Lie to Me (7 page)

Son of a bitch, he really was going to have to throw her delectable ass out the window. He gritted his teeth, flexed one hand, and took a deep breath. “Sasha?”

“You just killed Saeed,” she whispered.

“Yes.” Alexei nodded, his voice softening under the weight of her contained grief. “I did, and I’m sorry for it. This isn’t the time to discuss it.”

“You didn’t even flinch.”

“I haven’t in a long time. Are you coming?” He shook his head. “Strike that. You’re coming. Are you getting dressed or going naked?”

Another
ping
announced another useless hinge, and the door quaked dangerously.

“Bastard!” The oath flew off Sasha’s lips in a vile whisper. But she raced for the closet and flung open the doors. In seconds, she emerged, dressed in loose, white linen pants, and the sheer light-blue sleeveless blouse. Sandals adorned her feet—with heels.

Alexei let out a grunt of exasperation and jammed a finger at her shoes. “What are those?”

Jogging for the window—quite adeptly despite the slight heel—she snapped, “The shortest pair I own.”

Rolling his eyes, he met her at the sill and glanced down at the Mercedes on the curb beneath. At least something was going right tonight.

Alexei banded an arm around Sasha’s waist and lifted her through the open panes. His hands worked upward along the length of her body as he lowered her, until he held her by the wrists. She dangled a good four feet from the ground.

“Ready?” he called.

Sasha nodded.

Bending over as far as he dared without compromising his balance, he eased his hold on her wrists and let her drop. She landed on the grass with a sharp yelp.

He vaulted through the window, clung to the ledge, then pushed off and landed, knees bent to absorb his weight, a few feet away from Sasha. Alexei offered her a hand.

As she slipped her palm in his and made to stand, her delicate features morphed into a wince that cut through Alexei’s hard shell. When she tried to bear her weight, stumbled, and refused his offered support at her elbow, he felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. He’d done it now—destroyed whatever had once been between them. Shredded whatever brief emotion colored the way she’d whispered his name.

Probably better that way. She’d just seen a glimpse of the man he really was, and she clearly didn’t like it. No way, no how, would she ever embrace the full truth of what Alexei had become.

But he’d be damned if her repulsion got them both killed.

He tucked an arm around her waist, swiped her off her feet, and ran to the waiting car. Wasting no time, he stuffed her through the open backseat door, then climbed in beside her. As she crawled into the farthest corner, her glower fierce like a threatening storm, Grigoriy flashed him a grin in the rearview mirror.

“Nothing like a little excitement, huh?”

A gunshot cracked through the night, then pinged against the top of the bulletproof Mercedes. Out of habit Alexei shielded his face with a raised arm. “Just get us the fuck out of here.”

Hearty chuckles wafted from behind the steering wheel as Grigoriy gave an amused shake of his head. But unlike the woman beside Alexei, Grigoriy understood the benefit of haste. He slammed his foot on the gas and the Mercedes shot forward, barreling toward the as-yet-unmanned palace gates.

As they neared the curve in the road that took them past the parked
security cars, three pairs of headlights shined on and blazed across the cement. Alexei pulled his gun from his side holster and rolled down the window, prepared to incapacitate anyone who got too close.

He couldn’t help but smirk when, beside him, Sasha ordered, “Drive faster!”

S
asha stopped looking out the rearview window as the bright headlights that had been tailing them for a good fifteen minutes dropped off. She faced forward, slumped in her seat, and stared at the midnight landscape that passed in a blurry haze. The driver let off the gas, and the Mercedes finally slowed its insane speed.

No one would come after her. They’d crossed into another tribal region, and at this time of night, it would take an act of God to rouse the sheikh. If they did, he probably wouldn’t give a damn Saeed had been killed. He’d made his dislike for Amir’s middle son well known.

As adrenaline ebbed, reality crashed onto her shoulders. She didn’t know what to feel or which questions to ask first. All she could identify was a cold numbness. Not from the chilly desert night, but one that began in her bones and radiated outward.

She stole a glance at Alexei. He stared straight ahead, his gun now holstered, one hand rubbing absently against his knee. His brow was drawn. Though he looked exactly as she remembered—right down to the two-day-old growth on his face—he wasn’t the same man that had held her in a military transport vehicle. That one knew the meaning of remorse. This one killed with only the barest words of regret.

