The Protector: The Complete C.I.A. Romance Series

by Lilian Monroe

  Instead of answering, I brushed his arm off and jogged back to my car. I grabbed my briefcase and slipped on a tie, combing my hair with my fingers. I had some files for Mikhail to sign—closing documents for the sale of a commercial property. It wasn’t urgent, and didn’t require a house call, but it was the only excuse I had.

  I marched up to the front door, using every ounce of control I had to keep my steps measured and my heartbeat from racing. I could feel my jaw clenching, and I gripped my briefcase so hard I felt the leather start to crack.

  Grigory answered the door as if nothing was wrong. He looked me up and down, as he always did. I wasn’t used to feeling small, but being next to Grigory had a way of reminding you that you were mortal.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m here to see Mr. Ivanov.”

  Grigory grunted. “On zanyat.” He’s busy.

  I shifted from foot to foot, glancing over his shoulder. “It’s important.”

  A loud crash sounded behind the huge Russian, and he didn’t even flinch. I frowned.

  “Grigory…”

  He closed the door, and I was shut out. I sighed, banging on the door again. It didn’t open, and I knew it was futile. I jogged back down the steps and to my car. Digging my phone out of my pocket, I dialed Chris.

  “I’m going to find Balmoral.”

  “Zane—”

  I hung up. Something wasn’t adding up. Why did Blanchet assume it was Ivanov that took his daughter? Ivanov wasn’t stupid. He would find out about the rushed marriage, and he would figure out that Blanchet assumed he’d taken his daughter for leverage. From there, it wasn’t a big jump to figure out that Thomas Balmoral was the weapons manufacturer. By going straight to Ivanov, Senator Blanchet had shown his hand.

  Mikhail Ivanov would know who would be supplying the weapons, which means he wouldn’t need Senator Blanchet at all. And if the Russians cut Blanchet out of the deal, I wouldn’t get to exact the revenge that I’d worked so hard to get.

  I turned the engine on and sped off down the road, towards Thomas Balmoral’s office.

  14

  Sadie

  When the door closed behind Zane, I felt like sinking onto the floor and crying my eyes out. Today had been okay—I’d distracted myself by exploring the house and reading and dreaming about Zane’s hands on my body.

  But now, it all seemed a lot more real.

  I’d run away from my home, from my engagement, from my entire life. I had no idea who Zane was, or if he actually cared about me at all. I didn’t know anything about my father, other than the fact that he was messed up in some international conspiracy. He wasn’t the upstanding Senator I’d thought he was.

  I wished Dart was here with me. My dog would have known I was upset, and he would have stayed by my side. I missed his wet nose and his big, brown eyes. I missed the warmth of his furry body when he came to lie on my legs, or when he rested his head on my stomach.

  I was so alone.

  I scraped my uneaten food into the garbage and put the plate in the dishwasher. Working slowly, I put the takeout containers in the fridge, trying to keep myself from crying. My hunger was completely gone, and I didn’t know what to do with myself.

  I scanned the kitchen for any more dishes, and my eyes landed on the last drawer. The junk drawer—the one place in this big house that was different, that didn’t match Zane’s personality.

  The one place where he’d be able to hide something in plain sight—like a key. I walked to the drawer and pulled it open with a shaking hand. There were three keys on a key ring, and another, smaller key on its own. I grabbed all four as my heart started thumping.

  I walked towards the locked door before I could stop myself. It probably wasn’t the right key, anyway. Zane seemed smart, and he wouldn’t just leave this kind of thing lying around. He probably kept it with him at all times. Still, I marched myself to the locked door and took a deep breath.

  My hands were trembling when I grabbed the doorknob. I tried all three keys on the key ring first, and none of them budged the lock. Then, I brought the little silver key towards it, and made a small gasp when it slid smoothly into the lock. I turned it and pushed the door open, my mouth suddenly going dry.

