From Russia With Claws (17 page)

Andrey frowned. Galina got up and crossed the space between them. She leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips softly touched his, coaxing his mouth open to taste the sugar on his tongue. His mouth was all wet heat, a heady sensation that made Galina press herself against him. Her hands framed his face, fingertips scratching lightly at the hair at his temples as she kissed him breathless.

“I’ll see you tonight,” she promised, pulling away reluctantly.

Andrey grabbed her waist, pulling her roughly down into his lap. His mouth devoured her, his tongue sliding against hers. Wetness blossomed between her legs as Andrey sucked on her bottom lip, catching it in his teeth. His strong hands spanned her back, pressing her close. His lips moved over hers, a study in the contrasts of hard and soft. She wanted nothing more than to lose herself in him.

Just as suddenly as he dragged her down, Andrey let her go, setting her back on her feet. “Count on it.”

Put a Ring on It

G
ALINA
H
AD
B
EEN
C
LOSING
a deal over dinner when she got the announcement of Irina and Andrey’s engagement. Uncle Petyr had been busy spreading the good news all over town, despite the fact that Irina was still supposed to be in mourning for several more months.

When Mama Anya heard about this, she was going to have a litter.

She finished her negotiations, but didn’t linger over a congratulatory drink. Her phone had been buzzing at her continuously as call after call came in and went to her voice mail. While she waited for the valet to bring her car around, she scrolled through her missed call list.

Nik, Irina, Andrey, Papa, Andrey again, Irina, Andrey, Sveta, Nik, Andrey, Andrey, Irina, Papa.

She wanted to ignore them all. Galina knew she couldn’t, but she wanted to just the same. She hadn’t expected to feel so hurt by the news. She knew what Papa had planned. Why had it come as such a shock then?

Because Andrey had agreed to it. And that stung the worst of all.

As if thinking about him conjured him, her phone rang again, caller ID confirming him. Galina weighed her options: she could let it go to voice mail again or she could woman up and deal with it. The sooner she spoke to him, the sooner she could begin to purge him from her mind.

“Galina Sudenko,” she said into the phone, all frosty professionalism.

“Galya, it’s Andrey,” he said, as if she didn’t know.

“Yes, Mr. Lupesco?”

“I would like to talk to you.” Andrey’s voice was dark and throaty, like he was holding something back.

Galina didn’t particularly care. “Is it about business?”

“You know damn well what it’s about!” he shouted.

“I’m sorry, but unless this is about an artifact you’re interested in procuring, I’m afraid we have nothing I am interested in discussing.”

“Your father found out about the missing shipment shortly after Sergei was put down. I don’t know how he found out—I certainly wasn’t going around telling anyone—but he knows that Sergei stole from me.”

Galina closed her eyes, feeling exhaustion settle over her like a coat. She didn’t want to hear this right now. She didn’t want to deal with this whole stupid Bullet business anymore. For the first time, she wished she’d been born into a normal family.

“And?”

“Your father suggested the engagement to your sister,” Andrey explained. “I suppose it is his way of making amends.”

Of course. Papa had sealed the deal with the Volkovs with Irina’s wedding to Sergei. He thought he could accomplish the same thing with Andrey.

“Is that all?” she asked, voice dull and clipped.

His growl of frustration reverberated in her ears. “Galina, don’t…”

“Good night, Mr. Lupesco.”

Galina seethed. She didn’t remember a time she’d been so angry. She’d been stewing for days, since Papa mentioned the stupid, goddamn engagement party for Andrey and Irina. She stayed in her apartment for the past few days, working from home, and ignoring Andrey’s calls. But there was no way she could
not
go to the party. So she’d put on her best to-die-for little black dress, her spikiest pair of heels and headed to her father’s house to put on a happy face for her sister and her…whatever Andrey was.

A waiter passed by with a tray of champagne flutes. Galina snapped her fingers at him and snagged two, downing one in a swallow, and polishing off the second on her way to join her father where he stood with Andrey. Ilya wore a beatific expression—the content look of a man who had solved a particularly knotty problem. Galina ground her teeth together. If she’d just been able to find that stupid shipment, Papa wouldn’t be trading Irina off like she was a prize mare. Galina refused to look at Andrey.

