by Cindy Dees
“Come on!” Alex yelled over the roar of the engines.
She ran after him, shielding Dawn from the dust storm the props kicked up as best she could. She raced up the metal ramp after Alex and into the dim interior of the cargo bay. A man in a gray flight suit gestured them into crude webbing seats along the sides of the aircraft and pushed buttons that raised the ramp while they strapped in.
Who on earth was Alex? How did he, an American citizen, have the power to make a single radio call and get an immediate evacuation by a Russian military aircraft? Granted, his father was a high-ranking FSB official. But high enough to rate this quick a rescue for his son?
Her impression had been that Alex and his father were not close. At all. Why then would the elder Koronov make a military aircraft available to Alex like this? What exactly was his relationship with his father...and more importantly with his father’s government? Was Alex a more loyal son of Mother Russia than he let on? A frisson of cold, hard terror rippled down her spine. No wonder Mike had asked her to keep an eye on him.
She could play with this man, but she dared not genuinely care for him. Down that road lay disaster as surely as she was standing there.
The bird lifted off, bound for who knew where. What the hell had she gotten herself into now?
CHAPTER SEVEN
MICHAEL MCCLOUD SWORE as he watched the Antonov 26 lift off Zaghastani soil carrying his sister and the bastard who’d stabbed him. He—grudgingly—gave Koronov props for not killing him in cold blood. But the guy was a traitor like his father and seriously needed to die.
He couldn’t believe Koronov had gotten the jump on him like that. But he probably should have expected it, given that the man had managed to slip out of the Karshan Valley alive. Thankfully, the bastard had gotten Katie out of there alive and unhurt, too. He supposed he owed him one for that.
He’d been pretty sure Katie was in over her head and might need emergency extraction at some point. What he hadn’t counted on was a flipping Russian hit squad running with the local rebels and going full-out scorched earth on the Karshan pass and all its inhabitants. Even he, a hardened Spec Ops type, had been taken aback at the carnage.
Of course, now that he was half-gutted, he wasn’t going to be able to reestablish contact with the damned Russian hit team to figure out why they were there and who was giving them orders. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if Alex Koronov and his father were pulling the team’s strings. It would explain how Alex kept managing to stay one step ahead of the “rebels” marauding through the region.
What the hell were the Koronovs up to?
Frustrated all to hell as the Antonov droned away into the ever-present haze of dust obscuring the rising sun, he cranked up his satellite phone and extended its long antenna. Reception out here sucked even on a sat phone, and he prayed to the electronic gods that the damned thing worked today.
Static crackled, and a tinny voice said, “Identify.”
“It’s Candyman. Current location and authentication to follow. Standby to copy.”
When the guy at the other end indicated he was ready to copy, McCloud rattled off the lat-long coordinates from his GPS and the six-letter code from his onetime use pad. While he waited for verification, he tore the top sheet off the pad and lit it with a match. The flash paper burned brightly and was gone in a puff of ash almost as quickly as it ignited.
“You are authenticated. Go ahead, Candyman.”
“I need a secure patch to a landline.”
“Roger. Standby.”
This pause took longer. It was a laborious process to use hopelessly out-of-date military command-post technology to turn a sat phone call into a secured telephone call. But eventually, the voice came back up. “You will hear three clicks, and the line will go live and secure.”
The voice went away, and the familiar clicks followed. He dialed a memorized number he’d been given to report on Alex Koronov’s activities. God knew who was on the other end.
An anonymous male voice answered the call. “Good evening.”
Evening? That placed the guy in the Western Hemisphere. North or South America, because it was morning over here.
“Um, I was told to call this number to report on a...project.”
“I’m familiar with your phone number. I was told to watch for it. I will relay your report.”
Well, okay then. Sounded like somebody official. His report would move up through the layers of someone’s bureaucracy. Some alphabet-named government agency if he had to guess.
