An Uncommon Honeymoon

by Susan Mann

  “I will have fruit,” Ovechkin said. “Nothing for Yuri.”

  Thankful for something to do, Quinn busied herself with serving him food and drink. She tried to engage him in small talk, but his uninterested grunts ended it quickly.

  The silence stretched until Ovechkin spoke unexpectedly. “If the drug is working on Dmitri, can I make him do something now?”

  “Let’s find out,” Quinn said. “Dmitri, I want you to hit Mr. Ovechkin in the face with your fists so hard, you break his jaw.”

  Dmitri crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her in defiance.

  Ovechkin frowned. “It does not work.”

  “If I may,” Sydney said. “The tag on the SIM card has to be engaged by a phone with the app for it to work.”

  That exchange fed into Ovechkin’s obvious and growing skepticism. As time dragged on, he grew more fidgety and the strain in the room grew almost to be unbearable.

  Through it all, Dmitri showed no outward signs he was affected by the drug in any way.

  Quinn’s adrenaline spiked when Dmitri’s phone finally rang. If the drug didn’t work, the whole thing was about to get ugly. The steps of their contingency plan raced through her mind as Dmitri put the phone to his ear.

  Just as the young woman in Ziegler’s video had done, Dmitri listened in silence. Then he set the phone down on the table, stood, and picked up Ovechkin’s pistol.

  All eyes watched with fascination as he slapped the magazine into the grip, and pulled back on the slide.

  He whirled around, pointed the pistol directly at Ovechkin’s chest, and pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession.

  Eyes wide with terror, Ovechkin jerked with each spit of the gun.

  Yuri lunged for Dmitri.

  Quinn leapt up and stopped him with a knee to the groin. His face turned the color of an eggplant as he clutched his nuggets and gurgled.

  “I’m so sorry about that, Yuri. But I can’t let you interfere with the demonstration,” she said.

  By the time Quinn returned her attention to Dmitri, he sat unperturbed in his chair with his fingers laced together and resting on his lap.

  The shock on Ovechkin’s face transformed to confusion when he glanced down and frantically patted his chest. There were no bullet holes in his blazer, no spots of dark blood blooming on his white shirt.

  “In preparation for our little demonstration, Cade swapped out your magazine with one loaded with blanks. He’s quite the magician.” During their various run-ins, James had noted all of Borovsky’s henchmen carried the same kind of nine-millimeter pistol, one used by Russian military. When the time came, he was well prepared to make the swap.

  Ovechkin leapt to his feet, his face mottled with rage. “You bitch!” Spittle flew from his mouth as he advanced toward her.

  She snatched a pistol from the table, inserted a magazine, and chambered a round. “That’s far enough.” She leveled it at his chest and cocked the hammer with her thumb. “Cade didn’t touch the bullets in this gun.”

  The door to the suite swung open. James was by Quinn’s side in an instant, having covered the distance in three strides. His voice cracked like a whip when he asked, “What seems to be the problem?”

  “Apparently Mr. Ovechkin didn’t take too kindly to his unexpected participation in our demonstration. I’m not sure why, since we’ve clearly shown the drug works.” She angled her head to one side and asked, “Or do you believe Dmitri would willingly put three bullets in your chest?”

  Ovechkin’s eyes darted from Quinn to James to her finger on the gun’s trigger.

  Her tone turned steely. “Sit. Down.”

  When he didn’t move, her jaw clenched in frustration. “I can assure you if you don’t sit your stupid ass down, I will fire this gun. Or are you waiting for Dmitri to jump to your defense?”

  Ovechkin looked over at Dmitri. The big man watched the goings-on in absolute disinterest.

  James spoke up. “The drug is still active in his system. I told him he was not to come to your aid under any circumstance.” He glanced at Yuri. He was clearly unsure what to do now that he had sufficiently recovered. “Or your buddy’s. You should also know he will snap your necks with his bare hands if either of you lay a finger on Ms. Chamberlain.”

