An Uncommon Honeymoon

by Susan Mann

  He flipped onto his side. When they were lying face-to-face, he said, “If you’re good, I might let you handle my control stick.”

  She smiled. “What if I’m bad?”

  “Then I’ll definitely let you handle my control stick.”

  Snickering, she shifted forward and pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss. The connection they shared, the tender way he touched her face, drove the jumbled thoughts and emotions of the day from her mind.

  Her fingers threaded into his hair. She opened her mouth and kissed him deeper.

  His response was immediate and fervent. He rolled her onto her back and kissed her with a passion that had her moaning. His hand slipped under her tank top and massaged her breast. She hummed with pleasure as he stoked the fire in her belly.

  Her heart pounding, she slid a hand under the waistband of his boxers and grabbed his butt.

  He raised his head and whispered, “Just a sec.” He gave her a kiss that left her seconds from combusting and scrambled out of bed. Her body hungered for him to return as she watched him tiptoe across the room and turn the lock on the door. “Don’t want any of the kids walking in on us. They’ve had enough trauma.”

  “Now I know how my parents must have felt when all us kids were home,” she said.

  He dove over the end of the bed, crawled on top of her, and kissed her ravenously. The way he was settled between her legs, the weight of his body pressing down on hers, it filled her with searing desire. It was exquisite.

  She grew more and more desperate for him. “What time are you supposed to relieve Dave from guard duty?”

  “Not until four.”

  “Good. We’ve got plenty of time.” Her hand slid under his waistband again, only this time down the front. “Now, about your control stick . . .”

  * * *

  Quinn jerked awake. Disoriented, she blinked itchy, dry eyes and took in her surroundings. It took a few seconds for her brain to process and come to the realization she was in a bedroom in the safe house in Olgino. James lay next to her, his face slack with sleep.

  She flipped onto her other side and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was a little before one in the morning.

  Her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth and the annoying tickle in her throat conspired to ensure sleep would remain elusive until it was soothed. She sighed and sat up. A trip to the kitchen for a bottle of water was warranted.

  Careful not to wake James, she eased out of bed, stole across the room, and slowly opened the door. She grimaced and shot a glance at him from over her shoulder when the hinges emitted a groaning creak. His steady breathing assured her he was still asleep.

  In her tank top and shorts again—she and James had dressed and unlocked the door after their nocturnal activities in case any of the kids came looking for them—she ran her fingers through her tousled hair as she walked toward the kitchen.

  Silhouetted shapes moving in the backyard caught her attention. It was likely Dave checking the perimeter, or perhaps trees swaying in a breeze. Regardless, it was prudent to investigate. She crept across the living room to a window and edged back the curtain. Three pajama-clad kids stood in the center of the yard.

  Scowling with confusion, she hurried outside and closed in on the three afflicted with nighttime wanderlust. Mila, Sasha, and Ilya stood with their heads tipped back and faces raised to the starry sky.

  So as not to startle them, Quinn slowed and announced her presence by clearing her throat. When they looked her way, she asked, “What are you doing out here? Is everything okay?”

  “We’re sorry if we woke you,” Mila said, sounding a little guilty. “Those stairs are really creaky.”

  “It’s fine. Is everything okay?” Quinn asked again. At least now she knew why she’d awakened so suddenly.

  “Mm-hmm. It’s just that it’s been a long time since Sasha and Ilya have gotten to see the stars. I’ve been on trips and have seen them, but they were always left behind.” Mila hesitated before dropping her gaze to the ground and adding, “Inside.”

  Quinn stepped closer. Her tone was gentle when she said, “I understand.” She raised her eyes and stared up at the pinpricks of sparkling light. “It’s a beautiful, clear night. Perfect for stargazing.”

  They fell silent and beheld the expanse of stars. The only sound around them came from leaves rustling in the light breeze.

  A light thump interrupted the peace. Instantly alert, Quinn’s eyes darted toward the cluster of trees in front of the cement fence at the back of the yard. Her nerves jangled when she observed movement. “Go back in the house. Now.” Her tone was sharp and insistent.

