by Elle James
“Does she know why I’m here?” he asked.
Charley didn’t respond.
Great. He didn’t know if this Natalya woman was another one of Charley’s agents or if he was supposed to pretend to be a male escort. How he was supposed to keep an eye on the Russians while entertaining a translator was a mystery to him. With the Russians in his peripheral vision, he moved toward the redhead in the green dress.
As they converged on the floor of the reception hall, she held out her hands. “Ah, yes. You must be Daniel Rayne. I was told to expect a handsome man as my escort this evening.”
“You must be Natalya.” He took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the backs of her knuckles. The name she’d addressed him by was the one on the fake passport he’d received in his packet from Charley.
She arched a perfect eyebrow. “You’re American?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
She spoke perfect Queen’s English with only a slight Russian accent. The fine lines around her eyes and mouth were a subtle indication of her age. She had to be in her late forties or early fifties and aging well.
“Do you speak any Russian at all?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Sadly, no.”
Natalya sighed. “Up to that point, you were almost perfect.”
“I shall take that as a compliment.” He offered her his elbow, slipped her hand through the crook and they turned toward the other guests in the reception hall. Striker spotted the two Russians standing with the German.
“I suppose I need to work,” Natalya said. “Shall we?”
Following her lead, Striker stepped out across the floor and headed toward the Russians.
“I know they speak fluent German, and the German speaks fluent Russian. So, I only have to be close by in case someone else wants to enter the conversation. Which means, I won’t be completely tasked all evening. I had hoped to dance. You do dance, don’t you?”
Striker grimaced. “My dancing has been strictly limited to country western music. My dancing skills are in the form of the two-step and the waltz. I’m good for those.”
She smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind. I am not familiar with the two-step, but the waltz…it is beautiful, no?”
Once again, Great, he thought. How was he supposed to keep track of the Russians while he was dancing as an escort for the translator? At that moment, he wished he had a handgun, a rifle or a knife. At least, then, he’d feel like he was in his element.
The reception got into full swing. Natalya made her rounds, following the Russians around the room. Striker quickly realized the woman could translate in a number of different languages, including Italian, French, English and German.
“I’m learning Japanese,” she said, “But I’m not proficient yet.” The music started from the string quartet in the corner. Several songs were played before Natalya smiled and said, “That’s a waltz, would you like to dance with me?”
He frowned. “Are you sure you can take the break from translating?”
She laughed. “Yes, for at least one song.”
He nodded and held out his arms.
She stepped into them and placed a hand on his shoulder and the other hand in his palm, and he led her across the floor in a waltz. The music was different but the dance was the same, and he managed not to make a fool of himself in front of all the important diplomats. As they whirled around the floor, he took the opportunities he could to keep an eye on the Russians. In one turn around the floor, he noticed the woman in the silver dress approaching Petrov and Baranovsky. When she spoke, they turned and responded, stern faces softening into smiles.
“The woman speaking with Petrov and Baranovsky, who is she?” Striker asked. He spun Natalya around so that she could see the woman.
His dance partner’s brow furrowed. “I do not know this woman, though I might have seen her before at another event involving Russian diplomats. She seems to be holding a conversation with my two Russian charges. It appears my translations services are not needed.”
The woman in the silver dress laughed and laid a hand on Petrov’s arm. She turned to the side and, as she did, Striker noticed a long slit in the side of her dress that exposed her leg from the ankle to halfway up her thigh.
His groin tightened.
She had a stunning figure and an equally stunning leg. When she moved again, he noticed something odd about the tone of her skin just below the slit’s opening. Maybe it was a trick of the lighting in the huge hall, but there seemed to be a discoloration just below the top of the slit. Perhaps the discoloration and the flesh tone of her leg was an undergarment she used to smooth her shape, as he was aware many women did. Or could it be a strap holding a weapon against the inside of her thigh…?
He stiffened. Thankfully, at that moment, the waltz came to an end.
The woman in the silver dress hooked her hand through the crook of Petrov’s arm and walked with him toward an arched passageway.
On Striker’s initial inspection of the reception hall, he had followed different hallways and corridors to determine where they led. The one the woman in silver was headed down led out to a tropical garden. The beautiful woman could be going with Petrov for a private assignation surrounded by lush, flowering bushes and palm trees. Or she could be carrying a knife beneath her dress with the intention of assassinating the Russian in the darkness.
“If you’ll excuse me, ma’am,” Striker said. “I need to visit the water closet.”
“By all means,” Natalya said. “I need to powder my nose, as well.”
He indicated the direction in which the ladies’ room was located.
Fortunately, the men’s room was on the opposite side of the hall, conveniently positioned along the same corridor that led to the hotel garden.
“One moment, please.” Natalya tipped her head toward the taller of the two Russians. “It appears Sergei might be leaving the reception hall and Anatoly already has.”
All the more reason for Daniel to hurry and catch up with Petrov and the woman in the silver dress. However, he stood steady and gave Natalya his attention.
