The Deadly Series Boxed Set

by Jaycee Clark

  “Next week, or later this week, you fly to Amsterdam. It’s being arranged.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “You’ll go in, walk out the basement, the house will explode, and the body they find will match dentally with Dimitri Petrolov.”

  He smiled ruefully. “How convenient.”

  “Why’d you come back here?” Pete asked, leaning back as the waitress set a salad in front of each of them. “You easily could have sent someone.”

  “I could have, yes, but I wanted to assess the situation myself.” Ian wasn’t hungry. He rubbed his head.

  “Headache?” Pete asked.

  Undercover agents often went through debriefings, medical tests, and psychological tests to make certain they weren’t too close to the edge.

  Ian wasn’t so certain he would pass as easily as he did the last time.

  “Lack of sleep,” he said.

  Pete asked. “Why the woman?”

  He looked at one of the only men who knew his true identity. Pete was the only person Ian ever contacted with information other than John.

  “I needed the image of a family. A family doesn’t leave a memory. A single father with a silent little girl is another matter.”

  Pete nodded. “True. Who is she?”

  Ian debated and then figured that John had already told his boss, who had filled Pete in, or then maybe not. But Ian knew Pete already had a file sitting on his desk on one Rori Maitland—Kinncaid. She was Rori Kinncaid. Ian studied his boss. Who was the leak? Was it Pete? His kneejerk reaction was no. But what if he was wrong?

  “Hired to kill me, I believe, but she said things were off, so she didn’t. Saved my life, in fact. John said she used to work for MI6. Lenora.”

  Pete sniffed. “Lenora Maitland.”

  Tests. He hated fucking tests.

  “Used to be MI6. Now supposedly she’s a businesswoman. Mercenary is the word on the streets.”

  Assassin more like, but he wouldn’t cut semantics when he was legit only because he worked for the U.S. government.

  Leaning up, he said, “When do I leave? I want your word my family will be protected. I’ll take John with me, but I’m leaving the rest of them, and I swear to you, Pete”—he looked straight into his boss’s eyes—“you don’t want anything happening to my family.”

  Pete only returned his stare. “After the way your family was in the news all last year? No, I don’t want anything to happen to them. It’s one thing to cover up an obscure, unknown death of a traveling businessman. It’s another altogether when a well-known family is hit.” He shook his head. “The media fallout alone would be the end of my career.”

  “You’d be worried about more than that,” Ian muttered.

  “Is that a threat?” Pete asked.

  He sighed. “I want the leak, Pete. I want a name.”

  “I’m working on it.” Pete tossed money on the table and said, “Get some rest. You need to come in for testing from the looks of things, and for the debriefing. We need some intel on the latest shipments.”

  “When this is over.”

  Pete raised a brow.

  “The testing. When this is over.” When this was over, he was done and wouldn’t need testing, they both knew it.

  “Eight a.m. I want a brief on my desk on shipments and any laundering, any fronting,” Pete said.

  Shipments of girls, drugs he knew about. And the whole reason for his cover to begin with. The fact that many Eastern European brothels and bosses were fronts to a deeper worry. Terrorists. Lots of field agents these days thanks to 9/11.

  At least on the terrorism front, Hellinski had been clean—or mostly. He’d been low enough, yet involved enough on rare occasions that information flowed a bit more easily than it otherwise would have. Had Elianya been involved in something of that scale? Who the fuck knew.

  He nodded.

  When Pete started to stand, he said, “You get anything on Darya?”

  Pete shook his head. “Not yet. But that doesn’t mean anything. And you know that.” Those shrewd hazel eyes bore into him. “What are you going to do with her if no one claims her?”

  He returned the stare. “What do you think I’m going to do?”

  Pete shook his head. “Just when I think most are too cynical, someone will do something that shocks me.” The words were said so deadpan Ian knew sarcasm laced them.

