The air left his lungs in a rush. She’d rather tell him about her past than explain how she knew he was a detective? Something didn’t feel right. The sneaking suspicion that he wasn’t going to like what she would say next crawled down his spine.
Her hands moved automatically over the metal parts, meticulously cleaning what two rounds couldn’t have possibly dirtied. “Protecting myself is a necessity. I made it a habit to train with this gun. When you aren’t sure if each morning you wake up might be your last, it becomes habit.”
At the brittle edge to her voice, his heart shifted sideways. A portion of his anger ebbed into sympathy. She was hiding from Nikolai, and it was all Brandon could do to not go to her and offer comfort. But he sensed, if he interrupted her now, he’d never hear the full explanation.
He stayed at the opposite end of the bar, his hands curled into the countertop, gritting his teeth against the desire to rip this Nikolai into pieces.
“I… spent a lot of time with him in Russia. He’s affiliated with the St. Petersburg casino, silent partner if you will. He was in the club last night. Jill danced for him. Which means he saw me dancing as well.”
Ah. The lightbulb clicked on. All the threats led her to the logical conclusion, this Nikolai was after her. She’d misconstrued the truth—then again, he hadn’t given her the truth to help her over the fear. Something he needed to amend right now.
“Natalya.” He rounded the corner of the island and captured one busy hand. “First things first—give me his last name, and whatever he’s done to you, we’ll make sure he pays the price.” Bringing her hand to his mouth, he dusted a kiss over her knuckles and held her gaze. “I won’t let him hurt you. It wasn’t him who shot at us either. I’ll stake my life on it.”
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
“Brandon?”
The female voice in his front hall made him jump. He instinctively moved in front of the island to hide Natalya’s gun.
Sue poked her head around the entryway. “I’m sorry to bother you. I saw you come in earlier than normal—I didn’t realize you had company.” A fierce blush colored her face crimson as she ducked her head.
“It’s okay. Sue, this is Natalya. Natalya, my neighbor, Sue.” Still possessively holding on to Natalya’s hand, he gestured at the both of them in turn.
“Nice to meet you, Natalya.” Sue’s blush deepened. “I’m really sorry. I can wait till morning.”
“No, what did you need?”
Stepping fully into the room, Sue wrung her hands together. “It’s Opie. I haven’t seen him since I let him out three hours ago. The girls are upset. He got off his chain, and you know he usually wanders back home once he trees the cat down the street.”
A dog. Not just any dog, but the bane of his dog-loving existence was ruining the most revealing conversation he’d ever had with Natalya. Tomorrow he was taking the whole damn day off and building that fence.
“Did you check the cat’s yard?”
“Yeah. I can’t find him. He won’t answer. I’m afraid he wandered over to the main road and got hit.” She wrung her hands harder, and her voice caught. “I don’t want to find him that way. I don’t think I could handle it.”
The question reflected in her hopeful expression. Would you look, please?
Brandon slowly let out a long breath. He couldn’t tell Sue no, even if Opie’s timing sucked. They were too good of friends for him to force her into stumbling onto her dog, splattered across the road. She’d fall apart. And if she left her house, she’d have to take her girls with her—they were too young to stay in unattended. Under no circumstances, would he risk exposing one of those precious little girls to seeing their beloved pet in a bloody mess.
How the hell had Opie gotten off his chain? Those links were a quarter-inch thick.
“Okay. I’ll go look. If I find him, what do you want me to do?”
“I’ll call animal control.”
Brandon gave her an understanding nod and let go of Natalya’s hand. Bending his head, he kissed her cheek. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“I’m going with you.”
“I don’t think—” Conscious of both their audience and what had transpired in the desert, he snapped his mouth shut. Diverting Sue’s attention off Natalya so she could finish putting her pistol back together, he crossed the room and looped an arm around his neighbor’s shoulder. “Go on back to the girls. I’ll let you know what I find, if anything. If he doesn’t turn up, chances are the pound picked him up. It was bound to happen sooner or later.”
