by Geri Krotow
“That sounds...cozy.” He removed the bedding and dumped it on the sofa next to where she sat. “The microwave is over there because it’s plugged in to the only other outlet.”
“You could use this tray for it—I can operate the laptop on—”
“Your lap?” A silly play on words yet it made her giggle as if he’d pulled a dozen balloons from his pocket.
“Yes, my lap.” She noted the various markers on the screen hadn’t moved since she’d launched the tracking software. “This could be a long night.”
“You can put an alert on your computer so that it’ll wake you with any new activity, right?”
“I can, and will, when it’s time to sleep. But I like to get a feel for what I’m up against when I work these kinds of ops.”
“Claudia mentioned that you have your own way of doing things.”
“Did she? As in, I’m not as well trained as all of you who served in the military, or worked for FBI or CIA before you came to Trail Hikers?”
“No, not at all. She said you’re the best we have against ROC, that it’s to your benefit that you never served. You overlook nothing, don’t assume something’s not worth your time.”
She snorted. “I admire Claudia, and I’m grateful to work for both SVPD and TH, but she’s a little too generous with her praise at times. I know I’m capable, but I can’t hold a candle to someone who’s worked in intelligence or cryptology, from a global perspective.”
He emptied something in a plastic container into one of the two pots she saw near the portable stove. “Ah, but just like politics, big crime usually gets taken down at the local level.”
“What? I don’t get it.”
“They say political action, what’s important, happens at the local level first. Higher-level politics can sway one way or the other, but your life will be most affected by what’s going on in your small part of the world. In your case, Silver Valley Township.”
“I get that. I pay income tax to the township, and expect my garbage and recycling to be taken care of, the street and lots I have to park on cleared when it snows, that kind of thing. Is that what you mean?”
“Yes. And don’t forget who gets voted in at the township council level picks the Chief of Police. The County Sheriff gets elected. So your safety hinges on local politics.”
She let her gaze rest on him. There was more to this undercover agent than his good looks, practical knowledge and lethal capabilities as evidenced by the array of weapons she’d watched him unload and set up. He looked up from stirring the mystery meal in the pan. “What?”
“I wouldn’t expect you to be thinking about things like this—you’re an operative.”
He paused, and she wondered if it was from her words, or if maybe Luther had more he wanted to say but didn’t know her well enough to share yet. “There’s more to life than law enforcement.”
“You’re in a lot deeper than the average LEA officer, Luther.”
“So are you. Which brings me back to you not accepting well-deserved praise. Claudia’s not one to be effusive about anything. If she says you’re the best, you are. It’s not really about what you think or your insecurities.”
Heat shot up her throat and she placed the laptop on the cushion and stood up. “I’m not insecure about my skills. I meant that I don’t have anything to compare them to, whereas someone who’s been in a war or other situation would be able to bring that to bear on a TH mission.”
“Fair enough. But my other point, about crime being local, stands.”
She crossed her arms in front of her and nodded. “I get it. Ivanov brought his ROC headquarters, or hoped to bring it, to Silver Valley. It affected the town like nothing else ever has, really. Sure, the opioid epidemic had already brought heroin here, but it ramped up to a level that necessitated an entire new hospital and trauma center being built. And he’s brought in some ugly characters, including my ex. Yeah, it’s local.”
He didn’t reply as he measured rice and water into the second pot.
“Can I help, with dinner?”
“No, not tonight. If we’re here for longer than we expect, we’ll trade off.”
“You’re taking a bigger chance on my cooking than my ability to do my comms work.” She worked as she spoke, sneaking glances at his backside. Luther had broad shoulders that tapered to buttocks that she was certain his hiking trousers only hinted at.
“I do all I can to avoid chances in the field. I’m willing to take a risk on your kitchen skills.”
He looked over his shoulder and smiled at her, nothing more than collegial agreement. Certainly not flirtatious. A warmth spread from her heart to her entire body, infusing her with a sense of well-being. And intense desire.
Kit looked down at her screen, breaking the moment. She’d worried that her test this mission would be managing her anxiety and stress levels, preventing an unwelcome PTSD flashback. Instead, she saw the next hours and days with Luther as a way to learn new tactics. How to keep her heart safe as she grew to know this multilayered man.
And how to keep it all professional, sexual needs safely tucked away until she was in a more appropriate setting with a man she didn’t have to worry about being taken from her with each op.
Great. She was already concerned about losing Luther to his work.
For once she was grateful for ROC and her mission to help take them down. It was a legitimate distraction that would keep her from making a huge mistake.
Falling for Luther.
* * *
Markova watched Ivanov walk off from the mountain house they’d been holed up in on and off for the last several days. She needed time alone to think about what he was up to.
There was no question he wanted this meeting with what remained of East Coast ROC, his last-ditch effort to regain his throne. He relied on her for funds, and she relied on him to make the meeting happen. No way would the remaining bosses meet with her. She was persona non grata after stealing the IDs and passwords for all of Ivanov’s overseas accounts. No matter that the authorities now had all but one of the accounts’ security data, the one she’d kept on her person, and hadn’t buried. There had to be at least one or two ROC accounts she wasn’t aware of, however, or ROC would have ground to a halt after US LEA seized the lists she’d stolen.
