Not-So-Secret Baby

by Jo Leigh

  Nick smirked. “You managed to come up with enough tales to keep your head on.”

  Jenny whirled around, took a step toward him, her eyes fierce, her hands fisted. “What is it with you?” she said in a whisper that carried just to his ears and not the microphones studded throughout the suite. “Why are you being so horrible? It’s not enough I have to put up with him? You used to be human. What happened?”

  He froze his expression. “I wised up.”

  “You mean, you sold out.”

  “I’d sold out long before I met you,” he said in that same strange whisper.

  “So why did you help me? Huh? What was in it for you?”

  He gave her a smile he’d perfected under Todd’s tutelage, then leaned in so his lips nearly touched the perfect shell of her ear. “I got you in the sack, didn’t I?”

  When he leaned back, the fire had left her eyes to be replaced by nothing so much as utter defeat. He hoped… God, he hoped, the fire wasn’t gone forever.

  EDWARD POTEREIKO SWORE and stamped his feet to keep his circulation flowing. He glanced at the stainless-steel watch he’d gotten as a retirement gift after twenty-five years in the GRU, and saw that it was two-fifteen.

  Late. His contact was late. The breakup of the Soviet Union had, in the former colonel’s opinion, also broken much of the vigor and discipline of the Ukrainian army. Now they were just so many ragtag costumed clowns playing at being soldiers. In his day, Edward would have had a number of them shot. The remainder would damn well have been on time.

  He peered across the frozen moonlit fields toward the lights of Kharkiv, trying to ignore the condensation of breath on his glasses. He willed himself to see a figure struggling across the tundra in the rising fog. Still nothing moved.

  Cursing again, he considered sitting in his four-door Volga sedan with the engine running and the heater blasting, but decided the risk was not worth the comfort. He turned his back to the lights and stuffed a Bogatyri cigarette between his lips, his American lighter shrouded by his greatcoat.

  He’d barely puffed the hot ash to incandescent redness when he heard the crunch of boots approaching. He cautiously moved to place the sedan between himself and the sound. A dark silhouette stumbled into view, visible breath rasping in the misty silence, the telltale peak of the Russian army cap obvious against the distant twinkling lights.

  As the figure moved closer, Potereiko could see the reason for the shadow’s stumbling gait; the man was carrying a large metal suitcase that hit his leg with every step. “Colonel?” he whispered. “Colonel?”

  Potereiko stepped from behind the sedan and puffed on his cigarette before speaking, blowing smoke in a thick cloud that drifted sinuously over his shoulder. “You’re late, Vanko.”

  Vanko dropped the suitcase at the rear of the Volga sedan with a sharp crunch that made the other man start involuntarily, although he knew it would take more than that for the case to begin its deadly work. Vanko pulled his gloves off and blew on his bare hands to warm them. “The security guard at the factory demanded extra money, just as I was leaving. He thinks I’m stealing computers.” He laughed, then sniffed at the smoke from Potereiko’s cigarette. “Hey, let me have one of those.”

  “You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago,” Potereiko said. “I’ve got to be back at the border before the shift changes at three.” He fished out one of the unfiltered Bogatyris and handed it to Vanko, then lit it for him.

  “The guard—”

  “Forget the guard.” Potereiko waved his arm dismissively and opened the trunk of the Volga. As the lid opened, a light came on inside. “Let’s see it.”

  “Ah, Colonel.”

  “I want to make sure it’s what you say, Vanko.”

  “Would I try to cheat you?”

  “You’re already trying to get a few extra rubles for the greedy guard. Open the case.” Potereiko stood back, hands in his pockets, cigarette dangling from between his lips.

  Vanko flipped a pair of latches, not unlike a briefcase, and carefully raised the lid, exposing a neatly machined panel containing an array of readouts and switches, barely visible in the dim trunk light. “You can set a code to open it. Here.” Vanko indicated a spot near one of the latches on the inside of the case.

  Edward moved closer and peered in. “Ah, yes. I remember when we were designing these.” He reached out a hand and caressed the panel, almost fondly. “We were going to destroy the Americans.” He closed the case, then the trunk.

