Charade (17 page)

Not now.

With any luck he was still angry with her, and would ignore her completely. But from the smile that twitched his lips, she knew she wasn’t going to be that lucky.

“Hello, Sasha,” he greeted her.

“Ciao,” she replied, not slowing her pace even a bit.

But he grabbed her forearm before she could successfully pass. Then he grinned and demanded, “What is this mood?”

She gave him a haughty glare. “You’re furious with me, remember? I’m saving you the trouble of having to play host.”

“I’ve decided to forgive you for the insult.”

“Lucky me,” she drawled. “Unfortunately, I’ve decided that
I’m
the one who was insulted. You may be the leader of Kestonia, but I’m an American. In America, men don’t hand out ultimatums on the first date.”

“I apologize.”

“Wow.” She didn’t have to pretend to be impressed. “Thanks, Vlad.”

He chuckled and stepped closer. “I’ve decided not to marry you. Instead, you will be my hot date for the ball. That is the correct expression, is it not?
Hot date?”

“More or less.”

“And after the ball—” he cupped her face in his hand “—I will make love to you with the passion of a thousand stallions.”

“Ouch.” She gave an
embarrassed
smile. “Let’s start with one stallion, then work our way up, okay?”

Vlad gave a hearty laugh. “Come and eat with me now. The cook has made
svatna.
Do you know it? It is noodles that are filled with duck.”

Novelty aside, Sasha had to admit that
svatna
sounded pretty good—and she was hungrier than she had realized—but she wasn’t about to go off with him right now, not while still wearing her uniform. “Nikko promised to bring a sandwich to my room so I could work on my speech. All kidding aside, Vlad, I
have
to do a good job representing my father. I owe him that.”

“Interesting.
Your loyalty to him is strong.
Even though he murdered your mother.”

Sasha drew back as though the dictator had slapped her. “He claims he didn’t do it.”

“Yet we know for a fact that he did,” Vlad retorted. Then his tone softened. “Forgive me, Sasha. Have I gone too far?”

“There’s no proof, so we can never know for sure,” she murmured, but she knew that wasn’t true. There
was
proof. Her father had given it to her. She had just been too busy—or too preoccupied, or perhaps just too cowardly—to listen to it yet.

“A sandwich sounds very delicious,” Vlad told her gently. “I will join you in your room and I will help you with your speech, so that you do great honor to your father. How does that sound to you?”

It sounded dangerous.
Not that she didn’t appreciate the offer.
Under ideal circumstances, having Vlad’s help with her speech would be invaluable, even if she did have to fend off some romantic advances in the process.

Unfortunately, in these
actual
circumstances, she was dressed like a Kestonian officer. So all in all, it felt like a very
bad
idea.

S asha gave the dictator her brightest smile. “That’s such a sweet offer, General. But let’s face it.
You and I in a room with a bed?
Even if
you’re
able to keep your hands to yourself, I don’t think I could.” She draped her arms around his neck. “I’ve got a confession to make.”

“What is it?”

“Remember how I told you I had your picture on my bedroom wall? There’s a fantasy that goes along with it. I walk into the ball and there you are, the handsome prince. We dance until we can’t restrain ourselves any longer, then you carry me off to your room to make love to me. I know it’s silly—”

“I am flattered. You see me as a prince?”

“Of course.”
She pulled her arms away and asked teasingly, “What are you planning to wear?
Your uniform or a tux?
I’m sure you’re amazing either way.”

“But a tuxedo will help to better fulfill your fantasy?” His smile was surprisingly warm. “I have been having that debate with myself and Svetlina for weeks. The uniform shows strength. But I want to show the world more than that.”

“Sophistication,” she agreed.
“Refinement.
Enlightenment.
If you were a less imposing man, I’d say you should wear the uniform to remind them that you’re the supreme ruler of this domain. But anyone who looks at you will know that, no matter how you’re dressed.”

“Thank you.”

She sighed. “Really, Vlad, I can’t believe you’re worried about this, poor baby. Maybe you
should
come in so we can talk about it—”

“There! That is why men must never show doubt or weakness to a woman. I do not want your pity, Sasha,” he added, taking her hand and kissing it lightly. “I want your passion.”