“The target is not neutralized. Repeat, not neutralized. Departed this location approximately five minutes ago in an Antonov 26 aircraft painted in military gray. No tail numbers displayed. The aircraft was last seen turning northbound.”
“Roger. Will relay.”
“Do you have any further instructions for me?”
“Negative.”
Now he could only pray that failure didn’t lead to recriminations against him. He had no idea what the fallout would be from Koronov still being alive and free. He didn’t know who’d given the order to watch Alex and to kill the guy if he did anything suspicious. If he knew that, maybe he could figure out what the motives of the person giving the kill order were. As it was, he was just a point-and-shoot assassin. He was supposed to do the job and not ask any questions.
But, hell, his clueless baby sister was out here! That gave him a right to ask a few damn questions.
No further instructions for him, huh? He had no idea where that Antonov was headed, but it was a pretty good bet he wouldn’t be able to follow it easily to its final destination. Screw killing Alex Peters. If the powers that be wanted the guy dead, they’d have to get themselves another operative to finish the job.
He disconnected that call and placed a new call to his military headquarters. “It’s Candyman. You need me to go through the whole authentication process again?”
“Nah, McCloud. I recognize your voice. Go ahead. Whatchya need, buddy?”
“I need medevac from this location.”
“What happened to your wheels?”
“Stolen by the bastard who stabbed me.”
“Are you ambulatory?”
He looked down at the big gauze bandage plastered over his wound. It had a bright crimson stain in the middle of it about the diameter of a quarter. If he was gonna bleed out, he’d have done it by now. Koronov’s internal pressure bandage was holding. “That’s affirmative,” he transmitted. “I can walk.”
“Standby.” Eventually the voice came back with, “Make your way to the following coordinates. Ready to copy?”
He pulled out a small pad of paper and a pen. “Go ahead.”
* * *
THE RUSSIAN AIRCREW rigged up a miniature hammock for Dawn and took pleasure fussing over the baby until the vibrating drone of the propellers knocked both Dawn and Katie out.
Katie woke groggy enough that she thought she’d been out for a while. Alex was sleeping, and she didn’t disturb him. As always, she lost herself in the beauty of his relaxed, unguarded features. If only she could bottle this Alex and keep him this way after he woke up. She sighed. If wishes were fishes, everyone would be eating tuna sandwiches.
Alex roused as the plane entered a bumpy descent and landed. Nervous to see where he had dragged her, she looked around curiously as she followed him out of the back of the aircraft.
Whoa. This is definitely not Kansas, Dorothy. The airport terminal was a tired, gray, three-story block of a building with a gently upcurving portico that tried to be modern and failed miserably. The structure looked at least fifty years old and was showing its age. “Time warp much?” she muttered.
Alex grimaced as though he was none too thrilled to be here—wherever here was—either.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Osh.”
“Sorry. Where?” The only Osh she knew of was Oshkosh. And this was emphatically not Wisconsin.
“Osh. In Kyrgyzstan. Second largest city
in the country. Near the Uzbek border.”
Right. And that helped her locate herself.
Alex grinned. “Not big on central Asian geography, huh?”
“Not much.”
“Try this. Kyrgyzstan borders the northwesternmost corner of China. Or, if you fly due north out of Afghanistan or Pakistan, and cross over Tajikistan, you reach Kyrgyzstan. Osh is in the southwestern corner of the country. Located now?”
“More or less. The important question is, where do I get that hot shower you promised me and proper baby supplies for Dawn?”
“Actually, we have one more hurdle to cross before you get your shower.” She raised a questioning brow and he replied, “Kyrgyz Customs.”
“I have my passport with me,” she responded quickly.
“As do I. But we’ve got to get Dawn through, too.”
Oh. Crap.
“I took the liberty of filling out a birth certificate for her and signing it,” he muttered under his breath. “I listed you as the mother and me as the father. It’ll save us a world of hassles. I hope you don’t mind.”
