Game Over (The Baltimore Banners Book 2)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  “Nikolai—”

  “Do you trust me?” His quiet voice wrapped around her, soft, demanding. And seeking her assurance, so vulnerable that she had to blink back the watery film that suddenly appeared behind her eyes.

  And God help her, she did trust him. She more than trusted him—she was falling in love with him. The realization slammed into her, made her breath catch. She nodded, unable to do more than that, unable to even speak.

  He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers in a kiss so gentle, so caring and trusting that tears sprang to her eyes. Her breath hitched again when he pulled away, but only far enough that he could rest his forehead against hers. A small smile curved his mouth upward.

  “Good. That is good.”

  He stood, taking his heat and reassurance with him, then grabbed the pen from the desk. A sad emptiness filled Bobbi as she watched him lean over and sign his name on the contract, the signature as strong and bold as the man himself.

  And she couldn’t help but feeling as if she had just let him down in the most basic of ways.

  Nikolai grabbed her hand and pulled her from the chair, then led her across the office and opened the door. Walter Jacobs pressed a button on the cell phone that he had been talking on and dropped it into his pocket then looked up at them, a frown creasing his forehead as he glanced from one to the other.

  “I have signed your papers, and now we leave,” Nikolai’s hearty voice boomed out so loudly that Bobbi actually winced. A smirk brightened the agent’s face and she wished she had a harpoon so she could shoot the shark. Because that was what she reminded him of: a toothy, untrustworthy predator.

  “Good, good. Glad to see your lady friend wasn’t able to talk you out of such a good deal.” He walked over and pounded Nikolai on the back, just two good buddies sharing a moment. Bobbi bit back a gag as he moved closer to her and leveled a flat stare at her that was at odds with his oily smile. “We wouldn’t want anything to endanger our relationship, now would we?”

  The threat was clear to Bobbi, despite being spoken with such casual good charm. A chill prickled her skin and she tugged on Nikolai’s hand, wanting nothing more than to just leave.

  But he had become immovable. She tore her gaze away from Jacobs, who was still watching her with those flat eyes, and looked at Nikolai. His face had become a mask of cool warning, a feral and dangerous fire flashing in his eyes. Tension radiated from him, and he moved so quickly she didn’t have time to grab onto him, to stop him.

  He stepped between her and his agent, forcing him back with his sheer size. He reached back with one hand and gently pushed her away, even as he stepped closer to Jacobs and spit out a string of Russian in a growl so low and fast she almost had trouble keeping up with it.

  But she had caught enough to know that Nikolai had just threatened Walter Jacobs, warned him that she was off-limits and that nothing would happen to her. She kept her face carefully blank as she peered around his large back to see if the words had any effect on the man.

  She couldn’t tell if he understood Russian, or if it was just the look on Nikolai’s face coupled with the tone of his voice that helped him understand the meaning. Regardless, he took a step back and held up both hands in the universal sign of surrender, a smile plastered on his face.

  “No worries, Nikolai, no worries. And no harm meant.” He leaned forward and patted Nikolai on the shoulder, his buddy once more. Nikolai shrugged away from him, grabbed Bobbi’s hand, and practically pushed her to the waiting elevator, keeping her in front of him until the doors closed. Then he grabbed her and crushed her against him in such a fierce embrace that her breath left her in a rush and she thought her back would crack from the force.

  “Nikolai—” His name came out as a croak, and he immediately eased his hold on her. Eased, but didn’t let go. He continued to hold her against him, her head against his chest, one large hand rubbing circles along her back. She could hear the pounding of his heart in her ear, could feel the fast steady beat against her cheek. A second went by before he abruptly stepped away from her. He grabbed her face in both hands and kissed her, then stared into her eyes with his own searing, frantic gaze.

  “You must make me a promise, moe krasivejshee.” The ferocity of his voice scared her, and she could do nothing more than nod. “If you should ever see that man again, you must run away. Do not let him get close to you. Do not let him talk to you. You must run away and let me know. Do you promise?”

