Game Over (The Baltimore Banners Book 2)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Nausea rolled through her and she ripped herself out of Nikolai’s arms, rushing to the side of the ambulance where she leaned over and wretched, dry heaves wracking her body, her head throbbing painfully. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to shut out the vision of something that hadn’t even happened.

  Strong arms closed around her, and she blindly turned into them, burying herself in Nikolai’s hold, losing herself in his warmth, his vibrant, whole and solid, living, breathing warmth.

  “Is she all right?” A deep voice asked from behind her. She stiffened but otherwise didn’t move, needing to feel Nikolai’s beating heart under her ear, not caring about anything else right now.

  His arms tightened even further around her, his lips gentle against the top of her head, as he spoke to the man behind her. She paid no attention to the words, just focused on the feel of Nikolai’s voice rumbling through his warm and solid chest, holding onto him, unable to let go just yet.

  She felt him pull away, just a fraction of an inch, and she finally loosened her death grip on him enough that he could look down at her. “Moe krasivejshee, these men wish to speak with us. Will you be okay?”

  His eyes were dark with concern, his hands gentle on the sides of her face as he stroked her cheeks and pushed the hair behind her ears, careful of the bandage. And she knew that if she said no, if she told him she wasn’t alright, that she didn’t want to talk to anyone, Nikolai would make sure she wasn’t bothered, that he would protect her and keep everyone else away.

  And even though that’s what she wanted, she knew it would do no good, and that she would only be putting off the inevitable. So she nodded, unable to even try mustering a reassuring smile. Nikolai dropped a tender kiss on her lips and turned her around, his arms still wrapped around her from behind, supporting her, protecting her.

  Denny, Howard, and a third man she recognized from the practice rink stood in front of them, dressed in suits and ties, badges clipped to their belts. They looked just like the homicide detectives from earlier, except their faces were harder, grimmer.

  Denny’s eyes locked on hers, his expression flat and cold as his gaze dropped to Nikolai’s arms holding her. She stiffened but refused to pull away. He finally nodded, a small, barely perceptible motion of his head.

  “Ma’am. If we could ask you some questions…?” It was phrased as a polite request, but Bobbi heard the steel underneath. She took a deep breath and finally straightened, knowing that his questions were going to be asked in private.

  Howard and the third man led Nikolai a little distance away as Denny motioned her toward the back of the ambulance, reaching for her elbow to help her climb the step. She brushed off his help and stepped up on her own, settling on the bench seat as he climbed in behind her and closed the door, locking them in privacy.

  He remained standing, his head and shoulders stooped slightly to accommodate the low ceiling, and watched her for several minutes.

  “Are you really okay, Bobbi? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

  She pulled the blanket higher around her shoulders and shook her head as another chill racked her body. “I’m fine.”

  “Dammit, you don’t look fine!” The outburst caught her by surprise and she turned to look up at him. Denny ran one hand through his hair then down over his face, blowing out a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell.”

  “No problem.” Bobbi felt like yelling herself but she was afraid that if she did, she wouldn’t stop. She shifted on the bench, lifting her legs up and propping her feet against the stretcher across from her, and adjusted the blanket again. Denny continued watching her, then let out another deep breath.

  “What happened?”

  Bobbi took a deep breath, her gaze focused on her feet as the scene replayed in her mind. But she didn’t start from when the chaos had erupted in the street. Instead, she went back further, before she and Nikolai had met with his agent. She closed her eyes and paused, bringing each detail to mind, and left out nothing. She didn’t know how much was relevant, didn’t even know if the events were connected, but she didn’t trust her instincts right now, was afraid to leave anything out for fear that it might matter down the road.

  Denny took notes throughout, not asking questions, not prodding, just letting her get through it all. Bobbi sagged against the back of the bench when she was finished, exhaustion swamping her.

  “Denny, his agent…there’s definitely something there. And Nikolai knows it. God, if you could have seen him.” She took a deep breath and paused, recalling the feral change in Nikolai at Walter Jacobs’ implied threat. “He knew the threat was real, and it shook him up. I thought…” she paused, then shook her head. There was no need to explain something so personal, no need to expose any private thoughts and emotions. She could tell Denny wanted to ask more, could see it in the tilt of his head as he studied her. But for some reason he didn’t push her, and she was glad for it.

  She closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the bench seat, her breathing deep and even in the silence. A long minute went by before she straightened and turned to look back up at Denny. “Do you think there’s any connection to that and the shooting?”

  His dark eyes bore into her, holding her gaze, studying her. “It was our guy in the car who did the shooting. The vic on the street had been aiming for you.”

  An icy fear exploded inside her, racking her body with chills. She leaned forward and put her head between her knees, taking deep gulps of air, drawing them into lungs seized with fear. She heard Denny call her name, felt a hand come to rest on her shoulder. She shook her head, shook the hand away, and drew a deep breath before sitting up. Her knuckles were white from clutching the blanket so tightly around her, and she had to force her grip to loosen. She shook her head again.

  “I’m fine, sorry. Just…give me a minute.” Bobbi closed her eyes, took another few deep breaths, then sat up straighter. “Sorry. You said me. Do you mean me, or us?”