  This wasn’t right. I shouldn’t be snooping this much. Finding out where the plates and mugs were kept in the kitchen was one thing, but unlocking doors and snooping around a closed room was quite another.

  Still, I had a right to know. Why was I here, anyway? What was this ‘bigger situation’ that Zane couldn’t talk about? I wasn’t kidding when I told him that this was my life. Everything was ruined now, and I had a right to know what was going on. I had a right to know what kind of danger I was really in.

  I stepped through the door and flicked on the light. It was a small room with no windows and no furniture except for a long desk on the side wall. I walked to the desk and flipped open a folder on top of it.

  My heart started to thump. I saw notes, newspaper clippings, emails—all about my father. I found highlighted passages about his appointment to be Senator. Dates were highlighted. Zane had collected so much information on my father, it made my head spin.

  I pulled open one of the desk drawers and found another file. Inside that one, there was an old photograph. I pulled it out gently, my eyebrows arching when I recognized Zane and his parents.

  The three of them were standing in front of the worker’s quarters, on my parents’ estate. Zane looked like he was four or five years old, with his arms wrapped around his mother’s legs. His parents were beaming, smiling from ear to ear. I stared at the photo as my eyes started to water. They looked so happy—what had happened to them?

  I just remember being a kid and one day they were there, working on the estate. The next day, they were gone.

  I liked Zane’s parents. His mother used to sneak me chocolates whenever she saw me, and his father loved D’Artagnan. He’d trained my dog as a puppy, and taught him all kinds of tricks that I could never get Dart to do for me.

  When they left, the house became a lot quieter, and a lot more somber.

  I stared at the photo as memories flooded my mind. With a deep breath, I set the photo aside and looked through the rest of the folder. There were a few papers in a language I couldn’t read, and then something that looked like an official report. It was attached to a birth certificate with Zane’s name on it. The mother’s name was Becky Smith, and the father was John Smith.

  I frowned. His parents had been named Lina and Ali. I scanned the report and arched my eyebrows. This outlined Zane’s childhood—it said he’d been raised in the foster system until he was eighteen.

  None of it was true. I frowned, reading more closely as my hands started shaking.

  It was like he had a completely different identity—something that didn’t involve his parents or anything relating to his time on my parents’ estate.

  I closed the folder and took a deep breath. This mission—operation, whatever it was—for Zane, it was personal. I saw the way he tensed when I mentioned my father. He hated him.

  But why? Why was Zane keeping all this information on my family? What had happened to his parents? Why did he have false documents about his past?

  My heart thumped and I put the photo and the file back where I found it. I looked through the rest of the desk, but all I found were more newspaper clippings about my father, and a few old documents about Zane’s enlistment into the military. I put everything back the way I found it, turned off the light and closed the door.

  Wandering back towards the library, my mind was spinning.

  He hated my father. That much was clear from the way he’d talked about him, about his involvement in some sort of conspiracy that he couldn’t talk about. ‘Security clearance’, my ass. There was something else going on. The picture of his parents and that file about him proved it.

  This wasn’t about the CIA, or about a conspiracy. This was about Zane.

  If I found out who Zane was, and what had ha
ppened to his parents, I would understand what was going on with my father. I was sure of it.

  I took a deep breath and walked to the library, but I couldn’t focus. I needed answers.

  The first thing I needed to do was figure out where the heck I was. I got dressed and slipped out the back door, winding through the back alley until I got to a main road. I flipped my hood up and walked until I found a corner store.

  “Excuse me, I seem to have gotten a little bit lost, do you have a map I could look at?”

  The young man behind the counter smiled at me and pulled out his phone.

  “You’re right here. Where are you tryin’ to get to?”

  I smiled at him. “May I?” He nodded and I took his phone in my hands.

  “So, you from around here?” He looked me up and down and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I wasn’t exactly in the flirting mood.

  “If I was, would I be lost?”

  He laughed a little too loud. “Touché, girl.”

