To Russia With Love (Countermeasure Series) (18 page)

She shook her head, not willing to dwell on those details just yet. Her thoughts bounced to the latest test. Last night’s activities had been distasteful, but a necessary evil. Had she failed, she too would be floating in the river, dancing with the fish. She had prevailed, had pulled the trigger with no remorse. The bastard Sergei had taken her to interrogate had been a traitor, and doubly so. A traitor to the organization she was trying to infiltrate and a traitor to the organization she was accountable to.

Anatolii had recognized her while he had huddled on the concrete floor before her, a bloody pulp of a man after the beating and cutting Sergei had delivered. When she had stepped from the shadows to take her turn, she had seen recognition in Anatolii’s eyes as they bobbed from her to Sergei and back again. A sly look had invaded his narrowed calculating eyes, a gleam of revenge had filled them as he had squared his shoulders confidently—the scum had been about to rat her out.

Without hesitation, she had pulled the Heckler & Koch from the waistband at her back and swung her arm from behind her, shooting him dead center in the forehead. “Fuck!” Sergei had yelled. The weight of a hard right hook had smashed into her jaw, causing her head to snap back under the impact. She had fallen to the ground, barely conscious, but had steeled herself to face Sergei’s anger. “You fucking bitch! We needed him.”

Nikol had schooled her features and wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand before pushing herself up from the warehouse floor. She had glared at him maliciously as she casually holstered her gun at her waist. She had wiped her hand against her thigh, defiantly crossed her arms at her chest, and shrugged. “He bored me.”

Her tone had been neutral, masking the fury boiling inside her. It had taken a huge amount of control—a control she’d exercised and mastered over the years—to keep her from whipping out her gun again and wiping Sergei from existence.

A gleam of lust had flooded Sergei’s cold gray eyes. He had grabbed and jerked her into his arms. It had taken everything in her being not to react to that rough handling. His hands had harshly outlined the curves of her body encased in fatigues and a tight-knit turtleneck before palming her breast and squeezing it hard. He had buried his face at her neck and bit the tender flesh, murmuring, “I love a woman with a masochistic streak as wide as mine.”

The memory sent a shudder through Nikol’s entire being. His attentions had become more intense with each month she had been around him, but she was willing to put up with it for now. Let him think his actions thrilled her right up until the moment she put a bullet in his head. And she would. There was no question about it.

The blaring honk of a car pulled her back from her dark thoughts and she gathered the files, shoving them into her backpack. Nikol tossed a few notes on the table, pulled the hood of her jacket tight around her, and headed out for her appointment—a briefing with her superiors.

She knew they would hold her accountable for Anatolii’s death. At least until right about the time they read her complete report, which was already typed and waiting in her backpack to be handed off. It should be a short meeting.

Traitors and snitches weren’t tolerated, especially in post-Cold War Russia. Anatolii had been a first-class weasel responsible for the deaths of two of their best operatives in the past few years. Luckily, she had been able to identify the source of the leaks and take him out without compromising herself.

Walking briskly, Nikol cut through an alley and headed in the direction of the stone building located just a few blocks away on Suvorovsky Prospekt. She hated that building. Had hated it since her first day there. She followed procedure. Made sure she didn’t have a tail and then cut through another shadowy alley. One could never be too sure. Sergei was still weary of her and tried to trip her up at every opportunity.

The pungent stench of rotting garbage and sharp tang of urine invaded her nose. The tart aroma didn’t bother her anymore. It was life in the city—so different from the small-town farm living of her childhood. She reached a recessed door and glanced around before ducking through it.

The ringing of phones and the loud buzz of conversation assaulted her ears. Unwilling to walk through the maze of cubicles and by the dispatch desk, she fled to the stairwell and jogged up three flights, bursting through the door on the fourth floor. Shoving the hood from her head, Nikol moved through the desk-infested floor with hurried purpose, ignoring the snide remarks tossed her way. Names like “slut” and “bitch” followed in her wake. She didn’t care what they thought of her. The means didn’t matter. The end did. And she would get to the end she wanted.

When she reached her destination, she turned to the room at large and gave them all a one-finger salute as she entered the conference room.

“Petrovna. Sit.” Colonel General Stanislav Olegovich’s familiar voice was stern and cold.

On entering the room, she cleared all expression from her face—but that didn’t ease the pounding of her heart, which was beating loud in her ears. She unzipped her jacket and shrugged her backpack from her shoulder as she approached the chair positioned in front of the long table behind which three men sat motionless. That routine was getting old. Had she been a man, she wouldn’t have been called before the inquisition.

She saluted them and took the appointed seat, setting the backpack at her feet. Back straight and hands folded respectfully in her lap, she waited. The three men were silent.

The Colonel General had his eyes buried in a file and didn’t bother diverting his gaze from it on account of her arrival. The second man, senior police officer Eduard Alexandrovich, refused to look her in the eyes, as if by doing so her darkness would contaminate his soul. However, the third, Grigori Maximka, had no such affliction. His eyes bore into her like a laser-guided missile. Nikol squared her shoulders, held his gaze, and sneered. After a while, he averted his gaze. She almost chuckled inside.
Wimp.

Nikol glanced at her watch. Time was slipping by and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—be late for her next meeting. The silence in the room was thick, cut only by the sound of the shuffling papers. She grew weary of waiting. The Colonel General must have sensed her agitation, for he looked up from the papers with profound irritation coloring his stare.

“Explain yourself,” the Colonel General frowned at her.

“Sir?”

“The body of Anatolii Svyatoslavovich was pulled from the river early this morning. Informants fingered you and Deminov.”