  The silence stretched around them, broken only when Denny snapped his notebook closed and dropped it into his front pocket. “We don’t know. We don’t know if it was random, or if it was connected to anything. We don’t know if the target was you or Petrovich. Or both of you. Or neither. We don’t know anything right now, and we may never know.”

  The words did nothing to soothe her, uttered as they were in Denny’s harsh, clipped tones. His voice had been gaining volume as he spoke, a sign of his frustration, a sign that added to her increased worry. “It seems too coincidental, doesn’t it?”

  She didn’t expect an answer, not when she already knew what it was. The entire scene had been too coincidental, too easy. She remembered the look on Jacobs’ face when they had come out of his office, remembered he had been talking on the cell phone. Could he really have been arranging this? But why?

  She was just thankful that neither one of them had been hurt. Not really. She reached up and gingerly touched the bandage on her head. The gash and bump she suffered had come from her head hitting the ground as Nikolai threw himself over her. No, she didn’t consider this being hurt—not compared to what could have happened.

  There was a knock on the ambulance door and they both turned. She could see Howard through the window, and behind him, Nikolai. She pushed herself to the edge of the bench, her fingers clenched around the edge. Bobbi bit the inside of her cheek, looking between Denny and Nikolai, thinking. It could be nothing.

  But it could be something.

  “Denny…you mentioned the Ruskov Orphanage. Can you look into it some more? Find out if there were any adoptions around the time you have Nikolai visiting there. I haven’t said anything yet but something he said earlier…” Her voice trailed off. No, it hadn’t been anything he said, not really. It had been the shadows in his eyes when she had asked if he had any kids, the deep sorrow she had sensed in him when he told her his family was gone. But she couldn’t tell Denny that, couldn’t let him know she was asking for more information based on
nothing more than a feeling.

  She stood up from the bench and swayed slightly, but she wasn’t sure if it was from her exhaustion, or from the feeling of guilty betrayal that went through her. Denny reached out to steady her and she knew he was getting ready to say something, but she pushed past him as the door of the ambulance opened. Nikolai stood at the back step, concern and worry etched on his face as he offered her his hand. She reached out for it, grateful for the warmth of his touch as he helped her down.

  “You are okay?”

  She nodded, stepping into his arms and holding him tightly. “Yes. Just…take me home now.”

  **

  The room was dim, the only light coming from the oversized television, the change of scenes from the muted show casting a crazy dance of light and shadow on the walls. Nikolai sat on the edge of the sofa, his hands hanging loosely between his knees, seeing nothing around him. He took a deep breath and clenched his hands tighter together, willing them to stop shaking with the tremors of one much older.

  With the tremors of one much terrified.

  A harsh sound echoed around him, a screech of whimpered fear, and Nicolai was surprised to realize the sound had come from him.

  Or was he?

  He took another deep breath then reached for the bottle on the table in front of him, quickly unscrewing the cap and pouring the clear liquid into an empty glass. The glass clattered together, echoing in the stillness around him. The clear liquid splashed over the side and spilled onto the table, forming a small puddle. He ignored it and placed the bottle back on the table with a heavy thud of glass against wood. His hand was unsteady and nearly toppled the bottle over but he quickly righted it.

  And wished he could blame his unsteady hands on the vodka.

  He brought the glass to his lips and drained the contents in one gulp, feeling the warm fire spill down his throat. Yes, he wished with everything he had, with everything he didn’t have, that his shaking hands were the result of the vodka; wished the fire of the clear liquid would spread through him, would numb him from the inside out.

  But it wasn’t to be. He didn’t think he could drink enough vodka to make him numb, to make him forget the scene from earlier.

  Nikolai closed his eyes against the memory, then quickly reopened them as the scene played itself all too clearly in his mind. He didn’t want to remember, and was afraid that it would be a long time before he forgot.

  A very long time.

  Bobbi, shaken and hurt, blood dripping down her face. Her worry over him, the frantic search of her hands against his body, looking for his injuries when it was she who bled, she who hurt.

  Overlaying that, another image, this one of Alexi. His brother, with his arm outstretched, his mouth open in a shout of warning. A shout that never came, stopped short in an explosion of red. Katerina screaming, Dimitri crying as he was pulled from his mother’s arms, not understanding what was happening.

  None of them understanding.

  Only Nikolai knew, only Nikolai understood. And he had sworn then, eight years ago, that he would let nothing like that happen again. He would play their game, be their pawn, bend to their will.

  But for what? Because it did happen again, only a few hours earlier.

  Yes, he knew they were calling it an accident. A drive-by shooting, another instance of crime in the city. But he knew better. He knew it was not coincidence.

  Another tremor overtook him, violent and swift, and he brought his clenched fists to his eyes as an almost inhuman cry escaped him. No. It would not happen again, he would not allow it.

  With a determination fueled by desperation, he pushed himself off the sofa and stalked into the dining room. He went to his desk and pulled open the bottom drawer, pushing papers and files out of the way until his hand closed around the edges of the folder resting flat on the bottom.

  Would it be enough? He didn’t know and he didn’t dare hope. All he knew was that if something did happen, nobody would know what he kept it, where to look. He could no longer take that chance.