Sniffling, she answered, “Thanks, Brandon.”
“Sure thing.” He eased the door closed as Natalya appeared at his shoulder. “Let’s go out the back. It’s quicker.”
W
hile Natalya followed Brandon across his yard to his neighbor’s flimsy doghouse, she stepped through the story she intended to spin. Enough of the truth to make it plausible, but nothing close enough to reveal her duty, or the Bratva. He believed Nikolai had hurt her in the past. He didn’t need to know they’d been partners in crime. He also didn’t need to know about Dmitri or Iskatel´. The fewer names he learned, the less exposure he risked, and his dedication to the law would make it near impossible to dissuade him from going after other members of the Brotherhood. Yes, definitely, the fewer names he knew the better.
Besides, Dmitri and Iskatel´ would cease to exist tomorrow. She just needed to make sure no one else tried to take a pot shot at Brandon’s head before Kate and she executed the switch.
One of the reasons she’d decided to accompany him on this hunt for the dog. Two rapid shots, usually aimed in the middle of the forehead, were Bratva signature. If they caught her, they’d deal with her privately. Betrayal never ended quick and painless. But Brandon was a hindrance. Someone who was meddling in their business. True to Bratva design, he’d vanish overnight.
And just because she’d been with him didn’t mean Iskatel´ pulled the trigger. Any one of Dmitri’s goons could have taken on the job of trash disposal.
Brandon bent over a metal stake driven into the ground, then drew back with a violent oath. Glancing in his outstretched palm, she observed three thick links of chain, the last in the length broken open. Clean serrations identified a deliberate cut.
Apprehension balled her stomach into a tight knot. Careful to keep her head still, she moved her eyes around the lawns, scanned the trees that divided one row of backyards from another row of lawns on the street over. Dogs were complications to tidy murders. More than once, she’d freed a barking alarm so she could slip inside unnoticed.
As Brandon struck off across his backyard, she followed behind. Her gaze remained on his house, searching the windows for shadows, for any sign the missing dog might be a diversion.
Nothing moved inside. No figures hulked beside the overgrown shrubs.
Goose bumps pricked her arms. This reeked of Dmitri.
“Aw, hell.”
Four houses down, a mere two from the busy intersection, Brandon came to an abrupt stop. He shoved his fingers through his short hair, and his shoulders slumped. “Damn it. I liked that dog.”
She gave him a quizzical look.
He struck off for a long row of short trees. Four foot away, she caught the sight of gray and black fur lying motionless at the thick base of an Arizona Ash.
“How can somebody hit a dog that big? He’s an elephant for God’s sake.” Brandon hunkered down and stroked a hand over the dog’s short coat.
It came away bloody.
With another nervous glance around the premises, Natalya stepped to Brandon’s left to get a better view of the dog.
“Stupid dog. He’s still warm.” Grimacing with the effort of containing his own upset over the dog’s death, Brandon grabbed both front legs and pulled the oversize canine out of the trees’ dark shadows. “What the…” Brandon lifted Opie’s head.
Two close-range entrance wounds disfigured a wide muzzle and a kind face. The bloody c
avity at the back of the dog’s square-shaped head marked where bullets passed through brain matter and shattered thick bone.
Natalya’s blood ran cold. This was a message meant for her. A deliberate, unnecessary execution that the gunman knew she’d recognize. She could accept the danger of disloyalty, for that punishment would come to her alone. However, she didn’t dare say a word and risk exposing her agency roots. Personal deception was one thing. If Dmitri discovered she worked for the CIA, everyone involved would die.
Including Kate.
One other obvious fact settled around her as she stared at Opie’s remains. No dog would allow a stranger to hold a gun that close, not even the stupidest of canines. Whoever had shot Opie, knew him. Which meant Iskatel´ didn’t know just her, Iskatel´ knew Brandon as well.
And in leaving a clear warning that Brandon’s life hung in the balance, Iskatel´ had just identified herself. Everything pointed to Jill. She’d been here. Natalya would wager everything she possessed, she was still close by.
