by Misty Evans
Crossing the floor, she eyed the computer and the gun sitting next to his hand. Then she leaned forward and kissed him hello. Possessive and sweet, and ah, man, his crotch wasn’t just tight, it was painfully hard.
“That room, all that red.” She drew the blanket tighter. “It gives me the creeps. Reminds me of all the Russian blood Stalin spilled.”
For a geneticist, she sure had an aversion to blood. He motioned to a nearby chair even though he wanted to drag her down into his lap. “You look better.”
“I feel better.” She sat and harrumphed as she arranged the blanket to her liking. “I suck at this cloak-and-dagger stuff, in case you didn’t notice. All this stress, no sleep…again, I’m sorry for being more of a hindrance than a help with locating my grandmother.”
Forcing himself not to stare at her incredible lips, Ryan cleared his throat, and clicked a few meaningless keys on the keyboard while it continued to boot up. He’d plugged a small, portable mobile access hub into the mainframe, hoping to find some kind of Internet access. “Actually, you’ve been pretty impressive through all of this.”
He stole a glance at her, and saw her eyes light up. “You’re just saying that because you want to get my pants off.”
The minute she said it, she blushed. Her flirting skills were so damn awkward, it turned him on. Hell, everything about her turned him on. “That is a strong possibility.”
They both laughed. Anya nodded at the keyboard. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to make contact with the outside world. No one knows where we are and…” He fiddled with the keys.
“And if we die, no one will know what happened.”
She caught on quick. “This bunker’s communication system isn’t as sophisticated as I had hoped.” He pointed at the floppy disk drive, vintage 1990s. “But if I can figure out a few passwords, and this puppy has any kind of satellite—which it should since it was designed to send out messages to all the missile systems in case of an attack—I can get a message to Langley undetected.”
“The CIA will rescue us?”
No. They wouldn’t do an extraction from Russia for only Anya and Natasha. Conrad would, but Michael Stone, Deputy Director of the CIA, and maximum hard-ass supreme, would never okay it. Unless…
Unless his brother-in-law and commander in chief was in trouble.
Hmm. Ryan spun the idea around. What the hell. He’d already ruined his career. No point in doing it halfway. “If I send the right message, they’ll come.”
Anya scooted her chair across the floor, edging closer. “How can you figure out the password? It could be anything.”
“Well, usually, I tell a super geek at the Agency to hack it for me, but since that option is out, I have to be the super geek, and do it myself. A password isn’t that hard to crack, but it’s time-consuming since it can be any combination of numbers and letters. Personal passwords are easier because they mean something to the person who sets them up, so if you know a few details about the person, like their birthday and wedding anniversary, combined with their kid’s name, bingo.
“In this case, we’re dealing with a government organization—not a person. The passwords for this system were generated by a computer. The trick is, an administrator had to develop the system and tell the computer to generate passwords. With this old system, all I have to do is locate the administrator’s password—which I can find with a simple DOS command—and…”
He typed in the last command, and come to papa, there it was. A fourteen digit combo of Russian numbers and letters in both upper and lowercase used by the system administrator. Which might have very well been Anya’s father. Ryan had memorized the facts about Peter Radzoya from Del’s file. The man had gotten himself, and his family, into a political scandal of massive proportions. “Now we use the admin’s password and uncover the rest.”
“Wow.” Anya high-fived him. “Industrious and resourceful.”
Not really, but he was glad she thought so. A more sophisticated system would have taken hours, maybe days or weeks to crack. “Back in the day, this computer system was high-tech, but the developers and administrator were only worried about an outside breach of security, not an internal one.”
Logging into the center’s infrastructure, he decided to see if he could breach another semi-secure, although human, site. “So tell me about your job.”
Anya sat back in the chair, tucking her feet under her. “I work at GenLife Laboratories in D.C. on special gene mapping for certain individuals. I do research on the Human Genome Project in my spare time.”
“Gene mapping, huh?” He already knew all about her job–she’d followed in her mother’s footsteps. “Heavy stuff.”
Pride rang in her voice. “Some of it, yes. I help people, like a doctor, but in a different manner.”
“Help them how?”
“I perform DNA analyses for a select clientele. For instance, my last case involved a high-profile female client whose sister was dying from a rapid onset of breast cancer. I did the workup and found my client’s gene pool showed she had not inherited any mutation of the genes that suppress tumors in the breasts and ovaries. Her odds of contracting the breast cancer her sister had were almost nonexistent. I gave her that news right before this whole thing with Grams went down. It was a good day.”
Her last good day in a week. Ryan saw it in her expression. Somehow, he was going to make sure she had lots of good days in the future.
Words filtering across the screen in front of him showed the computer was still trying to connect with the satellite. At this rate, he could escape Russia and walk to Langley before his message got there. “That’s cool. What about the client whose gene map shows they did inherit something ugly? How do you handle that?”
“Sharing that news is never easy, but what I do gives them knowledge. Gives them the opportunity to be proactive and do something to offset whatever it is. I can give them hope along with the facts about their genetic makeup.”