  “Nikolai—”

  “Promise me!”

  “Yes, I promise. Okay? I promise.” He pulled her against him again and she wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tightly. His anxiety bled into her, feeding her own, and she tried to swallow back the fear caused by it. “But why? Tell me what happened. I don’t understand.”

  “I know you don’t, moe krasivejshee. I cannot explain now. Just know that he is a dangerous man, and more than what he seems.” He continued holding her until the elevator stopped, the doors finally opening onto the extravagant lobby floor. Nikolai took a deep breath then stepped back, his hand wrapped firmly around hers, and led her to the expansive glass doors, their steps loud against the dark marble floor.

  His anxiety eased as soon as they stepped into the bright afternoon sun and turned away from the building. His grasp on her hand gentled, and was no longer quite as urgent. They walked in silence, hand-in-hand, for several blocks. Bobbi didn’t even think to ask where he was going, just sensed that he needed to put some distance between them and the office they had just left.

  And she was perfectly happy with the aimless pace he was setting, because it gave her a chance to think back over everything that had happened and try to sort it out. Something very telling had just occurred, and the obvious ramifications were disturbing.

  Nikolai knew his contracts were wrong; he knew. Which meant Walter Jacobs was holding something over Nikolai to get his cooperation, something important, something that Nikolai didn’t think she’d understand.

  Nikolai had immediately understood his agent’s implied threat and had jumped in to protect her. He warned her that his agent was a dangerous man, and to stay away from him.

  But why? What did Walter Jacobs have to hold over Nikolai’s head? What was important enough to demand such quiet acceptance of the extortion of millions of dollars?

  She glanced sideways at him, studying his strong profile in the late afternoon light. The play of sun and shadow accented his chiseled features, his cheekbones standing out in stark relief. Her heart tripped and rolled at the sight of his rugged good looks, at the realization that had slammed into her in his agent’s office.

  Bobbi stumbled and she would have fallen if Nikolai hadn’t wrapped his arm quickly around her waist until she regained her balance. She mumbled an apology and pulled away, staring up at him.

  “Tell me what’s going on, Nikolai. Please.”

  He looked down at her, a shadow filling his eyes as he shook his head. “It is not important moe krasivejshee.” He reached for hand again but she stepped back.

  “It is. Nikolai…” She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush, knowing she was taking a huge chance. “He’s threatening you, isn’t he? Is that why you just signed everything over to him?”

  Nikolai’s face went carefully blank and he shook his head. “You know nothing. Come, let’s walk.” He grabbed her hand and led her several more feet before she pulled him to a stop. He turned and looked at her again, his expression guarded. Bobbi took another deep breath then stepped closer to him, reaching up to frame his face with her hands and leaning forward, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips.

  “You asked me if I trusted you, and I said yes. I shouldn’t, though. I barely know you. But I do. Can’t you trust me?”

  Nikolai’s eyes searched hers, but he carefully hid any emotion from her. Instead he pulled her roughly to him and claimed her mouth in a searing kiss, demanding and possessive. She curled her hand in his shirt and leaned further into him, her br
eath coming in harsh grasps when he pulled away. “I trust you moe krasivejshee, but there are things I cannot and will not share with you.”

  “Nikolai, please. Let me help you. What he’s doing is extortion. Tell me why. Let me help you.” Bobbi let her desperation show in her voice, not caring if she was crossing lines and breaking rules. If she could just get him to open up to her, she could help him.

  But he wouldn’t. And she knew saying anything had been a mistake, because his expression changed, becoming harder, dangerous. Cold and distant.

  “No. You know nothing. There is nothing you can do. You are never to speak of this again.” He grabbed her hand but she pulled out of reach and stepped back, staring at him through her own mask of indifference. He stopped and looked at her, his eyes softening. “Moe krasivejshee—”

  “Don’t. Just…don’t say anything else. I need to get back, I have work to do.” She turned to walk away then stopped, realizing she was supposed to stay with him at all times. She turned back around and watched as he lowered a mask of indifference over his face—but not before she saw the raw emotion burning in his eyes.

  Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest and she took a step toward him, knowing that bridging the new emotional distance between them would be much harder than closing the physical distance right now.

  There was still more than a foot separating them when two young men hurried around the corner, paying them too much attention as they passed close by. A tingle of warning itched at the base of her skull and Bobbi tensed the same time as Nikolai did. She turned to watch the two men, her hand easing into her bag, reaching for the pistol Denny insisted she now carry. The pistol she now shot with ease and without thought or emotion, the pistol she would use with no hesitation.

  Her fingers brushed the cool metal of the grip just as something hard closed over her arm. She turned in surprise, realizing that Nikolai was grabbing her, a look of determination on his face. His hold on her tightened even more and he pulled her toward him, turning her away from the young men and pushing her in the opposite direction.

  Bobbi had been about to break from Nikolai’s hold, her hand trying to close once more around the gun in her bag, when a car tore around the corner, heading toward them.

  Then the next few seconds flew by in a blur that happened much too slowly.

  The men that had just passed them pointed and yelled. Pops echoed around them. Bobbi pushed against Nikolai, trying to shield him as he pushed against her, cradling her body against his as he forced her down. Bobbi sensed more than saw whir of movements and sound: chips of brick and concrete flying behind them, a spray of red, a guttural sound of agony. Her hand was yanked free of the bag before it closed around the gun, her body falling forward and colliding with the concrete sidewalk, her head snapping backward as she hit, hard. Her teeth jarred and her vision swam, went black then gray as a heavy weight slammed into her back, on top of her, knocking the breath out of her.

  Deafening silence followed the barrage of sound and action, drawn out, never-ending. Then, little by little, the world re-tilted and things fell back into place, piece-by-piece.

  Traffic sounds, a blaring horn.

  Running footsteps. A scream of disbelief, a scream of agony cut too short.

  A deep inhale of breath, the harsher breathing of exertion.

  The distant sound of a wailing siren.

  Bobbi forced her eyes open and saw only black. She bit back her panic and forced herself to breathe, to focus. Her vision cleared and she realized the black in front of her eyes was the asphalt of the road beneath her.

  And the heavy weight on top of her was Nikolai.

  “Oh God. Nikolai! Nikolai!” She struggled to roll over but couldn’t, not with him on top of her like that. She pushed up with her hands, struggling even more to fight off the panic, needing to check on Nikolai.

  Russian words of comfort were whispered in her ear, and relief surged through her. She pushed up with her hands again, needing to get off the street, needing to make sure he wasn’t hurt. Gentle hands grabbed her, pulled her to a sitting position, but wouldn’t let her stand up.

  “No, do not move.” She turned her head, saw Nikolai kneeling beside her, and threw herself into his arms, holding him tightly as simultaneous waves of nausea and relief rolled her over. His body was hard and strong against hers, warm and alive, and she clung to him.

  Then, with a deep breath, she pulled away, her eyes traveling over his body, her hands following to make sure he was unhurt, to make sure he really was okay.

  “I am fine, moe krasivejshee. But you are hurt. Do not move.”

  “No, I’m fine. I’m fine,” she insisted, as he ran his own hands over her. She pulled away, shaking her head and ignoring the dizziness that swamped her, trying to let him know she was okay. He ignored her protests and forced her to sit as he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, then yanked his t-shirt over his head. She stared at him in confusion, wondering why he was undressing, watching as he ripped the t-shirt in two and folded a strip from one half. He leaned toward her and placed the folded strip against her temple, and she winced at the sudden pain and instinctively pulled away.

  Nikolai wrapped one arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer, his expression grim as he held the material in place. “You are hurt. Be still.”

  Everything clicked into place. Gunshots. Screams. She sucked in her breath and tried to stand. “Is anyone hurt? We need to help.”

  “There is no one to help. Now be still.”

