In the last seven months, while Miranda rested and Nick worked countless hours, I spent my free time working on my book. Refining every word. Pouring my heart and soul into every chapter. Reliving the hell that I endured under that monster’s thumb. Sharing the wholly embarrassing details of why I stayed, why I allowed the abuse, and why I didn’t tell anyone. Writing that and baring my soul for the world to judge was cathartic for me, even if no one else appreciated my work. That book was for me; it signaled a major turning point in my life that I wouldn’t change if I could. Everything that happened, regardless of how painful or humiliating it was at the time, brought me to where I am today. Made me the woman I am right now. Gave me the strength to stand when every cell inside me screamed to crumble into a million pieces.
When I hit publish, I rushed to the bathroom and vomited from sheer nerves.
Then I put the marketing tips I’d learned to use and started promoting my book. All 352 pages contained bits and pieces of me, and I was proud of what I’d accomplished. When I poured that energy into my campaigns, women from all walks of life snatched it up and sent it soaring up the charts. The success I realized from that one book will never outweigh the validation I received from the very women I expected to tear me apart.
Emails from all over poured in, thanking me for being brave enough to share my experiences. Many fled from the abusive relationships they’d been imprisoned in for years because they realized if I could do it, they could too. Two weeks before Gavin and Kinsley were scheduled to be born, I turned in my resignation from the ER department to write full time, working from home where my whole life exists.
My next book will be for women who can’t have children of their own, and I’ll share my amazing story with them. A story of hope and love and laughter and tears and amazing people along the way. Again, if I can help just one, it’s worth all the blood, sweat, and tears I pour into it.
I never actually believed I’d have a happily ever after. I thought those were only meant for dreams and fairy tales, the stuff fictional books were made of. But now that I’m living a life that’s better than anything I could’ve dreamed or hoped for, it’s clear what was missing in those early days of bitter disappointment.
Nick Tucker was missing. My soul mate. My forever. There’s a fine line between heaven and hell, and I know without a doubt I’ve crossed that line. From my torturous hell before Nick, and straight into my blissful heaven with him.
I simply couldn’t ask for more than what I have right now.
I don’t need locks on my heart and locks on my door anymore.
Epilogue
Silas: Moscow—Nine Months Ago
“I’m surprised to see you. I didn’t know you were coming.” He narrows his eyes and stares at me suspiciously. He’s a large man, formidable back in his heyday, but that was many years ago. Today, he’d sooner reach for his gun and blow a hole in my gut than spar with me. Can’t say I blame him.
My Russian contact is leery of surprise visits, especially when I haven’t been here in quite some time. That’s what happens after living in a military-ruled country that still leans strongly to Communism and enjoys torturing citizens for information. Sure, to the rest of the world, they’re now a republic. But that’s just the face they wear and the front they show. Walk a mile on the wild side of Moscow then tell me that bullshit party line is real.
The KGB would haul Dimitri away right now if they thought it would gain them an inch. The cold war may have ended years ago, but there’s a secret war still raging with no signs of slowing down. And they’re playing for keeps, though most of the world has no idea what’s going on behind the iron curtain. And that’s exactly how they want it.
“If you’d known I was coming, it wouldn’t have been a surprise.” I purposely keep my hands visible. I mean him no harm. I’m here for answers only he can give.
“What do you want, Silas? I’m in no mood for fun and games. It’s been a long day, and I’m ready to get out of here.”
I walk farther into his office at the government’s fortified complex in the heart of Moscow. There are cameras and voice recorders all over the building; I’m not stupid. But then, they knew I was here the second my plane touched down on the tarmac. My visit here is for unofficial business, but if it turns out to be even remotely what I suspect, the NSA and CIA will duke it out for investigating rights. Good thing I’ve already assembled a team of three highly skilled and able officers to handle just such an investigation.
Two of them will be starting their training next week with a significant advantage over their classmates because of their previous experience. Now they’re learning the spy and asset component, the psychology behind turning a loyalist to a separatist, along with how to blend into a crowd, to become unrecognizable, to become invisible when needed. Very special skills when “sharpshooting assassin” is added to the curriculum vitae.
Glancing over his shoulder, I rest my gaze on the only personal item I’ve ever known Dimitri to display in his office. It’s a picture of his twin daughters—beautiful girls with long black hair, eyes almost as black as coal, straight, thin noses, and perfectly bright complexions.
“I’m here as a friend, Dimitri. How about you and I go find the bottom of a Chernobyl-poisoned bottle of vodka and catch up?” Friends in our business are hard to come by. Dimitri knows this better than anyone, I’m sure of it.
“Your Russian has improved since the last time I saw you. Have you been practicing on someone?”
“No, my Russian has always been impeccable. You were just too drunk to notice when I was here the last time.”
Dimitri laughs, the smile reaching his eyes and showing he’s warming up to me at last. That’s no small feat in the bitter cold of Moscow, even in early spring. “Okay, let’s have a drink and regale each other with tales of the good old days.”