Ryan had met a few scientists over the years. He’d even smuggled one of out of North Korea in his younger days as a field operative. Granted, those scientists were of the nuclear weapons and biological warfare variety, but none of them had been a compassionate scientist like Anya. Where they’d viewed people as expendable, she viewed people as humans, and wanted to help them overcome their frailties and susceptibilities instead of capitalizing on them.
The computer beeped and hummed, another step closer to satellite hookup. Thinking about scientists and Cold War Russia triggered another thought in Ryan’s already cluttered brain. “Did Ivanov mention anything directly about you resuming your work here?”
“It was more implied. Why?”
“We know he’s obsessed with royal bloodlines and racial ideology. Having you, a geneticist, who can map people’s genes and advise him on whose gene pool is clean…” He shrugged.
She straightened her long legs, practically coming out of the chair. Her socked feet brushed against his leg. “Oh my God. That’s it. I knew he wanted to cleanse the race, but I thought it was for future generations.” The blanket fell from her shoulders and she nodded as if remembering something. “But it’s more than that. Every time I was with him, he talked endlessly about restoring Russia to the way it used to be, bringing back pride in the country and respect for the leaders. But he only wants advisors and officials around him who are pure Russians, with nothing in their backgrounds that might mar his presidency. When he was talking about it, I thought he meant scandals and other political nightmares, but he was talking about their blood, wasn’t he? That bastard! That’s why he gave me those medical files. He wanted me to analyze their gene pools, make sure they didn’t have any defects.”
“A Hitler wannabe.”
“Exactly.”
Seeing her so animated was much better than seeing her faint. Better, even, than watching her sleep, which he’d done for the second time since the cabin, when he’d tucked her into Stalin’s bed with its red sheets.
He couldn’t help it. He loved seeing her relaxed, the worry lines around her eyes erased.
Of course seeing her lying in bed, her white-blond hair a tangled mess against the red silk had given him a hard-on for the record books. He’d had to leave her sleeping and take a trip through the weapons room to restore the blood flow to his brain.
Now her cheeks were pink, hair mussed, and eyes bright with renewed determination to stop Ivanov’s plans to use her. The blanket around her waist showed off the fact she was still wearing Ryan’s sweater, the heavy cable knit cotton molding perfectly to her breasts.
God, he wanted her. Against all his logic and better judgment. Against the fact she’d been through hell in the past week. Against the fact they were sitting in a run-down operations room eighteen kilometers under Moscow without hope one of making it out alive.
Anya slid her chair closer, her feet intertwining with his. She touched his hand, then stroked the butt of the GSh-18 semiautomatic on the counter. Her slender, pale fingers contrasted against the hard, black handgun, and Ryan was suddenly jealous of an inanimate object. “Should I be armed, too?”
“Have you, uh…” She was looking at him so intently with those eyes that did him in, and now one of her feet was rubbing up and down on his leg. His brain was mush. “Have you had firearms training?”
She bit her bottom lip, as if he might be disappointed because she didn’t know how to shoot a gun. “Can you teach me?”
That imploring look combined with the lip-biting and shit. Two seconds, tops, he was going to explode. “We could, um…” He knew what he should say, but for the life of him, he could not form words.
Gun, dipshit. She wants to learn how to shoot your gun.
And if that thought didn’t send him into sexual tension orbit, what would?
“I can show you the, uh, basics, if you want. Firing, field stripping.” Damn, when had talking guns become such a turn-on? “But one thing you need to remember. Never point a gun at someone unless you’re prepared to kill.”
Her lips thinned.
Double shit. Way to romance the woman you want to have sex with by talking about killing people.
But it was true. He only used weapons as a last possible defense. Taking someone’s life, even a psychotic maniac like Ivanov, wasn’t child’s play. It was something you lived with the rest of your life. Anya had enough scars. She didn’t need to add another to her list.
She removed her hand from the gun, but her face was set with resolve. “I won’t ask you to do anything I’m not willing to do myself.”
Goddamn, she was a unique woman. “I’m trained in self-defense.”
“So am I.”
Surprise, surprise. “What type?”
“Tae kwon do. Grams made me take lessons from the time I was fourteen.”
“I like your Grams. She’s one smart cookie.”
Anya smiled and held out her hand. “You wield the gun, I’ll wield hand attacks and kicks.”
Ryan slid his hand into hers and they shook. “When we get you and your grandmother safely back to the States, I’d like to see you. You know, um…date you.”
Her smile widened, and then she was pushing his chair backward and climbing into his lap. The blanket fell to the ground, her legs sidled half on top of his as she kissed him. A sexier, wetter version of the hello kiss she’d dropped on him earlier.
That was Anya. Simple flirting seemed difficult for her, but she was full throttle when it came to kissing him.
A nice problem to have.
Her lips turned demanding, and Ryan forgot everything. The computer humming in the background. The stark communication center walls, low ceiling, and freezing air. He closed his eyes and kissed her back, letting his hands slide up her thighs, under his sweater.
And then that black hole opened up, not the one that had to do with her legs, but that black hole he hadn’t seen since he and Conrad had gone AWOL from the CIA just over a year ago. The one where everything was spinning out of control and he was terrified.
