Midnight Pursuits (14 page)

Someone had killed Nina Berezovsky and spirited away the Karin girl.

The thought filled him with indignation, and confirmed what he'd suspected after the Siberian Wolf had been tortured and killed—someone was deliberately interfering with his plans.

Well, that interference was officially about to stop. He'd put this into motion more than a year ago, and he refused to allow a faceless pest to ruin what he'd invested so much time and money in.

“Take the stairs,” he snapped at the aide.

The man looked startled. “Sir?”

He didn't offer any explanation. Simply pressed the button that would close the elevator doors and watched them shut in the aide's face. Then he took out his phone and called Kirill.

“What happened?” he demanded.

“I'm not sure. It appears that someone ran the bodyguard's car off the road, killed him and Berezovsky, and abducted the girl.”

He clenched his teeth. “From this moment on, your sole objective is to find the people responsible for this. Do you understand me?”

“I'm already on it, sir.”

“Good.”

He hung up, so enraged he could barely see straight. This latest development was liable to send the country in an uproar. Leo Karin would demand that every law-enforcement agency in the world be dispatched to locate his sniveling brat.

Turn it around. Use it to your advantage.

Orlov inhaled a calming breath. Yes. Yes, that was what he must do. He knew better than anyone that even the best-laid plans often didn't come to fruition. He simply needed to make a few adjustments, make lemonade from the proverbial lemons.

The prime minister in a panic.

Citizens afraid.

People seeking answers. Seeking justice.

A sense of calm washed over him as the pieces came together in his head. Yes, he could work with that. He could absolutely work with that.

And while he put out the fire the Berezovsky woman's screwup had caused, his men would track down the culprits responsible and bring them to him.

So he could personally kill each and every one of them.

The farmhouse they'd secured was located in a tiny village in the Vitebsk region of Belarus, a crumbling old structure situated on fifty acres of snow-covered land. The surrounding forested areas provided good cover, and Ethan had already made use of the armed explosives and trip wires in his gear bag. Juliet had offered her own equipment—motion detectors that would alert them if anyone came within fifty yards of the house.

Apparently Paige had purchased the house for a song. How she'd managed to complete the sale so fast still eluded him, but the keys had been waiting under the torn floor mat when they'd arrived, and the interior of the house wasn't as neglected as he'd expected. The place was fully furnished, albeit shabbily, and the heat and plumbing worked, which meant they didn't need to start a fire in the prehistoric fireplace or use the dilapidated outhouse out back.

When he entered the master bedroom, he found Juliet sitting on the ancient four-poster bed.

“How is she?”

He closed the door behind him. “Asleep. I had no choice but to give her a sedative from Val's kit. She was too hysterical.”

He dropped his duffel on the weathered hardwood floor, his heart going out for the young girl in the other bedroom. He didn't blame Anastacia Karin for her reaction to the day's events. She'd experienced a serious trauma, what with her father's assistant trying to kill her.

Paige had sent them a brief file on Nina Berezovsky, which hadn't told them much except that the woman was fairly new to the prime minister's service. But clearly she was in cahoots with Dmitry Orlov—otherwise she wouldn't have attempted to murder her young charge. Which also proved that Orlov's reach was as long as they'd suspected it was, seeing as he had his own mole in the Karin household.

“Did you speak to Sully again?” He removed his shoulder holster and set it, along with the weapons it contained, on top of the rickety dresser.

“Yeah, he and Liam are snagging Alisa Baronova soon. She's eating dinner with friends, so they're waiting until she's done before they grab her. They should be here in a couple of hours.”

“Good.” He rubbed his temples, warding off the headache that had been threatening to surface all damn day.

Jesus, he was exhausted. It had been nonstop activity since they'd left the Grenadier at six a.m., and though it was only eight o'clock, he was ready to pass out.

But he couldn't, not when Juliet looked as tired as he felt.

“You should take a nap,” he advised her. “I can keep watch for a while.”

“Soon.” She made no move to stretch out on the tattered orange bedspread. She just kept staring at him, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“What is it?” he said gruffly.

“That was some damn impressive shooting today. Blowing out those tires, blowing Berezovsky's brains out. And then in the car . . .” She shrugged, and if he hadn't known any better, he would have said she looked embarrassed. “You were great with that kid. Really sweet and patient.”

The compliments were unexpected, but not as unexpected as Juliet's next move.

She rose from the bed with catlike grace, and then her lips brushed over his in a kiss that caught him completely off guard.

It was a brief, warm peck that left him wanting more, but Juliet denied him of that as she stepped back. She continued to eye him as if she were seeing him for the first time.