  I focused on the screen, realizing that I was a lot closer to Mags’ apartment than I was to my own house. It was only a couple miles away, and I could probably walk there in half an hour.

  I memorized the route. I didn’t want to type in directions, in case someone was able to track me. I didn’t want to buy anything, because all I had were credit and debit cards. So, with no money and no phone, I just nodded to the guy behind the counter and slipped out.

  It was still warm out, but the September weather had a bit of a bite to it. I stuffed my hands in to my hoodie’s pockets and headed down the road towards Mags’ apartment. Within a few blocks, I started to recognize where I was.

  I turned down her road and glanced up and down. I was seeing potential threats everywhere. Every car that drove by could be following me. Every woman out walking her dog was a potential CIA operative, or the Russians, or my father.

  I was totally, completely paranoid.

  Standing at Mags’ front door was one of the most nerve wracking experiences of my life. I mashed the buzzer for her apartment, praying that she’d be home.

  “Hello?”

  “Harry, it’s me. It’s Sadie. Let me in.”

  The door buzzed, and I was safe. I ran up the stairs and Mags’ door opened just as I got there. She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me inside.

  “Oh my God, Sadie,” she sighed. “I was so worried. Are you okay? What’s going on? I’ve called you about ten thousand times. Your phone just went straight to voicemail.” She patted my face, my hair, and then wrapped me in another hug. Harry put his hand on my shoulder and we all sighed.

  Mags motioned to the couch and I sat down. I wrapped my arms around my knees and sighed.

  “I need help.”

  “What can I do?”

  “I think… I think my father might be up to something shady.”

  Mags’ eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

  I glanced at Harry, who sat down next to Mags. I shook my head. “I’m not sure. I don’t know what’s going on, all I know is that Zane has been tracking him for a long time.”

  “What does Zane have to do with this? I don’t like him.”

  I sighed. I didn’t want to say anything about the CIA.

  “Look, do you think you could get me some money? I don’t want to use my cards. And a phone?”

  “Sadie…” Harry and Mags exchanged a glance. Mags put her hand on my knee. “Are you sure that’s necessary? What if you just talked to your dad, and this whole thing would blow over? Just tell him you don’t want to marry that prick and stick to your guns. He can’t force you!”

  My resolve weakened. I wanted to believe her. I wanted to think that this could all be explained, that it was all some misunderstanding based on my commitment to marry Thomas.

  But deep down, I knew there was more to the story than that. Even if my father had wanted me to marry Thomas, he wouldn’t have forced me to do it in private at our house. If this was the marriage that I thought it was—the one that was the union of our two families, a ‘good match’ as my mother always said—if that were true, he wouldn’t have tried to make it happen that night.

  There was more going on, and I had to find out what it was. Zane wasn’t going to tell me, so it was up to me to find out.

  “Mags, please,” I said. “Just help me out here.”

  She looked me in the eye and chewed her lip. Today, her hair was streaked with pink—she’d changed from the blue she had last week. She tucked a strand of pink hair behind her ear and nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll get you some money and a phone from the corner store. Your mom has been calling me nonstop. Can I at least tell her that you’re okay?”

  I hesitated, and finally nodded. “Sure.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “I shouldn’t tell you. Not yet. I need to figure out what’s going on, and I don’t want to put you in danger.”

  Harry cleared his throat. “Sadie, are you sure this is all necessary? I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation, and—”

  “Look, you guys were there when my father tried to force me to marry that asshole in my own home. Something isn’t right.”

  They both stared at me, and Mags nodded. “I’ll go now. Harry, you stay here. It should only take a few minutes.”

  She pulled on her shoes and rushed out the door. I tapped my foot on the ground, chewing my nails as I waited.

  “You want a drink or something?” Harry asked.

  I shook my head. “No thanks.”

  “I’m sure everything will work out, Sadie.”

