by Geri Krotow
Tentative, feather-like touches to her lips with his tongue made her mouth tingle and sent the sensation down her throat, deep into her core. The warm, insistent pulse between her legs let her know that this wasn’t a chaste, conciliatory gesture. On either of their parts.
“Kit.” He spoke against her mouth, giving her a chance to pull back. Kit wrapped her hands around his neck and tugged his face closer, standing on tiptoe to press her mouth firmly against his. When she opened her mouth, he groaned and his hands reached around her waist, pulling her in close by pressing on her lower back. The throbbing in her most private parts turned into an all-out need.
Her gasp escaped the kiss, and Luther’s head lifted. It took all of her willpower to not cry out at the loss of his heat, the sheer pleasure of this moment, more powerful than anything she’d ever experienced with a man before.
“Kit.” He crushed her head to his chest, and they stood together in the forest, their breathing uneven and audible as snow fell around them.
Kit didn’t know what to do. She’d had plenty of training from her ex in how to sexually please a man, but she’d never had to be concerned about her own response. With Vadim she’d done what she’d had to, putting her satisfaction on the back burner. Even in the midst of the worst days with her ex, she’d retained enough self-respect to not look for sexual release with him. He was a pig, pure and simple.
Luther was everything Vadim could never be. Which made him all the more dangerous, because in one short kiss Luther had made her more vulnerable than ever.
Chapter 11
Luther took the few moments he needed to get his thoughts back in order after kissing Kit.
What the heck was wrong with him? He never, ever veered from his mission plan. Kit wasn’t a seasoned undercover colleague who had no problem with a quick fling. With her, the stakes were high. Kissing her hadn’t been on the table. He’d told himself as much before he walked out of the cabin.
The pressure of her hands on his chest snapped him back to cold reality, and he let his arms drop from where they’d held her tight. Kit’s face was beet red, and she looked like a kid who’d stolen the last cookie from the jar. Guilt tore at him, knowing he’d somehow made her feel embarrassed about her response to him.
“Kit, let me apologize. I crossed way too many boundaries here.”
She met his gaze with clear eyes that sparked with the vitality he’d noticed in Colt’s office. “Yeah, I’d say our professional boundaries are about three miles back, over your left shoulder.” Her sardonic smile was like a mirror—he’d given this same kind of response to other women. But Kit was the woman and he was the guy. He had experience, life lessons about intimate relationships she’d yet to explore.
And yet she was treating him like he was the ingenue.
“It won’t happen again.” The words were automatic, and he fought to ignore the erection that didn’t comprehend the meaning of mission first. “You shared some deep memories with me, and I don’t want you to think I was taking advantage of your vulnerability.”
“My vulnerability?” She shook her head like he was a beginner in the game of life. “Luther, my vulnerability ended the day I decided to get out of my slave-marriage with Vadim. I haven’t gone through years—yes, years—of counseling and medical therapy to not know the difference between sharing an intimacy with you and being weak or naive. Trust me, you didn’t take advantage of me. In fact, how do you know I wasn’t using you to get what I need?”
“Wh-what you need?”
“Yeah. Just as I thought.” She shook her head. “Women have needs, too. We’re out here in this godforsaken place with nothing to do but track down the bad guys, except the bad guy hasn’t shown yet, and probably won’t until Saturday or Sunday. Did it ever occur to you that I’m just as able as you are to have a no-strings relationship?” Her spine had to be made of steel and he felt himself losing purchase, falling for the very woman he couldn’t. Kit needed more than he could ever giver her, deserved more.
“Except we both agree that we can’t do this. Not during this op. And...and how do you know that I have no-strings hookups?”
She guffawed. “Please. You’re still single at thirty-one—you’re undercover most of the time. How else are you going to get much-needed physical release?”
He stared at her, a quick response on his tongue, but despite her candid talk, he couldn’t shake the need to use his manners around her. He couldn’t bring himself to explain, in succinct detail, how he took care of his “needs” when lacking a woman to share themwith.
But Kit already knew, he had no doubt.
* * *
The large sprawling prison complex stamped a grim snarl on the rolling hills of Northern Pennsylvania. Mishka lowered his visor against the sun as it glinted off the concertina wire, coiled on top of the eighteen-foot barbed wire fencing. He reminded himself that there was no busting his father out of here. Markova’s escape from county jail last year had been an anomaly that would be impossible to repeat. Vadim could have gotten out of the county jail, maybe, with a lot of help from ROC or at least a couple of very expensive lawyers.
But not after his trial, not from this fortress.
The federal prison facility was going to be Vadim’s home for the rest of his quality years. His sentence had been for twenty-five years to life, but even if he came up for parole in fifteen years, he’d be an octogenarian. Mishka didn’t think his father was going to make it that long. He’d never been one to take care of himself in the first place, and prison living hit him especially hard.
Mishka showed the requisite identification and went through several checkpoints before being led to a utilitarian area that had a dozen or so tables scattered with visiting family members. Picking a table farthest from an occupied one, he slinked into a cold plastic orange chair and waited for Vadim to be led in.