  Pete stood, then paused, straightening his jacket. “I’m keeping the detail on you and I want an itinerary.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Ian watched him walk away, weaving in and out of the people.

  He heard a little girl laugh at a nearby table as she ate a chocolate confection piled high with whipped cream and strawberries.

  Maybe Darya would like one of those. He motioned to the waitress to box one up for him.

  • • •

  Rori and John sat in the seating area of Mr. and Mrs. Kinncaid’s penthouse apartment. The two older kids kept trying to draw Darya into their camaraderie. But she wasn’t interested in the crayons or markers. She only looked at them when they got out a game. Finally, Ryan tilted his head and said, “You’re very quiet.”

  “She doesn’t speak English, Ryan,” Rori told him.

  Jock and Kaitlyn, who had been standing off by themselves, talking in hushed tones, turned at her words.

  “What do you mean?” Jock asked, frowning.

  The man always frowned. Personally, Rori thought he was an ass. He might have some good qualities, but she’d yet to see them.

  “Exactly what I said, Mr. Kinncaid,” she frosted her words. “Darya doesn’t speak English, and in fact, this is the first we’ve heard her say anything at all.”

  “Ever?” Kaitlyn asked, coming over to sit with Rori at the table. “But she must be—what?—five?”

  Rori shrugged. To hell with it. Ian left her up here alone with his family. She’d make up her own bloody story. “We honestly don’t know.”

  Their eyes widened, before Kaitlyn frowned again.

  “She’s Ian’s daughter, isn’t she?” Kaitlyn asked.

  “Maybe she’s adopted,” Ryan suggested.

  Rori grinned at him. “Right on, boyo. We just adopted her last week.” Rori motioned for Darya to come to her and the girl did. She still didn’t know what to do with the girl, but she was becoming used to having her around. And knew, from experience, what it was to want a safe place.

  Hell, had she ever truly known what a safe place was?

  Darya climbed up into her lap and settled, still clutching the teddy bear.

  “Where’s she from?” Kaitlyn asked.

  Jock reached out to touch the girl and Darya shied, burrowing into Rori.

  She looked up at the man, not caring if he saw her dislike or not. “We’re not certain of that either. Though Ian knows she speaks Russian.”

  John cleared his throat.

  “What?” she asked him. “They asked, I answered. He doesn’t want them to know, he should have said something before. I can’t read the man’s bloody mind.”

  John’s lips twitched.

  “How long have you two been married?” Mrs. Kinncaid asked.

  Hell. How had she gotten to this point?

  Was it all Darya? She brushed the girl’s hair with her hand. No. She might tell him that. But it was also that smile she rarely saw, lightning quick, and made him more . . . real.

  “Long enough to know he’s difficult,” she evaded.

  John laughed. “That’s our Ian.”

  Mrs. Kinncaid looked past her and Darya to John. “You’ve worked with my son a long time, haven’t you?” She nodded. “Never mind. He’d never trust any of us with you if you weren’t his friend. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, Mrs. Kinncaid,” John answered.

  Ryan had come up. He put his hand out to Darya. “Would you like to watch TV with us?” He pointed to the television.

  She buried her head against Rori, the soft fruity scent of her tickling Rori’s nose
.

  Rori hugged her and smiled at Ryan. “Maybe later.”

  The door opened and Ian strode in, looking a bit tired. In his hands was a clear container, chocolate, whipped cream, and strawberries.

  Darya lifted her head from Rori’s shoulder and watched Ian walk to them, the smile on his face one of the real ones he seemed to reserve for Darya alone. The girl scrambled off her lap and hurried over to Ian, who scooped her up, his Russian throaty and deep as he spoke to her.

  Darya smiled and nodded.

  That smile swirled through the center of Rori. The child was beautiful when she smiled like that, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. And Ian . . .

  His smile alone did more than swirl through the center of her.

  He really could be her father. Same coloring and killer smiles. He set her down at the table and put the sugar mountain in front of her.

  “Do you think she needs all of that?” Rori asked.

