by Nic Saint
In response, she picked up an empty Big Mac container and hurled it across the room. It missed his head by inches.
He cocked his finger. “Gotta work on that aim, princess.”
Exasperated, she slammed the door shut behind her and started stomping down the stairs. In the two days she’d been in New York, she’d done a lot of legwork already. Contrary to Oleg, she believed in giving her employer his money’s worth.
The first thing she’d done when arriving in the Big Apple was getting a bead on this Dora Liverpool Roman was hanging out with. Only thing was, when she’d found the company she was contracted with, they said she was on a leave of absence.
Sure. Of course. She was draped over Roman’s arm now, keeping him company and pretending to be someone she was not. Some woman called Ariel Cole.
She’d shuffled through some of the magazines carrying the story of Alexei Demiakov and his American bride, desperately trying to find her father. Some guy called Nathan Callaway. It was mind-boggling to think Roman would stoop so low as to involve himself with these shenanigans. The Roman she’d known had enjoyed honest, simple work like knocking errant debtors into submission, muscling competitors out of business or smashing a few windows of shopkeepers reluctant to pay protection money.
And now this charade? She couldn’t make head nor tail of the whole thing. What was the man up to? She’d snuck into one of his press conferences, hidden in the back, sunglasses strategically perched on the bridge of her nose. He’d looked good. Tall and handsome as usual. Easily sucking all the attention of the room to himself when he’d made his offer of one million dollars. He’d also announced it was the last press conference he would give.
Great. She’d arrived in New York just in time.
She’d had a good look at this Dora Liverpool character. A blonde, of course, but then Roman had always had a penchant for blondes. With a wry feeling of disgust, she remembered having even dyed her hair one time to humor the man—try to attract his attention. This was a long time ago, of course. They’d both been young in the projects, and Roman had already begun his steady rise as muscle for the Gornakovs.
She had gone the other way, and had begun work for the Gornakovs’ competitors, the Mordvinovs. It hadn’t taken long for Roman and her to meet face to face, this time not as friends but enemies. He’d always respected her. Had never laid a hand on her. To his credit, he’d limited himself to verbal threats.
As Roman and Dora filed out of the room, she’d briefly wondered if she shouldn’t leave well enough alone. Let the man be. She could apply for political asylum in the States, tell them she was being persecuted by Alexei Demiakov. They might accept. With the information she had on the Mordvinovs she was worth her weight in gold.
But then she decided against it. No matter how hard they tried, the Americans wouldn’t be able to protect her. Not from the likes of Demiakov or Mordvinov.
As Roman stepped from the room, his head turned to her, and for a brief moment, their eyes met. Her heart stopped, fearing the worst. If he knew she was here, he wouldn’t hesitate to take her out himself. At least, if he was still the Roman she remembered. The man never missed a beat. But if he recognized her, he didn’t show it, for he simply kept on walking right past her. He and that blond tramp he had hanging on his arm.
At that moment she knew this would be an easy mission after all. Maybe she didn’t even need Oleg to carry out the work. She could do it herself in a heartbeat. Roman clearly wasn’t the man he used to be. He’d gone soft. Had lost his touch. She’d had his limo followed and discovered the hotel he and his lady friend were staying at was right in the heart of Manhattan.
Five-star hotel. Whoever was paying Roman’s bills clearly had money to burn. She wondered if he was still working for the Gornakovs. If so, they would be behind this whole scheme. She’d watched from the safety of the cab how Roman and Dora exited the car, accompanied by an older couple who’d been with him at the press conference. He’d introduced them as his parents, but she knew that to be a blatant lie. She’d known Roman’s parents, and unless they’d returned from the grave, these were both actors playing a part.
Then, as Roman entered the hotel, a second car pulled to a stop behind the first one, and three goons stepped out. Roman’s muscle, she knew. She recognized the men as his loyal lieutenants. So he was still working for the Gornakovs after all.