  “Those were the days, eh, comrade?” Vanko said.

  Potereiko puffed on his cigarette, regarded the hot ember, then dropped the butt and ground it out with the sole of his shoe. “There’s much more opportunity now,” he said.

  “Speaking of opportunity…” Vanko puffed his own cigarette, hands in his coat pockets, gloves tucked beneath an armpit.

  “Of course. The money.”

  “I had to give the guard an extra fifty rubles.”

  “Let’s see,” Potereiko said as he reached inside his coat. He pulled out a pistol.

  Vanko’s eyes widened and he backed up a step, pulling his arms from his pockets, gloves falling to the ground. “What is this?”

  “This is a Smith & Wesson .38-caliber Police Special,” Potereiko said calmly. “Made in America. New Jersey, I believe. Nice, is it not?”

  “Edward… Colonel… Please.”

  “You are a symbol of all that’s gone wrong with the Soviet Union, Vanko. And a petty thinker, to boot.” In one smooth motion former Colonel Edward Potereiko raised the weapon and fired, striking Vanko in the forehead. As the roar of the gun died, his face, only slightly marred by the entry wound, took on a startled look. The cigarette fell from his lips, lodging on his heavy coat before he fell backward.

  Potereiko put the gun back inside his coat and checked his watch. He still had fifteen minutes to get back to the border, and it was only six or seven miles. He was, in fact, far more concerned with the nearly six thousand miles he’d have to drive in the next week. He stepped over Vanko’s body.

  “Das vadanya, comrade.”

  Chapter Four

  Jenny turned away, unable to look at Nick. God, had she made it all up? Had this man ever truly been kind to her?

  She ran her hand over the cold relief of a standing screen, her fingers tracing the edges of a reclining jaguar as she ran through a dozen quick memories, Nick gentle in all of them. He’d been tough in front of Todd and Sweet, of course, but when they’d been alone…

  She remembered the first time he’d kissed her. They’d been in her bathroom, of all places, standing by the Jacuzzi. He’d found a narrow window where Todd’s hidden cameras couldn’t see, and he’d led her there, positioned her just so. They’d had to whisper, although the sound of the bubbling water had masked their voices. And in that tiny space of freedom, that narrow gap between the nightmare of her life and the promise of something too good to be anything but a dream, he’d caressed her hair with trembling fingers, searched her gaze for secrets, then leaned down and touched her lips ever so softly with his own.

  He’d lingered there, just brushing lips to lips, breath ing his breath into her, filling her with desire. He’d been patient, maddeningly so, and finally she’d been the one to deepen the kiss, to open her lips and take a forbidden taste of this man who was her protector and her prison guard.

  He’d moaned, so loudly she’d been afraid, but then the fear didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but his arms around her, the hard warmth of his chest, his tongue doing wicked, wonderful things that made her forget reality.

  It had only lasted a few minutes. A few precious, dangerous minutes. But in that time, she’d felt a connection that had given her the strength to do the unthinkable. She’d decided, at that moment, when she couldn’t distinguish between his breath and hers, that she would escape. And that someday, when they were both free of the monster in the other room, they would meet again.

  The man behind her bore no resemblance to the ma
n in her mind’s eye. They looked the same, but they were complete opposites when it came to the heart.

  What had happened to him? Was being around Todd enough to kill that humanity? She closed her eyes. Of course it was. If she’d stayed, who knows what would have happened to her? What was of much more concern now was what would happen to her baby. How could he ever come out of this unscathed?

  “What did he tell you?”

  She turned to face Nick again, hardening herself against the cool disdain in his gaze. “I have to dress. Go back to him.”

  “Then, what are you waiting for?”

  He was actually more beautiful when he was like this. When his lip had that hint of a sneer and his eyes burned right through her. But she knew better than anyone that beauty was nothing. A trap. A web.

  Without giving him the satisfaction of an answer, she headed for the bedroom. Todd wanted her hair down. She’d have to wear full makeup, which she hadn’t done since the day she’d left him. And wear the awful lingerie that was sure to be in her dresser.