  His eyes flashed his surprise and a remnant of his smile teased her. “Worried about her health, dear?”

  She blinked. Damn man. What did she care? She shrugged. “I suppose so, yes. Shouldn’t I be?”

  His smile grew. “Depends.”

  “On what?” Mrs. Kinncaid asked. “Mothers try to keep the kids healthy and the fathers are stuck on spoiling them. You’re as bad as your father.”

  His smile slid away, his eyes going cold. “I’m much worse, Mother.”

  With that, he walked into the kitchen and retrieved a fork.

  Rori had wondered, why, if they had the entire hotel, a restaurant . . . probably several, and room service at their disposal—why would they need the large kitchen in their apartment, and she bet all the other penthouse apartments had the same layout.

  “How’d the meeting go?” his mother asked.

  The edge of his mouth lifted but his eyes, as they shifted to Rori, were serious. “Fine.”

  A single word, yet she understood they’d discuss it later. Wonder what his dear boss had thought of her.

  She watched him open the container and scoop up a big bite for Darya. He said something to her in Russian as he fed her the enormous spoonful.

  Darya nodded just before her eyes shifted to Rori.

  She saw what he was doing and instinct had her tensing, ready to strike, but she waited, even as she knew.

  His hand, quick as a snake, whipped up and bopped a dollop of chocolate-drizzled whipped cream on her nose.

  His grin and Darya’s were infectious. She smiled, wiped it off, licked part of it off. His eyes watched her, the blue darkening.

  Her stomach tightened at the memory of their kiss, at the feel of his hands on her.

  She knew his parents watched them, but didn’t give a care.

  Holding her finger out to him, she said, “I’m really not into sweets, but thank you.”

  His eyes flashed, but he drew her finger into his mouth. The swirl of his tongue on her finger did things in her gut she didn’t want to think about.

  Rori jerked her finger back and said, “I think I’ll go to our room for a bit. I’m wiped.”

  She stood.

  Mrs. Kinncaid said, “Ian Rohnan Kinncaid, you are coming home.”

  Rohnan? Rori cocked a brow at him and tried to hide her grin.

  “Mother—”

  Kaitlyn’s green eyes flashed. “Don’t you ‘Mother’ me.” Her fist hit the table. “You owe me that at least.”

  His shoulders rose on his inhale and then he speared Rori with a look. He said something to Darya in Russian and locked his hand on Rori’s arm, propelling her out of the apartments and into the hallway.

  Down the hallway two doors, he shoved his key into the slot and all but kicked the door open.

  When it shut, he whirled. “We’re not going to my parents’ house.”

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if this was what married couples did.

  Rori waited. He seemed a bit stressed to her, even if he appeared cool and calm. It was in the hard lines of his mouth, the way his eyes were narrowed. Then again, perhaps she was wrong.

  He rubbed his forehead and muttered something. She vaguely wondered if he got headaches like she often did when suddenly the reality of things crashed down on her.

  “You okay?”

  He sighed. “What am I supposed to say to her?”

  She walked to him and put her hands on his shoulders. They were hard as rocks under her hands, but still she squeezed and rubbed her thumbs in circular motions. “You need some rest.”

  He grunted and tilted his head to the side, giving her access to the tightened cords of his neck. They stood like that for several moments. “You ever get tired of what we do?” he asked softly.

  Her motions paused for a moment. Then she dug her thumbs back in. She started to give a blithe remark, but sensed she didn’t have to. “Sometimes, yes. I never really like what I do, but I also know it was and is necessary on more levels than the average person cares to reflect on.”

  “Ever think there’s any redemption for us?”

  “My, aren’t we philosophical tonight.” She sighed. “Would you sit on the couch?”

  He didn’t move. Soft and deep, he said, “I told my boss I was out. After this is over, I’m out.”

  She nodded and continued to massage his shoulders.

  He took a breath, as if to say something, then shook his head. “We can’t go to my parents’ house.”

