Orlov sat quietly and continued to stare at Lance without a hint of emotion on his face. Lance pulled a photo out of his file and slid it across the table to Orlov.
“Recognize this man?”
Orlov barely glanced at the photo, and shook his head. But a brief glint of recognition lit up his eyes.
“Never seen him?” Lance moved the photo closer to him. “Look again.”
Orlov picked up the photo. “No, never seen him.” Pulling the crime scene photo from underneath got the reaction Lance had been hoping for. Daniel Forrester in a pool of his own blood, gaping hole in his chest. Eyes wide open as he stared at death.
“Here’s what I think, and you let me know if I’m right. I think you do know him, Alrick. In fact, I think you know him very well. What do you say you cut the bullshit, and confirm for me that this piece of shit is the son of Yurick Stepanov?”
Orlov tossed the photos on the table and looked away, lips flattened in a white line.
“I can make things easier for you during your stay at Chez Guantanamo…or I can make them very hard.” Lance pointed at the bruise across Orlov’s jaw. “Even more so than they have been.” He leaned closer. “Clean clothes. A shower. The ability to take a shit in private…any of that sound good to you, Al? You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours?”
“Food first, then I talk,” Orlov said. “And vodka. Good vodka—Russian vodka—not that swill you Americans drink.”
Lance nodded and glanced back at Mason. Mason stepped into the hallway and returned after a minute.
Within ten minutes, a large sandwich and a bag of chips was set in front of Orlov. The man tore into the food like a bear awakening from hibernation after a very long winter.
“Who is Daniel?” Lance asked.
A long, heavy exhale slid from Orlov’s chest. “Yurik’s son. His real name is Nikolai Stepanov.” He glanced at the file where Lance had placed the photos. “What happened to him?”
“He tried to force himself on a woman who told him she wasn’t interested in him. He pulled a gun, but as you can see, she got the better of him. It appears Daddy Dearest is making threats against her.”
Orlov took a large bite of sandwich and spoke around the food in his mouth. “Yurik will demand retribution. The girl will never be safe.”
“How far will he go to find her?” Lance asked.
“As far as he needs to get what he wants.”
“Kidnap or kill her family and friends?”
Orlov took a long swig from his water bottle. “There are no limits to what he will do. Has he taken a a member of her family yet?”
“One of her friends that happened to be with her the night she shot Forrester.”
“She is dead.” It wasn’t a question, and the reality that Laura Townsend was guaranteed the same fate sent a cold rage through Lance. Mason shifted on his feet behind him, and let out a noisy exhale. He must’ve come to the same conclusion as Lance.
Lance took a steadying breath and reigned in his temper. He had the upperhand and wanted to maintain it. Letting Orlov know he had upset Lance would strip him of his advantage. “Where is Stepanov?”
“Before I was kidnapped and imprisoned here, I saw him in Colombia.”
“Doing what?”
“He is in charge of running drugs and girls through Panama, into Mexico, and taking them to market in the U.S. There is a base of operations in Mexico where they prepare the girls for work once they get to America.”
Lance’s stomach twisted into a knot at the thought of what types of preparations young girls forced into the sex trade would have to endure. The nonchalant way Orlov discussed his family’s business made Lance want to slam the man’s head into the table until his brains drained out through his nose, mouth, and ears. But the Russian was talking, and they were getting good intel…no matter how disgusting the information.
But Lance couldn’t shake the creep of disgust that sat on his skin like a layer of dirt. Talking to Orlov was akin to speaking to Lucifer’s right hand man. The sooner he could get the information and get back stateside, the better. “Where in Colombia is Stepanov?”
“The main operation is based in Bogota, but Yurik spends most of his time overseeing operations in Turbo.” Orlov glanced away. “He likes to sample the goods.”
“Which goods? Girls or drugs?” Mason asked.
“Both.”
Mason let out something between a growl and a groan, and cracked his knuckles. Orlov’s gaze was locked onto Mason. Lance wanted to chuckle. Orlov was probably concerned with whether or not Mason was going to beat the shit out of him before the interview was over.
Lance wasn’t completely sure he could stop Mason if he laid into the guy. Could get sporty…
“Would he bring the kidnapped woman to Colombia?” Lance asked.
“Not normally, but if she is being used to flush out her friend, he will want to handle things himself.”
“You mean, kill her?”
“Yes—but not before he makes her pay for her friend’s sins.” Orlov wiped his hands on his pants. “Yurik will not hold back if he is avenging his son. Neither woman is safe from him…and he is very adept at old school Russian torture methods. Although, lately, he has become impressed with Middle Eastern methods.”
“Awesome,” Mason said.
Lance rubbed his jaw. “How did Forrester become involved with your organization?”
Orlov sat back in his chair and crossed his arm over his chest. “Like most of us did…we were born into it.”
“Andrew Kelly told Agent Bray that he had been adopted out to Americans. Was Forrester also adopted?”
“Yes…that was Maksimillian’s genius, but the potential wasn’t fully realized until Mikhail took over after the old man died.”
“And who are Maksimillian and Mikhail?”
“Maksimillian started the organization with his son, Mikhail. Both are dead.”