We walk silently through the corridors until we’re well outside the building. There’s a time and place for everything, but his office inside the Moscow Kremlin complex is not the place for idle chitchat. And especially not for the questions I have for him. The beauty inside the walled compound—the five palaces, four cathedrals, and the Kremlin Towers with spires reaching to the sky—masks the true inner workings of the secret government operations. To the public eye, most of the government’s work is handled at the Moscow White House, a few miles away. But to those of us in the trade, we know the Kremlin is where the clandestine operations begin and end.
We walk along the Moskva River, then cross the bridge to head to Gorky Park. Despite the cool evening temperature and the time it takes to reach our destination by foot, I’d rather walk the entire distance than chance getting into the wrong car. Besides, traffic in Moscow is terrible, and driving would probably take longer than walking. The time out in the cold air gives me time to think and breathe. Being back here isn’t exactly easy for me, but with the high stakes involved, I don’t have another choice.
The odds of someone from the KGB following us is high, and I’m not keen on being snatched into an unmarked van and whisked away for questioning. On paper, the KGB as it once was doesn’t even exist anymore after it was disbanded and split into two units. But as the powerful regime leader declared, “There’s no such thing as a former KBG man.” That same leader has worked behind the scenes to reestablish his elite police force, full of henchmen, assassins, and ruthless torturers.
Dimitri and I are careful and take our time before deciding where to stop for a drink, leisurely strolling in the old section of the park until we find a pub tucked away on a side street. We choose a booth away from the other patrons, one that allows a view of the front door and anyone who may try to get too close. The music playing in the background is enough to drown out our conversation on any external listening devices their government has in their arsenal.
My toys are slightly more advanced and higher tech. If the tables were reversed and I were spying on them, I’d have their every word in my ear, clear as a bell. Thankfully, th
ey haven’t quite caught up to our advanced gadgets yet. However, their medieval torture methods to extract information are top of the line, and I prefer to avoid them at all costs.
Dimitri orders shots and beer for both of us before turning his keen and penetrating gaze on me. “Silas, why are you here?”
“Tell me, Dimitri. How are your daughters, Mira and Kira?”
He strikes a match, lighting his cigar and taking a few drags on it before hardening his eyes and staring me down amidst the smoke swirling between us. The blunt end of his cigar glows in an angry red shade, much like the coloring overtaking his face at the moment.
“I told you I’m in no mood to play games. Speak your mind or get the fuck out of my sight. I’m giving you this one warning because we’ve been friendly in the past, but don’t mistake this pass for weakness. I will gut you like a fucking fish and dump your body in the river, never to be seen again.”
The waitress sets our drinks down in front of us, then pauses to take our orders. Dimitri dismisses her with a simple wave of his hand. I wait until she’s out of earshot to continue.
“Calm down, Dimitri. I’m here to help you and your daughters. But I need you to level with me about what’s really going on. What has happened to them?”
“You’re not only asking me to commit treason against my country, you’re asking me to put my family’s lives in real danger. This I cannot do. Go home. Mind your own business. Forget you know me.” He throws his shot back then chases it with the entire pint of beer before slamming the mug on the table.
Before he has an opportunity to slide out of the booth, I stand and toss enough rubles on the table to cover our drinks plus a hefty tip. He cuts his eyes up at me, distrust and murderous contempt shining in his eyes.
“You know, your daughters are very beautiful. I know you’ve always been very proud of them. Their picture is the only personal memento you have in your office. That’s a very telling sign, one I’m sure your superiors also picked up on and used as leverage against you. But I assure you, I’m not the guilty party in this. It seems there’s something awry in your own government. A blurred line is far too easy to cross—and that’s exactly what they created when they used your children against you after all your years of faithful service.”
I begin to walk away then stop and look back over my shoulder. “There are slight differences in your girls, even though they’re identical twins. For one, Mira has a much softer expression in her eyes than Kira does. Mira’s a considerably gentler soul, isn’t she? Not quite as fierce and resilient as Kira.”
Before I reach the plane for my return flight home, I predict Dimitri Petrov will desperately want a meeting to resume our conversation.
And I’ll be waiting for him.
Outside the pub, I pull my heavy overcoat tightly around me, flipping my collar up and pulling my hat down lower on my head. The wind whips around me, and the setting sun makes the air even colder. Without Dimitri’s help, I’ll have to go off my own assumptions and start directly with the source. I’d hoped to have a little more intel in my back pocket first, but his lack of answers is telling enough.
“Silas, wait.”
That didn’t take as long as I thought it would.
I stop and turn sideways, casting a glance at Dimitri over my shoulder. The primary reason I’m here is to help make sure a friend doesn’t get caught in the cross fire of whatever covert operation the Russians have underway. The fact that I’ve known Dimitri almost the entire time I’ve worked in the CIA is a distant second. Our friendship, loosely labeled, is one of convenience and mutual benefit. The moment I’m no longer of use to him, he’d throw me under the bus. As it turns out, we can both help each other this time.
“Suddenly feeling chatty, Dimitri?”
