Weather the Storm (Security Specialists International #3)

by Monette Michaels

  “You didn’t hurt me.” And if she hurt, she only had herself to blame for reacting so crazily. Vanko had been everything that was good since he’d picked her up and whisked her away from certain death.

  “You’ll let me know if I do harm you.” It was a command, not a request.

  Bossy. Her lips curved; she liked his kind of bossy.

  “Do you need to use the restroom?”

  He asked the question so matter of factly, as if it were something he did all the time between running gun battles and treating bullet wounds. She bit her lip so she wouldn’t laugh at the diverting incongruity.

  “No.” She’d like to avoid the embarrassment of him helping her to the restroom if at all possible.

  Don’t buy trouble, Ellie. Cross the bathroom bridge when it comes.

  “Just thirsty.”

  Lovely, now you will need the bathroom.

  She angled her head and looked into his starkly handsome face. She read his expression as concerned…and something else she could only classify as tender. “Pepsi?”

  Vanko’s lips quirked. “No Pepsi, angel moy. I’ll get you some water or juice. Which do you prefer?”

  Niggling dictator. Who made him the Pepsi police?

  He pulled away and helped her turn onto her back after he placed an extra pillow to support her head. He then placed other pillows on each side of her body as if he were packing precious china. “Do you need a pain pill?”

  Did she? She assessed her body’s status. The pain, for the most part, was bearable—well except for when she did stupid things like struggle against imaginary bad guys. At the moment it was a dull throb masked by the drugs he’d already given her.

  But the loss of his body’s heat and support had her aching in another way—a way she’d never thought would ever happen to the messed-up-in-her-head her. She wanted Vanko back on the bed, lying against her. She now realized why the married women of her acquaintance loved sleeping with their men. It was all about the closeness, the shared body heat, and the primitive feeling of protection from the world at large…the male guarding his female as she slept. She’d never had that reaction before with any other male of her acquaintance.

  Vanko stood at the side of the bed and stared down at her, a slight smile on his lips. He looked as if he were waiting—oh, shit, he’d given her choices and she’d started drawing fantasies in her head. She blushed.

  What had he asked her? No, told her in a very autocratic voice, a voice she’d become addicted to in the very short time they’d been acquainted. “Oh, orange juice if they have it. And no pill. I’m good.”

  He narrowed his eyes and scanned her.

  Damn, she’d forgotten how easily he read her.

  He let out a short huff of breath. “You’ll have a pain pill in another hour whether you feel you need it or not. I want to keep ahead of the pain in case we have to move.” He leaned over and tucked the blankets more closely around her and then patted her leg. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  “Not planning on moving,” she retorted.

  His smile widened and showed white in the dimness of the room. “Have I mentioned, zaychik, I like sassy women…a lot? I like to kiss them to occupy their mouths.”

  She licked her lips, remembering his taste.

  Yay, be sassy more often, Ellie.

  Elana barely heard Vanko move across the bedroom to the doorway leading to the suite’s outer room which was lit by one lamp. The back-lighting outlined his body as he opened the door wider. Her pulse beat more rapidly accompanied by an unaccustomed flutter of excitement in her lower abdomen at the sight of his lean, muscular body. Even injured and in pain, everything female in her responded to this man. She couldn’t ever imagine feeling this way about any other man.

  Vanko stiffened like a predator at the scent of prey and didn’t enter the suite’s living room. Instead, he shut the door without making a sound, throwing the bedroom into relative darkness once more. He approached her bed, a large, dark shadow flowing over the darkness.

  “What is it?” His hyper-alertness and actions warned her to speak in a whisper. “What’s wrong?”

  “I need you to move into the bathroom. Can you do that for me?” His voice was calm, but she sensed the anger roiling underneath the placidity. The atmosphere around him was charged with electricity like before a thunderstorm.

  Elana struggled to sit up. She winced as her right side protested, and Vanko who had to have the eyes of a night creature cursed under his breath.

  “I’m fine,” she muttered. “I can do whatever you need me to do.”