  Trying not to think of the risk he was taking, he walked to the dining room table and reached for the oversized bag that Bobbi always carried with her. He didn’t look, didn’t think; he just shoved the folder inside with all the other folders and files and notes she carried.

  And tried not to hope.

  **

  Bobbi woke with a start, a scream lodged in her throat, chilled sweat covering her. The room was dark, disorienting, and she turned her head from side-to-side until a splintering pain shot through her. Her breath hissed and her fists clenched in the rumpled sheet bunched around her waist as memory, vivid and cold, came rushing back.

  She put her hands over her face, trying to muffle the sobs that had started in her sleep. It wasn’t the memory of what had happened that she couldn’t let go; it was the vision of what could have happened that terrified her and left her shaking.

  She heard footsteps on the stairs and recognized them immediately as Nikolai’s. She lay back down on the bed and rolled to her side, brushing the wetness from her face, not wanting him to see her like this.

  A sliver of light entered the room as the bedroom door opened. She heard him come nearer, felt the bed dip under his weight and his strong arms wrap around her. “It is alright, moe krasivejshee, I am here.”

  She turned into him, buried her face against his bare chest, and breathed in his warm scent as the chill deep inside her slowly disappeared under his protective touch. Minutes passed where she was aware of only his touch, no sound except for the two of them breathing. She clung to him, needing to touch him, to feel his body, so alive, against hers. Bobbi reached out with her hands, smoothing her fingers over his skin, firm and warm to the touch. She leaned further into him, raising her head until her lips pressed against his, soft, tentative.

  Nikolai let her set the pace, hesitant, gentle as his hands tangled in her hair, gently smoothing strands away from her face. He pulled away and stared down at her, emotion deep and warm in his gaze as his thumbs stroked her cheekbones, smoothing away the wetness.

  “Nikolai…” she whispered his name, the sound little more than a breath as he trailed light kisses along her cheek, her jaw line, up to her ear, speaking to her in Russian.

  “Shh. I am here. I will always be here. Do not fear for anything, my beautiful one.” His eyes searched hers, his fingers gently touching the bandage at her temple. She felt the trembling in his touch, saw his fingers shake as they ran across her face and traced the outline of her lips.

  Emotion gathered in her throat, nearly choking her, and she blinked against the threatening tears. She closed her hand around his wrist and turned her mouth into his palm, his skin rough against her lips. Nikolai inhaled sharply, then reached for her, tucking her body beneath his as he claimed her mouth with deep urgent kisses.

  She ran her hands across his bare back, feeling his muscles bunch and twitch under her touch, hearing his breath hitch as he deepened the kiss. Her clothes disappeared with little effort, their bodies pressed flesh-to-flesh, fevered.

  Nikolai reached for a condom and sheathed himself, then positioned himself, heavy and hard against her. His hands grasped each side of her face, holding her still as his gaze bore deep into hers, hypnotizing, mesmerizing, searing.

  “You will always be mine, my beautiful one. I love you.” Her heart shattered at the declaration, ripped from him in Russian as he drove into her. She buried her face in his shoulder, crying out, biting down on her lower lip, unable to respond. Her arms wrapped more tightly around him, holding onto him, as tears seeped from the corners of her eyes.

  Nikolai continued speaking to her in Russian, telling her he loved her with each thrust, his words pushing her closer to the edge, and still she said nothing, unable to tell him how she felt. She could only hold onto him more tightly, hoping he heard her body’s response as she followed where he led, letting him know without words that she was his.

  **

  Drained and bleary-e
yed, Bobbi tilted her head from side to side and rolled her shoulders, trying to concentrate. She raised her head from the files she was reading, from the schedule she was transposing, and let her eyes roam across the ice. Nikolai was easy to find, her gaze automatically, instinctively, finding him.

  An icy wind curled through her stomach while heat flamed her cheeks. How was it possible to have two such completely different reactions simultaneously? The iciness was a remainder of her fear and anxiety over the shooting; the flame was from the memory of his voice, deep and husky, murmuring his love for her.

  She closed her eyes and let out a deep breath, still not completely believing the memory, still wondering if she had heard him correctly.

  How could he love her? How? He barely knew her; what he did know was based on lies and pretense. She must have heard wrong; he couldn’t love her.

  And she couldn’t love him. It was impossible.

  She blew out another deep breath and tried to focus on the papers in front of her, knowing that it would be difficult, knowing that her concentration was shattered. At least she didn’t have to worry about constantly scanning the crowd—team management had closed the rink to the public today, mostly in an effort to discourage the media from descending. Between that and the handful of Denny’s discreetly positioned men, Bobbi felt somewhat more able to lower her guard.

  That didn’t mean she could relax or focus.

  She leaned back, scooting partially off the bleacher seat, and stretched her back and legs, trying to ease the tension that held her muscles in knots. Despite falling soundly asleep in Nikolai’s arms, nestled against the warm protection of his body, she did not feel rested.

  No, she felt as if she hadn’t slept in weeks, as if her body had been literally dragged around the block several times. She supposed having someone Nikolai’s size throw her to the ground and jump on top of her came close to the same thing.