  One of Ovechkin’s eyes twitched closed and winced as if in pain. He raised his hands in surrender and backed up. Once he was seated again, Quinn decocked the hammer and lowered her arm.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw Sydney slump and drag her sleeve across her forehead.

  “Mr. Borovsky will pay double highest bid from competitors,” Ovechkin said.

  The demonstration had been a smashing success. But it still surprised her that Ovechkin made the offer without checking with his boss first. “He should know it’s currently at fifteen million euros.” Ziegler’s documentation indicated he was originally asking ten million, so fifteen wasn’t that big of a stretch.

  Ovechkin paused, looked down at the floor, and then raised his gaze to her face. “He will pay thirty million euros now. He will wire transfer money to any account you wish. I take formula and drug with me.”

  Holy crap. They hadn’t expected it to happen this quickly. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Quinn said. “I haven’t agreed to sell it to him yet.” The whole point was to meet with Borovsky in person. “My father taught me to never do business with minions. I meet with Mr. Borovsky in the flesh and hammer out a deal, or it doesn’t happen at all.”

  “Mr. Borovsky only makes deals through his—” Ovechkin broke off.

  Quinn’s brow lowered, puzzled by his midsentence stoppage. She cut her eyes toward James, who squinted at Ovechkin. Something was up.

  She reviewed their interactions with Ovechkin since the moment he’d walked in: the prolonged pauses, the sudden questions, the distant stares.

  She stifled an “aha!” when the answer came to her.

  Borovsky was there. Somewhere. If they thoroughly searched Ovechkin, they would likely find he wore an earpiece and perhaps even a minuscule hidden camera.

  “Do you gamble, Miss Chamberlain?” Ovechkin asked.

  That was an odd question. “I’ve been known to play a few hands of Texas Hold’em.”

  Now that she understood what was going on between Borovsky and Ovechkin, the hesitation before Ovechkin spoke made perfect sense. “Mr. Borovsky invites you to the private poker game he is hosting tomorrow night at Casino de Monte-Carlo.”

  “I’m not going to gamble with Ziegler’s formula.” He had to be caught buying it, not winning it.

  “No. You asked to meet in person. He agrees.”

  “To negotiate the deal, not play poker.”

  “You intrigue him. He wants to know you better.”

  She bit back a snort. I bet he does.

  “He also offers you gift of buy-in of fifty thousand euros. No strings attached.”

  There are always strings attached, she thought. A man like Borovsky always wanted to be in a position of power. What better way than to have her in his debt? Plus, he probably thought she would succumb to his charms and beg him to allow her to sell him the formula for next to nothing.

  And beg him for other things as well.

  Gross.

  If playing poker meant they would finally bust Borovsky, make him pay for his crimes, and dismantle his empire, then she would jump through whatever flaming hoops necessary. Except one. Leading him to believe she would fall into his bed was an entirely different matter.

  “That’s very generous. Tell Mr. Borovsky I accept his invitation and look forward to meeting him.”

  Ovechkin rose to his feet and buttoned his jacket. “Nine o’clock tomorrow evening.” He looked at Dmitri and asked, “How much longer?”

  Sydney stepped forward. “It should be completely out of his system in about four hours.”

  “Cade, the phone please,” Quinn said.

  James placed it in her upturned palm.

  She cal
led Dmitri’s phone. When he answered, she touched the screen once and said, “You will now go with Mr. Ovechkin. He will take you directly to Le Bar Améri-cain here in this hotel. There, he will ply you with drinks and food until the effect of the drug wears off. If you leave without stopping at the bar, you will break both of his arms.” Her gaze fell on the other guard. “And you will share all food and drink with Yuri.” She ended the call and said to Ovechkin, “I think they both deserve treats, don’t you?”

  Dmitri stood from his chair and looked at Ovechkin expectantly. Yuri blinked at Quinn in astonishment.

  From the nasty sneer he shot her, it was clear she’d not made a friend in Ivan Ovechkin. So be it. If things went the way they were supposed to, his ass would be in jail, along with Borovsky and the rest of his crew, within a few days.