  “Why not?”

  He whirled on her, his eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

  She crossed her arms and ran her gaze over him. He looked so bloody good in black she smiled.

  “I find nothing amusing in this situation.”

  Rori waited and then said, “You hadn’t planned on seeing them. They know you’re here now. On some level you knew they might learn of your arrival, or you never would have briefed me on everyone. Secondly, if you don’t go, it only raises more questions, especially if more find out about you. Three, if your cover is completely blown, do you think it matters if you’re with your family or not?”

  “By being too close to them, I make them targets.”

  “Simply being who you are makes them targets,” she said with brutal honesty. His face hardened.

  “I’m not putting them in danger. Damn it!” He shoved a hand through his hair and paced away from her, his hands fisted on his hips as he stopped near the window.

  She wondered what it was like to worry about so many people. The only person she worried about was Nikko, and she really needed to call him before he started his own search for her. She knew she had another day or so before he’d really start to worry.

  “Ian,” she said softly, standing her ground. “I don’t know what it’s like to have a family, let alone a large one that you feel you have to take care of and protect.” She watched him, his jacket caught behind his wrists, the late afternoon light slanting through the windows. “You’ve done a marvelous job so far. Little Ryan seems to think you’re a superhero.”

  He turned and the fire of those blue eyes burned her. “I’m not a goddamn hero.”

  He would never think so. In that moment, something shifted in her for him. She had no idea what, but she felt it. A man so bent on protection of those he loved.

  “Do you have any idea how many men would have even looked for that little girl? Who, if they had found her, would take her with them like you have?” His eyes didn’t move from her. “Not very many. Not all men are like you, or your brothers. You don’t want to endanger them. Fine, I understand that. But do you honestly think it matters now?”

  He didn’t say a word.

  She walked to him. “If they learn who you are, they will still target your family if for no other reason than to draw you out.” Without a thought, she reached out and placed her hand on his chest, felt the beat of his heart. “If you’re at their place, you can better keep an eye on them. You’ll know what to look for. They won’t.”

  His eyes didn’t soften, but
the fire banked. “I don’t like it.”

  She nodded. “I know, and I don’t like your father, so we’ll both just have to live with it.”

  The intention flickered in his eyes as he leaned in and set his forehead against hers. “You know what I want?” he asked softly.

  She licked her lips. “I’m not giving you that.”

  He grinned slow and sure. “We’ll see, but I wasn’t talking about that, though I do think about it.” He paused and she wondered if he’d kiss her. Instead he continued. “I want a beach, little umbrella drinks. No worries.”

  “No hits?”

  “That too. You like the beach?”

  “Yes.” Deciding to give him something else to think about, she added, “But I don’t like tan lines.”

  Chapter 16

  November 14, 10:42 p.m.

  Ian brushed his finger over Darya’s tear-stained cheek. She’d cried herself back to sleep. He’d been talking to Rori in the living area, planning tomorrow, when her whimpered cries and screams had brought them both running.

  What did she see in her dreams? The nightmare she’d witnessed? More?

  She hadn’t said more than that one word since yesterday. Zoy. Her sister? Someone else?

  He took a deep breath and left the light on. She laid on her side, her purple pajamas with cats on them contrasting against the white sheets. Her arm was thrown over her bear. He looked to the side, where a doll still sat in the box. She apparently just liked the bear.

  Ian leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, breathing her scent deep. “Dobroy nochi. Devochka moya.” Good night, my little girl.

  And by God, she would be. She already was.

  He had never thought of having kids, never thought of having a family. Families could be used against men like him for any number of things.

  But here, with this lost child clutching tight to the bear he’d given her, to see her eyes crying from phantoms that stalked her, to feel those little arms wrap around his neck.

  He wanted her. He wanted her to be his.

  “Sweet dreams.”

  He stood, double-checked the windows, and silently walked out of the room. Rori stood in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned on the door frame.