“Sorry.” Di Stefano bared his teeth. “You’re not team leader any more, Nick, I am. The boss thought your behavior was too erratic, so he relieved you of your command. Effective half an hour ago. As a matter of fact, you’re not even on the team at all, anymore. Though I’ll let you stay in the van, as a courtesy, and seeing as how you have…an emotional investment in the outcome. So I want you to go out and get the kit to wire Charity up.” The two men stared at each other. “Now,” Di Stefano added softly. “That’s a direct order.”
Nick’s breathing was loud in the room. With a vicious “Fuck!” he turned and walked out the front door, slamming it violently behind him.
Di Stefano winced and sighed. He looked at the floor for a second, then looked up. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re mad at him. I’m mad at him. Our partner, Alexei, is mad at him. Our boss is mad at him, together with the whole head office. Everyone’s mad at Nick.”
“He lied to me,” Charity replied steadily. “From the first moment.”
“Yeah.” Di Stefano nodded sharply. “He did, that’s his job. He’s one of the best undercover cops I’ve ever seen and being able to lie is a big part of that. It’s for the job, though, he’s not a habitual liar in real life, though God knows, he doesn’t have too much of that. If anything, Iceman is too straight. That’s what we call him, Iceman. Because he’s always cool and in control.” He shook his head. “You blew that right out of the water. I’ve never seen him like this before.” He grimaced. “Though it pains me to say anything in his favor, what he did, when he married you, it was way off the charts. He threw his entire career down the drain for you. If they let him stay in the service after this, he’ll end up cleaning toilets, without the benefit of a brush. And he knew that when he did it. But it was worth it to him, to keep you safe. He told us in no uncertain terms that if he was killed, we were to look after you, his widow. He did it to protect you.” He shook his head. “Hard as it is to imagine it of Iceman, he loves you. I know you’re feeling lied to and betrayed, but he did it to protect you in the only way he knew how.”
Charity’s throat shook. She couldn’t get any words out at all. She took a breath, two, three, but nothing came out.
“And hard as it is to say this, I think you might want to cut him some slack.”
Di Stefano had taken her righteous anger and twisted it around. She was furious, and she had every right to be. Nick had lied to her right from the start, and continued to do so.
And yet, and yet. He was doing what he thought right. And Charity knew, deep down, where there were no lies, only truths, that Nick’s lovemaking had been real. That there were real feelings there.
She had no idea what to do with that information, though.
Nick burst back into the room, carrying a black suitcase, grim faced and tense. A gust of cold air came in with him and she shivered. Not just at the cold air.
All Charity could do was look at him. So different from the Nick she’d married. He had a dangerous edge to him, sharp as a knife. The features of his face, familiar as her own, were somehow different. As if a layer had been stripped away, leaving only skin and bone and truth.
Truth. The Nick before her was the real one—hard and grim and focused. Not a soft businessman at all, but a man built for power and speed. A man who faced danger on a daily basis. Who’d undoubtedly killed and who looked perfectly capable of killing again.
He set the briefcase down on the coffee table, unsnapped the locks, and lifted the lid. Inside were gadgets embedded in foam rubber.
He lifted two out, one a long wire with doodads at each end and the other a small, complicated electronic thingie. As with all things electronic, their outsides gave no indication to what their insides did.
“Okay.” Nick straightened and speared each of them with a hard glare. Then his attention focused intently on his partner. “This is the way it’s going to work. The only way it’s going to work, or I’m pulling the plug right now. This is not optional. First off, we’re going to need backup.”
“Done,” Di Stefano snapped. “I’m calling in our Boston SWAT team. They’ll be here by around four. I hope to God we don’t need to use them, that we can get her in and out smooth and easy, intercept Hammad after he drives away, but they’ll be there. In case.”
“Two.” Nick’s gaze was unwavering. “You and I are going to be right outside the house all the time Charity’s in there. I don’t care what it takes. If we have to take down guards, that’s what we’ll do. She’s not going in unless I’m two seconds away from breaching the front door to get to her.”
