Midnight Pursuits (15 page)

“Until we figure out what Orlov's planning.”

“Fine, let's get figuring, then,” Sully retorted. “Because I can't spend another bloody second with that infuriating woman.”

Ethan glanced over at Alisa Baronova, who, even unconscious, did look like a handful. The woman was in her forties, dressed in a skintight purple dress with a neckline that was quite low for a woman her age. Her breasts were enormous and out of proportion with her reedy-thin frame, a sign that they probably weren't natural. Same went for her hair, which was a shade of platinum blond that definitely didn't occur in nature. To round out her artificial exterior, she had razor-sharp red fingernails and orange-tinged skin that spoke of too many visits to the tanning salon.

Liam followed Ethan's gaze and snickered. “Her personality is as delightful as her appearance. Just you wait.”

He stifled a sigh and turned to Juliet. “We need to start digging, find out who Orlov might be working with.”

She responded with a resigned nod, for which he was grateful. He knew she was eager to kill the bastard, but Ethan couldn't in good conscience allow that to happen until he was certain Anastacia and the others would be safe.

“I guess we should start with the PRF,” she said. “They've taken responsibility for the hits, so either they're lying or they really are working with Orlov.”

“What do we know about the PRF?” Liam asked.

Ethan wandered over and leaned against the narrow kitchen counter. “Well, they consider themselves revolutionaries, claim they're fighting the oppression of the Belikov government. They're tired of the corruption and the censorship, the restrictions on civil rights. They started out with nonviolent demonstrations, but when those didn't achieve results they graduated to full-out violence. Bombings, kidnappings, executions. That's when they were promoted from peaceful protesters to dangerous terrorists.”

“Their goal is to push Belikov out of office,” Juliet added. “They want a total overhaul of the current system of government.”

“Lofty ambitions,” Liam remarked.

Ethan shrugged. “Nobody said they operated in the realm of reality, but they keep trying, nevertheless.”

The other man slanted his head, pensive. “Who's their Osama?”

“Their leader is a man by the name of Alexei Mironov,” Juliet answered. “He's young and charismatic, and picking up followers like crazy.”

Sullivan piped up with his two cents. “Okay, so we find Mironov. If he's calling the shots, he's the one who can confirm whether or not his group is responsible for the executions.”

“Find Mironov?” Liam echoed with a grin. “How do you suggest we do that, Aussie? Ring up the terrorist directory and request the address to his lair?”

“I'll call Noelle.” Juliet rose from her chair.

“You think your boss is magically going to produce the dude's number?” Liam cracked.

“You'd be surprised what Noelle can do. We've taken out a lot of so-called terrorists. Noelle has contacts and informants in every corner of the world.”

Ethan nodded. “Call her. It's worth a shot.”

“I'll be right back. I left my phone in the other room.”

Juliet stalked off, her heels snapping against the hardwood. Both Liam and Sullivan watched her go, their gazes glued to her firm bottom.

“Sweet Lord,” Sullivan drawled, “she's even sexier than I remember.”

“Dibs,” Liam said without delay.

Ethan turned to the other man with a frosty expression. “Forget about it. She's off-limits.”

There was a beat.

Then Liam hooted. “Staking a claim, eh, rookie?”

“Something like that,” he muttered.

Sullivan broke out in a wide grin. “I don't know, Boston. Maybe we need to throw our hats in the ring. Give the rookie a little competition.”

“Definitely.”

Ethan knew they were just kidding around, but the thought of one of them so much as laying a finger on Juliet made every muscle in his body stiffen. His hands involuntarily curled into fists, a deadly gleam entering his eyes.

“Touch her and you're dead,” he said coldly.

That only made them grin harder.

“Aw, our little boy has it bad.”

Liam's blue eyes twinkled. “Have you made a move yet? Or are you taking it nice and slow as usual?”

“How long did it take you to ask out that chick from San Jose?” Sullivan chimed in. “Three months?”

He tolerated the good-natured ribbing, but didn't get a chance to voice a comeback because the woman on the couch was beginning to stir.

