by Lori Sjoberg
“Obviously, you haven’t noticed my ass.”
Of course he had. He was a guy.
“I’ve noticed everything.” He didn’t qualify the statement. It was much more fun to let her wonder.
She blushed. Mission accomplished. “So what are we going to do with Tommy?” she asked.
Deciding he’d given her enough shit for the evening, he let her change the subject. “I called one of my guys while you bought the pizza. He’s on his way up. He’ll keep Tommy on ice while we deal with Ziegler.” His mood sobered at the thought of their mission. So much for a simple apprehension. Had Samuel intentionally kept them in the dark about the true nature of their task? He’d be willing to bet his soul on it. “You did well today. I know that wasn’t easy for you.”
Gaze averted, she picked at the label on her beer bottle. “It could have been worse.”
“True.” An old repressed memory unlocked in his mind, and he was back at the Pit. The walls were white, and the floor was concrete with a drain in the center. Williams and his men had strapped him down and attached electrodes to his body. They’d shocked him for hours and then beat him for refusing to talk. When they finished, they’d dumped him in a cold, damp cell with bright lights and no food. Curled in a ball, he’d shivered uncontrollably as he dreamed of escape and revenge.
“Hey,” Gwen barked, and the memory retreated. “Don’t go there.”
Looking up, he found genuine compassion in her eyes but refused to acknowledge the sentiment. “Go where?” he asked.
“You know damn well what I’m talking about. I can see it all over your face.”
She didn’t elaborate. Didn’t need to. She’d been there through most of the sessions. Always standing at attention by the door, ready to translate if he spoke in Russian.
Irritated because she read him so easily, he finished his drink and poured another. He’d already polished off a quarter of the bottle, but the alcohol had failed to dull the memories.
“I never figured out how you got loose,” she said. “Care to satisfy my curiosity?”
Glancing up, he caught her gaze. He knew she was trying to trade one memory for another that was less unpleasant. A part of him appreciated the effort, while the rest of him railed against accepting help where it wasn’t wanted. Besides, he never gave away information of value. It went against all of his training. “What’s it worth to you?”
“What do you want?”
“Retribution. But since you can’t give that to me, I want you to drink the fucking vodka.” He poured another ounce into the second glass and pushed it in her direction. “All of it.”
“No way,” she said as she pushed the drink back across the table. “Beer before liquor, never been sicker.”
“You’ve only had one beer.”
“And back at the garage, you made me drink whiskey.”
“In that case, liquor before beer, have no fear.”
She let out an exasperated huff. “Why does this matter so much to you?”
“Because you don’t want to do it.” He picked up the glass and set it in front of her. “If you really want to know how I broke from confinement, all you have to do is share my vodka. Is that so much to ask?”
Judging by the look on her face, it was. She stared at the alcohol as if it were poison. “And if I drink this, you’ll tell me the entire story?”
“Down to the last detail.”
“Fine,” she grumbled as she grabbed for the glass. “I’ll drink your damn booze. But if I get sick, I’m aiming for your boots.”
Dmitri picked up his own glass and raised it toward her. “Za vashe zdorovie.” He tipped back his drink and downed a few swallows.
After taking a deep breath, she followed his lead. Without looking down, she gripped the glass and brought it straight to her lips. She caught his gaze, held it, and with one big gulp the vodka was gone.
Much to his surprise—and yes, disappointment—she didn’t choke or gag. A sly smile curved her full lips as she set the empty glass on the table and picked up the last slice of pizza.
“Start talking,” she said before taking a big bite.
Dmitri’s mouth went slack. “Did you just play me?”
She didn’t answer until after she swallowed. When she smiled this time, her entire face brightened. “What if I did?”
Shit, he just got played. Damned if he couldn’t help but admire the skill. In a way, it made him feel better about her getting the drop on him all those years ago. “That was good.”
“Thank you. Now tell me how you got out of those shackles.”
Dmitri relaxed against the chair and crossed his legs at the ankles. Odds were, she expected a complicated answer, and she was about to be thoroughly disappointed. “Bobby pin.”
Gwen’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Excuse me?”
“I picked the locks on my shackles with a bobby pin.” He paused to let his words sink in. “The nurse who administered the drugs, what was her name?”
“Rebecca.”
“Ah, yes. Nurse Rebecca.” He could almost see her now. “Pretty girl, but rough with the needles.”
“That might have been because you were combative.”
“Given the situation, would you expect anything less?” He drained the last of his vodka and set the empty glass on the table. “I took a shot at her one day when the strap holding my arm broke. It wasn’t much more than a glancing blow, but it was enough to knock the cap off her head.”
“As well as a few bobby pins?”
“You got it.” He smiled at the memory. “During all the commotion, I slipped one in my briefs before Hanson smashed my skull with his baton.”
“I remember hearing about that.” She shot him a confused look. “Didn’t that happen over a week before you got loose?”
Dmitri nodded. “It would have been foolish to act prematurely.” Security had ramped up after the incident, forcing him to wait until things calmed down. So he took the abuse for one more week, all the while planning what to do and who to kill first. “You know the rest.”