“What was that for?” His voice came out husky.

“Surprising me,” she said with another shrug.

He'd surprised
her
? Because at the moment, she was surprising the hell out of
him
.

Since the day they'd met, Juliet's guard had been so high he would've needed a thousand-foot rope to scale the wall around her, but here, now, that guard was down. He could see her every thought in those mesmerizing brown eyes. Admiration. Intrigue. Confusion.

Arousal.

She'd never looked more beautiful to him than she did now. With her dark hair cascading down her shoulders, her face an open book, every curve of that head-turning body outlined by her tight black sweater and even tighter pants. She still wore knee-high leather boots, which made her look like the badass she was and had his heart beating a little faster.

This was more than lust. He was slowly beginning to realize that, though what he wanted from this woman, he couldn't quite figure out. Only a short while ago he'd ended it with the girl in Costa Rica because he hadn't wanted anything serious, and yet he suspected that if Juliet told him, right here and right now, that she wanted a committed, long-term relationship from him, he wouldn't hesitate to respond with a big, resounding
yes
.

Fat chance she'd ever ask that of him, though. He knew a relationship was probably the last thing she wanted, which only succeeded in frustrating him further. Because damn it, he wanted more than a temporary flirtation. Sure, their chemistry was off the charts, but sex alone was no longer his endgame. He knew without a doubt that he'd take her to bed—that had become inevitable—but he was now equally determined to explore their connection
outside
the bedroom.

“What's second base for a man?”

Her question startled him. “Huh?”

“I'm assuming for a woman it means some chestal-region groping. But what does the man get?” She slanted her head, her dark eyes gleaming with mischief. “Should I grope your chest for a bit?”

His mouth went dry. The woman continued to surprise him. To fascinate him. “I thought you said I'd never make it to second base.”

“That was before I saw you in action today.” She sighed. “Now I'm even more attracted to you.”

A laugh slipped out. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

Licking her lips, she moved closer. But she didn't kiss him.

Nope, what she did was reach for his zipper.

Ethan smothered a wild curse. “What are you doing?”

“Making an executive decision about what second base is.”

Then she dropped to her knees, and this time the expletive that flew out was strangled and hoarse.

“Juliet—” he started, then stopped when she deftly unzipped his pants and gave his waistband a tug.

Laughing softly, she eased his pants and boxers down so that his erection sprang free. Inches from her face.

Ethan's pulse veered into heart-attack territory, his muscles tensing. Priming.

He was very aware that Anastacia Karin was right next door. And even though they'd secured the perimeter, they still needed to keep watch.

“This isn't the time to . . .” He groaned when her delicate fingers curled around his impossibly stiff shaft. “To . . .” Now he moaned, because her tongue was circling the tip of his cock. “To . . .”

“To what?” She peered up at him, the picture of innocence.

“To do
this,
” he choked out.

“Oh, hush. Let me have some fun. I promise I'll be quick.”

She'd
be quick? Lord, he was seconds away from blowing, just from the feel of her breath tickling his aching cock.

He couldn't stop her, not for the life of him. The hot suction of her mouth felt so criminally good he nearly keeled over.

He braced his hand on the dresser, keeping himself steady, while his other hand drifted down to tangle in Juliet's hair. He stroked those silky strands, but he didn't have to guide her head—she knew exactly what to do. What was guaranteed to drive him to madness.

Each teasing lick brought him closer to the edge. Each pump of her fist added to the pressure building in his groin.

Juliet's evident enjoyment only fueled his hunger. She made little sounds of contentment as she sucked him, her head bobbing up and down his shaft, her mouth gobbling him up until white dots flashed before his eyes. When her hand slid down to squeeze his tight sac, he groaned quietly and thrust deeper into her mouth, and suddenly it became a rush to the finish line. He'd probably regret it later, but he couldn't stop himself from moving his hips and fucking her mouth in a fast tempo that had them both moaning.

“I'm close,” he ground out. “Really damn close.”

That talented mouth left him, just for a second, just so she could gaze up at him with hungry eyes and say, “Good. Give it to me.”

The wicked request was all it took to detonate the knot of pressure. Pleasure seized his balls and shot out in every direction, coursing through his body in long, tingling waves as he came inside Juliet's hot, wet mouth.

A few moments later, she released him with a soft
pop
and looked up with a grin. He could have climaxed again just from the sight of her on her knees in front of him, her glossy lips curved in that naughty grin.

“Jesus,” he mumbled, still recovering from the body-numbing release.