“Since they’re leaving the reception, there is no need for me to stay to translate. I find myself fatigued. I too shall retire.” She patted his cheek with the palm of her hand. “Your services are no longer required.”
He captured her hand in his and touched the backs of her knuckles with his lips. “The evening has been my pleasure.”
“Mine, too,” she said with a smile. “And you’re quite good at the waltz. The escort service did well in sending you.”
“You’ll have to look into country western dancing to learn the two-step for next time.” He smiled and waited for her to turn away. Once she did, he headed out across the floor toward the corridor leading into the garden. With no other doorways leading off the corridor, he didn’t wait or check to see if they’d stopped along the way.
When he stepped out into the hotel garden, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. His ears perked as he listened for sounds at the other end of the dimly lit area.
Once his night vision adjusted, he eased away from the chateau and followed a pathway, walking as lightly as he could in his patent leather shoes. He followed the sound of voices.
Before he’d gone more than twenty yards, he saw the two silhouetted against the stone wall at the rear of the garden.
Striker stopped within twenty feet of them. He could reach them quickly, if needed. Instead of rushing the couple, he paused and watched. For all he knew, it could be a lovers’ assignation. A tryst in the garden, away from prying eyes.
Petrov turned and gripped the woman’s arms.
She reached up in an attempt to pry his hands loose from her arms. Her voice turned from a conversational tone to a higher pitched, strained nature.
“Nyet,” she said and rattled off something in Russian. She tried to break free of the man’s grip on her arms.
When Petrov still hadn’t re
leased her, her tone dropped low, the intensity increasing. A flash of movement brought her hands up through the middle of his arms, breaking free of his grasp. She grabbed his head, turned her back and flipped him over.
Petrov landed flat on his back.
In the next second, the woman had a knife pulled, the blade glinting in the moonlight.
Striker raced forward.
The silver-clad woman said something fast and furious in Russian as she held the knife over the man lying splayed out on his back.
Striker reached the woman before she could plunge the knife into the Russian’s neck. He grabbed her wrist and yanked it up behind her back.
“Damn it, let go of me,” she muttered.
Striker put his lips near her ear. “Ah, my dear, I found you finally. I believe they’re playing our song. Shouldn’t we be dancing?” He pretended to just take notice of the man on the ground. “What’s this?” He frowned down at the Russian. “Sir, have you fallen?”
The Russian grunted and struggled to get to his feet.
With his free hand, Striker reached down and gave the man a hand up.
The woman he held with the arm up behind her back stood straight, unmoving, her chin tipped upward in defiance.
As the Russian stood, he brushed leaves from his suit and glared at the woman in silver.
“Are you okay?” Striker asked. “Do I need to call for medical assistance?”
The Russian shook his head. “Nyet, I am quite fine,” he said in his stilted English. “Is this your woman?” He jerked his hand toward the woman in silver.
“Why, yes,” Striker said. “I came to get her because I’m ready to leave. Are you ready to depart, my dear?”
She gave him a narrow-eyed glance out of the corner of her eye.
Using her body as a visual barrier, Striker removed the knife from her hand, folded the blade and slid it into his pocket. He lowered her arm to her side and slipped a hand around her waist, his grip firm. “Please, sir, allow us to see you back to the reception hall.”
The Russian adjusted his suit. “I do not need assistance to find my way back.” He turned and walked back toward the building.
Striker guided the woman in silver behind the Russian, giving him several yards of distance between them. Once the Russian reached the reception hall, Striker came to a halt, stopping just short of the building. He turned the woman around and lightly gripped her arms. He stared down into eyes as black as the night, the only light in their dark depths that of moonlight reflected off their liquid surface. “Who are you and why were you trying to kill the Russian?”
She spoke in Russian.
He shook his head. “English.”
Again, she spoke in Russian.
“I heard you curse in English. Talk, before I turn you over to the security guards.”
She stared up at him through narrowed eyes. “He attacked me. I was only defending myself.”
“Sure, and you always carry a knife to diplomatic receptions? How did you get that past the security guards and metal detectors?”
She lifted a narrow shoulder. “A woman has to defend herself.”
Her English held no trace of an English accent; it was American.
“You speak American English. Are you American?”
The woman crossed her arms over her chest, tipped back her head and stared down her nose at the man. “What’s it to you?”
“Let’s just say that I like to know my enemies.”
“Am I one of your enemies?” She arched a black wing of a brow.
“I don’t know. Are you?”
Her eyebrows dipped. “Only if you’ve done something to hurt me or my family.”
“And is that what Petrov has done to you?”
Her mouth firmed into a thin line. “Perhaps.”
“Do you make it a habit of trying to kill those who hurt you or your family?”
“No, but if he hurts me again, I will defend myself.”
“In this case I will give you the benefit of doubt. In what capacity are you here?”
“I could ask the same of you.”