  Ovechkin and Yuri silently gathered their pistols and magazines. As the three men filed out the door, Quinn called out, “Ciao!”

  An acknowledgement of her farewell was not forthcoming.

  Once the door shut, Quinn dropped into a chair and stretched out her legs. Arms hung loose over the armrests, she rested her head back and said, “That was exhausting.”

  James replied with a formal sounding, “Yes, miss. May I pour you some champagne as refreshment?”

  She gave James a funny look.

  He touched his index finger to his lips, informing her and Sydney to stay quiet. James lowered to his knees beside Quinn and put a cheek against hers. “I need to sweep the room to make sure they didn’t leave any bugs,” he whispered in her ear.

  She nodded. “Thank you, Cade. Champagne would be lovely.” It made sense. If Borovsky was willing to spy on her via Ovechkin, what was to say he wouldn’t keep trying once he was gone?

  James rose and headed for the bedroom to get the listening device detector.

  Quinn went to an obviously befuddled Sydney and relayed to her James’s concern in a whisper.

  Sydney’s mouth made an O, and she nodded slowly. “I’ll get started cleaning up.”

  “That would be great,” Quinn said. She went the cart and made a point of clinking the bottle to the glass as she poured the champagne.

  James returned to the sitting room and began to sweep it with a handheld device.

  Keeping a conversational tone, Quinn said, “I think the demonstration went well, don’t you, Marie?”

  “Yes, ma’am, other than the hiccup at the beginning where we had to change test subjects.” Sydney carefully returned everything she’d laid out back into the appropriate slots cut into the gray foam inside a hard-sided protective case.

  “If anything, it made it all the more compelling,” Quinn said, keeping her eyes glued to James as he worked.

  James moved the detector along the couch where Ovechkin had sat. He stopped and left it hovering in front of the end table. He went down on all fours, poked his head under the table, and craned his neck to get a look at the underside. He backed out, sat on the floor, and pointed at the front edge of the table.

  Quinn nodded and said, “Cade, I’m going to go use the powder room. I’ll be back in a moment.” She crooked her finger asking him to follow.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He climbed to his feet and trailed her to the bathroom.

  Safely away from prying ears, Quinn asked, “What do we do? Do we bust it, jam it, or play along?”

  He ran his fingers through his hair and scratched the back of his head. “If we play along, we could use it to feed him bad intel.”

  “Like what? We’re playing this straight until we bust him when he pays us for the drug.”

  “Good point. We could hedge our bets and jam it. He would just think it’s not transmitting for some reason.”

  “True,” she said doubtfully. “What if the jammer fails and he hears the real us by accident? That blows everything.”

  He rested his hands on his hips. “But if we bust it, he’ll know we went looking for it and found it.”

  “Is that a bad thing? If I’m a criminal selling a mind-control drug I stole from another criminal, he might actually think more of me if we do find it and crush it. It gives me street cred.”

  “I love it when you get all gangsta,” he said with a grin. “But yeah, I get it. It’ll make you a worthy opponent and not some naïve pushover.”

  She gave him a coy look. “Some guys like a challenge.”

  “This guy sure does.” He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss. “Let’s hope Borovsky does, too.”

  They left the bathroom and Quinn headed straight for the bug. She reached under the table and felt around until her fingers touched the small electronic component. She pried it loose and held it up to her lips. “See you tomorrow night, Mr. Borovsky.” She dropped it on the floor. It popped and snapped when she crushed it under the heel of her pump.

  “That should get his attention,” James said.

  “Speaking of attention, Victoria needs a kickass dress.” She chucked him under his chin and said, “Come on, Cade. We’re going shopping.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Hey, babe? You about ready to go?” James’s voice drifted from the sitting room of their suite to where she stood in front of the bathroom mirror.

  “Yeah. Just a minute.” Quinn swiped her lipstick over her lower lip, slid it back into the tube, and dropped it in her silver clutch. After snatching a tissue from the box and blotting her lips, she checked her face in the mirror one more time. She wore more makeup than usual, a lot more actually. It looked pretty good if she did say so herself.