Markova wanted, needed to become the ROC boss, just for a short time. But she couldn’t do it without the man who posed the greatest threat to her plan—Ivanov. Not for one minute did she believe he didn’t intend to kill her after the meeting. Either he’d be the number one again, or he’d make an escape back to New York, maybe even Russia if the FBI got too close for comfort.
When he’d made her his captive and took her on the run with him, they’d had to leave Pennsylvania and the East Coast completely for a short while, and she had to keep up the ruse that she would give him the codes to imaginary remaining offshore accounts. Since they’d come back to Pennsylvania, he’d been cagey. She’d assured him that she’d already transferred the money to several separate banks in many different countries, via a dark network of digital money laundering. That part was true. What she hadn’t told him was that she’d combined all of the funds by depositing them into one American account, in her future assumed name. The new identity she’d planned to take when she left ROC, which was still her total focus.
Except it wasn’t going according to her preferred timeline. She couldn’t escape into her new life even if Ivanov was dead, because LEA was all over ROC at the moment, as if they had nothing else to do but take down this particular crime organization. Ideally, she’d fake her own death, to ROC and US LEA.
Ivanov’s latest habit of taking phone calls on the burner phones made her nervous because it meant he was in contact with, and vulnerable to, influence from another ROC operative. She needed to maintain her manipulation of him by being his single source of comfort and rea
ssurance.
Her other concern was that he increased their chances of being found by LEA with each phone call. She’d escaped from prison once; authorities wouldn’t be so stupid a second time. Ludmilla Markova knew that if she went back to prison it would be maximum security, for life. She’d rather be dead.
Ivanov abruptly turned from the bunch of trees where he’d leaned against one and spoke, his breath puffing out in white against the dark bark. She stepped away from the window and went to the kitchen area.
His footsteps made hardly a sound on the wooden deck before he opened the door and stepped inside. Ivanov had aged; the alcoholism had ruined his liver, but in his midsixties he was as lethally diabolical as ever. She’d found that out when he’d taken her captive in the headstone factory during a shoot-out with local LEA. Markova knew she was lucky she’d convinced him she was still on his side and hadn’t meant to try to usurp his authority in ROC. A lie, all of it, but he’d believed her.
“You making us a meal?” His gruff words were heavily laced with his Russian accent. He’d never shaken it, which she supposed didn’t matter since he was the head of East Coast ROC. Or had been, until it looked like he’d taken all the funds and absconded with them. The higher-ups still didn’t trust him.
“Starting it.” She pulled beets and cut venison out of the refrigerator. They’d happened upon an Amish farm stand, a boon as it kept them from going into a regular grocery store and increasing their chances of being spotted on a security camera.
Ivanov still had his appetite for authentic borscht, which she’d learned at the elbow of her babushka. Her mother had been too busy working on the Communist Party committee she belonged to. Part of keeping Ivanov in her pocket was keeping him happy with food. As much as she resented using the gift of her babushka’s recipe on him, she’d do whatever it took. It had gotten her this far.
“We’re stuck here through this weekend. The American holiday of turkey.” He spoke as if telling her a piece of news, shucking off his jacket.
“We expected that. We’re here until we know where to meet the group.” Waiting to make sure he was seated and looking a little more relaxed, she chopped the beets. The bloody red juice stained the worn wooden counter and seeped into the lines on her hands. How many people’s blood was on her hands, invisible to anyone but her?
“Who were you talking to, Dima?”
“My son.”
Her spine stiffened. Ivanov’s son Vlad was known for his particularly cruel torture methods. Vlad was efficient and got the business of running a criminal organization done with little to no fanfare, but Markova never trusted him. She had a gut feeling that Vlad wanted his father’s position and would stop at nothing to achieve it. It was prudent to consider him as much of a stumbling block to her attaining power over ROC as Ivanov.
If Ivanov was talking to Vlad, the chances of him trying to kill her were increased. She was working him, establishing the bonds that were needed to execute her final plan of escape and freedom from all she’d ever known in FSB and ROC. Her stomach tightened at what poison against her Vlad had planted in his father’s psyche.
Of course, her FSB training had taught her to not rely on gut instinct as much as the facts. But the facts validated her intuition when it came to Vlad Ivanov.
“Don’t look so grim as you make the borscht.” Ivanov walked near her and made himself a cup of tea. “You’ll spoil it.” His old-world superstitions surprised her, as she knew he’d come to the US as a young adult. Apparently it had been too old to shed the peasant thinking.
“You’re almost out of your buckwheat honey.” There hadn’t been any at the roadside stand. She’d had to pretend to be an interested customer as she filled up a small basket with root vegetables and other produce staples. The Amish family didn’t bat an eye at her all-black clothing, and seemed excited to have customers this close to the holiday.
“You’ll find me more, I’m sure.”
Goose bumps ran down her forearms, and Markova wasn’t frightened by much. Ivanov’s words, spoken like a threat, confirmed that Vlad had told him to remain on guard around her, to make sure she understood he was in charge, not her.