“Till tomorrow night, then?” she asked, trying to sound as throaty as possible.

He smiled. “I will see you in three hours.
For the conference.”

“Oh, right.” She rolled her eyes. “See how easily you can make me forget my duty to my father? You’d better just shoo.”

When he cocked his head to the side, she explained with hand waves as she repeated, “Shoo, shoo!”

Vlad laughed again, then bowed and turned away.

Sasha hurried into her room and shut the door quickly before he could change his mind. “Whew, that was a close one,” she told herself in a whisper. “You’d better hope Allison’s knockout drug works tomorrow night or you’re gonna be one ravaged damsel.”

Still, she couldn’t be too hard on herself. Not when things had gone so smoothly, relatively speaking.

So don’t blow it now,
she chided herself.
We both know why you want to go to his room tomorrow night. To get that key card, right? So you can rescue eggs? You’re as loopy as Teal.

Even without the eggs, the idea of seducing him in his own room made sense. His men would assume he and Sasha were in the throes of passion and no one—not even Nikko—would dare interrupt. It would give her a chance to quickly access his computer files and get the name of the mastermind behind the kidnapping. And even if she and Teal didn’t go near the lab, they might run into some other obstacle during the escape that needed Vlad’s key card.

To her dismay, she could feel her plan unraveling. For one thing, she had completely forgotten about the ever-present Nikko. What if he was standing watch outside Vlad’s door when she left the bedroom? And what if Vlad locked the key card away because he was wearing a tuxedo not a uniform and didn’t want to mar the look?

“This is one of the times when Jeff’s help would come in handy,” she muttered. Then she laughed and admitted that she could use one of his ex-rated kisses right about now.

As she hid Svetlina’s uniform in her garment bag, Sasha’s thoughts drifted back to the day she had first met her handsome handler. Specifically, she reexperienced that moment of absolute attraction at first sight, followed by a thud—the thud of realizing he didn’t trust her.
Couldn’t
trust her.

He had made his objections clear. She had divided loyalties. Her motives weren’t grounded in principle. These ops were dangerous.

Blah, blah, blah.

Then he had turned into Summit, right before her eyes. His voice had grown deeper.
Softer.
More
patient
.
Totally trusting.
He had shown her how to use the earbud.
How to communicate without being detected.
How to stick to a plan instead of second guessing herself into a premature burial.

We always keep it simple,
he had told her.
If a plan gets too complicated when we’re designing it, it’s a sign we need a new one. If it starts getting complicated on site, just abort. I know they improvise in the movies, but this is real life.

Then he had won her respect, if not her heart, by telling her,
You
may feel like you’re all alone, but I’ll never be more than a hundred yards away. One hint of trouble and I’ll be there in an instant. You have my word on that.

It had meant so much at the time, but now she really understood what sort of safety net he had provided. No wonder she could strut through a Mafia wedding, recklessly disobeying his direct orders, deviating from the plan at her whim. Now that it was too late, she could finally appreciate how much his mere presence had done for her.

“So follow his advice,” she told herself now. “Keep this plan simple, too. No eggs. No visits to Vlad’s boudoir. In fact, skip the ball entirely! If Teal’s not sober by tomorrow afternoon, she’ll never be. So why not grab her then? Meanwhile, get your hands on Dante’s keys to the Hummer. That’s it. That’s all you can do.”

It didn’t feel right. It needed work. But so did her speech, so she forced her mind away from Teal and Jeff, and turned her full attention to the family business.

The meeting was held in a wood-paneled conference room. There were no windows, not even the narrow, unopenable, unreachable ones that graced the walls of Sasha’s room. Even the artificial lighting over the long oval conference table was minimal, with no attempt at all to illuminate the fringes of the room.

The main participants filed in and sat in preassigned leather armchairs at the table. A second group, also all-male, chose to stand along the walls, even farther in the shadows than the participants.

The underlings, the relatives and the muscle,
Sasha guessed.

She knew that drill. Still, she would have thought in the fifteen years since she last peeked into such a room, they would have added more than one token female.