  “Good.” Vanko approached the side of the bed. “But I’ll help anyway.”

  Before he could get to her, Elana placed her feet on the floor and stood—and swayed.

  “Zaychik!” Vanko’s voice was a mere wisp of sound in the darkness. “You’re too weak.” It was a statement, not a condemnation. He anchored her with an arm around her waist and pulled a coverlet off the end of the bed. After wrapping her nude body in it—and why hadn’t she noticed her nudity before?—he picked her up as if she were a precious piece of art. He carried her to the bathroom lit only by a nightlight. He placed her in the deep, old-fashioned, free-standing tub and tucked the cover around her, protecting her nudity from the chilly surface.

  “Stay down, dushka. The cast iron of the tub will protect you from stray bullets. No matter what you hear, do not move until I come for you.”

  His words struck terror in her heart. What guns? Bullets? Who was out there? Why hadn’t she heard the danger? She forgot to breathe for a second or two. What if he didn’t come back? What if she lost the chance to know this special man better?

  No! She couldn’t think that way. She grabbed his arm. “Please…be careful.”

  “Don’t worry.” Vanko stroked a finger over her cheek. “I’m hard to kill.”

  He left her and moved toward the slightly ajar bathroom door where he paused and looked over his shoulder as if he wanted one last look. Then he left, closing the door behind him.

  Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod. Please keep him safe. She prayed as she’d never prayed before. The emotion in Vanko’s eyes as he’d stared at her from the doorway was etched in her mind and her heart. He cared for her. She was more than a mere job. He’d brought her to the safest place he could and then had gone out to battle to protect her from…whom? How could her enemies have found them so quickly?

  The only answers she came up with weren’t good—any of them. She prayed even harder.

  Even as she strained to hear what was happening in the outer rooms, all she heard was the rapid pulse of blood pounding in her ears. About the time she began to think Vanko might’ve overreacted to whatever he thought he’d heard or seen, she heard—pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft—and some thuds from the bedroom.

  She’d heard similar sounds on television shows and in movies—gunfire.

  Vanko! Elana bit her lip to hold back the screams clawing to get out of her throat. Tears streamed down her face. Was he hurt? If he was, what could she do? She was naked, wounded, basically useless…again, just like twelve years ago. He could be lying on the bedroom floor, bleeding out, and she wasn’t able to help him.

  Huddling into the nest Vanko had created for her protection, she moaned sub-vocally and rocked within the confines of the tub. She needed to see him walk into the bathroom more than she needed her next breath. In less than twenty-four hours, Vanko had become more important to her than any other living person, including her uncles.

  God, please protect him.

  Time passed slowly. It was quiet now…too quiet; there’d been no noise in what seemed like forever. If Vanko didn’t come through the doorway by the time she counted to one hundred, she’d go looking for him.

  One, two, three… A change in air pressure caused a slight current of air to ruffle the hair about her face. She could see the entrance to the room in the wall-to-wall mirror over the vanity. She watched, not breathing, her heart thumping wildly, as th
e bathroom door slowly opened on ghostly silent hinges.

  She exhaled with a low whimper, but bit her lip against screaming his name. He was safe. Thank you, God.

  “Elana. I’m okay.” He slipped into the room and hurried to her side.

  Lying weakly in the bottom of the tub, she scanned him from head to toe and back again. No obvious blood…thank you, God.

  Tears streamed down her face. “I heard shots.” Her breath hitched at the memory. “Are you hurt?”

  “Zaychik, don’t cry. I’m fine, Really.” Grim-faced, he bent over to pick her up. “Come, dushka, we need to leave this place. Demidas knows where we are.”

  She whimpered and snuggled even closer into the safety of his body as he carried her.

  “The two I took out won’t be the last.” His words were terse and matter of fact.

  “But it’s so soon.” Her voice cracked. “You said we’d have some time before he found us.” An icy shiver shot down her spine. Her worst fear had come true. “There has to be a…”

  “…a mole in the embassy.” He finished her sentence as he placed her gently on the side of the bed.