“Uh…” Di Stefano shifted uneasily. “I don’t know—”
“That’s nonnegotiable,” Nick snapped.
Di Stefano was silent for a long moment, working his way through Nick’s ultimatum. “Okay,” he sighed.
“And three,” Nick continued. “She stays in the house twenty minutes, tops. Whatever she gets, she gets, but twenty minutes after she walks in through the front door, she’s going to develop a major headache and she’s heading right back out.”
“But—”
“That’s nonnegotiable, too. Otherwise we’re not doing this. And it goes against every instinct I have, as it is.”
“Okay. Okay.” Di Stefano shot his arm out and checked the time. “We’d better start getting her ready.”
Nick stepped in front of Charity. “I’ll do it. You get out of here and wait for me at the van. I’ll be there in about an hour.”
Silence. Di Stefano breathed in and out, then finally spoke. “I can count on that? That you’ll get out of here? Because you look an awful lot like you’re about to go cowboy again on me, Iceman. More than you already have, and I can’t accept that. I’m going to need your word that you’re going to leave here and let her get to Worontzoff’s house on her own.”
“A driver will be coming for me,” Charity offered. She didn’t quite understand the tension humming between the two of them, but it was palpable.
Nick’s jaw muscles jumped. “Precisely,” he said to her, while staring at Di Stefano. “You’re going to be alone in a car with one of Worontzoff’s goons for—what? Fifteen, twenty minutes? A lot of things can happen in that time. Lots of bad things.”
Charity’s heart jumped. “I—I don’t think Vassily would hurt me.”
Nick turned to her, jaw muscles jumping. “Vassily wouldn’t hurt Katya Artsemova, no. He loved her. But Katya Artsemova has been dead for over fifteen years. He thinks he loves you because you look so much like her, but you’re not her. When the craziness in his head dies down and he realizes that, who knows what the fuck he’ll do?”
“You come back to the van, Iceman,” Di Stefano said, his voice cold and steady. “You will not compromise this part of the mission before it’s begun, I hope that’s clear.”
“Or what?” Nick asked, swiveling back to him.
“Or I’ll fucking cuff you, that’s what.”
Nick bared his teeth. “You can fucking try. And you watch your fucking language. There’s a lady here.”
“Shit.” Di Stefano’s teeth clicked together in exasperation. “I don’t want to get into a pissing contest with you. I want your word that you’ll wire her up and get out.”
Nick touched her hand. “Charity? This is up to you. Do you still want to do this? Because I’m dead set against it. We’re listening in on Worontzoff’s study and we’ll keep the beam on until the last possible minute. We’ve tapped his phones. We’re going to photograph everyone coming in and going out. Maybe we can put a snake mike in. We don’t need you to do this.”
Di Stefano opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly not wanting to influence her. Because, of course, they did need her.
Vassily’s mansion was huge. Most of the times she’d been to see him, he was in his living room, which had the largest hearth in the house, not his study. It was entirely possible that he would be meeting with his people there instead of the study. It was entirely possible they would meet after
five, which is when the sun went down. They needed eyes and ears and it looked like she was it.
Charity didn’t in any way underestimate the danger, though she was also certain that Vassily wouldn’t hurt her. Nonetheless, she was walking into a room full of criminals, with no training to deal with violence should it erupt. On the other hand, she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Nick would be as close to her as he could get.
She didn’t have to do this, and yet—she did. Charity trusted her moral compass and her needle was pointing at true north right now. She was in a position to help her country and she was taking it. How could she refuse? The deep calm of knowing she was doing the right thing came over her.
Even her nausea had abated and she felt well, for the first time in days. Of course, she’d been grieving over Nick’s death, and seeing him in front of her, looking strong and vital and angry, completely wiped her grief away.