  I grimaced, trying to smile. “Thanks, Harry. I’m sure it will too.”

  I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t sure at all. The only thing I was sure about was that I didn’t know what was going on. The only way for me to find out was to get answers for myself. My instincts told me I could trust Zane. I wanted to trust him.

  But I also wanted to be my own person. I was done sitting around waiting for him to save me.

  I needed to act.

  15

  Zane

  As far as I could tell, Balmoral wasn’t at his office, and his house was completely dark. I sat outside his house for almost two hours, finally driving away with a sigh. Wherever he was, he was laying low.

  Sitting there, staking out Balmoral’s house, I was able to take stock of the situation. Thomas Balmoral was the connection between Senator Blanchet and the weapons manufacturer. Balmoral would be the one supplying the weapons to the Russians. By marrying Sadie to him, Senator Blanchet was ensuring that his investment was kept safe.

  And then, by marching over to Ivanov’s house as soon as Sadie ran away, he exposed his entire network.

  Now, Ivanov would know that the weapons supplier was Balmoral. They wouldn’t need Blanchet at all, and we might lose the chance to convict the bastard.

  I didn’t know what Ivanov would do. He would see Blanchet as a liability—and Mikhail Ivanov didn’t play nice with liabilities.

  I should have been happy about it. The Russians would probably take care of Blanchet for me. They’d probably make sure he died quietly in his bed one night, and that the autopsy would show that he died of natural causes.

  But that wasn’t enough for me. If the Russians killed the Senator, no one would know what a piece of shit he was. He wouldn’t know that I was back, that I’d orchestrated this entire operation to take him down. Revenge wouldn’t be so sweet if I couldn’t see Senator Blanchet’s pudgy face while I administered it.

  So, as I sat there, stewing in my own hatred and watching the house, I knew I had to keep Ivanov away from Thomas Balmoral. If Ivanov got together with Balmoral and struck a new deal without Blanchet, that would be the end of the operation.

  I’d lose my opportunity for revenge, and we would lose the opportunity to expose the rest of Blanchet and Ivanov’s networks.

  The mission would fail, or at least have much, much smaller reach… and it would be my fault. If I hadn’t approached Sadie
, if I’d just controlled my own uncontrollable urges, everything would be on track.

  I couldn’t bring myself to regret it though.

  This was the mission now, and I had to salvage it as best I could.

  I watched the house a little bit longer, and finally let out a sigh. It wasn’t happening tonight. I’d have to get Gary, Berkeley, and the rest of the team to dig into Balmoral and find out what kind of manufacturing power he had. We would have to have a team on him 24/7.

  I pulled out my phone and dialed Berk.

  “Boss, listen, I know it’s just a hunch, but—”

  “We found the connection. Thomas Balmoral owns a company called GPS—Global Production Services. We had to go through three shell companies to find it, and Gary had to do some serious work to uncover the connection, but we got it. We’re sending a team out to his house and his office now.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Berk grunted. “I hate to say it, Wolfe, but you were right. Good work.”

  “Thanks, Berk.” I sighed, massaging my temples, and then I saw a car park across the road from me. The lights turned off, but no one got out. I recognized one of our men in the driver’s seat, and we nodded to each other.

  “I gotta go,” I said to my boss. I hung up the phone and started the car.

  I had to go back to Sadie. I’d left her without a word, without an explanation, and I knew that she was worried. I owed it to her to tell her what was going on. Now that I knew the truth—the whole truth—I had to say it to her.

  It was her father, her engagement, her life that had just been turned upside down. I remembered how that felt. When Nathan Blanchet had torn my family apart, all I wanted were answers. So, I owed it to Sadie to give her the answers that she deserved.

  I cared about Sadie. It didn’t make sense, and I didn’t know where it came from, but I wanted the best for her. I wanted to be next to her, to hold her and love her and protect her. She was showing me a whole other side to life. It wasn’t just about revenge and retribution anymore.