  In her final act of primping, she adjusted the soft, blond curls that brushed her bare shoulders with her fingers. Satisfied there was nothing left to do, she grabbed her purse, flicked off the light, walked through the bedroom, and came to a stop just beyond the doorway.

  Hands deep in the trouser pockets of his blue pinstripe suit, James stood with his back to her and gazed out the window.

  When he didn’t turn around, she cleared her throat and asked, “What do you think?” She bent a knee and struck a pose.

  He spun around. The moment his eyes landed on her, his jaw dropped and he openly gawped at her. He looked like he’d been beaned in the cranium with a two-by-four.

  Ruby red and tight, the off-the-shoulder taffeta dress hugged her curves, showing off her hourglass figure. A cascade of diamonds hung from her neck. Large teardrop rubies hung from each ear. The dress stopped mid-thigh and in her high red heels, her legs looked longer than she had ever seen.

  Earlier, when she’d tried it on in the shop, she had convinced herself that while Victoria Chamberlain would wear a killer dress like that, Quinn Ellington Anderson never would. Given the thrill she felt at observing her gobsmacked husband, though, it was time to reconsider.

  “You . . . I . . . You . . .” James clamped his mouth shut, scrunched his eyes closed, and drew in a deep breath as if trying to clear cobwebs from his brain. Once he collected himself, he opened his eyes and said, “You’re gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.” He went to her and slipped his arms around her waist. “Is it wrong that I want to keep you to myself? I don’t want to share you with a lech like Borovsky.”

  “You’re sweet,” she said and pecked him on the lips. “Unfortunately, that’s not in the cards tonight. No pun intended.” She wiped at the stain of lipstick she’d left on his lips with her thumb. “Although when we get back here tonight, you will have me all to yourself.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” His eyes clouded. “I know you can handle yourself, but trust me. One look at you and Borovsky won’t want to let you go tonight.”

  “Then Victoria will teach him he can’t always have what he wants.”

  “I’m serious, Quinn. Powerful men like him don’t always take no for an answer.”

  “I know. But we’ll be in a public place the entire time. And you’ll be with me. He wouldn’t dare try anything.”

  His eyes flashed fiery blue. “If he does, I can’t promise I won’t kill him right there on the
spot.”

  She was equally serious when she said, “I can’t promise I won’t have already killed him myself.” Her eyes bored into his. “He’s not going to take me away from you.”

  The muscles that had grown taut under her hands loosened and his face relaxed into a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry. I get a little overprotective.”

  “Really?” she teased, relieved that the tension had dissipated. “I’ve never noticed.”

  He gazed down at her from under hooded eyelids. “Very funny.”

  “I thought so.” Her smile softened as her eyes roamed his handsome face. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” he said and gave her a kiss.

  She swiped at his lipstick-covered lips again and picked up her purse. They left their suite, strolled through the elegant hotel lobby, and swept out the door.

  The casino was a short walk across the Place du Casino, the grassy square the casino and hotel shared. It wasn’t an easy walk though. They had to snake their way through the bumper-to-bumper supercars clogging the drive that circumnavigated the square.

  They passed a low, sleek red Ferrari, its engine growling and whining as it crawled along. James nearly tripped over his own feet when he spun around to ogle it.

  “Did you see that? That’s a 458 Spider.”

  “I know, sweetie. Your dream car.” She loved how animated he got whenever he came across an amazing, high-performance machine. And they were everywhere in Monaco. He was like a kid in a candy shop.

  “You’d look smokin’ hot in that car,” he said.

  “How about me in this dress in that car?”

  He released a low, tortured groan. “Oh my God, baby. That’s just not even fair.”

  “Aw, geez,” Quinn heard Darius grumble through her earpiece. “Are you two at it again?”

  “Again?” James said in faux offense. “I can assure you, my good man, it never stops.” Like flicking a switch, his tone turned serious. “Except now. We’re coming up on the front steps. You in position?”