  The bedroom, as large as her living room and kitchen combined, had been redecorated in the same motif as the rest of the suite. The four-poster was swathed in sheer white drapes, the posts themselves sturdy brass. Looking at the bed made her stomach clench as other memories came back, piling in her head like a car wreck.

  When they’d first met, Todd had been a perfect gentleman. He’d courted her with respect, giving her all the time she’d needed to make her decisions. Even after they’d made love, he was patient, showing her a side of him she knew now to be a complete charade.

  Only when she was well and truly trapped did he come out, show her his true colors. Sick colors. His cruelty became masterful in the bedroom. What he’d done to her, made her do…

  She took a deep breath as she thrust the thoughts from her consciousness. Striding to the closet, she flung open the doors, determined to think of nothing but the task at hand.

  The wardrobe was far sparser than she’d imagined. Half a dozen dresses, another half dozen negligees. High heels, of course, and gaudy accessories. Furs, jew eled handbags. Not her taste, not her style. They made her feel cheap, despite their astronomical price tags.

  She picked out the skimpiest dress. The night was going to be horrible. Painful. She’d do well to mitigate her circumstances wherever she could, beginning with the slit-up-to-there gold lamé dress that hardly covered her breasts and bared her back completely. There would be no bra, not with this dress, and no hose. In the top dresser drawer she found several pairs of the tiniest thongs she’d ever seen, mere teasing of fabric. She put on the white ones.

  As she dressed, she turned it all off. Her repulsion, her fear, her worry for Patrick. She turned it off and went as far deep inside as she could. It had been a long time since she’d taken refuge there, but she found her safe zone waiting, as if she’d never left.

  She took her hair down as she walked to the bathroom, there to painstakingly put on the makeup of a showgirl. No. Of a whore. By the time she was finished, with only five minutes to spare, she hardly recognized herself.

  Which, she supposed, was a good thing.

  She checked her reflection, made sure he’d approve, then grabbed a gold handbag and slipped on the four-inch heels that hurt with her first step. It didn’t matter. That would be the least of her discomfort tonight.

  NICK HAD MADE a few phone calls while Jenny was dressing, one of them real. Jed Tyler, his mechanic, told him his Porsche was ready, after having the brakes re lined. During the call, and the other two, one to find out the correct time, and the other to a number he knew had been disconnected, he walked around the living room as if studying the decor. His real quest was to find the hidden cameras. As he’d suspected, they had all been moved during the redecoration. It had taken him a long time to find the six cameras before, and so far he’d only identified three.

  He’d ferret out the bugs later. He’d be spending a lot of time here while he made Jenny uncomfortable enough to insist he be replaced. Which needed to be damn soon. He had to be free to find out what the hell Todd was planning. It was big. Bigger than anything he’d encountered so far and it had nothing to do with the casino.

  Todd was one of the wealthiest men in Nevada—in the world. And still he wasn’t satisfied. What he wanted to be when he grew up was an arms dealer. Like Adnan Khashoggi at his peak, only richer. He wanted to sell big toys like F/A-18 Hornet jets and Black Hawk attack helicopters, but the U.S. government had restricted his ability to play in the billion-dollar playgrounds. Oh, he could sell arms, but he’d have to get out of the casino business.

  Todd continued to host the world’s largest arms trade shows, however, with representatives from all corners of the globe. He was the world’s leading exporter of signals intelligence. The interception, exploitation and jamming of electronic communication; a multibillion-dollar enterprise designed to eavesdrop on the conver sations and data traffic of U.S. adversaries anywhere on earth. Real James Bond stuff.

  The arms shows were more exciting to him than any poker tournament could hope to be. His contacts were world-class, although the meetings were never in Nevada. Rio, South Africa, Kashmir; Todd jetted all over the globe in his pursuit of the highest bidder for his wares. His presence at defense conferences were high-ticket events, where he would dine with presidents and kings, many of whom where high on the U.S. government’s list of unfriendlies.