“Go on,” Lance said.
“With the difficulty and long wait to adopt a white baby in America, Russian orphanages became a popular source for feeding your impatience. Mikhail had three sons, two of them had sons that were adopted. It was all done under the table, and the parents were anxious that the children never know they were adopted.”
“They put their own kids up for adoption?” Mason asked.
“Mikhail was not a sentimental man,” Orlov sneered.
“The birth certificates were altered to look as if the adopted parents had actually given birth?” Lance asked, bringing the discussion back around.
“Yes, for an additional fee, Mikhail would arrange it all.”
“How?”
“A contact in the State Department.”
“Is that how Andrew Kelly was able to become a CIA agent?”
“If it had been necessary, yes, but he had all the right credentials. As far as the American government was concerned, Andrew was born and raised in the Midwest with his upstanding physician parents.”
“You said two sons had been adopted. Anyone else?”
Orlov shrugged. “Mikhail had a brother. One of his sons was the first to be adopted.”
“Who?”
Orlov shrugged. “I never discovered who it was. I was not familiar with that side of the family.”
“Just how do you fit into this organization, Al?” Mason asked.
“My father was a member, and a deep believer in the cause. He brought me up to follow this path.”
“And you’re okay with selling drugs and underage girls as sex slaves?”
“There is always collateral damage in war.” He stared at Lance, and his blood ran cold in his veins. “If anyone understands that, it is you, Commander.”
* * *
Mason managed to fast track the drive from Hanscom to Newport thanks to the lack of rush hour traffic. It appeared most people had left work early to get a head start on the weekend. Mason wondered how Jess was, and considered about calling her. She was starting to occupy more and more o
f his thoughts. Some of them even had to do with her protection.
Some.
The others were starting to get personal. Most were downright pornographic. Every time she looked at him with those smoky, chocolate eyes he wanted to throw caution to the wind and kiss those full lips until she begged to come up for air.
And that was not good on so many levels. His job was to protect her—not bed her. And he was more than slightly disturbed that he not only wanted to fuck her in every position he could imagine, he wanted to get to know her better. She impressed him with her strength and courage, yet she was so soft and vulnerable at the same time.
He couldn’t imagine how it would feel to take a life without the amount of training he received. The woman had been out for a drink with friends, and ended up shooting a man in the chest to avoid being raped…or worse, if Daniel—Nikolai...whatever the fuck the guys name was—shared his father’s predilection for pain and torture.
Mason caught Lance in his peripheral vision pulling his cell out and putting it to his ear.
“Hey,” he said into the phone. “Yeah, we’re headed back. Where are you?”
Mason could hear Riley’s muffled voice.
“I need you to run some names for me. Maksimillian Stepanov and Mikhail Stepanov. Orlov dropped them in our conversation today.”
Knowing Riley, she was probably at the office. The woman was a workhorse. The fact that she was in a relationship with Lance was less surprising than her making time for a relationship. Mason guessed it worked for them. They were both workaholics.
Lance ended his call. “Drop me at the office.”
“Already figured. What did Riley have to say?”
“She’s going to check with some of her contacts in Bogota and see if they’ve heard any chatter about a woman coming into the country and being held. Also, Jake and some others on the team are down in Colombia training, in case she’s able to flush out some intel.”
Mason wasn’t really a religious guy, but he sent up a prayer for Jess’s friend, and hoped to hell they found her while she was still breathing.
Chapter 9
Jess heard the water in Mason’s shower turn off. Perfect timing. She pulled the biscuits from the oven and placed them on a cooling rack. Whisking the eggs, she checked the heat in the pan, and poured the mixture into it. If she had timed it right, Mason would come out of his room when the omelet was done.
She had left him a plate in the oven for when he returned home the night before, and promptly fell asleep on the couch waiting for him. She had decided to skip local channels and went straight to the premium movie channels and was thrilled to find a Game of Thrones mini-marathon. The next thing she knew, she woke up in her bed.
He must have found the dinner she left for him, because the plate was sitting in the sink, and the leftovers that had been stored in containers in the fridge were empty. The man could put away a massive amount of food.
Of course, he was a massive guy. Yet, even with his height, bulging muscles, and bald head, and the fact that he was thigh tingling gorgeous with his dark goatee, he had a sweet, sensitive side she hadn’t believed possible when she first met him.
He acted like he hated her. Now, she would almost say they were friends. Almost. Though, she was sort of hoping they could move past the friendship and into something…more.
“Damn, something smells amazing in here.” Mason had a wide grin across his rugged handsome face. Jess barely caught sight of it as her eyes drank in the olive skin over the most amazing pecs she had ever seen in her life. She swallowed before she embarrassed herself by drooling all over his breakfast.
He scooted around her, holding her by the hips so he could reach the coffee pot. The touch of his hands on her sent a spark of heated desire all the way to her toes. She wondered if he felt it too, because he halted for a moment before grabbing a mug and filling it. He rested his chin on her shoulder. His hot breath hit her ear. “You’re going to spoil me.”
