An Uncommon Honeymoon

by Susan Mann

  “Say the word and we’ll come bust you out,” Darius said.

  It must have been torture for them, forced to remain frozen in place in the face of her necessary silence. She quietly cleared her throat, hoping they grasped her tacit acknowledgement.

  The glass filled, she had no choice but to stop pouring. As she sipped from her glass, she turned her head a little and pegged her eyes to the side to see what was going on.

  Viktor bent and spoke in a hushed tone directly into Borovsky’s ear.

  Much like how James, Darius, and Sydney must have felt, not knowing was the worst. Had Viktor recognized her or James, and was he at that very moment ratting them out? Was she about to be exposed as an impostor to a notorious Russian mob boss? That would not turn out well.

  She set her glass down and crossed her legs so the thigh with her Glock strapped to it rested atop the other. She laced her fingers together and placed them on her lap, presenting herself as merely waiting for the interruption to end. In truth, she was tense and alert, ready to draw her weapon and fire at the first sign of trouble.

  Her senses heightened when Borovsky shoved away from the table and rose to his feet. He went to the man named Mikhail and gripped him by the hair. Borovsky reared Mikhail’s head back and propelled it forward, smashing Mikhail’s face against the top of the poker table.

  “How dare you?” Borovsky growled in Russian. “You have no right to sample my product without permission.”

  Quinn watched in horror as Borovsky lifted Mikhail’s head and rammed it onto the table. Again. And again. And again. Stacked poker chips bounced and clattered with each blow.

  The other men sat stoically, their eyes downcast, as Mikhail received his epic beatdown.

  The dealer trembled as the color drained from her face.

  And then it ended. Borovsky stepped away from Mikhail, whose head was tilted forward and lolling to one side. One eyebrow sported a nasty, oozing gash. Blood dripped from his nose and onto his white shirt. Red splotches marred the orange felt covering the table.

  Borovsky snapped his fingers and flicked a hand through the air. “Viktor, you and Pasha will remove Mikhail from my presence.”

  Neither spoke as they slung Mikhail’s limp arms around their necks and lifted him from his chair. His legs moved under him as they carried him away, but at half speed and with no weight on them.

  “Holy hell!” James said in a strangled whisper the second the men passed through the doorway. “Quinn! Are you okay?”

  Borovsky tugged at his cuffs and smoothed a hand over his hair. “I apologize for the interruption. One must deal with problem employees immediately.”

  “It’s fine.” Quinn’s smile felt weak and wonky. “I’m fine,” she added for James’s benefit.

  He returned to his seat and gestured to the dealer. Hands still quaking, she slowly dealt out the cards for another round of play. To Quinn, Borovsky said, “You were about to tell me how you came to be in possession of the item I will be purchasing.”

  She took a sip of water and peered at her hole cards, buying herself some time to reset and refocus. She bottled up the fear and anxiety and let Victoria Chamberlain take over. “Call,” she said and tossed a chip into the pot.

  Once again, Borovsky pushed his cards into the muck pile without a glance. His eyes were glued to her.

  “I had a student from Germany for a roommate one semester in college. Sabine. We’ve stayed in touch. Not long ago, she told me she was the personal assistant to this super-smart scientist who had developed an amazing drug. Like any good reference librarian, I was able to ask a bunch of questions and get more information from her about it.”

  Borovsky shot her a knowing look. “Personal assistant?”

  The auditory memories of the doctor and Sabine doing the wild monkey dance on his couch flooded her brain. The panting. The moaning. The spanking. “Very personal,” Quinn said.

  “I see.”

  Quinn could see she had Borovsky completely enthralled.

  “Please continue.”

  “One second.” She checked the community cards the dealer had lined face-up on the table. Nothing there was helpful, but she decided to stick it out with her pair of eights. She tossed another couple of chips into the pot. “Anyway, after I talked to Sabine, I decided to find out more about Ziegler and this drug of his. One thing about librarians is we’re good at digging up information that might be otherwise hard to find.”

