by Misty Evans
He walked back the way he’d come, nodding as he passed the other man still waiting. That man, in an oversized winter coat, black fur hat, and wool scarf, raised a gloved hand to her.
When Anya didn’t respond, he stepped toward the mausoleum, more tentative than the director had been, and shook his head as he stared at the casket. “Oh, Natasha. You always said you’d go out with a bang.”
As he moved closer, Anya could only stare. The man was old, but reminded her of someone. He seemed to have her father’s eyes, his bushy eyebrows. “Who are you?”
He stood proud. “These days, I go by Grigory Yordanov. Your grandmother knew me when I was Sergei Kutzeg.”
She didn’t recognize either name, but there was no mistaking the familiar eyes staring back at her. A new realization took root in her mind and bloomed with alarming speed. “You knew my grandmother…very well, I’m guessing.”
A slight dip of his head told her he understood what she was insinuating, and her theory was accurate. “She swore me to secrecy. Refused to tell me where you were. All she would ever tell me was that you were safe.”
A well of emotion grew in Anya’s chest, pushing its way up her throat and behind her eyes. She blinked back tears she didn’t understand. “She told me my grandfather was a man named Anton. That he died two months before my father was born.”
He didn’t say anything, just dropped his gaze to the snowy ground.
More secrets. There were always so damn many secrets. “Grams is dead. Nothing you divulge can hurt her anymore. I deserve to know the truth.”
Grigory lifted his gaze to Natasha’s casket. The sun’s rays spotlighted the smooth gunmetal gray of the interment vault. “Her husband did perish at that time, but he was not your grandfather.”
“You are?”
He met her eyes and gave another of those barely there nods.
Anya blew out her breath in a slow, steady stream, fogging the chilled air. She had a grandfather. A living, breathing relative who might be able to answer some of her endless questions now that Grams was gone. If there was anything she’d learned in the past week, it was not to take anything for granted. “Could we grab a coffee once I’m done here?”
“There’s a coffee shop a few blocks east. I’ll meet you there whenever you’re ready.”
They stared at each other a moment longer, and then Grigory touched his hand to his lips and laid it on Natasha’s coffin. “She was the love of my life.”
A tear escaped from her eye. Anya brushed it away. In the distance, she heard a car door slam. Grigory gave her one last nod and left her alone.
“Anya!” a female voice with a light Israeli accent rang out over the various mausoleums and tombstones. “Where are you?”
Anya smiled in spite of the sad moment. She waved to the woman who wore a bright red coat. “Over here, Naomi.”
Naomi and Grigory met, said something to each other, and the woman gave him a pat on the arm. They parted ways, and Naomi tromped through the snow in a pair of ridiculously tall boots. “Come, come!” She waved a gloved hand at Anya. “Time to go.”
“Give me one more minute, okay?”
Naomi sighed with exasperation, and loitered at a large, marble tombstone with a giant angel on top.
“I did everything the way you wanted, Grams. No ceremony, no fanfare, not even a vase of flowers. But I’m getting you one of those angel monuments, whether you like it or not, for the top of the mausoleum. You were a silent hero for many people, including me, during your life. It’s only fitting we recognize your angelic qualities.”
This time, she didn’t hold back on the tears. Grams would have hated her public display, yet the thought made Anya chuckle despite her grief. She bent over and kissed the casket. “Thank you for everything, Natasha Romanov Radzoya. I’m proud to be your granddaughter.”
Backing away from the mausoleum, Anya used her gloves to wipe the wetness from her cheeks. She offered a silent prayer for her mother and father, then turned to Naomi. “What’s up?”
The woman gave her a sly smile. “Come with me.”
Naomi took Anya’s hand and headed toward the cemetery’s entrance, dragging Anya behind her. How could she walk in those boots?
A black, boxy SUV waited at the curb, engine idling. Josh was behind the wheel, and when he saw her and Naomi, he exited the vehicle and raised his hand in acknowledgement. Naomi opened the back passenger door. “Get in.”
Anya slid inside.
And came face-to-face with Ryan.
Chapter Forty-Six
Anya’s black eye had morphed into purples and yellows but was no longer swollen. Her lip was nearly healed. She was devoid of makeup, just the way Ryan liked it, and although her eyes were bloodshot, she looked beautiful. A perfect ten.
“Ryan!”
She threw her arms around him, her voice echoing off the car’s interior, and he grinned, hugging her back with his good arm, and ignoring the pain in his shoulder from her exuberant squeeze.