Thirty-eight
T
wo hours later, Brandon had talked with Sue—carefully omitting the fact her dog had been shot—and buried Opie near the swing set with the promise he’d pick up some landscaping bricks and help the girls plant flowers. Weary in both body and spirit, he trudged through his garage, rested the shovel on the wall, and hesitated at the door, knowing what he must do, yet not at all certain he could stomach the outcome. The threats had escalated to a point where keeping Natalya in the dark about his past was no longer an option. If he didn’t tell her, he left her defenseless, and he’d never survive the guilt if something happened to her. Above and beyond all personal reasons, the decision to stay with him and confront this continual terror was hers and hers alone.
He pushed the door open and entered his house on leaden legs. She sat at the island, ankles tucked around her stool, bent over a cup of hot tea. Exactly where he’d left her. Regret punched him in the gut. He could feel her pulling away already.
God, he hated this. It was exactly why he’d sworn never to get involved.
After scrubbing the dirt off his hands, he pulled a stool beside her, resigned to loss. “Hey.”
Natalya looked up as if he’d dragged her from her thoughts. “Hm?”
He clasped his hands together on the countertop and stared at his thumbs. Thoughts ran in a discombobulated mess. Sighting a hangnail, he picked at the sliver of loose skin. “I’ve been harping at you to tell me things, and I haven’t been fair about my own secrets.”
Her brows drew together a fraction.
“I’m the reason for the bird. For Opie. For the gunshots earlier.” He took a breath. Let it out slowly. “My dad was some big shot in Chicago’s mafia—Angelo Mancuso. Mom came over from Sicily on an arranged marriage, and when we came along I guess it got to be too much.”
He dug at the loose flap of skin near the bed of his thumb a little harder. “I was nine when Mom went out with some of the other wives one night and Angelo stayed home with us kids. I remember hearing him argue with a man. Later that night, when Gina was asleep, he decided it was time for Stefan and me to learn the family business.”
The long-ago night surfaced in his memory, giving him pause. He saw the concrete block walls, the hanging fluorescent light with its green-yellow glow, and the frightening calm on his father’s face with crystal clarity.
“He had a guy in our basement. Someone who’d stolen from Angelo. A measly hundred dollars, though that was a fortune to me and Stefan then. Anyway, he made us stand at the bottom of the stairs so we could learn how to deal with folks who betrayed the family. Angelo proceeded to unload a full magazine in this guy’s chest.”
Brandon flinched at the echo of gunshots. Shaking off the memory, he focused on his hands, unable to witness the shock on Natalya’s face. “The next morning, Mom and Gina picked Stefan and me up from school and went straight to the Feds. They put us in witness protection, changed our names to Moretti, and moved us to Texas. Mom hardly spoke English at all, so they couldn’t alter too much without it becoming obvious.… And she didn’t fit in well at all.”
Natalya’s hand crept into his vision, then settled over his. She tucked her fingers between his palms and gently squeezed.
Brandon’s heart seized. He didn’t deserve her sympathy.
“When I went off to college my sophomore year, I made a stupid mistake. I went out with that girl I mentioned, and we got to drinking. Cheap beer led to one of those spill-your-guts conversations. I told her about my family. The next weekend, Mom’s house blew up.”
Natalya’s fingers tightened, and the heat of her body soaked into his side as she leaned closer.
Guilt rose fast, bringing with it the bitter taste of bile. He swallowed hard, choking it down. “I should have seen it coming. She was Italian, like we were. Ventimiglio—Maria Ventimiglio. She’d even said she suspected her family had connections. I fucking told her everything.”
He clenched his fist around Natalya’s hand. The last part came out in a rough whisper as his voice cracked. “I killed my family.”
“No.” Natalya’s free hand slid soothingly down his shoulder, across his back. “No, Brandon, you didn’t.”
He blinked once, clearing away the moisture in his eyes. “Yeah. I did. I put my sweet baby sister in the ground.” Shaking his head, he drew on acceptance of his mistake to find the courage to continue the conversation. “I’d told Maria I was going home that weekend. At the last minute, though, I went to Houston with a frat brother.”