  “What kind of information?”

  She shrugged and answered in a voice that made it seem like it was no big deal. “Scientific journal articles and books he’d published, transcripts of his symposium lectures, grants he’d received, honors, awards, degrees. Things like that.”

  “It was then you decided it was worth stealing?”

  She looked past Borovsky to Nikolai, her opponent in the hand. Even with the final community card showing on the table, she still only had a pair. He pushed in a large bet. “I fold,” she said and flicked her cards across the table toward the dealer.

  “Yes, putting all of his disparate interests together with what Sabine had told me, I felt like he was on to something big. So I obtained schematics of the building, photos of their security badges, protocols, uniforms, schedules.”

  “Impressive. Did Sabine help you acquire this information?”

  “No. To this day she has no idea I had anything to do with the theft.” Quinn wrinkled her nose. “I do feel kind of bad she lost her job when I called the authorities on Ziegler.”

  “You could not have him remaking his formula,” Borovsky said.

  “Exactly. Once she was cleared from any wrongdoing, Sabine got a new job. I’m glad about that.”

  “When did you realize you had, as you Americans say, ‘struck gold’?”

  At that moment, Pasha slipped back into the room and returned to his seat.

  “I found Ziegler’s list of interested buyers—every single one very rich and very powerful. And when I learned exactly what the drug does, I knew I had hit the big time. I have to say, though, even with all my skills, I found next to nothing on you.”

  “And yet with so little information, here you are.”

  “What can I say?” Her eyes followed the cards being passed out by the dealer. “I’m good at my job.”

  “I can see that you are.” He folded his hand and asked, “What will you do once you have millions of my euros?”

  “I’m not sure. I can’t decide if I want to use it to expand my business, or retire forever.”

  “Two very different options.”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps I should offer you a job within my organization,” he said, his voice turning velvety. “Your talents and skills would be of great value to me. I would pay you handsomely.”

  She smiled and moved a shoulder. “Maybe.” Glancing at him side-eyed, she said, “What would your wife think of you offering me a job?”

  Borovsky started. “How do you know about her?”

  It had been a stab in the dark, but she wasn’t about to tell him that. “I’m good at uncovering hard-to-get information, remember?”

  He leaned toward her and said rather urgently, “You have made it so I cannot forget anything about you.” His tone lightened when he sat back. “My wife and I have a mutually beneficial arrangement. I live happily on my yacht and she lives happily in Russia spending my money.”

  She masked her revulsion and cooed, “Sounds like a win-win situation.”

  “It is,” he said proudly.

  Their conversation moved on to other topics as they returned to the poker game. She lost more hands than she won, but that was insignificant.

  By midnight, Quinn was antsy and ready to leave. Their time of meet and greet had come and gone, and now she was wasting her time. Her intentions to take off remained unspoken, but as soon as she had a decent hand, she would go big and, win or lose, go home. Fifteen minutes later, she rolled up the tops of her two hole cards with her thumb and t
ook a peek. The ace and king of hearts.

  This was it.

  Everyone stayed in the hand long enough to see the flop. Her ace and king didn’t pair, but the two and jack of hearts put her on a potential flush. Had she not already decided this was her last hand, she probably would have folded when Ovechkin made a substantial bet. In this case, losing wouldn’t be a bad thing. She pushed a tall stack of chips forward. “Call.”

  The dealer flipped over the turn card. The nine of spades did her no good. Ovechkin kept pushing with bigger bets. She kept calling.

  All she needed was another heart on the river, the final community card, and she’d get her flush. If not, she’d at least need to pair one of her hole cards to keep from ending up with a garbage hand. She was okay with losing because it would mean she had a good excuse to leave. But winning a big hand would be a lot more fun.

  The dealer flipped over the last card.

  Boom.

  She drew her heart.

  The moment she saw that sweet, innocuous four of hearts, she used her training to stay cool and not react. None of the community cards had paired, taking away the possibility of a full house or four of a kind. A straight flush was also impossible. And her ace ensured a win on the chance Ovechkin caught a flush, too.