Maksim arrived in another ill-fitting suit, immediately going to her father and Andrey to offer handshakes and congratulations. Papa pointed him in her direction, and the Caviar Prince joined her in the corner. She snagged another glass of champagne from a passing tray, exchanging it for her empty.

He frowned in disapproval. “I should think you’ve had enough,” he sniffed, his voice reproachful.

“That’s where you would be wrong,” she snapped back, too keyed up to pretend he didn’t annoy the living crap out of her.

“It’s unseemly for a woman to drink to excess.” His dark eyes were alight with his displeasure.

Galina turned her snarl into a tight-lipped smile, stopping the hasty words that leapt to her tongue. “It’s a party.” She handed him her champagne flute and escaped into the press of people mingling in the formal living room.

Viktor stood off to the side, looking like someone had just killed his favorite puppy. She grabbed two more flutes from a passing waiter and shoved one into his hand.

“You’re going to need this,” she told him.

“I’m working,” he practically snarled at her.

“And there are like eight hundred bodyguards here also working. Drink the damn champagne.” She finished her third glass, placing the empty on a nearby table.

Viktor glared at her but emptied the flute. Galina nodded, then approached her father.

“Ah, Galya, there you are!” He saw that she wasn’t carrying a glass. “You must have a drink to toast the new member of the family.” He beckoned another waiter over.

“Don’t mind if I do,” she said, taking two more flutes. Knocking back one for courage, she raised the other to Andrey. “Congratulations!” She finished the other, stepping in to give Ilya a kiss on the cheek.

Galina had no intention of saying anything else to Andrey, but her father intervened before she could disappear back into the crowd. “Come Galya, Andrey will be part of the family soon!” She looked at her father in a kind of fascinated horror. His cheeks and nose were flushed; it was obvious he’d been hitting the vodka pretty heavily in celebration of his future son-in-law.

She extended her hand to Andrey, who at least had the grace to look uncomfortable. They shook hands, she murmured, “Congratulations,” once again, and she would have been content to leave it at that. But Papa decided to be helpful one more time.

“Family doesn’t shake hands!” Papa shoved the two of them together.

“What does he expect me to do?” she snapped at her soon to be brother-in-law. “Give you a lap dance to say welcome to the family?”

Andrey sputtered out a laugh that transformed his face from dour to startlingly handsome in an eye blink. Galina pulled away after the briefest embrace to excuse herself so she could get some stronger booze.

As she mingled, Galina heard the whispered threads of conversation as she passed the knots of partygoers. Most everyone appeared to be having a good time, but she caught a few angry comments about Irina and Andrey’s pairing. One man Papa’s age went so far as to say that at least Ilya hadn’t wasted a real Sudenko on Andrey. Galina winced in sympathy for her sister.

The few Rom that Andrey had invited stood in a cluster close to the bar. They were unusually quiet, their faces somber. Edging closer, Galina heard one of them say that they’d prefer Andrey not marry at all rather than wed a Sudenko. The muttering stopped as she moved past them.

On her way to the kitchen, she passed Alexei. If possible, he looked even less happy than Andrey, Irina, and Viktor combined. “You should be up there with Papa,” she noted as she passed him.

“This is a fucking joke,” he fumed. “I can’t believe he’s marrying Irina to that fucking Rom. It’s like marrying a queen to a dog. The old man is senile!”

“Papa wouldn’t have had to marry off Irina if Sergei hadn’t stolen that ‘fucking Rom’s’ drugs,” Galina retorted, keeping her voice low. “Didn’t Sergei’s team work under you?”

“If the Rom had been able to protect his product, he wouldn’t have lost it in the first place!” Alexei’s voice shook with rage.

Galina moved on, shaking her head. It was crazy person logic. She couldn’t argue with that. Instead, she pulled out a bottle of bourbon, poured it into a Tervis tumbler and went back out to the party.

The evening wore on slowly. Irina was upstairs, still getting ready. The caterer’s waiters began circulating with trays of hors d’oeuvres. Galina snagged a tray and sat down on the front porch with her bourbon.