It might have happened over fifty years ago, but he remembered it like it was yesterday. Once free, he’d killed with ruthless efficiency, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake until he reached the interrogation room. He’d never forget the look on Williams’s face right before he put a bullet in his brain.
A full minute passed before Gwen spoke. “You could have taken a hostage or stolen a truck, but you didn’t.” Realization widened her eyes as she sucked in an audible breath. “Escape was never part of your plan, was it?”
Of course not. Only an idiot could hope to escape from a facility without any knowledge of the layout. And with no hope for freedom, his only alternative was to inflict maximum damage. After all, it was better to die in a hail of gunfire than to live a life less than human.
Only the hail of gunfire never happened. Instead, he’d died from a single shot to the chest, fired by a mortally wounded Gwen. Slumped against the wall, he’d watched her die as his own life drained from his body.
“You already know the answer to that question.” Dmitri screwed the cap on the bottle. Pushing back from the table, he peeled off his boots and dropped them onto the floor. “Go to bed, Gwenya. It’s late, and tomorrow promises to be busy.”
For the second time in as many nights, Gwen woke to the sounds of Dmitri’s nightmare. Half awake, she groped for the light on the nightstand and squinted against the glow when she flipped the switch. Lying on his back, Dmitri thrashed against the mattress, his hair and skin drenched with sweat.
“Ya vam nichego ne skazhu. Ya vam nichego ne skazhu.” His voice sounded raw with pain.
What part of his downfall haunted his dreams tonight? She refused to think about what Williams did to him during those horrific sessions inside the Pit. And even though she’d had no control over what happened to him, she’d ultimately caused it all.
Not wanting a repeat of the prior evening’s events, she approached him with e
xtreme caution.
“Dmitri,” she said, her tone low and calm. “Vy ne odinoki. Vy v bezopasnosti.” You are not alone. You are safe. Decades had passed since she last spoke Russian, and the words sounded awkward on her lips. She hoped she’d translated her intended words correctly.
Ready to retreat at the slightest hint of violence, she reached out and touched a hand to his foot. His muscles flinched beneath her fingers.
“Nyet! Ya vam nichego ne skazhu.” No! I will tell you nothing.
“Pover’te mne. Vy v bezopasnosti.” Believe me. You are safe.
She repeated the words over and over, and when she touched him again he didn’t jerk back from the contact. Slowly, his muscles uncoiled and released, and the tension gradually bled from his features until he no longer appeared tormented. His breathing grew deep, steady.
Much better. Her shoulders slumped with relief. She yawned, and the pull of exhaustion made her eyelids droop. Tomorrow was going to be another long day, and she needed to get some rest. Once she was certain that his nightmare had retreated, she let go of his leg, turned off the lamp, and returned to the comfort of her own bed.
Before her head hit the pillow he began murmuring again, the words starting out soft but increasing in volume.
Scrambling back to his side of the room, she stroked his leg and he fell silent again. She repeated the cycle a couple more times, leaving his side only to return again when the nightmares crept back into his thoughts.
Crap. Fatigue nagged at her tired muscles, but if she left Dmitri’s side his terrors would undoubtedly return. That left one viable solution. The only way they’d both get rest was if she held back the dreams that plagued him.
Careful not to disturb his sleep, she crawled onto the bed and slipped beneath the covers. She brushed her fingers against his arm, hoping the light contact would be enough to ground his mind in the present. Almost immediately, he rolled to his side. His muscled arm snaked around her waist and nestled her back against his chest. He rested his chin on the top of her head, and a contented exhale ruffled her hair.
The scent of him, rich and masculine, filled her nostrils and gave her an unexpected sense of contentment. His warmth enveloped her, relaxed her body. Before she knew it, her own breathing slowed and her limbs grew impossibly heavy.
Dmitri mumbled something in his native tongue, but the words were too muddled for her to decipher. Still, the tone sounded soothing to her ears. As the fog of sleep blanketed her mind, she could have sworn he pressed a kiss against her hair.
Fuck. Not again.
When Dmitri woke up early the next morning, he was confronted with the sight of Gwen lying beside him and a painful case of morning wood.
He craned his neck to check her over and was relieved to find no visible wounds on her body. If nothing else, at least he wouldn’t have to deal with a second round of guilt.
The erection, however, was an entirely different matter. It had been way too long since he’d last gotten laid if the feel of her body affected him this strongly. Math failed to dull the ache this time around, so instead he thought about his wife’s betrayal.
Oh, yeah, that did the trick. He shuddered as the memories flooded his brain. To this day, he didn’t know the exact location of the complex that had served as his prison. Didn’t know how many people worked there, or under whose authority he’d been held. He only knew the questions. The torture. Being caged like an animal inside a room with bright lights and no windows for so long he lost track of the days.
If not for Gwen, he wouldn’t have been there in the first place.
No, that wasn’t entirely true. To be fair, Elena had played a much larger role in his capture. The Americans had been unaware of his identity until the day his wife turned traitor. He’d been nothing more than rumor and innuendo, a shadow his enemies both feared and reviled. That changed the day she contacted those enemies and offered him up in exchange for asylum.