  She peered over at Ovechkin, who sat as still as a statue with his eyes pinned on an indiscriminate spot on the table as he ruminated. Eventually, he announced his all-in and pushed the entirety of his chips toward the center of the table.

  Reading his bets, she figured he had something, probably three jacks. If he had nothing and was trying to bluff, he’d chosen poorly.

  She already had Borovsky eating out of the palm of her hand. But to really seal the deal, she decided to have Victoria add a little drama to the proceedings. She stared down Ovechkin and absently played with a chip as if wrestling with a difficult decision. Finally, she sighed and said, “You only live once. Call.”

  Ovechkin jumped from his chair like a fire had been lit under it. With an air of supreme confidence, he turned over his cards. He had exactly what she’d suspected, a pocket pair of jacks. He stretched out his arms, ready to rake in the chips.

  “I believe my hearts beat your jacks.” She flipped over her cards, revealing her flush.

  “God, you’re hot,” she heard James say through her earpiece.

  Ovechkin glared at her, trying to incinerate her with his eyeballs. It appeared she had cultivated in him a lifelong enemy.

  Borovsky beamed at her with approval. “You are a shrewd foe who is to be taken seriously.”

  “It would be wise for you to remember that,” she said as she leaned over to retrieve her purse. “And on that winning note, I’m going to take my leave.”

  “So soon?” Borovsky glanced at his watch. “It is only one o’clock. At least allow Ivan a chance to win back his chips.”

  She flicked a hand through the air. “Oh, he can have them all back. This was never about the money. But I really would like to get some sleep.” Now on her feet, she offered Borovsky a hand. “Thank you for a lovely evening. I enjoyed getting to know you. And now I’d like to set up a time when we can conclude our transaction tomorrow.”

  As he had done when she’d first arrived, he clutched her hand in both of his. “You will sell me the drug?”

  “I can’t say no to thirty million euros.”

  “Wonderful.” He led her away from the table and pressed her hand against his chest. She willed herself to not to pull it away. Anyone other than James touching her that way was the worst part of her job. “Please come back with me to my yacht. Tonight. I cannot bear to spend the night without you sharing my bed.”

  “I have a very strict rule of business before pleasure. It’s part of my dislike of entanglements.” Also, ew, Quinn thought.

  “Then we complete the deal tonight, right now,” he pleaded.

  Her mind spun. The team wasn’t ready for that. “I’m not going to do a thirty-million-euro deal in the middle of night,” she said firmly. When she noted his mood darkening—the man didn’t like being told no—she turned flirty again. She stepped into him and pressed her body against his. “There will be plenty of time for pleasure after our business is concluded,” she purred in his ear. “I promise you. I’m worth the wait.”

  Borovsky shivered. His grip on her hand tightened. “What if I take you back to my ship like a pirate kidnapping a fair maiden?” he said in a playful tone.

  It took every ounce of self-control not to go CIA badass on him like she had on the douchebag at the karaoke bar the night before her wedding. But ending up with a half dozen guns pointed at her wasn’t especially appealing.

  Still, Victoria Chamberlain—and Quinn Ellington, for that matter—would have none of it. She stiffened, took a step back, and gave Borovsky a frigid stare. “I know you think you’re teasing, but threatening violence against a woman is never funny.” Her eyes snapped to the spots of blood on the table.

  For the first time, she saw his confidence waver. She doubted a woman had ever stood up to him before.

  She also hoped she hadn’t just blown the op. And that she wasn’t about to get punched in the mouth.

  “I apologize. I would never hurt a woman. I was only trying to convey how much I want you.” Borovsky’s tone grew ardent. “I have never met a woman who makes me flame with passion the way you do.”

  Blech.

  “Come to my yacht tomorrow and bring the drug. We can complete our business and at the same time, you will taste the life of luxury you can have if you stay with me.”

  “I don’t want to put anyone out.” She glanced over at the men still sitting at the table. “It looks like you have a literal boatload of friends staying with you.”