“I’m here as a paid escort. And you?” He waited for her response.
“Translation services.”
“Your name?”
She lifted a narrow shoulder and let it fall. “Alexa Sokoloff.”
The name didn’t ring a bell. None of the people who were attending the reception that were in the news had gone by that name. He’d have to put Charley to work discovering all there was to know about the raven-haired beauty. In the meantime, he’d do well to watch his back lest she plunge a knife in it.
Chapter 2
Alex gave him the name she’d assumed since her parents’ death. It had been a name on one of the passports they’d made for her. They’d kept a safe hidden behind a wall in the kitchen pantry where they’d stored passports from over a dozen different countries with as many different names on the passports and thousands of dollars in different currencies from the other countries. Should their cover be exposed, they had to be ready to pick up and move at a moment’s notice.
Their final assignment had been in Russia where they’d attempted to provide their daughter a stable environment as they’d worked as sleeper agents from the time she was twelve until she was almost twenty-eight.
Images of that fateful evening flashed through her mind, hardening her heart and her determination. Two years had passed since she’d lost her parents. During those years, she’d focused on retribution. She was getting close to discovering the man behind their hit order. Nothing and no one would stop her from avenging her parents’ deaths, not even this man in the tuxedo she’d noticed from the moment she’d stepped into the reception hall.
He’d been hard to miss. A dark-haired, handsome man, mingling with the paunchy, gray-haired statesmen from the attending countries was bound to stand out. Not that she was there to flirt with the attendees of the Energy Summit. She was there to get the final piece of information she needed to nail the one responsible…the one who’d given the order to terminate her mother and father.
“If you turn me in to the security staff,” she said to the man in front of her, “I will tell them the same thing I told you. I was defending myself.”
“And it will be your word against Petrov’s. Who do you think they’ll believe? A foreign diplomat or a woman nobody knows?”
Alex bristled. She might be a nobody. It didn’t make her less of a person. Her parents had made a lifetime of being nobodies and yet they’d infiltrated the Russian government and had become trusted servants to various politicians. During that time, they’d fed information back to the US government as members of the CIA.
“What were you doing in the garden with Petrov to begin with?” the stranger asked.
She tipped her head up and stared straight into his eyes. “He asked me to come see the hotel garden, not that it’s any of your business. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll rejoin the reception.”
“And I’ll accompany you,” he said.
“That won’t be necessary. As you are fully aware, I can defend myself.”
He lightly cupped her elbow. “I’m not so concerned about your safety so much as I am for the safety of the guests at this reception.”
“You have my knife, and it’s sharp so I wouldn’t sit while it’s still in your pocket. And it is one of my favorites. I would like it back before I leave France.”
“You’ll have to tell me where you’re staying, and I will return it, after the diplomats have dispersed to their own countries.”
She allowed the corners of her lips to turn up in a tight smile. “I am staying here at the chateau, like the rest of the guests at this reception.”
“All the more reason for me to keep this knife.”
She shrugged. “Whatever. I need to get back. My services might be required.”
“Something you might have considered,” he said, “before you attacked Petrov.”
Her lips pressed into
a thin line. “He attacked me and, if you were watching, you would have seen that.” She pushed her shoulders back and stared up at him. “You know my name. What is yours, so I can retrieve my knife once the event is over?”
“Daniel Rayne.”
She studied his face. He didn’t look like a Daniel. “I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure meeting you, only the jury’s still out.”
His lips twitched. “Trust me, the pleasure would be all yours.”
She moved to go around him.
He dropped the hand on her elbow and stepped into her path.
“I’m unarmed,” she said in clipped tones. “I’m not a threat to anyone.”
He chuckled. “I’m not so certain about that, not after seeing how you threw Petrov over your shoulder like he didn’t weigh two hundred pounds.”
“I’ve had lessons in self-defense. A woman can’t always hide a knife in her clothing.”
“You managed to quite nicely, which is surprising as tightly as that dress fits your body.”
Her cheeks heated. She chose to ignore the fact he’d noticed how her dress hugged her figure. With one eyebrow cocked, she asked, “And what is your connection to this reception?”
His lips spread into a smile. “I’m an escort.”
She laughed. “I should have known.”
His brow wrinkled. “And why should you have known?”
“I mean, look at you.” Alex waved a hand at him. “You aren’t old enough to be one of the politicians or delegates. You’re too good-looking to be one of the scientists, and your moves are too skilled.” Her eyebrows dropped and her eyes narrowed. “You’re too skilled to be just an escort. I’d venture to guess you’re more of a bodyguard or additional security hired by the chateau or some of the attending diplomats.”
His grin broadened. “So, you think I’m good-looking, huh?”
“That’s all you got out of what I just said?” She rolled her eyes.
“It’s nice to know the suit is working.”
Alex tilted her head to one side and studied him anew. “If you were part of the chateau’s security team, you would’ve already turned me in as a potential threat, therefore I’ll mark that off my list.”