Alisa Baronova moaned as she sat up. She blinked, rubbed her face, and then her brown eyes widened in panic. “W-what . . . w-where . . .
what is the meaning of this
?” the bleached blonde screamed in her native tongue.

The high-pitched shriek made all three men wince.

“It's all right,” Ethan told her in a soothing tone. “You're safe.”

“Safe?
Safe?
I was abducted! You abducted me!”

Completely ignoring the hysterical woman, Sullivan glanced at Ethan and murmured, “Speaking of abductions, the Karin girl's disappearance is all over the news.”

Deciding to deal with one crisis at a time, Ethan went over to the couch and addressed the woman, whose face was red with anger.

“Ms. Baronova, I need you to calm down,” he said in Russian. “You haven't been abducted. We brought you here for your own protection.”

That didn't placate her in the slightest. “I demand to call my husband! Give me back my phone right this second!”

“Hey, Juliet, get in here!” Ethan hollered in the direction of the corridor. His Russian was decent, but the Belarusian language was one he wasn't entirely fluent in. Juliet's Belarusian was a million times better than his, and he needed her, pronto, to explain the situation to the outraged Baronova.

Juliet appeared a moment later, with Anastacia Karin at her heels. Baronova's screams must have woken the girl up, and she looked scared and confused as she followed Juliet into the living room. Although Ethan had helped her wash up upon their arrival, splotches of dried blood were still caked to her face, which only made Alisa Baronova yell louder.

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God! You're Anastacia! I saw you on the news!” Gasping, Baronova shot to her feet, wobbling on her five-inch heels. “You people kidnapped this girl!”

To Ethan's surprise, it wasn't Juliet who interjected, but the fifteen-year-old girl who'd witnessed a man get shot today.

“Someone tried to kill me.” Anastacia's voice cracked. “These people saved me. And if they brought you here, that means you're in danger too.”

Baronova's cheeks paled. “What?” She swiveled her head to Ethan. “I demand to know what's going on.”

Juliet spoke up, cool as a cucumber as she informed the older woman that somebody had hired a hit man to kill her. Baronova grew even paler, eyes as wide as saucers.

“You're wrong,” the woman protested when Juliet mentioned the car bombings from earlier in the year. “That was the People's Revolutionary Front. They bragged about it on television.”

“They may have been responsible, yes, but that doesn't change the fact that we found a list with your name on it in the hands of a ruthless assassin.”

That shut Baronova right up. She fell silent for several moments, bringing one long fingernail to her lips and chewing on it like it was a carrot.

Ethan shot Juliet a grateful look before glancing at Anastacia. “How are you feeling?” he asked the teen.

“Scared,” she said frankly. Then she hesitated. “Can I call my father?”

“Not yet. We have to assume that your families are being watched, and their communication devices are most likely tapped. We're going to keep the two of you here until we can neutralize the threat to your lives.”

Baronova's head flew up in alarm. “For how long? And you still haven't told us who you people are!”

“We're special operatives trained to deal with these types of situations,” Juliet said smoothly.

Ethan hid a grin.

“Do you speak English?” she asked Baronova.

“Yes, I speak it.” The woman responded in English, but with a thick European accent.

“Good, because these boys over here speak appalling Russian. Anyway, let's get the introductions out of the way. I'm Juliet. That's Ethan. Blondie over there is Sullivan, and Liam is the one who looks like a male model.”

Baronova's gaze lingered on Liam as if she were noticing his appearance for the first time. When she realized that the man was indeed pretty enough to grace the cover of
GQ
, her entire demeanor changed. Suddenly she was smiling prettily and staring at Liam with visible approval in her eyes.

“So, he will be keeping me safe?” she said thoughtfully. “Liam, you said?”

“At your service.” Although Macgregor's tone was light, Ethan could tell the man was irritated as hell. And he was slowly edging away, as if getting ready to bolt.

Ethan didn't blame the guy. If Alisa Baronova had been looking at
him
like she wanted to devour him whole, he'd probably feel like running too. But their plan could only be aided by the woman's cooperation, so if Liam's good looks kept her calm, Ethan would take advantage of it.