  “Not all stay with me on the yacht. I have arranged accommodations for them here in Monte Carlo.”

  Or if they were staying on the yacht, they wouldn’t be anymore.

  Doing the deal on the yacht could make the logistics of taking him into custody a little more complicated. But he was insistent and the primary objective was to bust him on the drug sale. Victoria Chamberlain had no good reason to say no.

  James must have come to the same conclusion. In her ear, she heard him say, “He’s not going to budge on this yacht thing. Accept his offer. We can make it work.”

  “All right, Mr. Borovsky,” she said. “I would love to finalize our transaction on your yacht. I look forward to it.”

  His eyes flashed in triumph. “Be at Port Hercule tomorrow afternoon at four o’clock. Ivan will text you the details of where to meet.”

  “I’ll be there. Thank you again for a lovely evening.” She tried to pull her hand away.

  Rather than releasing it, he lifted it and pressed his lips to the back of it. The way he lingered over it made her stomach churn.

  She tugged again, and this time successfully extracted it. “Good night.”

  It was all she could do to keep from flinging open the door and sprinting through the casino as if a rabid badger snapped at her heels. But Victoria Chamberlain didn’t sprint. She sauntered.

  Which was exactly how Quinn walked to the door. She opened the door and tossed a glance over her shoulder. “Bye, boys.” She turned and strolled out, leaving them frozen in place with wide eyes and hanging jaws.

  She locked eyes with James. So near to him now, she ached to be held in his arms. But with a better than even chance Borovsky would have them followed, their embrace would have to wait until they were in the privacy of their hotel suite.

  She stopped in front of Dmitri and cut her eyes up at him. She rolled out her hand and held it there. A coquettish smile danced on her lips.

  One corner of his mouth lifted. He retrieved her phone from his pocket and set it on her awaiting palm.

  She waved the phone in farewell and chirped, “See you.” She spun on her heel and strode away. James fell in step beside her.

  Neither said a word as they made their way through the casino. Only when the
y were outside and hurrying down the front steps did James say, “Darius, we’re clear. You’re good to go.”

  “As soon as I catch my gutshot straight draw on the river.” Ten seconds later, he muttered, “Crap.”

  “Sounds like it’s time to cash out,” Quinn said.

  “Yup. I’m out of here.”

  “I’ll keep comms open until everyone is back,” Sydney said. “I mean, if that’s okay. Is that okay? I’m not usually in the van, although it’s really not a van. A hotel room isn’t a van.”

  “It’s okay,” James said. “We’ll let you know when to shut them down.”

  “Ah. Okay. Good,” Sydney said.

  Quinn drew in a deep breath and let the night air fill her lungs.

  “You okay?” James asked.

  “Yeah,” she sighed and expelled the air with a gust. “It feels good to be outside.”

  “I’m just glad you’re away from Admiral Lecherous.”

  Using descriptive names for bad guys was something she often did. James doing so now had her laughing out loud. It was a wonderful release after the stress she’d endured over the past few hours. “Admiral Lecherous. Is he the evil twin of Captain Sanctimonious?” She was referring to a Sikh extremist they had dealt with during their op in India.

  “He is.” James wasn’t laughing, though. “I could live with Captain Sanctimonious judging our lusty public behavior. It’s not easy for me to listen to a smarmy bastard like Borovsky drool all over you.”

  “I know. It’s not any fun on my end either. But it’s part of the job.”

  They wove their way through the surprisingly crowded sidewalk and started up the steps of the hotel. “I’m not going to be sandbagged again. Come hell or high water, I’m going to be on that yacht with you tomorrow. I don’t care what Borovsky says. I’m not going to let you be dropped into a pit of vipers alone.”

  “What if he stomps his foot and says absolutely not? If I don’t go, it blows the whole op.”

  “I don’t think he’ll do that. I heard it in his voice. He’ll do whatever it takes to have you. And if it means having your bodyguard tag along, so be it. He’ll figure he can deal with me if needed.”