection frowned upon when in uniform?”

  Bastian set Brie down and tucked her behind him. He faced the man at the bottom of the stairs, hand on the pistol concealed by his jacket. Backlit as he was by the open door, Bastian couldn’t see the man’s face, but the voice matched the mysterious Russian who’d helped them earlier.

  The door closed, and footsteps padded up the stairs. A red LED light flared. Bright enough to illuminate faces, but not white, which would blind them and ruin their night vision.

  The man’s gaze took in Bastian’s disheveled uniform, and he made a clicking sound with his tongue. “I might’ve expected this from Ms. Stewart, but not from Special Forces.”

  “Just having a quickie,” Bastian said. “Is that a problem?”

  The man shook his head. “You were heading upstairs.”

  Bastian said nothing. It was a lose/lose kind of statement. Silence was the best defense. He didn’t want to pull his weapon. Not now and not on this man.

  Finally, the Russian said, “Keep your gun hidden, Chief Ford. I think we can help each other.”

  “I never caught your name,” Bastian said in response.

  “My name doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, but ‘hey you’ gets so tedious,” Brie said, making Bastian smile.

  “Call me Ivan, if you insist upon a name.”

  “Okay, Ivan,” Brie said, “how can we help each other?”

  “You want to know where Lawiri is?”

  Bastian stiffened. Beside him, so did Brie. “Yes,�
� he said.

  “Is he here? In this house?” she asked.

  “No. Drugov sent him away when he issued your invitation. Tomorrow, we will talk. I will lead you to him.”

  “When?”

  “I will contact you in the morning with a time and place.” He scanned them up and down and sighed. “I’ll lead you out the front stairs. We’ll make it look like I was giving you a tour. There’s quite the trophy room at the end of the upper hall.”

  Brie shuddered. “I’ve seen it. It’s disgusting.” To Bastian, she said, “Big game. Cats of all types, everything with antlers imaginable, and at the center of it all, an elephant. Most are endangered species. And he doesn’t eat the meat. It’s just blood sport. He has them stuffed so he can show the world how small his dick is.”

  They reached the upper landing, and Ivan checked the hall before motioning for them to follow. “This is my second time rescuing you tonight, Ms. Stewart. There won’t be a third time.”

  “I’ve been hanging out with Brie for a few weeks now,” Bastian said, “and I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve had to rescue her. Welcome to the club.”

  Brie snorted. “They weren’t all my fault. And I saved your ass at least once.” She grabbed his butt and squeezed. “Worth it, I think.”

  Ivan rolled his eyes. “Come on, we need to get back in the ballroom before Nick the Prick notices we’re all missing.”

  “We might not have found Lawiri, but we did find an ally,” Brie said as they walked down the long driveway, skipping the limo ride to enjoy the breezy night. They’d rejoined the party, each dancing to several songs with different partners. Brie’s dance card included an inebriated Armando and the airline tycoon, while Bastian had partnered Annette and several other women. Now, finally, they were escaping, done playing spies for the night.

  “If we can trust Ivan,” Bastian said. “I’m not sure.”

  “I’m not either, but for some reason, he doesn’t scare me.”

  “He should. GRU operators are badass dudes.”