The front door closed quietly and Nick rounded on her. His hand shot out, curling around her neck. He bent until his forehead touched hers, eyes a fiery, deep blue. “I don’t want you to do this,” he whispered.
Charity stepped back, but he just followed her. A couple more steps and her back was against the wall, Nick’s long, lean body pressing in against her.
“I know,” she answered. “But I have to.” She took a deep breath and asked the question that was haunting her. “After—afterward.” She swallowed. There was no moisture left in her mouth, her lungs felt empty. It was hard to speak. “Afterward, will I see you again?”
It was painful to humiliate herself like this, but her need to know overrode her embarrassment. If he said no, he was leaving as soon as his job here was over, she’d crumple to the ground.
Her knees stiffed, her spine stacked back up. No, no she wouldn’t. Prewitts didn’t fall to the ground. They took what life dealt them, and did the best they could.
It was as if he hadn’t heard her. “You are staying twenty minutes, not a second more. The instant you step outside of Worontzoff’s house, I will be at your side and I’m not leaving you, ever again.”
A low growling noise came from Nick’s throat, the noise a dying, wounded animal would make. He bent down to her, eyes blazing, mouth open. Her own mouth opened, instinctively, helplessly, for his kiss. But he stopped a breath away from her lips, eyes burning into hers. He was panting, his breath hot on her cheek. A trickle of sweat fell down his temple to plop on her neck.
It was impossible to think of anyone calling him Iceman. He looked like he was ready to explode into a fireball.
“I came back from the fucking dead for you, Charity, so no, I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to live with you here or in another house; I don’t care. I’ll do something—maybe I’ll run for sheriff. I don’t care about that, either, as long as I’m with you and we can raise our child together. Is that clear?”
She could almost feel the waves of his strong male will beating against her. There was no way she could resist him even if she wanted to. But she didn’t. Living with him for the rest of her life, raising their child together, sounded like heaven.
“Yes, very clear,” she whispered.
He brought his mouth down to hers again, stopping at the last second, then pulling back. His eyes dropped to her mouth, then rose again.
“I can’t kiss you,” he said starkly. Deep grooves bracketed that beautiful mouth. “I can’t send you in there with your mouth swollen with kisses. We can’t make love, either, though I’m about ready to burst out of my skin.” He angled his lower body to rest against hers and she could feel his erection against her stomach, hot and hard. “I can’t. I can’t guarantee I won’t leave any signs on you. But when this is over I’m taking you to bed and I’m going to fuck you breathless.”
“Okay,” she whispered, watching his eyes.
As if it pained him, he let go of her neck, one finger at a time, and stepped back. It was like a force field suddenly switching off, or the planet’s gravity disappearing. She stumbled, in free fall.
Nick’s arms were around her in an instant, pulling her against him again.
She wriggled a little because her back was pressed against the wall and he was pressed hard against her. She felt his penis ripple as he drew in a sharp breath.
“Jesus,” he muttered. He stepped away reluctantly. One step, two. He turned to the briefcase and came back with the electronic doodads in his hands, wires dangling.
He reached his hand out and he slowly unzipped her track suit jacket, then stepped back, pulling in a deep breath, eyes closed.
She stood there, feeling the cold in a little strip along her chest where the jacket was open.
Nick opened his eyes again, face stark. He put his hands on her chest, watching her carefully, then slowly opened his hands. Up over the balls of her shoulders, sweeping the jacket down. His jaw muscles were jumping, his forehead beaded with sweat. He looked down at her for several long moments.
Charity stood straight, arms at her side, not knowing what to do. She’d been naked with Nick so many times and so joyfully. But that had been Nick Ames. She still didn’t know how to react to Nick Ireland.
He lowered his head until his forehead rested on her shoulder. She could feel the dampness and heat of his skin against hers. They stood there, unmoving, for five minutes, ten.