  Nick had gone to several arms shows with the boss and had seen his share of what went on in the world of covert ops. Gambling, even at the level played at Xanadu, couldn’t hold a candle to the stakes that were played on that field.

  What Nick had also seen was that Todd was not a man to give up easily. His goal was for the big score, the billions that would make him untouchable. Since the powers that be had told him he couldn’t sell weapons, Nick knew that was exactly what Todd would do. Not conventional weapons. He’d take that extra step, that mass-destruction step that would tell the world exactly who they were messing with. C. Randall Todd was going nuclear. Nick knew it, he just couldn’t prove it. Not yet.

  What Nick did know was that Todd had found a supplier, an ex-military from the defunct Soviet Union, and he had two buyers in the wings. Both of whom were enemies of the state, both of whom would have no com punction about using the nuke on American soil. The bidding continued as Todd maneuvered his players. The deal was coming to a close, time was running out.

  And what Todd didn’t know, what Jenny didn’t know, what Nick’s own mother didn’t know, was that he was the man responsible for stopping it. So to say baby-sitting Jenny was inconvenient was something of an understatement.

  He heard a footstep, turned from the Persian tapestry above the fireplace. Jenny walked in from the bedroom, totally transformed from the woman who’d cradled her son.

  She looked like what Todd wanted her to be: the world’s most expensive mistress. The gown looked painted on, what there was of it. The neckline was so low, he was afraid for her to move, and yet when she did walk, nothing showed but what she intended. Her face—God, that beautiful face—was so made up she was almost unrecognizable behind it. Her lashes were so thick he wondered how she could keep her eyes open, and her scarlet lips were as deep and wet as fresh blood.

  “You look—”

  “Like a whore?”

  “Cold.”

  She shifted her gaze to his, but she’d shut herself down, made herself unreadable. “Right. Cold.”

  “Where’s he taking you?”

  She turned her gaze to her handbag. “I have no idea.”

  “Wasn’t there something else in there? Something a little more discreet?”

  “Yes. But I’m better off in this.”

  “Why?” he whispered, ever mindful of hidden microphones. “So you can show off to all his cronies?”

  She pushed her hair behind her ear as she turned to skim his cheek with her warm breath. “What do you care? We all know what Todd likes, and what he lik
es is what I’m here for.”

  “What he likes?”

  She stepped back. “Come on, Nick. Surely you can’t have forgotten all of Todd’s little games. It hasn’t been that long.”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “Right. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I can’t afford to be late.”

  He was once again hit by the scent that had haunted his dreams. Her scent. “Let’s go,” he said as he opened the door.

  She hesitated, but only for a moment. Then she lifted her shoulders, straightened her back and headed down the hall.

  It felt as though he was taking her down the Green Mile, right to the executioner’s block. He didn’t know details about Todd’s private life, but he’d heard rumors. The one thing Nick did know was that Todd wanted complete obedience from his women. How he got it was what troubled Nick.

  It didn’t matter. It wasn’t his business. He only wished he could offer her hope, or even comfort. At the very least he wanted to tell her he was more than he seemed, that he wasn’t a bastard. But that could end up very badly. For lots and lots of people. So he kept his expression neutral, his body several steps behind her, his gaze just over her left shoulder.

  All he could do was look forward to the end, to the day he put Todd down once and for all. Todd was going to pay for a multitude of sins, and Nick would take great pleasure teaching him the error of his ways.

  Until then, he couldn’t afford to be distracted, not even by Jenny.

  UP UNTIL THE last second, the very moment before the door to Todd’s suite opened, she hoped Nick would stop it. That he’d reach over, touch her, save her.

  By the time it was too late, she’d gotten it. Gotten the truth about Nick. The reality of her situation. She was on her own. No one was going to help, no one was going to care. She had to get Patrick out. And she had to do it alone.

  But first she had to get through the night.

  “Ah, that’s my girl.” Todd stepped into the foyer, dressed in an Armani tux, his silver-white hair shining in the lights of his chandelier. “That’s the beauty I fell in love with.”