Her tummy fluttered at the idea of the three of them being a family, but she checked the notion, reminding herself she had no idea who this man was. He wasn’t her type of guy, no matter how smoking hot he was. “I don’t mind,” she whispered back as an official-looking man in a uniform strode toward them.
“Interesting,” Alex muttered. “The FSB didn’t meet us. Must be waiting for us inside the terminal.”
She stared at him in dismay as the customs agent got out of his pickup truck and strode over to them.
Alex spoke in rapid Russian with the fellow, who duly took their passports and examined them carefully. Katie felt helpless just standing there, but Alex seemed to be having no trouble charming the uniformed man. The discussion went back and forth for several minutes, and then, abruptly, the customs man went to the hood of his pickup truck, unfolded a small lap desk and stamped their passports. He handed over three slips of light green paper, as well.
“Temporary visas,” Alex murmured.
She nodded and smiled at the Kyrgyz man, who smiled back and said something that made Alex laugh. The guy apparently offered them a ride to the terminal, because Alex opened the truck’s passenger door for her, helped her inside and then climbed in the back of the crew cab. Dawn started to cry, for which Katie was grateful. It gave her an excuse not to have to smile and nod too much at the man beside her.
They piled out at the terminal, and Alex said under his breath, “And now for the next hurdle and our real challenge. Dodging the FSB, who will be lurking around here somewhere.”
Her stomach dropped to her feet.
“Stick with me. I’ve done this before. Trained by a spy, remember?” Alex muttered.
Ha. He was trained as a spy. He might not admit it, but he might as well be one himself. Small problem with her, however: she was a kindergarten teacher, not Mata Hari!
He led her quickly through the bowels of the building, passing corroded luggage conveyor belts and laconic mechanics lounging about, smoking. He led her up a concrete stairwell so dark she could barely see the steps, and the door at the top of it opened on a flood of sunlight that completely blinded her. Squinting, she made out a taxi stand.
Alex helped her into a cab partway down the line of taxis and slid in beside her. He gave the driver directions, and the vehicle pulled away from the curb. Alex watched out the back carefully for several minutes, and she found herself following suit, even though she had no idea what to look for. Alex finally turned around to face front.
“That was easier than I thought it would be,” she threw out as a test balloon.
“Agreed.”
Hey! She got it right!
But then he added grimly, “Something’s wrong.” He slouched back against the vinyl upholstery, brooding.
As quickly as she’d relaxed, she was nervous again. In need of distraction from the spies out there somewhere looking for them, she asked, “What did the customs guy say that made you laugh?”
Alex arched one eyebrow at her. “He told me I have good taste in women.”
Was she about to become one of his long string of conquests? Nowhere in their conversation so far about sex had there been any mention of an actual relationship. Clearly, Alex was not interested in commitments...even if he had legally declared himself Dawn’s father. That was merely a ploy to deal with government red tape. She smiled emptily. “Yes, you do have excellent taste in women, if I do say so myself.”
The city sliding past their windows was more modern than she expected, but more run-down than any modern city she’d ever seen. Occasional grand structures and a tall statue of Lenin in a big square spoke of the Soviet regime’s time there, and bullet-pocked building facades spoke of more recent political upheavals. Every car that drew close behind them made her jumpy. Every time they stopped at a light, she panicked until they pulled forward again. Sheesh. How did Alex live with this paranoia as a kid?
The cab stopped in front of another gray, blocky building, and Alex announced, “Here’s our hotel.”
He opened her door for her and took Dawn as she climbed out. Tense, she asked him, “Are we...you know...clear?”
“As far as I can tell. If not, they’re better than me.”
That actually reassured her slightly. He was really, really smart. They walked into the hotel lobby, and its shabby elegance dismayed her. “How are we going to pay for this?”
Alex shrugged. “I have rather significant resources at my disposal.”
Oh, right. Compliments of his gambling habit. In short order, they were installed in a spacious, old-world room with tall windows and high ceilings. A crib was delivered for Dawn.