The man whom the guards released into the reception room was a shadow of the ROC operative who’d kept an iron fist on Silver Valley just a couple years ago. Gaunt and unshaven, Vadim’s dull gaze lit up when he recognized Mishka.
“Son!” The guard placed him in the chair across from Mishka. Mishka knew the rules—no touching, no hugging, not even a handshake. He knew that the average American wouldn’t understand, but in their Russian culture, the custom of three cheek kisses, followed by a bear hug, was central to the expression of affection.
“Dad.” He hoped just being here would cheer the bastard up. Not that he cared that deeply, as Vadim had been as tough on him as he’d been on Kit. But it was hard not to have compassion for the broken man who sat across from him. “I brought you some treats—the guards will get them to you.”
“They didn’t give me the vodka last time.”
Mishka swore. “I brought enough for a New Year’s party.”
Vadim shrugged. “The staff had the party, not me, and certainly none of the other inmates.”
“Are you doing okay, considering?”
“I’m stuck in this hellhole until my dying breath. How do you think I’m doing?”
“I haven’t found Ivanov yet, but I will.”
At this, the light in Vadim’s gaze returned, reminding Mishka of how tough the man was. “Damn right you will. We need him to bring in the big guns and get me out of here.”
“Dad, you know I want that more than anyone. But even the best lawyers might not be able to help you with your time.”
“They will. ROC always wins.”
Mishka bit back the reply that Vadim wouldn’t listen to, anyhow. Ivanov wasn’t winning at the moment. Not if no one in ROC knew where he was.
“No one has seen Ivanov in months, Dad. They think Markova is with him, but he may have killed her by now.”
“Why would he kill his best agent?” Vadim rubbed his stubble jaw. “No, you mark my words, Markova is still here, and she’s the key to Ivanov’s survival.”
“Why do you think that?” This was the first Mishka had heard of this. The word amongst lower-level ROC workers like him was that Markova had stolen funds from Ivanov that left the East Coast ROC frozen, hurting for cash flow.
“Markova is the most violent, lethal agent ever seen outside of Russia. She escaped the FSB and used the oligarchs to protect her—several of them are tied into New York ROC.”
“So?”
“You are too American, Mishka. You only know the stories of KGB and FSB. You never saw how effective, how brutal they are when it comes to business.” Vadim emphasized brutal so strongly that his spittle hit Mishka’s lips. “Markova is the one with the power now, not Ivanov. Find her, let her know you’re obedient to her, and you’ll have whatever we need to get me out of here.”
“She escaped from prison, that’s certain.” Mishka had been as stunned as noncriminals when the reports of how she’d smuggled heroin laced with fentanyl into the county prison and had made sure the packets had fentanyl on the outside of the plastic wrapping. The drug had entered the guard’s systems through skin contact and disabled an entire shift in a matter of minutes. Markova had used the window to escape and she was still on the run, after attempting murder and conducting random thefts for petty cash.
“She’s the one you need to find, my son, not Ivanov. Although he’ll be with her, it’s true. He has no choice.”
“Do you have any idea where they are, Dad?” He knew his father still had sources both inside and outside who kept him informed. Mishka had a rough time getting anything out of anyone in ROC anymore. Since Vadim went to jail, it was as if the ROC on the outside didn’t trust Mishka anymore.
“I might. But you have to be very, very careful. If Ivanov knows that you’ve discovered his one ultimate hideout, he’ll kill you on the spot. You’re going to have to get to Markova first, pledge your loyalty to her, not Ivanov. Remember this, Mishka.”
“I will.”
Over the next several minutes they talked about random everyday things. It was to throw the guards and listeners off their scent. They’d said nothing that LEA didn’t already know. Although Mishka doubted they had any clue about where Ivanov’s fort was. He’d have read about the ROC leader’s arrest or seen it on the news.
“It’s going to be open hunting season in a few days. Will you get a deer for the year like we used to?”
Mishka and his father had never hunted only for deer. This was his father’s code for letting him know he was about to give him the clues about Ivanov’s hideout.
“I hope so. It’s always much more economical than shopping for beef in the local grocery stores.”
Vadim laughed but it sounded like a snarl. “Remember when we took down the buck near the hunting village?”
Mishka knew this was the part he had to listen to. He leaned in and memorized everything Vadim told him. By the time he stood up to say goodbye to his father, he was certain he knew where Ivanov hid.
“Goodbye, Dad.”
“See you next month?” A guard held Vadim’s elbow, and his father’s pitiful expression made Mishka think for a nanosecond that the man had been dealt too harsh a hand. By the time he said so long and ambled out to the visitor parking lot, memories from when he’d been born thirty-nine years ago until now came flooding back.
He turned the key in his sleek sports coupe and headed for the highway. While he didn’t live in a prison and had a much softer bed than his father, Mishka had always felt like his heart was imprisoned. He’d never known his mother—she’d been Vadim’s only other wife besides Kit and had died shortly after his birth. Vadim told him to never ask about it. As a kid he’d thought it was because it was too sad to talk about. But once he realized he was part of the ROC, under his father, he learned the truth from another operative. Vadim had killed Mishka’s mother when he’d found out she’d had an affair with a local police officer. It’d been an unforgivable offense. Once married to ROC, you knew you’d die with them.