  “They not move,” a man’s voice said in heavily accented English. A hulking figure stepped out from the shadows. He was big. And bald. The pistol he held was pointed directly at them.

  Anatoly.

  Careful to not make any sudden movements, Quinn slowly stepped in front of the kids to shield them. “Leave them alone, Anatoly.” Utterly defenseless, she scanned the area, looking for something, anything she could use as a weapon. All she saw was a patio table and chairs, and a folded umbrella upright in a stand. Unless she hurled a chair at him, everything around them was useless.

  Not good.

  “No. They belong to us. I take them back.”

  Quinn’s mouth was so dry she couldn’t even manufacture enough saliva to swallow. She held her hands up in front of her. “It’s over, Anatoly. Viktor, Zhanna, your other buddies, and Yefimov are in custody. Olga is on the run. There’s no one to take them back to. Your drug ring is busted.”

  Anatoly was unmoved by her speech. “They will go free soon. I take workers back. We pay money for them.”

  He must have gotten a message from Yefimov. No doubt the mole in the police department had somehow found out and supplied him with the exact location of the safe house.

  “I can’t let that happen, Anatoly. You’ll have to go through me.” She had one last card to play. If she could talk him into putting his pistol down, she might have a chance. “But at least make it fair. Do you really want to be known as the guy who shot an unarmed woman? That’s not very manly.”

  He laughed, gravelly and derisive. His chest expanded when he asked, “You fight me?”

  “Sure. I may be small, but I’m scrappy.”

  Quinn heard a whispered whoosh followed by a muted thup.

  The scorn on Anatoly’s face turned to shock. His eyes lowered to the knife handle sticking out of his chest. The gun slipped from his hand and he dropped to his knees. As he teetered, his lips moved, but no words came. His eyelids fluttered before he pitched forward and crashed to the ground like a felled pine.

  Dave stalked past them and went straight for Anatoly. He kicked the pistol away and looked over at them. “Are you okay?”

  “We’re fine,” Quinn said. At his questioning, if not slightly cross, expression, she said, “I found them out here enjoying the stars. Anatoly decided to crash the party.”

  His gaze fell on the kids and his features softened. “Ah. Well, it is a nice night for it.” He squatted down and pressed his fingers to the prone man’s throat.

  Mila stared down at Anatoly, her face an impassive mask. Blood oozed from under him and spread over the patch of dirt where he lay. “Is he dead?”

  “No.” Dave gripped Anatoly’s wrist and hauled him onto his back.

  Anatoly’s tattoo-covered arm flopped to the ground. His breaths had turned labored and gurgling as his chest cavity filled with blood.

  “Not yet anyway,” he added.

  “Let’s go back in the house,” Quinn said and shepherded the kids toward it.

  Each one shot a glance over his or her shoulder. As they looked back at one of the men who had robbed them of everything—their freedom, their dignity, their humanity—their expressions were mixed. Triumph. Contempt. Defiance. Peace. One thing was sure: None would lament the demise of that loathsome piece of human garbage.

  James, dressed only in jea
ns, emerged from the house. “I woke up and you . . .” He switched to operative mode the second he observed the body on the ground. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

  Quinn filled him in on everything that had transpired since she had left their bed.

  His response was decisive. “I’m gonna help Dave figure out what to do with Anatoly. You get on the phone with Meyers right now. Tell him what we talked about earlier.”

  Quinn nodded. She cast a glance at the dying man before looking at James again.

  “Tell him to pull every damn string there is. We’re leaving for the States as soon as possible.” His eyes fell on each child’s face in turn. “And you’re coming with us.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dave drove the van across the tarmac and brought it to a stop near a sleek Gulfstream G280 parked on the isolated airstrip one hundred kilometers outside Saint Petersburg. The jet’s open hatch and deployed stairs reminded Quinn of a scene in the novel The Hidden Scepter. In it, Francesca Marucci, an unfathomably wealthy heiress, emerges from her stretch limo resplendent in oversized sunglasses and designer clothes. With a jewel-encrusted purse hooked over one arm and a fluffy Pomeranian tucked under the other, she glides up the steps and wings her way to Malta and the awaiting Brick Cobalt.