“Liam will be your personal guard,” he told the enamored woman, ignoring Liam's glare. “And I promise you”—he included Anastacia in the address—“you'll be able to call your families the moment we determine it's safe.”

As the two females noticeably relaxed, Ethan turned to Sullivan and said, “We picked up some supplies on the way. Can you see about fixing these ladies up with something to eat and drink?”

Sullivan nodded. “I'm on it.”

Ethan looked to Juliet next. “Can we talk alone?”

With a nod, she followed him into the bedroom, where he immediately closed the door behind them and rubbed the bridge of his nose. The headache had finally arrived, a dull throb in his temples that made it difficult to concentrate.

“Did you talk to Noelle?” he asked Juliet.

“Yep. She's making a few calls. She said she'll get back to me as soon as she can.”

“She and D are doing okay with Kozlov?”

“Yeah. Kozlov and his girlfriend are back at their hotel for the night. Noelle planted a mic in their room, and she and D are right down the hall if anything goes down. She said Kozlov's other tails are positioned outside at the front and rear of the place.”

Ethan massaged his temples. “What are the chances of Noelle getting us close to Mironov?”

“Good, I think. She didn't seem at all daunted by the task, which leads me to believe she has a way to contact him.”

He kept rubbing his head, trying to remember what else he'd needed to ask her.

Juliet strode over and intercepted his hands. “You okay?” she said suspiciously.

“Massive headache,” he muttered.

“Aw, poor baby. C'mere.”

Before he could blink, she was leading him toward the bed. If he weren't so goddamn tired, he wouldn't have allowed her to push him down on the mattress. As it was, he capitulated, stretching out on his back while Juliet settled on her knees beside him, her dark hair falling over one shoulder like a chocolate curtain.

When she brought her thumbs to his temples and began kneading gently, he couldn't help but moan. “Fuck, that feels good.”

“You need to get some sleep.”

“Nah. I can go for days without sleep. Just grab me a few ibuprofen from the med kit and I'll be fine.”

“You're really gonna get all macho on me? Just take a twenty-minute catnap, for Pete's sake.”

His lips twitched. “What's with the Florence Nightingale routine? Since when do you care whether I'm well rested?”

“Because you're going to help me kill Dmitry Orlov. I need you in tip-top shape for that.”

“Uh-huh. Right. You only care when it benefits you. You're selfish, motivated by self-preservation, and totally uninterested in forming attachments. Isn't that right?”

“Yep.”

He rolled his eyes. “I won't even bother calling bullshit. Sooner or later you'll drop the fuck-the-rest-of-the-world act and admit that you actually have a heart.”

“I doubt it.” She continued to rub his temples, but her body language became awkward. “I heard you, by the way.”

“Heard what?”

“What you said to the boys. I think it was something along the lines of, ‘Touch her and you're dead.'”

He supposed he could have pretended to look contrite, but he didn't bother. Juliet would see right through it anyway.

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Well, as sexy as I find the whole staking-a-claim thing, we need to be clear about something, rookie.” Her gaze locked with his. “One blow job doesn't make us an item. And neither will sex—I won't even try to act like we're not going to have sex, because that train left the station a long time ago. But when we do it, it's not going to be deep and meaningful, and it definitely won't be the start of anything long-term. It'll just be sex, and then we'll wrap up this job and go our separate ways.”

“No, we won't.”

Aggravation flashed in her eyes. “Yes. We will. I don't do relationships.”

He slowly rose so they were sitting face-to-face. “You will with me.”

Her laughter was tinged with disbelief. “You're a cocky bastard, aren't you?”

“No, I'm just a man who knows what he wants.” He reached out and stroked her silky cheek with his thumb.

“You can want all you like, but you're still not getting your way. This is going to be fucking, pure and simple. We are going to fuck. We'll probably fuck a lot. And then I'm walking away.”

He knew she was being purposely crude in an attempt to scare him off, but it only succeeded in steeling his resolve. People thought he was Mr. Nice Guy, a man you could stomp all over if you felt like it, a man who'd end up with a sweet, docile bride who would pop out his rug rats and worship the ground he walked on.