Vadim had gotten away with it because of his learned expertise in wiping out evidence. It was the hallmark of an ROC member.
Mishka used to hate Vadim for killing his mother. Even if she’d been a cheating bitch, she’d been the one to give him life. But now that he understood Kit was working with SVPD, he knew she was around men all the time. It would be natural for her to become involved with a police officer. Just like his mother.
He didn’t know who the man was who’d been in her apartment and he didn’t care. All that concerned him was that he hadn’t been successful in killing him. He’d had a contact watch her building the rest of that night and the next morning.
Kit had left with the man the next day. His contact hadn’t been able to follow them—the strange man had driven and had evaded the ROC man. Which made it pretty clear to Mishka that Kit was with a cop, but where?
He had to find her. Whatever she did for SVPD, it was probably about ROC, which right now meant it had to do with Ivanov and Markova, as the entire LEA community seemed to be after them. How many times in the last six months had he and his employees at the pawnshop been questioned, warned that if they had any contact with either Ivanov or Markova they were obligated to report it?
Mishka figured that wherever Ivanov was with Markova, Kit and the man were close by. Were they holed up in a tent, or in an unmarked police vehicle? Images of the jerk’s hands on Kit made Mishka’s blood boil.
Good thing his contact had managed to place GPS emitters on all the vehicles in the parking lot behind Kit’s apartment, and on the vehicles parked in the street in front of the building. It was a matter of time before they figured out which vehicle hadn’t come back and then traced it to where Kit was. He’d have her back in no time. And kill the police officer she was with.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel and he turned his music on. Heavy metal crashed through state-of-the-art speakers, crowding out his angry thoughts. But not enough to keep him from focusing on one thing.
Kit.
* * *
“Did Colt or Claudia have anything new?” Kit spoke to Luther from her laptop station next to the rack of comms equipment. They’d gotten back to work as soon as they’d returned, leaving the kiss and its aftermath on the trail.
After a few hours, Luther had gone outside and used an advanced piece of technology that was TH’s version of a burner phone, with a signal scrambler, to call in.
He took off his jacket and placed it on one of two hooks near the door. “Not specifically, no. We still don’t know where Ivanov is.”
“But?”
He paused, his mouth a thin line. “We have agents in place in the prison where Vadim is, up north. We know that he’s still in comms with some of the ROC operatives, including his son.”
“The federal prison, I know.” She took her headset all the way off. There had been no new movement on any of the contacts on her screen for the past hour. “It’s okay to bring Vadim up, Luther. It doesn’t turn me into a puddle.”
“Of course it doesn’t. But he can’t be your favorite topic.”
“If it helps us catch Ivanov and bring down ROC, it doesn’t matter how many times we have to talk about him.” Surprisingly, she wasn’t putting on a face for professional reasons. She meant it. “So what about my ex?” She didn’t have to say his name, though.
“He’s been visited most regularly by his son. They bribe the guards with vodka, but that’s standard. So far we have nothing extraordinary to report.” Luther’s concern vibrated off him, and she wanted to stand and put her hand on his arm, or his shoulder, but that wasn’t possible. Not if she wanted to avoid another embrace. Or more, if her body’s heated response to his presence was a precursor.
“Mishka has always been loyal to his father.” She spat the words, knowing that the same loyalty was probably all that had kept her from being raped by the man. Plus she suspected Mishka had
suffered at Vadim’s hands as a boy. Mishka, like her, had a healthy fear of his father.
“They are planning something. We’re not sure what, and there’s no way Vadim can ever expect to escape his sentence. A breakout is out of the question, and no lawyer will ever get him off early, on appeal. He’s truly locked up for life.”
“And?”
“That leaves Ivanov. Mishka was there today, at the prison, and the agent thinks that Vadim gave him a clue as to where Ivanov is.”
“So we wait for Mishka to go there, and then move in?”
“That’s just it. If our agent figured this out, there’s a good chance another ROC operative will also and let Ivanov know he’s being watched.”
“And he’ll run, disappear again.”
“Right.” Frustration etched deep lines on either side of Luther’s mouth. She’d turned the single bare bulb lamp on, and the woodstove had a glass front that gave off a decent glow that helped light the small single room.
“I’ve been up against tougher odds before, Luther, and have found the bad guy. Ivanov and Markova are bound to start talking at any point after the other hunters show up. As soon as they do, we’ll catch them.”
His brow rose. “Are you always this positive?”
“Annoying, isn’t it?” She gave him a grin, and was rewarded with an answering twinkle in his eyes. But his mouth remained downturned, the weight of their mission clearly affecting him.
“Hey, why don’t we take a break and get some dinner? You said you already cooked the turkey?”
He nodded. “I did.” Leaning down he flipped open one of the coolers and pulled out a large aluminum foil–wrapped tray. “I was going heat this up on the woodstove.”
“You—you weren’t kidding? You really made a turkey?”
“Why would I joke about Thanksgiving? I brought both sweet and mashed potatoes, too. They’d be too difficult to cook here and I didn’t want to settle for just one kind.”
Her mouth watered and her stomach rumbled. “I’ll help. Tell me what to do.”