Her cheek was smooth as silk against his unshaven jaw. He breathed deep, drawing in her warm, fresh-air smell. Every nerve in his body rejoiced as he stroked her soft, fine hair with his hand. This was why he’d foregone the pain meds and ignored the ridiculous hospital rules. “God, I missed you.”
Leaning back, she scanned his face and the sling holding his arm. “What are doing here? You’re supposed to be in the hospital.”
He shrugged with his good shoulder. “A few stitches. No big deal.”
“They wouldn’t let me see you.”
“I gave my statement an hour ago, directly to Titus Allen and Thad Pennington. Devons and Quick backed up everything they witnessed. Although all of our stories match, Pennington isn’t happy, and is calling for a quiet, but thorough, investigation. We’ll both have to give our testimonies a few more times at Langley, and to a special congressional taskforce Pennington is setting up. I’m under orders not to see you, or complicate the situation even more, until we’re both cleared. Titus arranged this meeting, but after this, we’ll both be under constant surveillance until the investigation is over.” He touched her cheek with a finger and swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “Could be months.”
She seemed to deflate, then resolve returned to her eyes. A wicked grin spread across her face. “We know how to get around constant surveillance.”
He grinned back. He and Conrad already had plans set up to help Ryan see Anya as much as possible, regardless of who was keeping tabs on them. Her willingness to circumvent adversity to see him was the Jack in his poker spread. All he had to do now was play the rest of his cards right and reel in the winning hand. “I like the way you think.”
“After I speak to President Pennington, you’ll like the way I think even more.”
“Why is that?”
“I have information he’ll find very interesting about Russia’s nuclear weapons program, remember? If he wants to harass us with a tax-payer-funded investigation, he can kiss that info, and my willingness not to share a certain code with my homeland, good-bye. Not that I would, of course, but he doesn’t know that. I’ll also go to the press and spill everything I know, including his harassment.”
Luck was with him and the winning hand was in sight. He grabbed her chin and brought her face to his. “You would make one hell of a good spy.”
“I like the way you think. In fact…” She kissed him, a quick but pleasant smack on his lips. “All of this has made me realize I’m more like my grandmother than I thought. Solomon and I have had several discussions. If I am cleared of all charges, like Titus claims I will be, I’m toying with the idea of joining the next class at the Farm. Solomon says I can keep my job with GenLife and also work for the CIA. He’ll even tutor me to be in some special army of his.”
Her excitement couldn’t be denied. She wasn’t just thinking about joining the next training class, she’d already made up her mind. He could tell. The Queen was now snug in his hand alongside the Jack and ten.
She shushed him with a finger to his lips, her eyes tearing at the mention of Grams. “I know, I know. She was strong, right up to the end. Refusing to tell him the truth. But I appreciate the fact you were trying to save me, over the world.”
He pinched his eyes closed, sighed. “But I couldn’t save your grandmother. I’ve been over it a hundred times in my head, all the things I should’ve done differently. All the calls I made that were wrong.”
“Ivanov is the bad guy here, not you. Or the others who saved us.” She sighed and looked down at her bandaged hand. “But I’ve done the same thing. Gone over it a hundred times, thinking if only I’d done this or hadn’t done that, she’d still be alive.” She raised her head. “Grams wouldn’t want that. She’d want us to embrace life and focus on what we can do now to protect our countries from future tyrants like Ivanov.”
“He’ll be dead—”
“Before midnight, I know. Director Allen told me. I assume I don’t want to know what the CIA is up to, but honestly, if they asked me to sneak into his room and do the job myself, I’d jump at the chance.” Anya brushed hair from Ryan’s forehead. “Grams would have liked you. Your quiet strength and willingness to do what needs to be done without calling attention to yourself.”
The King was secured and Ryan did a mental fist pump.
But the Ace, that was the trickiest card to lay claim to. “As soon as the investigation is wrapped up—and from the sounds of it, it may be wrapped up very soon—I’ll be heading back to my job at the Agency.”
“Of course.” A pause. Ryan held his breath. “What exactly is your job?”
“I’m Director of CIA Operations in Europe and Asia. I’ve been on temporary assignment in London, but Michael Stone—the deputy director—wants me back in the States. The CIA is recruiting, and he wants my input on new candidates for missions over here.”