  Vanko turned on the mostly decorative bedside lamp. The low light cast shadows over his sharply hewn face. His expression was again overtly calm, but his eyes glittered with rage and every muscle in his body was tense, ready to do battle. “I’m sorry, milaya. This is my fault. I knew a mole was a possibility, but I thought we’d have at least a day before Demidas could get men he trusted to the States. By then, we would’ve been on the road.”

  “I didn’t mean to accuse…it’s not your fault.” She stroked his arm. “It was sheer bad luck. You can’t blame yourself.”

  Vanko cupped her cheek and brushed a kiss over her forehead. “So forgiving. So wise and beautiful. Such a special woman. Angel moy, when we’re somewhere completely safe, we’ll have a long talk about our future, eh?”

  Before she could respond, he kissed her again, this time on the mouth. “You need to get dressed. I had Grigori’s secretary get some clothes from a boutique that opened its doors for the ambassador late on a Saturday night.”

  He stroked her lips with his thumb before walking toward the small couch by the French doors. On the elegant settee were boxes and bags which must’ve been delivered while she’d been asleep. With all that was going on, Vanko had gone to the extra effort to buy her clothing. The warmth suffusing her heart and her very soul felt very much like love.

  As Vanko passed by the door leading toward the outer room, Elana’s attention was caught by two dark shapes on the floor. The shapes were bodies, unmoving bodies.

  The warm glow his words and thoughtfulness had created was thrust into a deep freeze. “Are they…are they dead?”

  “Yes.” The word was bitten off, and the anger Vanko had held tight rein over slipped out. “I recognized these men.” His voice sounded lethal, and she never wanted to hear that tone aimed at her. “They’re street thugs, enforcers in Demidas’s drug empire. They must’ve already been in D.C. The mole must have called Demidas as soon as we arrived yesterday evening.”

  As she processed the long tentacles of Demidas’s evil empire, a horrible thought struck her. “What about Petr? Wasn’t he guarding the door to our suite? Why didn’t he raise the alarm?”

  Vanko said nothing, only stared at her as if he were assessing how much more bad information she could handle.

  Elana shook her head. “Oh, God, no! Was Petr the mole?”

  The young soldier couldn’t have been. He’d been so sweet to her. She wasn’t that bad of a judge of character, was she?

  Vanko brought some clothing and a pair of ankle boots to her and placed the pieces on the bed. “I hope these work out. I took the sizes from your clothing and shoes. We’ll buy anything else you require on the road.”

  She ignored the clothing and reached for his hand. “Don’t hide things from me.” She squeezed his fingers, and he reversed the grip and enclosed her hand in his, cradling it gently. “Tell me…please. I can handle whatever I need to. What happened to Petr?”

  Vanko shook his head. His expression was a mixture of anger and grief. The bottom fell out of her stomach, and she thought she might throw up.

  “Petr’s dead.” Vanko’s voice was harsh, harsher than anything she’d heard from him in the short time she’d known him—and considering the tension and danger they’d been in, that was saying a lot. “The bastards killed him. Prepare yourself, Elana moy. I checked over the residence. It’s what took me so long,” he paused, “all the others are dead.”

  “Oh, God. How? Why didn’t we hear anything?” Elana choked back her tears, ordered her stomach to settle down, and let her anger take the lead.

  “Looks like some were poisoned.” He took a deep breath and let it out. She could almost feel the anger raging under the calm surface he presented. “The others shot with a silenced weapon while they slept.”

  “Demidas has to be stopped,” she squeezed his hand, “not just because of me, but because he’s evil incarnate…and a murderer and…and…” She was losing it. Years of buried rage and grief threatened to bubble to the surface and explode.

  “Elana, don’t…” Vanko picked her up, then sat on the bed with her on his lap and rocked her. “Shh, shh. We’ll get him. For you…for Petr…for all the others he’s killed. He’s skated under the law’s radar all these years because he’s protected within Russia.” He tipped her head back against his arm and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, and then swept away her tears with his thumbs. “You’ll be his downfall.”