  “But—”

  “Bobbi.” His voice was stern, commanding, and she finally stopped enough to really look at him. The look in his eyes told her all she needed to know, but she still leaned forward, looking past him, needing to see herself.

  One of the men who had passed them was sprawled along the sidewalk, a puddle of blood beneath him from the gunshot wounds in his chest, a gun held loosely in his lifeless hand. The second man was nowhere in sight.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered, closing her eyes against the sight. She took a deep breath and opened them again, focusing on Nikolai. “Are you hurt?”

  “I am fine.” His voice was shaking, and she felt the tremor in his hands as he held the makeshift bandage to her head. The color was quickly draining from his face, and Bobbi’s heart slammed into her chest at the sight.

  “Nikolai, oh my God, where are you hurt? Tell me.” She pushed his hand away and ran her eyes over him, looking for any wounds. He grabbed her hands, stopping her, his eyes staring into hers, anxiety and fear clear in their depths.

  “I am fine, moe krasivejshee. I am fine. But you are hurt. Stop. Please. Just…” He switched to Russian, “you have scared me and I need to hold you, need to keep you in my arms. Let me take care of you,” he finished in English. His gaze held hers for a long minute, full of emotion. She finally nodded and leaned into him, feeling one strong arm close around her as he held her makeshift bandage in place with his other hand.

  Activity exploded all around them as they sat there on the side of the street, and she knew that they would soon be sucked into the whirlwind. But for now, it was just the two of them, holding onto each other, keeping the insanity of the immediate world around them at bay.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The numbness was beginning to wear off, allowing unwanted feeling and emotion to seep in. Bobbi huddled deeper into the blanket, trying to stop the shaking. Nikolai’s arms tightened around her and he pulled her closer, holding her more firmly against his chest. She was thankful for his warmth, thankful for the protective shield of his body as they sat on the back step of the ambulance, neither of them saying anything.

  She had no grasp of the concept of time, had no real idea how long they had been sitting there, but she was sure it had been a long time. Emergency equipment that had filled the street not long after the shooting had thinned out, leaving only several police cars and the ambulance they were in. Yellow tape blocked off the area around them but that didn’t stop the people ga
thered around, gawking.

  Statements had been given, pictures had been taken. The body had been removed. And still people were gathered around, trying to get a glimpse of tragedy. And the media…

  It seemed as if the entire media population of Baltimore had shown up to cover what they were already calling another drug-related shooting. But the media wasn’t interested in that, not really. No, their attention had been largely focused on the local celebrity that had almost been caught in the cross-fire.

  Another chill went through her, longer this time, hard enough that her teeth chattered. Nikolai rubbed her arms through the blanket, trying to warm her, and she laid her head back against his chest and closed her eyes, trying to block out everything but knowing she couldn’t.

  They had both given their statements to the police, separately and together, trying to shed some light on the shooting. Nikolai had hauled her to the ambulance when it arrived and she had been forced to endure poking and prodding and bandaging before she had convinced everyone that she was fine, adamant that she was not going to the hospital. She had a gash on the side of her temple that had bled profusely, a knot on the back of her head that she was sure would give her a headache for several days, and scrapes and scratches on her hands and knees. Other than that, she was fine.

  Yeah. Fine.

  She just wanted to go home and forget about everything.

  But they couldn’t leave yet; they had been asked to stay so they could give their statements to a group of detectives who were on their way. Bobbi didn’t want to wait. She knew they had already talked to the homicide detectives; she knew exactly who was coming.

  And they weren’t detectives.

  She snuggled closer against Nikolai, thankful at least that the reporters were gone now. Thankful they were no longer bothering Nikolai, shouting questions at him, demanding answers as he refused to even acknowledge them. Several of his teammates had shown up, blocking their access more effectively than the police had.

  Then she almost laughed. She was thankful about the reporters being gone? My God, that was the absolute last thing she was thankful for. Something could have happened to Nikolai. It could have been his bloody, sheet-covered body being taken away in the nondescript white Medical Examiner’s van.