  The three youngest passengers of the van may not have been fabulously wealthy, but they were indeed precious cargo. Their status as such was cemented by Aldous Meyers’s response to Quinn’s request to get the Semenovs out of Russia immediately. In the intervening eighteen hours, the man had moved heaven and earth to make exactly that happen.

  Now, the seemingly impossible dream of three young, vulnerable souls was becoming a reality.

  Quinn yanked on the inside handle, slid the van door open, and stepped out onto the concrete. The kids tumbled out behind her. As their gazes traveled around the wide-open landscape dotted with crumbling, Soviet-era buildings, their faces displayed equal parts excitement and trepidation.

  Their anxiety was understandable. In less than thirty-six hours, they had gone from slavery to freedom, and witnessed one of their captors take a wooden stool to the head and another bleed out in front of them with a knife impaled in his chest. Quinn counted on the many hours of flying time to help calm their frayed nerves.

  Dave jerked open the back door, hauled out James’s and Quinn’s suitcases and briefcases, and set them on the ground. He placed the three small sacks that held the kids’ scant belongings next to them. Sasha and Ilya had been able to gather their and Mila’s things before being whisked away to the safe house. Sadly, it didn’t amount to much. Mila currently wore a pair of shorts and a top excavated from Quinn’s luggage. Quinn was already planning on buying all three new clothes once they were back in the States.

  A figure emerged from the airplane’s hatch, hopped down the steps, and strode toward them. As the woman neared, she grinned at James and opened her arms. “James. It’s so good to see you again.”

  “You, too, Lauren,” he said and gave her a quick hug. “It made my day when Meyers told me you’d be my copilot.”

  “When I heard the legendary Buckshot was a mover and shaker behind this, I knew it was important. I volunteered immediately.”

  Quinn smiled when she heard Lauren utter the name. Buckshot was her grandfather’s code name within the CIA. Of course he was involved in clearing the way for the Semenov kids to get home, even if Quinn hadn’t directly asked for his help.

  Lauren’s eyes darted to the three and then returned to James. “I’m honored to be a part of it.”

  James rested his hand at the small of Quinn’s back. “This is my wife—”

  “Quinn,” Lauren said. The two women shook hands. “It’s nice to meet you.” Lauren was taller and a little older than Quinn, with green eyes that were as sharp as a knife. “I feel like I know you.” At the bemused look on Quinn’s face, Lauren added, “James and I worked together in Moscow. When he came back after your adventures together, you were all he talked about.”

  Quinn was relieved to hear humor in her tone rather than annoyance. Still, she felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be,” Lauren said. “We miss him in Moscow, but we’re glad he found you and is so happy.”

  Quinn smiled, secretly thrilled by Lauren’s comments.

  Dave stepped forward and extended a hand. “Dave Flores.” After a brief greeting, he turned toward the Semenovs. “And these three are your esteemed passengers.” They lifted their hands in unsure waves as Dave said their names.

  Lauren acknowledged each with a head bob. “What do you say, ladies and gentleman? Ready to get out of here?”

  “Yes,” they murmured in unison.

  “Then let’s roll,” Lauren said in a way that was both kind and authoritative.

  Dave smiled at the kids. “Take care.”

  Mila took a half step toward him. Her voice was filled with quiet dignity when she said, “Thank you for rescuing us.”

  A lump knotted in Quinn’s throat when she saw the tears glisten in Dave’s eyes. The muscles in his jaw pulsed twice before he rasped, “You’re welcome.” He swiped a hand over his eyes and cleared his throat. “Maybe when y’all are ready, you can come on down to Texas and visit me and my family. Have your folks bring you. We’ll have barbecue.”

  Mila’s smile lit up her face. “We will.”

  Quinn and James shared hasty farewells with Dave and promised to stay in touch. As the group walked toward the plane, Dave returned to the van and drove off with a final wave through the window.