On a heavy sigh, Brandon skipped over the depression, the thoughts of suicide, and the anger he’d carried around until a cop took pity on him the night he’d decided to drink into oblivion and drive off a ravine. He’d been pulled over for weaving all over the highway. That cop, Joe Cavelli, had saved Brandon’s life in more ways than one.
“Anyway, about a year later I decided to get even by going into the police academy and finding Angelo. I’ve been in narcotics undercover since—until seven dead strippers linked to my investigation. My captain offered me the chance to move into homicide, and here I am. Only, a week into the trial position, I managed to get my partner killed.”
He saw her flinch out of the corner of his eye and refused to look up to see the judgment in her expression. He’d screwed up. He knew that. But this conversation wasn’t about offloading his mistakes. He had to make Natalya understand the danger he presented, along with his absolute conviction he would not let her be harmed. Still, the decision was hers. She couldn’t make it half-informed.
“For the last few years I’ve made it clear if Angelo wants me, I’m not hiding. I threw a gauntlet, and you’re stuck in the middle of it. I didn’t mean for this to happen—any of it.” Sitting forward, he shrugged off the affectionate hand he didn’t deserve and shifted his weight. “I don’t have a right to ask you to stay, but damn it, Natalya…” He found the courage to look her in the eye. “I swear I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Silence hung between them as she held his gaze, her eyes bright with unshed tears. He yearned to reach out to her, to dissolve the intolerable space between them though they sat so close their knees touched. What was she thinking? Did she hate him? Worse, did she pity him?
Natalya swallowed visibly and slid off her stool. He braced himself for the emptiness of her inevitable departure. No woman in her right mind would stick around for his kind of baggage. Especially not someone with nightmares of her own.
One slender hand touched his thigh. He looked down to where her fingertips rested, his chest so tight he could only pull in shallow breaths. She nudged his leg. Before Brandon could realize her intent was to spread his knees, she’d ducked under his arm and wedged her hips between his thighs. Her arms looped around his neck. Soft lips feathered over his.
Why didn’t matter. In that moment, he needed Natalya’s kiss more than he had ever needed anything. He crushed her against his chest, and his mouth crashed into hers. Desperate. Ach
ing.
The physical was so much easier to understand than the pain behind his ribs that built with each hungry stroke of her tongue. He didn’t know what caused it, or how to make it stop. Just that it went on and on, gnawing away at his heart until he became certain the next fierce beat would make it burst.
Though he’d had her mere hours ago, he was suddenly starved for the feel of her silken skin gliding against his body. He wanted his cock inside her where he could comprehend the cause of the sweet pain that crept into his veins. Where he was part of this woman who possessed the ability to turn his world upside down.
As if she sensed his thoughts, she pulled on the hem of his collared T-shirt and slipped her cool hands beneath. Their lips parted long enough for him to yank off the barriers that thwarted him from what he wanted most. Their clothes fell in a jumbled heap on the floor, then their bodies merged together, hands seeking, mouths questing. Chasing after the desire that flowed like live current through the countless places they touched.
Her kisses rained over his bare shoulder, searing through his skin to add another drop of agonizing emotion into his heart. “Make love to me, Brandon,” she whispered urgently. “Make me innocent again.”
Brandon didn’t comprehend her words; their effect was too monumental. As he shifted his hands to her waist, preparing to hoist her onto the countertop, that weakened muscle behind his ribs ruptured open, filling him with unspeakable emotion. Everything crashed into place, what he’d been trying to tell her on the rock, why it was so important she take a risk on him and stay. Love. He wasn’t falling in love with her… he was already there.
The realization stirred a soul-deep groan, and the countertop suddenly became cold and unfeeling. He scooped her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. Holding her like the priceless treasure she was, he softened the assault of his mouth and kissed her long and slow. A whole new sweetness met the tip of his tongue. He drank it down like expensive champagne, the urgency in his blood ebbing.
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