Shuffling deeper into her seat, her gaze skimmed out the windshield, meeting the driver’s curious look through the mirror. He was handsome. Nearly as attractive as Saeed. But the laughter that lurked in his eyes was nothing short of wicked given the circumstances.

“So you’re Sasha.” His low baritone filled the quiet. He looked to the road once more. “Name’s Grigoriy.”

She focused on the passing lights outside. What was she supposed to say—nice to meet you? Hardly.

“And that’s Alexei, if he didn’t take the time to tell you.”

Alexei shifted in the seat and tugged his sport coat free from between his back and the seat. “We’ve met.”

His curt response was all Sasha needed to realize he didn’t share the same wistful memories of their time together in Moscow. She bristled. Grinding her teeth, she bit back anger. “Where are you taking me?”

The simple question didn’t come close to satisfying her temper, and before she could stop herself, she twisted in the seat and glared at Alexei. “You should have stayed in whatever sewer you crawled out of. Saeed didn’t need to die.”

“You took him out?” Grigoriy asked in disbelief.

The muscles in Alexei’s jaw hardened to stone. He answered with a crisp, silent nod.

Sasha reached across the seat between them and clamped her hand on his forearm. “Look at me, damn it! Quit acting like I’m the one to blame.”

When his light-green gaze skipped sideways to meet her glower, she regretted the order. If he’d been mad before, he was furious now.

“If you hadn’t called me by name, your precious Saeed would be sleeping off a lump to the temple instead of bleeding out in your bedroom.”

Like he’d backhanded her, she recoiled. It took a few seconds to recover from the unexpected whip of his tongue. When she did, what had been anger morphed into pure rage. “What the hell did you expect? That I was supposed to be coherent after what you two did to me? You could have whispered something in my ear to clue me in.” She snorted. “Oh, that’s right, you were too busy between my legs.”

Sasha ignored the forced cough from the front seat and stared at Alexei, demanding a response.

He raised a solitary eyebrow. “If you’d told me your real name in Moscow, I wouldn’t have been between your legs tonight, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Grigoriy cleared his throat. “Ahem, kids—”

“My name?” To Sasha’s consternation, her voice raised half an octave. “You needed my
name
after…after…”

She stopped, his blank expression filling her with shame and embarrassment. He hadn’t recognized her. Hadn’t shared the same surreal sense of familiarity she experienced in his hands tonight, and he had full use of his vision. All this time she’d been unable to forget the nights they spent together, had believed he had truly felt something on the last one they shared. And he couldn’t remember what her body looked like. True, back then she’d been malnourished and as skinny as a rail. But filling out to her natural curves couldn’t possibly make that big of a difference—nor could the blindfold.

What a damn fool she’d been.

“Yes, goddammit, I needed your name!” In a shocking display of temper, Alexei thumped a balled fist into the padded armrest on the door. “I sent someone to—”

“Hey!” Grigoriy barked. “While this is entertaining, we’ve got company up ahead.”

As Alexei’s attention snapped to the blinking lights in front of the Mercedes, his hand automatically going for his gun, Sasha blinked. Several kilometers ahead, bright light illuminated three plain-faced buildings. Men in typical Arabic garb hurried out of doorways to cars, which zipped down a wide paved driveway and onto the road. One by one, they lined up across the two paved lanes, forming a stout barricade. But it wasn’t the hustle-bustle and imminent danger that held her attention. Behind the blockade sat a nondescript black helicopter. Its rotors were still, yet its heavily guarded presence loomed like a sleeping dragon, waiting to arise and swallow her whole.

Old apprehensions surfaced along with repressed fear. Quietly, she asked, “Where are you taking me?”

Alexei leaned forward to better see the blinking red, blue, and white lights a mile ahead. His normal calm returned as he instructed Grigoriy. “They’re watching the road. Cut the lights and turn around.”

Grigoriy’s grin flashed in the dim light. “Plan B? Or are we on C now?”

Sharing an inside joke Sasha didn’t understand, Alexei shook his head with a similar wry smirk. “Try Hail Mary.”