She frowned, wondering what the hell was going on. Why would the Gornakovs send their main enforcer to New York to parade around with some actress? It was all too weird.
She knew it was also none of her business. The mission was to take out Roman and Dora, and the whys and hows didn’t really concern her. What did concern her was that Roman was well protected. If she wanted to take a shot at him, she would have to get past these men.
As she walked the streets of Manhattan, she found herself thinking a great deal about the mission she’d been saddled with. Roman had never been anything but courteous to her in the past, and she detested having to take him down. The girl, she could handle, but Roman himself? Far away from Alexei Demiakov and his threats, she found herself reconsidering. Wavering. Going back and forth. She liked Roman. Well, if she was absolutely honest with herself, she’d always had a crush on the man. What was not to like? He was tall, handsome, powerful, rich…
She mulled over what she would have to do next. She needed to get close to Roman and Dora. Close enough to set up the shot. She sighed, gazing at a gaggle of kids playing on the sidewalk, hopscotch and skipping rope, and felt the depression that had held her in its grip since accepting this rotten mission seep deeper into her soul.
She had a decision to make, and she better make it soon, before she lost the nerve.
CHAPTER 8
Dimitri sagged in his chair. He’d been listening to his father-in-law for going on three hours now, and his attention was starting to wane.
“I think you have to look at the bigger picture, Dimi,” Nathan Callaway was saying. Three other men were present, two experts in organized crime and his host Vitaly Loganov.
He tore himself away from the snooze that had been enveloping him. “Bigger picture?” he prompted, blinking rapidly in a desperate bid to stay awake.
Nathan gave him a look of amusement, then rapped his knuckles on the table and said, “I think it’s time we took a little break, gentlemen. See you in…” He checked the wall clock that indicated it was now three o’clock in the afternoon. “Shall we say twenty minutes?”
They walked down the corridor toward the cafeteria, where the bureau provided its agents with the worst coffee Dimi had ever tasted, along with soda from all the usual brands. Refusing to be poisoned by the agency’s toxic brew, he took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with plain tap water. At least one thing that tasted the same as in Moscow.
When he’d quaffed deeply and put the glass on the drainboard, he found Nathan studying him intently. They were alone in the small kitchen, the other agents and Vitaly having returned to their desks for the duration of the break.
“Miss it that much, huh?”
He frowned, not comprehending. “Miss what?”
“Moscow. Your home. Your friends.”
He made a throwaway gesture with his hand. “Nah. It’s all good. I’m fine.”
Nathan arched an eyebrow, his arms folded across his chest. He looked at home here, Dimi thought. The perfect office type: starched pin-striped shirt, matching tie, black slacks, polished shoes… Nate actually looked more like a bureaucrat than a field agent. But then looks could be deceiving, he knew, and none other to which this wisdom applied so much as to his newly acquired father-in-law.
“When I was forced to go into hiding,” Nathan began, “I missed it all. My home, my family, my friends, the routine I’d built up… All gone, in the blink of an eye. Took me a long time to build myself a new life from scratch.”
“But you managed, right?”
Nathan nodded slowly. “Some things you never get used to. The smil
e on my wife’s face first thing in the morning. The simple joys of married life. I still miss her, you know. Even after all these years.”
“You never remarried? Why?”
“Same reason. I miss Donna. Could never imagine myself in the arms of another woman. And then there’s the hope we could be reunited one day.”
“But now you can, right? Now that you’ve reconnected with Ariel, you should get in touch with her mother.” He knew it sounded cheesy, but he was a sucker for the happy ending. And for this man to go through life alone seemed hard and absolutely unnecessary.
Nathan shook his head. “I don’t think so, Dimi. First of all, she thought I was dead all these years, so it would be cruel to spring this surprise on her. Second, I can imagine she’d be pretty upset if I suddenly turned up on her doorstep.” He held out his hands. “Hello, honey, I’m home!” He grimaced. “She’s likely to kill me herself.”