“Wait,” he breathed, drawing back. “This isn’t the right time or place for this. You deserve better, Anya. You deserve…”
She pressed a finger to his lips to shush him. “I don’t deserve any more than you, or anyone else does. I’m not a princess who needs fancy things. This may not be the optimal time and place, but let’s be honest. We may never have another chance. Do you really want to throw this away?”
Of course he didn’t. He wasn’t a fool. “You sure you don’t want to use that princess angle? I’ve got this fantasy about being your eager and enthusiastic servant. Pleasing you and making you happy.”
Anya laughed, full belly, head back. “Well, when you put it that way.”
She kissed him again, and this time her hands got in on the action, unbuttoning his shirt and touching him everywhere. One hand slipped lower, and hello, she cupped him through his jeans, then stopped. Her head snapped back, and she looked him straight in the eye. “Now that’s impressive.”
There was a touch of awe in her voice, and Ryan felt heat creep up his neck. He opened his mouth to reply, but really, what could he say? Thank you? Glad you noticed? Even if he was able to string two words together, there was no right way to respond.
So he grabbed her ass and brought her closer, forcing her to straddle his hardness. She didn’t seem to mind, pressing down on him and shucking off his sweater at the same time.
There they were. Breasts, glorious breasts. The bra she wore was utilitarian, but oh, so good at molding her porcelain skin into perfect mounds that just begged to be kissed, licked, and sucked.
As she wiggled on top of him, her breasts jiggled. No way could he ignore all that beautiful skin. Ryan lowered his mouth and traced the line of cleavage between her breasts with his tongue. She urged his head down, eager for more.
He was happy to oblige. All the things he’d imagined doing to her, he did. He kissed the nipples inside the bra cups, drawing them one at a time into his mouth and sucking lightly. Anya moaned and ground her hips against his lap. She tossed her head back and ran a hand through his hair, egging him on. He released the clasp of the bra at the back, and several papers fell out into his lap, his business card among them.
Ah, yes. Her hiding place. Anya giggled as she shrugged off the bra, nipples hard and straining toward his mouth. “The contraband I stole from Ivanov’s office. There’s more in my pants and socks.”
He tossed the papers next to the gun. “You’d definitely make a good spy.”
A smile split her face, and she hugged him, pressing her breasts close to his face. He took advantage, lowering his lips.
He gave each breast his full attention before kissing his way up Anya’s neck. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman this much, and if she didn’t stop grinding into his lap, she was going to push him over the edge.
He nipped her earlobe with his teeth and whispered, “Are you sure?”
Her eyes were half lidded, lips parted when she looked at him. “I’m scared.”
All the adrenaline pouring through his system came to a screeching halt. She was scared. Of him? Of having sex with him?
Jesus, God, what am I doing?
It took every ounce of willpower, but he called up his no-nonsense director of operations face, and said the words he needed to say, even though he wanted to shoot himself for even thinking them. “We can stop.”
“No.” She looked stricken for a second. Then laid her head on his shoulder. Her hair tickled his nose, but he didn’t care. Anything to be near her was worth the price. “I don’t want to stop. It’s just…I…”
Wrapping his arms around her, he hugged her. “It’s okay. We don’t have to go any further. Like I said before, wrong time, wrong place. A military bunker is not exactly the most romantic place in the world.”
She drew in one of those breaths that seemed to come from her toes, sat up, and met his gaze. “I don’t want to stop.”
There is a God, an
d somewhere along the line, Ryan had done something to earn the big guy’s approval. “Tell me what you do want, Anya.”
“Everything. All of it.” She gave him that imploring look. “You. I want you. But there’s something you need to know first.”
His shit meter jumped into the red zone. Here it came. She had a boyfriend back in the States. She really was a Russian spy, double-crossing him. “Anya, just so you know, I’ve never felt like this about a woman. Whatever it is, tell me, and I’ll deal with it.”
Silence hung between them for a few seconds. She swallowed visibly. “I’m a…virgin.”
Whoa.
He managed to shut his gaping mouth. For a second anyway. “Excuse me?”
Brilliant, dipshit. The woman tells you she’s a virgin and all you can say is excuse me?
She bit her bottom lip, hung her head, and started to slide off his lap.
He grabbed her by the hips and held her in place. “Where are you going?”
Avoiding his eyes, she shrugged. “I’m twenty-six years old and a virgin. It’s understandable you think I’m a freak.”
“A freak?” He tilted her chin up so she had to look at him. “I think you’re amazing.”
Her brows came together. “I’ve never had a relationship, never had a boyfriend. That’s not normal.”
“Screw normal.”
Something flashed in her eyes. “I’d rather screw you.”
Bright pink patches appeared on her cheeks. She laughed self-consciously. “I mean, I’d like—I want—to make love. With you. Right here. If you’re not turned off by my…” She patted her bandaged side. “All my defects.”
Defects. Freak. That’s how she saw herself.
Time to change her self-image. Ryan had a good idea how to do that.
He traced his fingers up her spine, stopping at the back of her neck. Drawing her face close to his, he kissed her left eyelid, then her right. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
He continued his assault, pushing hair behind her ears, and nuzzling her neck. “You’re one of the smartest women I’ve ever met.”