And to think he’d been stupid enough to love her. Never again would he be so foolish.
He shook off the memories and glanced down at Gwen. In the early-morning light she looked soft and delicate. But he knew better. Beneath the beautiful exterior lurked the heart of a predator. In many ways, they were a lot alike. Same ruthless nature and love of country. Their relationship could have been so very different, had they not come from opposite sides of the Cold War.
“Gwen,” he said as he gave her shoulder a shake.
She mumbled in her sleep and snuggled against him, a ghost of a smile warming her mouth. Her fingers brushed the hairs on his chest, sparking a need so fierce it sent shock waves rippling through his body.
“Gwen, wake up.” He forced the words out more harshly this time, and when he gave her another shake, her eyes fluttered open.
“Huh?” For a few moments, she appeared groggy and disoriented. But as the sleep drifted from her eyes, she became aware of her surroundings, and her muscles jerked as if surprised.
“I assume I had another nightmare?” he asked when her gaze drifted up to his.
She nodded, held a hand over her mouth while she yawned. “It sounded like the same one you had before.”
Dmitri inwardly groaned. Showing weakness to an enemy invited disaster and railed against all of his training. But for the first time he wondered if Gwen was truly his enemy any longer. They both worked for Fate, and both hoped to earn their salvation. And while he wasn’t prepared to welcome her friendship, perhaps it was time to set aside their hostilities.
“How long was I held in the Pit?” he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
Gwen shot him a wary look. “Are you sure you want to go down this road?”
“Yes.” In order to put the past behind him, he needed to know all of the details.
She rolled onto her back and rubbed her eyes. “Thirty-seven days. If it makes you feel better, you broke the record. No one else lasted that long without cracking.”
Part of him actually took pride in the knowledge. If not for his escape-turned-suicide mission, he would have lasted even longer. “My capture must have benefited your career greatly.”
“Yeah, right.” Her laughter sounded harsh and bitter. “Williams took the credit. To the brass, I was just the bimbo who drugged your wine.”
What? That didn’t make sense. “But you were present for most of my interrogations.”
Gwen made a noise that was somewhere between a sigh and a groan. “Williams allowed me to attend because he needed a translator, and there wasn’t anybody else on-site fluent in Russian. Believe me, it wasn’t a mark of distinction.”
Her answer surprised him. All this time, he’d assumed he was just another notch in her quest for power. If not for advancement of her own ambitions, why did she sit through so many sessions?
“Did you enjoy it?” he asked.
“Enjoy what, watching you get tortured?” She glared at him as if he were crazy.
“You never looked away.”
“It was my job.”
Judging by the way she refused to meet his gaze, he could tell she wasn’t telling him the whole truth. He remembered the way she’d acted. No matter what happened, her face had remained blank, like a good soldier doing her duty. At the time, he’d thought she was just playing a role, but now he wasn’t convinced. “You said Williams allowed it. That implies you could have left.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So why didn’t you?”
Her eyes tightened. “Because I wanted to be there when you broke.”
“Afraid he would take all the credit again?”
“I didn’t want that kind of credit,” she snapped.
“Why not?”
“Because …” Her voice trailed off as she twisted her head toward the bathroom door. “Never mind.”
Gently, he skimmed a hand along the side of her face and turned her head back toward him. “Why not?”
“It’s not important.”
“It is to me.”
When
she tried to get up, he pushed her back against the mattress. A burst of anger flashed over her, and for a second he thought she might strike him. Or at least, she might try. For the answer, he was willing to take the chance.
His voice dropped low, like a horse trainer gentling a skittish filly. Interrogation had never been his strongest suit, but he was willing to bet soft techniques would work better with her than coercion. “Answer the question, Gwenya. Why didn’t you want the credit for extracting information from me? The things I knew would have made your career.”
Time lingered as she peered up at him, her expression purposefully blank. On the outside, she appeared cool and aloof, but the pulse beat wildly at her throat. And for some strange reason that defied all logic, he felt the urge to press his lips against it.
Her throat bobbed when she swallowed. “Because it was wrong, what he did to you. Williams knew it, but he just didn’t give a damn. All he ever cared about was finding your breaking point.”
“Then why didn’t you stop him?” He leaned closer, and her breath tickled the hairs on his chest.
“Like I could.” Frustration threaded her voice. “It was 1962, Dmitri. Do you honestly think a woman had that kind of pull?”
“If you’d put your mind to it, yes.”
She rolled her eyes. “You put way too much faith in my abilities.”
“And you put way too little faith in them.” He propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at her. “If you’d been in charge, what would you have done differently?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me.” When he inhaled her scent, his blood began to simmer. “How would you have made me talk, zaika?”
Her lips pursed. “I really hate that name.”
“I know. That’s why I keep using it. Now answer the question before I use it again.”
His fingers traced a line up the length of her arm, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in their wake. She shivered as she licked her lips, and every muscle in his body tightened. The punch of attraction took him by surprise—hard, and fast, and completely unwanted. It felt so wrong on so many levels, but at the moment he just didn’t care. Desire sparked in his blood; his mind clouded with the need to lean a little bit closer, to see if her lips tasted as good as they looked….