Exasperated by both men’s inappropriate humor, and fed up with being ignored, she repeated more loudly, “Where are you taking me?”

As Alexei arched his hips and tucked his hand into his front pants pocket, he tossed her a brief, annoyed frown. “To your father.” He pulled his cell phone free, settled back into the seat, and pressed a button that lit up the touch screen. His gaze drifted back to Grigoriy’s reflection. “I’ll make the call.”

Sasha stared at Alexei’s busy hands. Her father? The floorboards beneath her feet shifted sideways. She clutched at the seat, her nails pricking into the supple leather upholstery. The last person on this earth she wanted to see was her father. She’d given herself over to slavery to escape him. Now Alexei intended to take her back?

Like hell.

She would never again make bombs for her father. Not that he would ask something that simple now. No, for betraying him she’d die. Which left her one alternative—escape.

A
s the line rang, Alexei clenched his free hand into a fist. He couldn’t control his anger. He tried like hell, employed all the tricks he knew—drawing in measured breaths, redirecting his thoughts to trivial matters like the alignment of the stars. But nothing would stop the intolerable pounding of his pulse and the white-hot fire in his bloodstream. He was pissed beyond reason that he’d come so dangerously close to telling Sasha he had sent an operative to Dubai to find her two months after he left her with Sheikh Amir.

Even more pissed over finally understanding why no one knew who
Irina
was.

Which brought him full circle to the fact she hid her identity from him in the first place. It made him feel like a fool for letting his defenses down when he took her to his bed two years ago and fucked her, unable to get enough of her sweet, skinny body.

He really fucking hated surprises.

He shifted in the seat, desperately needing an outlet for the restlessness that cramped his muscles.

Adding insult to injury, Hail Mary was never fun. Always the very last plan developed when coordinating a mission, it existed out of necessity. But employing it meant everything had been blown to shit. For Alexei, it signified failure. He hated Hail Marys more than he hated surprises.

This one would particularly suck. Calling in Kadir bin Imran, former embedded Black Opal operative and primary asset to the success of the initial bust six months ago, felt like going to the emergency room for a splinter. Sure, Kadir knew he was on standby—he was on every mission that involved the Arab world—but Alexei couldn’t remember any operative having to employ a Hail Mary that involved him. Nor could he recall any incident where Kadir had to employ a Hail Mary, despite the levels of shit he managed to wind up in.

To those who knew of him, he was a legend.

He answered the private line with cool reserve. “Kadir.”

“Alexei.” It pained him to make the necessary request. “We need the Gulfstream. Our bird’s locked up.”

“I expected I might hear from you when Mohammad phoned me thirty minutes past.” Kadir’s thick accent resonated through the speakerphone. If he’d ever spoken another native tongue, it had long ago been lost. “I have sent my crew to my private hangar. They await my instructions.”

“Mohammad called you?”

“He did. On news of Saeed’s death, he sought an immediate alliance.
He believes my reputation—and my security personnel—will keep those who stand against his family from further action.” Kadir paused, then asked more somberly, “Did you retrieve the girl, or did she perish with him?”

Beside Alexei, Sasha shot forward in her seat. She tugged at his arm, violently shaking her head. He glanced at her in time to see her dash her free hand across her throat. Under any other circumstance, he’d appreciate her caution, but what Kadir didn’t know now, he’d find out in a matter of seconds with one phone call to headquarters. Simply because of the instability in the Arab nations, he held the unique position of knowing at least
something
about
everything
that involved this part of the world. It was just too probable that something like Alexei’s current mess would happen.

Alexei shrugged off Sasha’s hand and twisted out of her reach. “She’s with us.”

Sasha voiced her disapproval with a soft groan that had Alexei giving her a puzzled frown. She mouthed something at him, but he couldn’t make out the words.

“Good. Go on to my plane. The flight plan has been arranged. It will take you to my villa in Siena, Italy, so you need not trouble with unexplained arrivals.” He chuckled softly. “You will not want to stay there. My daughter is in residence. She knows Sasha.” Another pause drifted through the line before Kadir continued, “Luck be with you, Alexei. Keep Sasha safe for me. She is a treasure.”