Maximka jumped to his feet, planting his hands on the table as he leaned forward and darted her with his words. “You are not fit for this job. You let a comrade die!”

“Sit down, Grigori.” The Colonel General turned his head to her. “Report.”

Nikol relaxed her body back against the chair and spoke without remorse. “He was a traitor. The bastard was responsible for the deaths of Taras and Semyon. He compromised their cover. His leaks were the reason they were killed.”

“This is ridiculous,” senior police officer Alexandrovich scoffed. “He was a stellar detective. An honorable man.”

Nikol pinned him with her stare. “Not only did he rob from the mob, but he was about to compromise my own position within the operation to save his neck. He was a greedy bastard. A corrupt one.”

She reached into her pack, pulled out her report, and tossed it on the table. “It’s all there. I shot him. He was about to seal my death warrant. I couldn’t let that happen. My role within the secret service is more important than his life ever was.”

Senior police officer Alexandrovich dragged the file to him, glanced over it, and slid it to the Colonel General. Maximka sputtered. “I don’t believe you. You are a rogue who needs to be put down. You’re a turncoat. You don’t work for us. You are cold-blooded killer and the mob’s bitch.”

A flush crept up Nikol’s neck at the accusations flung in her face. With extreme control, she stood, crossed to the table, and splayed her hands on it, leaning until her face was inches from his.

Her voice was low and she smiled smoothly, hiding her rage. “You can call me a cold-blooded killer, but my actions have been for the success of this mission. You are the ones who put me in this position. I walk with death every waking moment, while you sit on your bureaucratic ass in your safe, puny office.” She fought her own battle for restraint as Maximka’s jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. She leaned in closer until they almost touched nose to nose. She could see the accelerated pulse on his neck and dilated pupils. Fear.
Perfect
. She couldn’t stop herself from whispering humorously, “You’re soft. You would never last in the world you have assigned me to.”

“Take your seat, Petrovna.” Nikol’s head snapped at the Colonel General’s directive and she backed away from the table with hands out before her.

“My deepest regrets, sir.” A quirk of a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth and disappeared just as quickly.

She turned to her chair, but, instead of sitting, grabbed her backpack and shrugged it on. “You have my report. It’s all there.” She eyed them dryly.

“We are not finished with you, Petrovna,” Maximka bit out, frustration seeping from his every word.

“Oh, but you are.” Her attention focused on the Colonel General. “I’m late for an interview with Mikhailov.” A smug expression overtook her face. “We’re there, sir. By this evening, I’ll be a member of the inner sanctum.” Nikol turned on her heel and strode to the door. With her hand on the doorknob, she turned back to the room and saluted her superiors. “It has been a pleasure.”

Once back in the hall, she skirted the room and ducked into the stairwell. Flying down the stairs, she burst into the alley and back out onto the busy city streets. She mingled with the passersby as her thoughts focused on the upcoming meeting, wondering what she would be up against.
Let the games begin.

Old Connections

C
ASSANDRA’S THOUGHTS SPUN AS SHE sat at the kitchen counter chewing on the end of the highlighter in her hand. A map of St. Petersburg lay open on the counter, several suitable apartments, hotels, and suites now marked on the grid. They had to finalize their plans regarding the location for their base of operations in Russia.

She looked out the window and soon lost focus as her thoughts pulled inward, marveling at how stressed she was—a new feeling for her. She was compelled to ensure the location they chose was the best choice from a strategic standpoint. If not, considering who they were dealing with, their lives could be endangered—and that was not a risk she was willing to take.

Returning her gaze to the printouts, she ran down the list of apartments and amenities, color-coding them with highlighters based on strict criteria. Once that task was completed, she opened her notebook and checked the to-do list she had created earlier. Next in line: CIA central and her buddies to see if there was a safe house in the vicinity they could use for back up.

Trevor climbed the stairs to the main level, wiping the sweat from his face. He had just spent the last couple of hours completing the workout routine Cassandra had spec’d for him. The workout was grueling, but he enjoyed the results. Catching sight of Cassandra in the same position he had left her in—at the counter with printouts spread all over the place—he observed that the frown of concentration marring her face had grown deeper.

“How’s it going? Any luck?” Popping a quick kiss on her lips, he walked by her to the refrigerator for a glass of water.

She looked up from her papers. “Have some possible good choices for apartments. I’ll list the ones I feel are the best options so we can look them over later.”

“Whatever you see as the best choice is my choice. You’re the expert strategist here, remember? I’m just the geek.” He grinned and Cassandra chuckled as he quenched his thirst in big gulps. “Any news on the visas?”

She nodded and proceeded automatically with her military-style report. Another ingrained reaction. Cassandra had been raised, by her father, an ex-Navy Seal, under strict military code, and would quite possibly never lose the stiff habits developed during her upbringing; but Trevor was sure as hell doing his best to change that.

“Our passports should be here by tomorrow.”

He approached her from behind, spun her around on the stool to face him, and kissed her deeply. When he broke from the kiss, she frowned. “What was that for?”

“Just wanted to know what military speak tasted like,” he chuckled, releasing her abruptly and walking swiftly toward the stairs. He was in dire need of a shower and he knew it. “You’re welcome to join me in the shower if you like, milady,” he smiled wickedly at her as he jogged up.

Cassandra’s head reeled from his kiss. She shook it, grinning at the sound of him thumping up the stairs. His unexpected kiss had left her mouth dry. No way would she be joining him. She knew fully well where that would lead, and she had phone calls to make. Phone calls she preferred to make on her own. She had a backup plan in mind that she needed to set in motion, but for that she would require Nathan’s help. Cassandra gathered the printouts, her notebook, and a glass of iced tea, and carried everything upstairs to the office.