“No, she wouldn’t. She’ll understand that you did what you did to keep her safe. Her and Ariel. She’ll appreciate you for it, and she’ll be over the moon when she finds out you’re not dead after all.”
Nathan seemed doubtful. “I don’t know…”
“I do.”
Nathan looked surprised. “What do you mean?”
“I took the liberty of disregarding your orders, Nate.”
Nathan frowned. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
“You told us not to talk to Donna about what happened in Moscow. And most importantly, not to mention that we met you on the boat.”
Nathan’s worried frown was firmly etched in place. “Right. For your own safety and hers it’s best she doesn’t know. Why, what have you done?”
“Ariel and I felt that she deserved to know the truth.”
Nathan slapped a hand to his face. “God. You didn’t.”
“Actually, Ariel did. She called her mother on Vitaly’s safe phone last night and told her the whole story.”
“God, no…” groaned Nathan, now burying his face in both hands.
“And you’ll be happy to know that she took the news rather well.”
Nathan splayed his fingers, opened one eye, and regarded Dimi. “Define ‘well’.”
Dimi chuckled. “For one thing, she didn’t threaten to kill you, if that’s what had you worried. Now the big question is: are you ready?”
Nathan closed his eyes again. “I’m afraid to ask, but here goes: ready for what?”
“Why, the big reunion dinner, of course. What else?”
Nathan heaved a deep groan that seemed to come from his shoe soles. “Reunion dinner,” he repeated hollowly.
“Once Donna had recovered from the shock, she agreed to meet over dinner. Perhaps once this whole Gornakov business has settled down. Rekindle the old flame, so to speak.” In a softer voice, he added, “It will be your chance to finally reunite with your wife, Nate.”
Nathan dropped his arms, letting them hang limply at his sides. “I can’t believe you did this.”
“She’ll be thrilled to see you. From what she told Ariel, she had a sneaking suspicion you were still alive. Said she never did believe that cockamamie story about you having died in combat.”
This seemed to surprise Nathan. “She didn’t?”
“Nope. She said first of all you weren’t stupid enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and you sure were too smart to get shot. She never understood what was going on, but in her heart of hearts always knew she would eventually find out.” He offered the man an expansive grin. “So you better give her a call. She’s expecting you.”
Nathan gazed wistfully out the glass door that looked out on the backyard of the agency building, a neatly trimmed lawn hedged by evergreens. Then he suddenly held up a finger. “I, um, can you excuse me a minute, buddy?” And without waiting for a reply, hurried out the door into the garden, taking out his phone.
So easy, thought Dimi as he watched the man place the first call to his wife in twenty years. He shook his head. Though he understood the reasoning behind Nathan’s decision, he found it heartbreaking that the man’s family had been ripped apart for so many years.
His thoughts turned to Ariel, and how he’d spent so much time away from her these past couple of days. It was necessary, he knew. Detailing the Gornakov operation would save countless lives. Countless families. Here and overseas.
He took out his own phone and brought it to his ear, then smiled when he heard the most beautiful sound in the world. “Hello, honey. Guess what? Nate is on the phone right now, talking to Donna.” His smile widened as he heard the enthusiastic response from his wife. He checked his watch. “We’re starting with our last session for the day, so we should be home around six. I’ll tell you all about it.”
When he disconnected, he marveled at the turn his life had taken. Instead of roaming the streets of Moscow by day and night, hustling and muscling the dregs of society into acquiescence, here he was, working a regular day at the office, with his beautiful wife safe and sound at home.
Nate returned, his eyes shiny and bright. Judging from the wide grin on his map, things had gone swimmingly. He clapped him on the back. “Thanks, Dimi.”
“I take it she didn’t threaten to kill you?”
Nate laughed. “She didn’t.” As they started down the corridor, he added, “We’re having that reunion dinner, and we would like you and Ariel to join us.”