Katie had barely finished exploring the room and discovering the big, deep cast-iron bathtub when Alex said, “I’ll leave you to a nice long soak while I go get supplies for Dawn.”
She frowned. He was obviously planning to do other things while he was out, too, but she had no idea what. She just heard the subtle evasion in his voice. Phone-a-father maybe? Report in to his immediate FSB superior?
He left, and she stared at the telephone on the nightstand. She picked it up and managed to figure out how to make an overseas phone call. She dialed Mike’s cell phone number, but, frustratingly, it passed through to voice mail. Worried about someone monitoring the hotel phone, she left a vague message about being safe and hoping to talk to him soon.
They probably ought to let Doctors Unlimited know what had happened and that they were alive, too. But Alex seemed in no rush to notify their employer, and after his suggestion that a mole within the organization might have given away their location to unfriendly forces, she was not eager to contact D.U., either. Not until she knew whether or not Alex’s suspicions were legit.
For the moment, she got Dawn settled in her first real bed and headed eagerly for the bathroom and that lovely tub. Grabbing the little bottle of what she assumed was shampoo that sat on the counter, she ran a steaming hot bath for herself and slid into it blissfully.
Eventually, when the dirt had soaked out of her pores, she felt clean at last. She shampooed her hair within an inch of its life and eyed her filthy clothes piled on the floor. She climbed out of the tub and dried off, and then dropped the whole mess of clothes into the soapy bathwater. She did her best to scrub them clean, and the rinse water ran dark gray. Eventually, she gave up, wrung out her heavy, sodden garments and hung them to dry. Note to self: hug the washer and dryer when I get back home and tell them how very much I love them both.
She wrapped herself in one of the big bath towels, turbaned her hair in another towel and stepped into the main room to check on Dawn.
Alex looked up from the side of the crib, and took in her terry-cloth décolletage with a thoroughness that left her breathless. “I washed my clothes,” she mumbled.
“I bought you new ones.”
“Bless you.”
He grinned. “They’re in the
bag on the bed.”
A half-dozen bags lay on the bed. As she headed for the pile, she stared into the crib in surprise. Dawn wore a pink one-piece, a fuzzy, footie sleeper, and the distinctive bubble of a diaper was visible under it. Alex tucked a pink blanket around the sleeping baby as she stepped near.
“She’s adorable,” Katie cried under her breath. “Thank you so much for getting her something warm. I’ve been so worried about her getting chilled.”
He shrugged and actually looked abashed. “She’s been a trouper. It was high time to spoil our little princess a little.”
Was he actually fond of Dawn? Who’d have guessed the big, bad bachelor spy would fall for a baby? Dawn’s eyes were already huge and exotic like her mother’s, a dark blue that Katie expected would turn a deep brown, also like her mother’s. The baby’s face was angelic, and there was something magical about the innocence clinging to her. She could see why it got to Alex. He seemed to have a bit of a weak spot for innocence. Who could blame him after the upbringing he’d had? Peter had done everything in his power to strip his son of his own innocence.
Katie rummaged through the bags and pulled out a pair of jeans, a gray T-shirt and a hoodie sweatshirt. They would fit well enough to get her home. But that was about all she could say about their fashion sensibilities. The outfit looked like something a construction worker would wear.
“There’s more,” Alex murmured from behind her.
She dug in the bottom of the bag and came up with a handful of sheer black nylon. It was a bra and matching bikini briefs trimmed with little red bows. Both were see-through and trashy, and her cheeks flamed. But the lingerie was clean, and that outweighed any objections she might have to its taste quotient.
“The only other option was granny panties and prison matron bras,” he commented drily. “Given your predilection for skimpy lace, I figured you’d prefer those.”
She retreated to the bathroom, slipped into the bra and panties and stared at herself in the mirror, shocked. She looked like a...a harlot. All she needed were fishnet stockings and garters to complete the look. But her bare legs topped by that black see-through nylon were pretty dirty all by themselves.