  Vanko’s strength, his words, his kiss stilled her wild emotions. He made her stronger…but he was wrong. She couldn’t take out Demidas.

  Elana blinked. “How? I don’t have any power. I can’t even shoot a fricking gun.”

  “He’ll leave his impregnable lair for you. All we have to do is figure out where he’ll be and take him out there.” He continued to sweep his thumb over her cheek.

  “You make it sound so easy.” She sniffed and wiped her nose on the edge of the coverlet wrapped around her body.

  “It might not be easy.” Vanko set her back onto the bed and then stood. He stroked a hand over her disheveled hair. “But it can be accomplished.”

  “If you say so.” She turned and looked at the pile of clothing. “Do what you need to do to get us out of here. I’ll dress.”

  “We have some time. We’re alone in the house, and it will take Demidas a while to realize his plan failed.” He leaned over and brushed a kiss over her cheek. “If you get dizzy, call me. I’ll be in the other room, reporting to Ren and getting any updates he might have for us. I won’t be happy if I come back and find you on the floor.”

  “That was just low blood pressure from getting up too quickly.” She waved a hand at him. “Go, do your thing. I’ll be fine.” A wave of dizziness swept over her briefly and she reconsidered her words. “Okay…maybe I could use some orange juice.”

  Vanko shook his head, but kept silent about how he felt about her physical condition. Smart man. “I’ll bring the juice plus something to snack on. You must eat to keep up your strength and to heal.” He walked toward the door.

  Elana had a mini-panic attack as he walked away. Her breath caught in her throat and she gripped the blanket so tightly her knuckles turned white.

  What a wuss, Ellie. He’s only going to the next room.

  She forced herself to take several slow breaths, shallow ones so as not to make her side throb, and reined in her temporary insanity. He’d promised not to leave her, and he hadn’t. He had promised to take care of her until he got her to safety in Idaho. And she trusted him to do so. After that was accomplished, then what?

  Incipient panic threatened once again; she beat it back.

  Then she recalled his words about discussing the future…and she could breathe again. She vowed not to overthink what he might or might not have meant, but it was something to hold onto through the current crisis in her life. A chance at
a future…with him.

  Whatever the future brought, for now, Vanko was in the next room, one shout away. “Thanks for taking care of me, Vanko.” Her words a mere whisper in the still room.

  “No need to thank me,” he replied from the next room.

  Okay, the man had to have the ears of a predator to hear her from the other room, but his tone was filled with tenderness. He was such a dichotomy—strong yet gentle. He’d come to her after killing two dangerous men and treated her with tender concern.

  Warmed to her soul by his gentle handling, Elana turned to the pile of clothing comprised of a pair of designer jeans, a thermal Henley top, a thick wooly cardigan, one set of underwear to wear and another set to pack in her messenger bag, two pairs of thick socks, and a pair of low-heeled, ankle boots. There was no coat. She shrugged. They’d buy one later on the road.

  Her unknown personal shopper had excellent and expensive taste. Everything was of high quality, natural fibers. Elana tended to shop in discount malls and online. Academic reference librarians didn’t make much money. Her access to family money had been cut off when she’d “died.” Her uncles, her only relatives, had “inherited” it and had put the money in trust with the hope that someday she could access it.

  A wave of dizziness swept over her as she attempted to stand in order to get dressed. Well, that wouldn’t work. She’d be putting her clothes on sitting down. From now on, she planned on carrying her share of the load, even if that was merely taking care of her personal needs and walking from here to there. Vanko needed to be able to defend both of them at a moment’s notice, and he couldn’t do so while carrying her.

  She could see Vanko pacing in the shadows of the outer room. He had one of the throw-away phones to his ear. Once they were resettled for the night, she needed to make time to call her uncles and inform them of what was happening. They’d freak. They would also realize Demidas would come for her.

  Fate, the fickle bitch, had placed her in the beast’s path once again. But this time, she had a warrior, her own personal champion, on her side.