The men shared a look of understanding before stepping back into the conference room. With an expansive feeling of happiness, Dimi thought he’d come a long way from the street kid in Moscow to enforcer for the Gornakovs, to working with the American FBI and, most importantly, his own father-in-law.
He took a seat, his mind made up. “Listen, guys. Why don’t you make me a fixture in this great, big FBI of yours?”
As the men stared at him, not comprehending, he added, “I know stuff no one else knows, and I’m sure I could help you clean America’s streets of some of this scum you call organized crime.”
“You want to come and work for us?” asked one of the men incredulously.
“That’s exactly what I want.” He pointed to Vitaly. “I want what you have, Vitaly. A decent job where I can actually do some good for a change.” He shrugged. “And it wouldn’t hurt to have a steady paycheck. Something to support my family. Ariel and the kids.”
Nathan’s eyes went wide, as did Vitaly’s. “The kids?”
Innocently, Dimi eyed both his newfound mentor and his host. “Oh, yes. Didn’t I mention it? Ariel is pregnant. Twins. We just found out this morning.”
CHAPTER 9
And then there were none, Dora thought. She’d seen her husband’s bodyguards hang around the hotel suite for days now, usually holding vigil in the small hallway just outside the front door. Then one had decided he needed to return to Mother Russia because his wife had fallen ill. Then the second had been called back by his mother’s family after the old lady had unexpectedly decided to shuffle off this mortal coil.
She’d experienced the first twinge of uneasiness when the couple playing Roman’s parents had left, citing conflicting but compelling reasons to do so. And now the third goon, to her amusement actually listening to the name Ivan, had just announced that he couldn’t stay on any longer. His sister had been abducted by a rival family in the small region where he hailed from. Or so he said.
“So where does that leave us?” she asked Roman the moment the last bodyguard had hoofed it. “Don’t we get any protection anymore?”
“We don’t need protection,” grumbled Roman as he returned his wallet to his vest pocket. He’d handed Ivan a thick fold of cash as a token of his appreciation, and the goon had accepted it gratefully.
“But I thought you said New York wasn’t safe? I thought you said—”
Suddenly, Roman turned on her. “I never said New York wasn’t safe. I said we needed help to get Nathan Callaway.”
“And now we don’t need the muscle anymore? Is that what
you’re saying?” Sometimes she simply couldn’t follow Roman’s decisions. Probably because half the time he refused to tell her what was really going on.
“No, we don’t,” he riposted. “We’re not going to find Nathan Callaway. The mission is a bust.”
She frowned. It wasn’t like her dark-haired companion to give up so easily. When Roman wanted something, he wasn't the man to back down and accept defeat. “I thought you said it was simply a matter of time? That eventually he would reveal himself.”
“I thought wrong,” he returned irritably.
Something was preying on his mind, Dora knew, and she wanted to find out what it was. “Don’t you think the million dollar reward will yield the crucial tip?”
He shook his head. He’d draped his large body on the soft leather couch that adorned their salon. The hotel suite Roman’s employers had provided them with was like nothing Dora had ever seen. Not accustomed to the wealth and splendor of the super-rich, the first time she’d crossed its threshold, she’d been pleasantly surprised. The rich fabrics and subdued colors had enthralled her, as had the classic paintings on the walls, the marble bathroom, and the Italian furnishings.
The rooms were airy and light, with spacious windows letting in the sun and affording a breathtaking view of New York. She’d already soaked in the Jacuzzi and had marveled at the walk-in wardrobe, wondering how anyone could own so many clothes they would fill up the ample space.
The one thing that had worried her a little was that the suite only held one double bed. Sleeping inches away from the hulking male had proved a bit of a challenge at first, for he took up more than half the space allotted to him and had a tendency to invade her half of the bed as well.
Especially when waking up early in the morning and finding herself dangerously close to the man, she’d had trouble finding sleep, his close proximity doing little to ease her raging hormones.