She whistled softly under her breath, sat back. “You’re not just a spy, you’re the director of spies in Europe and Asia?”
“There’s a lot about my job I can’t share with you. Even if you don’t want to continue our relationship”—God he hoped she wanted to continue their relationship—“you won’t be able to tell anyone the truth about who I work for or what I do. Are you okay with that?”
“I’m quite familiar with keeping secrets, even at my job. All of GenLife’s cases are confidential. So I won’t ask about your work, and you won’t ask about mine. Deal?”
Time to lay everything on the table. “If you pass the Farm and become a spy, I may end up being your boss.”
She was silent a long time, and Ryan’s heart stuttered. It was one thing if she didn’t want to be a spy but was still willing to see him. If she didn’t want to be with him anymore, though, and he had to work with her…there was nothing he could do about that.
She glanced at him. “What’s your real name?”
“Ryan Smith.”
“Yeah, right.” She chuckled as if that were a punch line. “Your real last name is Smith.”
“Ask my mom.”
She sat forward and leaned toward him, purpose hardening her voice. “I’m going to do that. And I’m going to talk to Solomon and Titus Allen and those two.” She cocked a thumb at Josh and Naomi standing patiently outside the vehicle. “I’m going to talk to everyone under the sun, and find out all there is to know about you, Ryan Smith. I want to know your darkest secrets, your bad habits, and your favorite movies. I want to know everything.”
Stunned, he couldn’t decide if this was good or bad. “Or you could just ask me. On our honeymoon.”
She sat back. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
“Sorry, I don’t have a ring or anything. I’ve been a little tied up in the hospital after saving the world, and a damsel in distress, from a nuclear war.”
Anya laughed, a soft, sweet sound that made Ryan smile. He knew before she opened her mouth that the Ace was his.
“Grams always said, ‘life’s not all beer and skittles’ which is British, not Russian, but I think she may have been wrong. I beat the monster at his own game, I have a possible job offer from the CIA, and now marriage? You don’t give a girl time to breathe. Sounds like beer and skittles to me.”
“Is that a yes?”
She threw her arms around him, hugged him tight, and whispered in his ear. “Anya Romanov Radzoya Smith has a nice ring to it, don’t you think? But we should run it by my grandfather first.”
“Your grandfather?”
She beamed. “My real grandfather. He’s waiting for me at a nearby café. I want you to meet him. He’s going to tell me all about Grams and my family. I’m starting over with him.” She delivered a quick kiss to Ryan’s lips. “And you.”
Ryan’s mind flashed back to the perfect hand he’d had the moment Anya turned up at the cabin. Ace. King. Queen. Jack. Ten. Same suit…hearts.
Ryan’s luck had definitely turned around.
Acknowledgments
Research is a huge part of every Super Agent story for me, but this one was far more intense. I spent countless hours digging and hunting for the right blend of facts and trivia to add an interesting and entertaining layer to the story, and many friends, colleagues, and professionals hunted with me. I’m grateful to every one of them, some of whom wish not to be named.
Those I can name include my dynamic editorial team, Heather Howland and Sue Winegardner. I swear, they think like spies, and they know way more than I do about covert operations. Thank you, ladies. To all the technical advisors they reached out to for help with the Russian language and other elements, I also offer my appreciation. Any errors are entirely mine.
I must also thank my critique partner, Donnell Bell, who brainstormed ways to make Ivanov more devious, and willingly grilled one of her covert government sources for information on American embassies and Cold War spies. I owe Adrienne Giordano a spa day for her input on the first draft and subsequent ideas for the foot massage scene. Beta readers who added much and offered endless mental support include Chiron O’Keefe, Michelle Miles, and Nana Malone. After so many starts and stops with this story, you all kept me going.
Last, but not least, my gratitude goes out to the fans and readers of the Super Agent series who’ve hung in there waiting patiently for Smitty’s story. Happy reading!
About the Author
Misty Evans dreams of working for the CIA while she cultivates her author persona in Illinois where she lives with her husband and twin sons. The books in her Super Agent romantic suspense series have won numerous awards including the CataNetwork Reviewers’ Choice Award, the New England Reader’s Choice Bean Pot Award for Best Romantic Suspense, and the ACRA Heart of Excellence Reader’s Choice Award for Best Romantic Suspense. She likes her coffee black, her conspiracy stories juicy, and her wicked characters dressed in couture.
Learn more about Misty and her books at www.readmistyevans.com.