“Do you really think you can help?” The pleading in his eyes isn’t fake, but that’s about the only fact I’m certain of right now.
“Do you really think you have any other options? I have an idea of what’s going on, and if I’m right, you’re the one who’s playing games—very dangerous games.”
He nods, not so much in agreement with my jab that he’s behind the duplicity, but that knowing and doing nothing about it makes him complicit.
“Come to my house tonight. You can stay in our guest bedroom, we’ll talk, and I’ll drive you back to the airport in the morning.”
“When you say airport, you don’t really mean Siberian prison camp, do you?”
“Not this time. Next time, maybe.”
He calls his driver to come pick us up, and we wait inside the pub, throwing back shots of vodka and snacking on caviar, until he arrives. The black sedan idles alongside the curb, and we walk out together. A moment of hesitation hits me before I slide into Dimitri’s car, but I’m banking on his love for his kids to overrule his love of Mother Russia.
Our conversation on the way to his house in the suburbs is benign—nothing the driver or any other prying ears can use against us. When we arrive, his wife Natalya waits for us in the doorway, wringing her hands. The telltale sign of excessive worry gives me comfort—that I’m not walking into a trap.
“Silas, hello, it’s been a long time.” Natalya greets me with a wary expression despite her warm words.
“Don’t worry, Nat. I’m here to help if I can.” I kiss both of her cheeks, trying to reassure her of my intentions. She visibly relaxes, dropping her hands to her sides before inviting me in.
“This house is clean. I do my own bug-proofing so Nat and I can have private conversations. We can talk freely here.” Dimitri sits at the dining table and begins filling his plate. Nat grabs another plate for me, and I join them for a full meal.
“Dimitri, tell me what’s going on. I know you know, so don’t bullshit me. And don’t leave anything out.”
He lowers his fork and levels me with his keen glare. “Will you save both of my girls? No matter what you find?”
“You know I’ll do my best, Dimitri. That’s the only promise I can give you.”
“They were taken to America…by the GRU.”
So Russia’s largest foreign intelligence agency is hard at work on US soil.
***
Silas’s story continues in Blurred Line.
Roman’s story is coming soon in Hard Line.
Want more of Nick Tucker? Read Her Dom and Her Dom’s Lesson!
Want more of Nick, Silas, Roman, Reaper, and Bull? Find them and more the Steele Security series: Wicked Games, Wicked Ties, Wicked Nights, Wicked Intentions, and Wicked Shadows!
About the Author
A.D. Justice is the award-winning USA Today bestselling author of the Steele Security Series (Wicked Games, Wicked Ties, Wicked Nights, Wicked Intentions, Wicked Shadows), the Crazy Series (Crazy Maybe, Crazy Baby), the Dominic Powers series (Her Dom, Her Dom’s Lesson), the Immortal Obsessions series (Immortal Envy), and a few stand-alone romance novels, such as Saving Grace, Completely Captivated, Just One Summer, Intent, and Mistletoe Not Required.
When she’s not writing, she’s spending time with her own alpha male character in their North Georgia mountain home. She is also an avid reader of romance novels, a master at procrastination, a chocolate sommelier, a twister of words, and speaks fluent sarcasm. An avid animal lover, A.D. Justice has two horses, two dogs, and three cats.
While the primary focus of her books has been romantic suspense, she has expanded into different sub-genres of romance. Stay tuned to read what she has in store for you!
Connect with her online!
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Website
Books By A.D. Justice
Steele Security Series
Wicked Games (Book 1)
Wicked Ties (Book 2)
Wicked Nights (Book 3)
Wicked Intentions (Book 4)
Wicked Shadows (Book 5)
The Crazy Series
Crazy Maybe (Book 1)
Crazy Baby (Book 2)
Crazy Love
(FREE Short Story)
Dominic Powers Series
Her Dom (Book 1)
Her Dom’s Lesson (Book 2)
The Vault
Warning, Part One
Warning, Part Two
Warning, Part Three
Crossing Lines
Fine Line
Blurred Line
Hard Line
Immortal Obsession
Immortal Envy (Book 1)
Stand-alone Romance Novels
Saving Grace
Completely Captivated
Intent
Just One Summer (Novella)
Mistletoe Not Required (Novella)
Acknowledgments
Writing a book is no small feat. As for me, I put my heart and soul into the story, taking time away from family and friends to finish writing just one more chapter. When I finally reach those two little magical words, a weight is lifted from my shoulders and I’m able to breathe again. Until I start the next book.
My writing journey includes conferring with several people I trust and admire to give feedback and suggestions. There are also people who encourage and support me along the way, taking a chance on a new type of book or a storyline outside the norm. Those who aren’t afraid to step outside the box and give “different” a chance. These are my people—my tribe—whether they realize it or not.
Acknowledgments are hard to write because I never want to leave anyone out or make anyone feel their place in my life isn’t important. If you’ve ever read my books, you hold a special place in my heart. There are a few special people I want to recognize for helping make this book special to me.
Fine Line (Crossing Lines Book 1) Page 22