  “Is our flight plan all set?” James asked Lauren.

  Ilya went up the steps first, followed by Sasha, then Mila.

  With the kids’ bags in her arms, Lauren’s eyes followed each as they boarded. “Affirmative. You know how it is around here. Had to grease a few palms, but we’re all good.”

  “I know exactly how it is,” James replied.

  He didn’t elaborate, but Quinn knew he was referring to the disposition of Anatoly’s remains after he’d assumed ambient temperature the night before. They had immediately called in Reem, who had then contacted her most trusted ally within the local police. Wads of cash had been freely distributed from the top police brass to the guys who hauled the tarp-wrapped body out of the back of the van. The inquiry into the unlamented departure of Anatoly Volodin from this earthly plane was opened and closed in record time.

  A briefcase in each hand, Quinn followed Mila up the steps and ducked through the hatch into the interior of the jet. Its eight large leather seats, tables, monitors, and satellite phone screamed, “High-ranking intelligence officials use this aircraft.” Her grandfather had ensured they traveled in style.

  The kids had already chosen their seats, so Quinn took an open one in front of Mila and stashed the briefcases. Ilya literally bounced, excitement shining on his face. Sasha, on the other hand, was clearly tense and chewed on her lower lip.

  Lauren boarded and stood in the space between the entrance of the cockpit and the rest of the cabin. With a tip of her head, she indicated the three passports sitting atop a shiny wood tabletop. “Compliments of the Unites States Department of State. They’re already stamped with the same date you and James arrived in Saint Petersburg. If anyone asks when we stop in Reykjavik, the kids are your cousins and you’re all on your way home from holiday.” She opened the forward closet door to reveal three small suitcases. “We didn’t want you young people returning to the U. S. without some new clothes and toiletries.”

  “I got a suitcase full of clothes from the same people once,” Quinn said to a gaping Sasha across the narrow aisle. “They’re like shopping ninjas. You’ll love everything.” She should have known the agency would supply clothes for the kids. That wouldn’t stop her from buying more for them, though.

  Lauren closed the closet door and slid into one of the two seats in the cockpit. After strapping in, she put on her headset. Seconds later, the engines began to hum.

 
James brought up the rear. He walked through the compartment and stowed his and Quinn’s luggage in the aft closet. Then he returned to the front, pulled up the hatch, and secured it. He turned and faced them as Lauren had a moment before. James flashed a cheesy smile and said in a sonorous tone, “Welcome aboard. My name is James. I’ll be your flight attendant and copilot as we wing our way across the globe. If the Rocky Mountain Regional Airport in beautiful Broomfield, Colorado, is not your final destination, too bad because that’s where we’re going.”

  Ilya clamped both hands over his mouth and giggled.

  James shot Quinn a wink. He continued. “Our flight time is approximately thirteen hours, not counting fuel stops in Reykjavik and . . .”

  He paused and his eyes widened to comic proportions. He spun around and ducked his front half into the cockpit. A few seconds later, he backed out and faced them again. He picked up his narration as if he’d never stopped. “Teterboro, New Jersey. I have no idea what time we’ll be landing in Colorado because with all the flying and time changes and everything, the math is just too hard.”

  Side-eyed, Quinn peeked over at Sasha. The shoulders that had been scrunched up to her ears lowered, and her face relaxed into a genuine smile. Quinn breathed out a silent sigh of relief.

  He pointed at the back of the cabin with both hands. “The lavatory is located at the back. For those of you who may not know, that’s just a fancy word for bathroom. Also, I’ll be coming through the cabin later to take your dinner orders.” James waited a beat before barking a laugh and dropping his affectations. “Just kidding. You’re on your own for dinner.” He gestured at the counter to his left. “There’s a little galley here, so feel free to pillage. There might be stuff to make a sandwich or something.” Slipping back into his flight attendant voice, he finished with, “Sit back, relax, and enjoy your flight.”

  James dipped his head in acknowledgement of their rousing applause. “Thank you. Thank you. Now, please fasten your seat belts in preparation for takeoff.”