Some things never change.

She had entered with Vlad, who instructed her to sit at his right hand, while Nikko sat to his left. She wanted to believe it would impress the others, but they’d probably think he was just indulging his new mistress. If so, they would judge him harshly for such perceived weakness.

Nikko was Vlad’s only visible bodyguard, although Sasha assumed he had some trusted officers among the standing-room-only crowd, disguised in dapper suits. Everyone’s identity was being verified at the door. And everyone was patted down except Vlad and Nikko. The soldier who had checked Sasha was all business, and he had finished with her so quickly, she guessed Vlad had warned him in advance.

Aside from her two companions, she recognized only three faces: Salvatore Giambi from Las Vegas, Roberto Aguilar from Miami and Jerry King from New York. She assumed that a few other major cities in the U.S. were represented, but perhaps not. According to her father’s briefing, Vlad had handpicked the attendees from all over the world. He had also ordained that the conference would be held strictly in English, so if anyone needed help, they should bring their own translator and have the communication equipment checked out in advance.

“Hey, angel face,” Roberto Aguilar said cheerfully to Sasha as soon as he had taken his seat.

Noting Vlad’s scowl, Sasha immediately insisted, “You’ve called me that since I was three years old! How’s the family, tio Roberto?”

“They are well. Your family is fine, too, because you have made peace with your father. Good for you.” He shrugged then added, “What’s done is done. Look to the future I always say.”

She forced herself not to react, but inside she was seething.
What’s done is done? What if it had been
your
mother? Would you be so philosophical then?

“There will be time for visiting at the gala,” Vlad reminded the room, and everyone quieted down. She knew it didn’t mean much—just a sign of generic respect for the host—but she imagined some of them were honestly impressed by the dictator’s dress uniform, his chest covered with medals, and his imposing physique and self-confidence.

She could only imagine how they’d react once they saw him in action—so decisive, so imperial.

Vlad stood and inclined his head in a minimalistic bow. “I suggest we begin. Each of you was invited for a reason.
A particular talent or resource that provides usefulness to my enterprise.
Today you will prove to me, and to your future associates, why you are worthy of this great honor.”

The men said nothing in reply, but Sasha noticed how they shifted in their seats, and she gave Vlad’s shin a gentle kick. He didn’t react, but he did add calmly, “And of course, I intend to prove to
you
why I am worthy.”

Token applause rounded the table, and Sasha paid close attention to those who smiled and clapped too vigorously.
Kiss-ups, or maybe just insecure about their quote-unquote worthiness.
Either way, Sasha would think twice before she’d advise her father to accept such weak men as coconspirators.

At Vlad’s direction, a gentleman from Poland spoke first. His English was choppy, so she assumed he was working with an interpreter. Given the handicap, he did a remarkable job of communicating energy and experience. Plus, he claimed to be flush with cash—in the two-digit billions—so Sasha assumed Vlad was impressed. She knew
she
was.

It hadn’t occurred to her that Vlad would save her for last, and as the afternoon wore on, she began to panic. Each man was more articulate—harder to follow—than the last. What if she finished the speeches with a thud?

Get over yourself! Advancing Dad’s career isn’t your primary mission, remember? Just do a passable job. If they blame your poor performance on the fact that you’re a woman, don’t fight it.

If things really started going south, she’d just burst into tears or otherwise play into the stereotype. It would kill her, and perhaps damage her father’s reputation, but it would save Teal—definitely an acceptable trade-off.

The new strategy relaxed her, allowing her confidence to return. She even realized that being the last speaker could work out perfectly. If it did, she’d have to remember to thank Vlad.

Nikko had assumed the duty of master of ceremonies after the first speaker was introduced, and he performed that job smoothly, barely glancing at his notes.

But for Sasha’s introduction, he put the notes aside completely. “When Prezydente Zelasko invited the Bracciali family to attend our meeting, he assumed that their leader, Franco, would arrive in person. We were disappointed when legal matters prevented his leaving America. Then we learned that his only child and heir had graciously agreed to travel here. For many reasons, the
prezydente—
and I—ask you to treat her with the utmost of courtesy and respect.”