If only she could take the butcher knife and kill him right now. But that would only lead to being chased for the rest of her life. She didn’t have the time, money or other resources to stage her own death at the moment. And she didn’t want to have to look over her shoulder for the rest of her years, for either ROC or American LEA.
Patience had been a key skill learned during her FSB training.
Markova continued to slice the beets, relishing the weight of the knife in her hand. Soon, with persistence and a bit of luck, she’d be free. But not yet. She could put up with this ruse for the time being.
Chapter 10
Kit stared at the contact she was listening to over headphones. It appeared as a dot on the laptop’s screen, and it was a woman’s voice. It could be Markova. Whoever it was spoke English with no discernible accent, and they were talking about getting the big feast ready for later tonight. Since it was now Thursday, it made sense. It could be just another hunter, though.
A hand grasped her shoulder and she jumped. It wasn’t from surprise, as she’d seen Luther’s shadow on the screen as he walked up behind her. Her startle reflex was a result of the warmth of his hand radiating through her merino sweater and long underwear, reaching across her chest and then up her throat and onto her face.
The man was an enigma to her. She wrenched off her headphones.
“I’m listening here.” His eyes widened and he took a step back, holding his hands up in a surrender position. The exaggerated action made her laugh, and she realized how shrill her words were.
“Sorry. I go into another place when I’m working.”
“I can see that. I’m the one who’s sorry—do you have something we can use?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. It’s difficult to find a contact we can build a search net around, as I’m sure you know. And right now I’m only intercepting people who seem to want to get drugs delivered in time for their Thanksgiving dinner tonight.” Kit waved her hand at the screen. “I’m hoping it’s like you said—we won’t have a chance to find Ivanov and Markova until the hunters head out for opening day.”
“Right. They’re not going to feel comfortable talking, even on burners, until they are sure they’re part of a cluster of comms.”
“I did catch the end of a conversation that was in Russian, but I didn’t recognize the voices and all they were talking about was buying an expensive purebred guard dog.”
“That could be Ivanov.”
“Maybe, but the contact never appeared on my screen. I heard it and by the time I started searching, it disappeared.”
“ROC likes to use obtuse code when they’re talking, especially if they’re not using any kind of encryption.”
Her hackles went up. “Um, I’m aware of that.” She was an unsworn, not incompetent.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to question your abilities.”
“Then don’t.” She saw his brow raise but ignored it. People-pleasing was something she left behind with the woman who’d been a victim of her ex’s abuse.
“Why don’t you take a break?”
“Don’t you need one, too?” As soon as the words slipped out, she felt her face flush. “Wait, I’m sorry. It’s none of my business what you do with your time. I’m here to support your ops, period.”
Luther surprised her by laughing, a deep belly laugh that had a greater effect on her than watching a sexy actor in a love scene. “I’d be wondering what I was doing too, if I were you. You’ve been at it since you woke up this morning, and it probably looks like I’m not doing much but walking outside every so often.”
She stood and stretched, her hips complaining with audible pops.
“Is that your back?”
&nbs
p; “No, my hips. I sit a lot in this job and they get tight. Exercise helps. I swim a couple of times a week.”
“I like to swim, too, but I prefer surfboarding.”
“Really? I peg you as more of a bodybuilding type.” She looked at him, saw how the muscles fought against the shirt he wore, how his thighs filled out his camouflage hunting pants. And they were supposed to be loose fitting. Saliva filled her mouth and she looked away, desperate for something else to rest her gaze on. The window with short frilly curtains caught her eye. “I could use a walk.”
“Fine, but you can’t go out there alone. I’ll stay behind if you want me to, by several strides, but you’re unprotected out here.”
She eyed the gun he lifted, watched as he checked the chamber. “I’m not allowed to fire a weapon in the line of duty, but I know how to use one.”
“Firing a handgun isn’t the same as using a high-power weapon against a superbly trained ROC operative.”
“When I was married...to my ex...” She trailed off, her chest suddenly tight. Breathe. In. Out. “I had to do something to feel like I was in control. The yarn shop, downtown, was a good escape for me, as was taking classes at HACC.” At his blank expression she elaborated. “Harrisburg Area Community College. It’s how I got my certification to work as an unsworn at SVPD so quickly, and why Claudia okayed me to be part of TH. Plus, the fact that I’d learned to fire every type of weapon Vadim owned, on my own without him knowing, didn’t hurt.” She offered him a wide grin.
Luther didn’t smile back. “I’m going to wave the bs flag on that one, Kit. Claudia and Colt don’t hire anyone unless they’re highly qualified. Your language abilities are top-notch.”
“I won’t argue that.” She wasn’t full of conceit or arrogance—she was grounded in a place of truth, of solid self-esteem that she didn’t have before she’d divorced Vadim. “But this job also requires a thorough knowledge of law enforcement and criminal justice. I loved learning about it all from the minute I began, five years ago. Way before I ever dared to hope I’d escape Vadim or his dealings with ROC.” It was before she knew she’d be able to do it and come out alive. Something she wasn’t ready to share with Luther.