Charity couldn’t think with Nick so close to her, pressed up against her. He seemed to suck up all her emotions and thoughts. Mind utterly blank, her body took over. As if she had no volition of her own, her hands rose hesitantly, up the outside of his black parka, to finally hold him in an embrace. His whole body shook, a long tremble that seemed to rise from his black boots and encompass his tall, strong body.
One big hand moved from her back to cup her breast. Such a familiar feeling, Nick’s hand on her breast. In an instant, all the feelings that had been kept at bay, somehow remote from her, flooded her in a wild rush. Arousal, anger, fierce joy, agonizing pain.
He thumbed her nipple and the pleasure was electric, bolting through her system like lightning.
His head pulled up and back as he watched his hand on her breast. “Do they feel different?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“A little,” she whispered.
His hand moved from her breast, down to cover her belly. It rested there, warm and large. Right over where their child was growing.
Finally, Nick moved, pulling away to get the electronic paraphernalia.
The body wire was complicated to strap on, and required several pieces of tape. Nick worked slowly and carefully, face intent. He was sweating so hard a bead dropped down his temple.
He disappeared into her bedroom and came back with a black cardigan and dressed her, slowly, carefully. A tiny video camera took the place of one of the buttons.
“I’ll be watching you,” Nick said. “Watching everything.”
She nodded.
He ran her through the precautions. Her head swam with frequencies and audio cones and battery life, though he made her promise again, looking him straight in the eyes, that at minute twenty after entering Vassily’s house, she’d plead a headache and come home.
Finally, it was done.
Nick wrapped her in his arms and they stood there, both shaking, his head buried in her shoulder. She felt moisture on the bare skin of her shoulder. She pulled back, surprised.
Tears, not sweat.
She reached up to run her hands through his blue-black hair. Nick. Her husband. Who’d lied to her, who wasn’t what he said he was. But she loved him all the same, with everything in her.
A deep shudder rippled through his long body, then he straightened. He looked at her, not even trying to hide the tears streaking his cheeks.
“I’ll be close by,” he said starkly.
She nodded.
“Say as little as possible, get in, get out.”
She nodded again.
They looked at each other in the silence of the room. Nick was panting, as if he’d run a race. His
fists clenched tightly, then opened.
“Go get dressed,” he said, “before I change my mind.”
Twenty-three
Parker’s Ridge
Vassily Worontzoff’s mansion
“My dear Arkady,” Vassily said, coming toward him. “My dear, dear friend.” They embraced, kissing each other’s cheeks.
“Vor.” Arkady’s voice was thick. He coughed to hide his emotion. He hadn’t seen his Vor in four years.
“Come my friend, you must sit down. You must be weary after such a long journey.” Vassily indicated a comfortable leather armchair next to what was obviously his desk and brought Arkady a glass of vodka himself, a sign of respect.
The Vor sat next to him, placing his shattered hand on Arkady’s arm. “You have done well, my friend. There will be many such trips, if you are willing to take them—” He paused while Arkady nodded.
No question. If the Vor needed him, he was at his service.
“Good.” The Vor nodded. “We will make much money and when we have finished, I will send you to look after my interests in Europe. Would you like to settle in Switzerland? France?”
“Italy,” Arkady breathed and the Vor nodded again.
“Italy it shall be. There will be work for you there. Our empire is growing. You will be my viceroy.”
Arkady bowed his head. “It would be a privilege, Vor,” he murmured.
The two men turned their heads at the sharp knock on the door. A man stuck his head in. A former zek. Arkady could tell. “He’s coming, Vor. We just got word. He’ll be here in less than an hour, in a three-car caravan.”
“He comes in alone,” Vassily said sharply. “Or not at all. Tell him I will be without bodyguards myself. There will only be the engineer in the room.”
The man looked uneasy. “Vor,” he said. “Is that wise? These are dangerous men.”
“Yes, they are. But we have something they badly want. And we have more coming. They won’t harm me.” He flicked his hand. “Now go and be prepared to greet him when he arrives.”
The Dangerous Boxed Set Page 27