Damn it, she could have found out where the drugs were. If Papa hadn’t gotten wind of Sergei’s massive fuck-up, he wouldn’t have offered Irina up to Andrey like some kind of consolation prize. Galina couldn’t be mad at her sister—this wasn’t her fault. But there was no reason for her to be around the happy couple either, at least not until she’d gotten her anger under control.

She dumped the empty tray on the seat next to her and polished off the bourbon. The alcohol hadn’t hit her yet, but she was hoping it would soon. Then she’d be able to go back inside and pretend a happiness she did not feel.

As she sat on the front steps, feeling sorry for herself, she noticed Vasily walking from the free-standing garage to the back of the house. Galina perked up. There was nothing back there except an old potting shed and the guesthouse. Why would Vasily be heading there in the middle of a party where all of the Sudenko bodyguards were supposed to be on watch? She followed.

Vasily loped along the garden path, hands tucked in his pockets. Galina kept him in sight, grateful for the light mist that kept everyone out of the garden for the evening. She ducked behind a wall of fragrant night-blooming jasmine until he passed beyond the garden’s borders.

She moved quickly, keeping as close to cover as possible without completely losing sight of Alexei’s guard. As she rounded a tall hedge, she stopped, ducking down. Timur stood in front of the shed, watching Vasily approach.

“About damn time,” Timur rumbled, cracking his neck.

“Any trouble?” Vasily asked, eyes scanning the nearby surroundings. Galina hunched down even lower, making herself as small as possible. She was glad she’d worn her wolfsbane perfume.

“Nah. Who the hell’s going to bother me out here with that party going on?”

Vasily nodded. “That’s what the Boss said.” He held out a cigarette to Timur. “You can come inside.”

Timur lit the cigarette, drawing in a lungful of smoke. He released it slowly, a stream of grey that dissipated in the moist air. “You sure?”

Vasily nodded, lighting up his own cigarette. “Boss was pretty confident.”

The two began their return to Papa’s house, smoke billowing around them like a tattered cape. Galina waited, scenting the air to make sure they were gone. Then she got up and went over to the shed.

It was a small white clapboard structure, set near the stone wall at the back of the property. The paint was peeling and it needed a new roof, but it was perfect for what held: garden tools, seeds, and fertilizer. But there was a shiny new lock on the door. Since when did they lock up the gardener’s shed?

One good thing: the lock might be new but the wood the metal plate was attached to was old. If Alexei had men out here, that must mean there was something worth guarding. And she had a good idea of what that might be. Lifting her foot, Galina kicked against the wood with all of her strength. She heard a snapping sound, but the door remained shut. She kicked it two more times and the wood splintered, the door finally swinging open.

The interior smelled of decaying plants and the sharp tangy mix of mulch and fertilizer. Her gaze wandered around the shed, cataloguing the clay pots, the trowels, the seed bins and small stacks of spare paving stones for the paths that wound through the garden. She stepped inside carefully, intending to search behind the tarps and rakes, when her heel sank into a partially rotten floorboard.

Slipping her foot out of the shoe, she knelt down to try to pull it out. At first, the shoe didn’t budge, but when she really put her strength into it, the shoe—still spearing the plank—came loose from the floor.

Galina stared dumbly at her shoe and the impaled piece of wood that she held in one hand. Dropping her gaze, she froze. Blocks of grey powder wrapped in plastic sat stacked in the hole. “You are fucking kidding me,” she said to no one in particular as she knelt down to inspect her find.

Stacks of bricks were shoved into the hidey hole. Galina would lay odds that the number of bricks under the floor matched up with the number of bricks in Andrey’s missing shipment. This is why she couldn’t find the Bullet in any of Sergei’s usual hidey-holes. He’d already passed it off to Alexei.

Galina ripped her shoe from the board, sliding her foot back into it, and pulled down one of the tarps from the wall. Spreading it out, she began to stack the Bullet on it. There was no way she could leave it here, not with the evidence of her snooping there for Alexei to see. She’d move the product somewhere safe and then let Andrey know she’d found it.

When all the Bullet was sitting on the tarp, she replaced the board over the gaping hole. Then she pulled the sides of the tarp together, gathering it in her hands like a bundle. She swung the package over her shoulder, staggering a bit beneath its weight. As quickly as she could, she made her way back to the garage where she’d parked her car, keeping as hidden as she could.