Holy deep and sexy voice that made her tingle all over. She closed her eyes and let the wave of lust crash over her. Jesus, the man was putting her on the edge of a mini-orgasm just by his proximity. His maleness enveloped her and left her wanting more.
She cleared her throat and tried to calm her galloping heart. “You have a low threshold for being spoiled if a cooked breakfast is all it takes.”
He moved away from her and sat at the stool on the opposite side of the breakfast bar. “There was dinner the last two nights, also. Besides, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach…don’t they teach you ladies that when you’re young?”
Her head whipped up and she was prepared to give him the ultimate in feminist tongue-lashings he had ever received. He winked at her. Smartass.
She dished up a plate with an omelet, potatoes, and two biscuits, and slid it across to him. “About the same time boys learn not to answer, ‘does this make me look fat?’”
He smirked, took an enormous bite of eggs, and groaned. “Marry me. Please marry me.”
She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face, and the overwhelming sense of satisfaction that she had put that look of pure enjoyment there.
“I was hoping to talk to you about something,” she said, and buttered a biscuit.
“Sure, what?”
“I would like—no, I need to—workout. Especially if I keep baking and cooking like this. I’m guessing the fitness center here at the apartments is off-limits—”
“You guessed right—”
“Any ideas, then?”
His gaze roamed over her body. Instead of feeling insulted, a thrill of excitement ripped through her. “You can use the gym where I work. I’ll call Lance and get you cleared. Will that work?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“No problem.” He stood and placed his plate in the sink. “Thanks again for breakfast.”
She turned her head to tell him it was no trouble, and his lips brushed against her cheek. He must’ve been attempting to kiss the side of her head, because he had the same stunned look on his face for a split second. She watched as his eyes turned dark and lusty. Placing his hand on the side of her face to keep her from moving away, he pressed his lips to hers.
She turned her body into his, her hands on his waist. God, everything about this man was larger than life. The kiss was as overwhelming as he was. She was lost in it…in him. And she was happy in this place of heat, and passion, and comfort. She parted her lips, hoping she wasn’t taking things too far, but desperate to taste him.
His free hand pressed against the center of her back, as his tongue invaded her mouth and slid in a dangerously erotic tangle. He drew her body into his until her chest hit his. Her nipples hardened and poked against the material of the sweatshirt she wore.
God, how she wanted his hand to move down to her ass. Lift her up, and hold her against the wall. She wanted to feel his hard length against her. In her. This man was doing things to her body that were a long forgotten dream. Need. Want. Desire. She wanted it. Wanted him.
He pulled his head back, looked into her eyes, and then rested his forehead against hers. “Dammit,” he whispered. “We can’t do this, Jess. As much as I want to—and God, I want to—I can’t have a sexual relationship with you while I’m trying to protect you.”
“I understand.”
“You can’t possibly—”
“No? I can’t understand wanting you so bad it physically aches and not being able to have you?” she chuckled and kissed him chastely on the lips. “Trust me, I am one hundred percent feeling your pain, Mason.”
He smiled and stepped away from her. “Maybe we should get out of here…and away from temptation.”
“Right. Clear our heads.”
She turned on her heel and walked into her bedroom, closed the door, and slumped onto the corner of the bed. The throbbing between her legs was still fierce. She wanted to cry with desperation. The man had turned her on so much with just a kiss, and had left her damn
near at the precipice of what was sure to be a bone-tingling orgasm.
Forcing herself up, she grabbed a sports bra and tank top, and pulled on a pair of leggings. She hoped the treadmills at the base where top quality, because she was going to run a marathon to get this memory into the background. Sexual frustration alone was probably going to fuel her for most of the day. Hopefully, they had a punching bag there, too, because she wanted to pound this disappointment out of her.
There was a light knock at her door. “You about ready?” Mason asked, his voice soft and gentle.
She grabbed a pair of socks and her new running shoes courtesy of Riley, and opened the door. Mason’s gaze swept over her and the same lustful look from earlier filled his eyes. She pushed against his chest to get him to move so she could pass.
“Those types of looks are not helping the hands-off rule you have imposed. So, unless you want me to drag you into my bedroom, you need to stop looking at me like you want to do all things I’m imagining you can do. Deal?”
He dragged his hand down his face and sighed. “Deal. But for the record, wearing skin-tight clothing that shows off all your magnificent curves doesn’t help a raging hard-on.”
“Blame Riley. This is all I have.” She sauntered away and could feel his gaze on her ass. She knew it was kind of cruel to toy with him that way, but she was damned if she was going to send him off to work needing a sexual release that he wouldn’t let her provide. Just in case there was someone he worked with who could take off the edge, Jess wanted him to think about how much he wanted her. And hopefully not a second-rate substitute.
He whispered in her ear as he passed by her. “That’s not playing fair.”
“I never claimed to be an angel.”
Chapter 10
Mason felt like a class A shit for keeping a secret from Jess.
He’d been able to block it out of his mind this morning, with the aid of a hot-as-fuck kiss from Jess. But now that they were at the office, and sitting around the conference table in the meeting room, he wished he could go back in time and tell her last night that one of her best friends was missing.
Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Mason (Kindle Worlds Novella) (The 13) Page 5