“Second base is fun, huh?” She looked tremendously pleased with herself as she gracefully rose to her feet.

“C'mere,” he ordered, then yanked her against him.

He kissed her roughly, groaning when he tasted himself on her lips. He hadn't intended to let it go this far, but now that they'd crossed the line, the slow approach had flown out the window right along with his chivalry. He needed to be inside her. Right fricking now.

He was snaking his hands beneath her sweater when a cell phone vibrated.

It was his, buzzing in his back pocket and filling him with annoyance.

“Don't fucking move,” he growled at Juliet, who'd just wrapped her arms around his neck.

They stayed there with their bodies locked together as he fished out his phone and brought it to his ear.

“Yeah?” he said briskly.

“We're ahead of schedule,” Liam reported. “Be there in ten. Any fun booby traps we should be aware of?”

Swallowing his disappointment, Ethan gave his teammate a rundown of the security perimeter, then hung up with a frustrated look. “They'll be here soon.”

“Which leaves us no time to round third and slide home, huh?” She sighed heavily and dropped her hands from his shoulders.

“Ten minutes is plenty of time—if I were a randy sixteen-year-old.” He licked his lips. “But I plan on spending a lot more than ten minutes ravishing your body. So we definitely need to put this on hold.”

“I don't know . . . I'm kind of fickle. I might change my mind the next time we're alone.” She arched her eyebrows. “This could be your one and only chance.”

“Nah, I'll just shoot out a few tires and kill someone, and you'll be all over me again.”

Her melodic laugh only succeeded in reigniting his desire of her. “Oooh, I love it when you talk dirty to me, rookie.”

•   •   •

Not long after, Sullivan Port and Liam Macgregor arrived at the safe house, carting an unconscious woman. Their expressions conveyed sheer aggravation as Sullivan unceremoniously deposited the package on the shabby plaid couch and straightened up to glare at Ethan and Juliet, who were watching him in amusement.

“This woman is a bloody nightmare,” he declared.

“For real,” Liam spoke up. He ran a hand through his thick black hair, his piercing blue eyes glittering with annoyance. “Sully had to sedate her because she wouldn't stop screaming. And she called us
goons
. Can you believe it?”

Ethan couldn't help but laugh. Especially since the newcomers currently fit the description of goon to a T. In their matching wool hats, heavy boots, and black bomber jackets, they looked like the bad guys from a Bond flick set in Russia. Not only that, but they both stood well over six feet and boasted muscular physiques that had probably scared the shit out of Alisa Baronova, who was out cold on the sofa.

“Did anyone see you snatch her?” Ethan asked.

“Of course,” Liam said sarcastically. “We did it on a busy street in front of hundreds of witnesses. A brigade of cops is waiting outside the door as we speak.”

Juliet snorted, but Ethan didn't glance over at her. If he did, he feared his eyes would broadcast his feelings to the entire room. His very potent, very sexual feelings. And he wasn't in the mood to deal with Sully and Liam's wisecracks at the moment, not when they had more important matters to discuss.

“So what exactly is going on, mate?” Sullivan asked warily. “What does Orlov want with these people, and why do we care?”

“We think he might be exacting revenge on the men who stood by and did nothing while his son got killed.”

“You think?” Liam sounded skeptical.

“Well, we haven't figured out the motive part yet. All we know is that Orlov wants the targets dead, and he had Victor Grechko kill nine people before this.”

“Then take Orlov out,” Sullivan said as he shrugged out of his bulky coat. The Australian wore a gray cable-knit sweater underneath, with a shoulder holster strapped on and a silver Glock butt poking out of his waistband.

As he disarmed, Juliet flopped down on one of the rickety wooden chairs around the dining room table. “That's what I'm saying,” she retorted, “but Bleeding Heart over here”—she hooked a thumb at Ethan—“wants to find out what Orlov's up to first.”

“We don't know that he's working alone,” Ethan reminded her. “If you kill him, that doesn't mean the targets are safe. His associates could step up to the plate and eliminate Karin and the others. And we still don't know if he's in bed with the People's Revolutionary Front. Maybe the hits
are
terrorist attacks, orchestrated by Orlov.”

Liam drifted over to the refrigerator. “Please tell me you bought some beer, rookie.” He opened the door, peered in, and groaned. “Orange juice? Seriously, that's all you deemed important enough to get?”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “There's water in the tap if OJ doesn't do it for you.”

Grumbling to himself, Liam unzipped his coat, tossed it on one of the dining room chairs, then headed to the sink to pour himself a glass of water. “So what's the plan? You're just going to watch these people indefinitely?”