“Like what?”
He cracked a grin. “Like how I’m gonna survive without those lap dances you give.”
She swatted at his arm, feeling heat creep into her neck. “Don’t say that.” Her heart twisted. “It makes it sound like I’ll never see you again.”
The smile fell from his face, his gaze turning cloudy. “But this has to be it.”
She swallowed a knot in her throat. He was right—they both knew it. Acting like there was some semblance of chance between them wasn’t only stupid, it was dangerous.
Tears pricked her eyes and she lied down on the couch, putting her head in his lap. “Well if this is the last night, just let me rest here. So I don’t forget what you feel like.”
A small sigh escaped him. “I could never forget what you feel like, Claudia.” He stroked his thumb over her cheek. “I’ll remember it until the day I die.”
She rolled onto her back, looking up at him, the tender honesty of his words burrowing all the way to the deepest part of her heart.
No matter how little sense it made, she wanted Boris to be hers. For now, for later, and forever.
Chapter Fifteen
Boris rolled down the backseat window, needing a gust of fresh air. Something to cool his nerves; to placate the wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm his stomach.
He’d been counting the minutes to letting Claudia out of his sight. Could feel each passing second like a jagged hand of a renegade clock, tearing through his flesh at every tick.
He could barely look at her. Reminded him of the way she’d be gone soon. A mere memory.
“This traffic,” Filitov muttered, tutting. He wore a floppy Parisian hat and dark glasses; the same way Boris had donned a ballcap and Aviator glasses. Small precautions against identification. A special touch for their stop by the Embassy.
“It’s the 8th arrondisement,” Boris said, crossing his arms over his chest. “What do you expect?”
Claudia squeezed his knee. She’d been nibbling at her lip all morning, reflecting the same anxiety that roiled around inside him. He’d never done this before. Never fallen for someone; never had to let them go. His job description didn’t include this type of shit. Working without guidelines was scary, because who knew if he was doing it right?
When he got an assignment, the black-and-white expectations were reassuring. Go here. Shoot this. Disappear. With Claudia, it felt more like: Go here. Jump in. Get lost. Amputate heart. Spend eternity wondering.
“Tourists could learn how to fucking cross the street,” Filitov said, slamming on the brakes. A smiling family lollygagged on the crosswalk, pointing at a building, blissfully unaware of Filitov’s scowl.
“Oh, shit.” Filitov furrowed his brow, turning up the radio a bit. Long strings of talk radio in suave Croatian, which translated to background noise for Boris unless he really made himself think about what was being said. In this state, though, it all registered as squawks and vowels.
“What is it?”
“News about the kidnapped Princess,” he said, glancing back at Claudia. “Good thing we’re dropping you off today. Shit is hitting the fan.”
Boris snatched up Claudia’s hand, covering it in his own, and brought it to his lips. Their morning had been a whirlwind: he’d barely slept due to nerves, choosing instead to cherish the feel of her in his arms for as long as he could. When she’d finally roused, before the sun rose, they’d spent some time in languorous lovemaking—hushed, intimate, slow movements, so as to not awake the others. A final parting gift in the sleepy hues of early morning.
Filitov swore. The drop-off point was nearing. He recognized the neighborhood, and he could feel the way his stomach churned even harder.
“I’m going to miss you,” she said, eyes watering.
He wrapped an arm around her, bringing her into his lap. She clutched at him, arms around his neck, face nuzzled against his.
“Me too,” he said, not trusting his voice to say more. It might betray the emotion there; in the backseat of Filitov’s car wasn’t the time or place for tears.
“But I want to see you again,” she whispered into his ear, nuzzling her nose against his ear.
“I don’t know if we can do that.” His throat tightened. It was a puzzle he’d been poring over for days now, except none of the pieces fit together. The FSB would never allow him to lead a normal life, and he couldn’t complete his mission without losing Claudia. There was no compromise; no center point where the two circles met.
“We have to at least stay in touch.” Her voice came out small, pleading.
“I don’t know how to do that either,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers. “It might be too dangerous for you. For me, too. If I get caught with links to the King, or if the Princess gets caught contacting an FSB agent.” He tutted, drawing a shaky breath. “Think about what would happen. I couldn’t put you into more danger.”
Her eyes were watery, green pools, deep and imploring. “Why do you have to be so bad? Huh? Why couldn’t you just go join a marketing firm like a normal guy?”
He hefted with a laugh, grabbing a handful of her hips. “Think of it this way. If I weren’t bad, we’d never have met.”
She nuzzled into his neck. “It’s not fair.”
A few tense moments of silence stretched between them. Filitov swore again, and then the car jerked to a stop. “We’re here.”
Boris’s stomach tightened. Across the street, the gates to the Embassy loomed, a wrought-iron cage around immaculately trimmed grass. The American flag moved gently in the breeze; his home territory. Though he frequented the States for assignments, he hadn’t been home in years. Sending Claudia back to her dad reminded him of his own father.
“God, I don’t wanna go,” Claudia moaned.
“Don’t say that,” Boris tutted. “You deserve to go back home, go back where it’s safe. You don’t want to stay with me.” His throat tightened at the unfortunate truth. He could never offer anyone a normal life, or be a normal partner. And maybe before, it never mattered to him. Back when he was a half-cocked hellion in his early 20’s, looking for adventure and revenge wherever he could find it.
But time at least settled all wounds; he might not be healed, but he was beaten down enough to know that there were some benefits to the softer parts of the heart. That, at least, had been her gift to him.
“You should go,” Filitov said, turning to look at her. “I know it might be rough. But we can’t stay around here for too long. There are cameras everywhere.” He pointed at the gate entrance, where two small black boxes pointed their way. “We took all the right precautions to drop you off, but I don’t want to stir up more scandal because they start digging too deep into who dropped you off.”
Claudia nodded, wiping away a few tears that had fallen. “I know. I’m going.” Her sad eyes swept to Boris, darting over his face. Leaning close, she whispered into his ear, “At least tell me your real name.”
His heart wrenched in his chest. He’d tell her, but it wouldn’t help any. “Boris Andreivich Druganov.”
She blinked a few times, a strange expression crossing her face. “Even your initials are bad.”
He cracked a grin and took her face into his hands, covering her mouth with his. “I told you. It’s in my bones.”
They kissed, fast and desperate, until Filitov cleared his throat. Claudia tore herself away, dragging the back of her hand across her eyes.
“Okay. I’m going.” She sniffed hard, climbing off Boris. She wrapped her arms around Filitov from behind his seat. “I’ll miss you, Filitov. I wish you well, wherever you go. Whatever you do.”
“Be safe, dear.” Filitov squeezed her wrist.
Claudia sniffed again, then wrapped her arms around Boris one last time. “I hope I see you again someday. I’ll never stop thinking about you, Boris. My love.”
He swallowed a knot in his throat, forcing her words into the back of his head, to store away so he could think back on them later. Wher
e people and cameras weren’t a willing audience. God damn, he hated goodbyes. “Go on, Claudia.”
She sniffed one last time and tore herself away, pushing open the back door. Without finding his gaze, she slammed the door shut and walked away.
She crossed in front of the car, hands buried in the pockets of her zip-up jacket. Heart wrenching, he fought the urge to call out after her; to get her to look back at him one last time, to coax one last kiss out of her.
Pedestrians swarmed on the sidewalk and she was quickly swallowed into the mass. He lost sight of her quickly, but he didn’t stop looking. Couldn’t stop looking.
“You want to come up front?” Filitov looked back at him.
He jerked his head into a nod, pushing open the back door. The large trees lining the sidewalk shaded them where they parked; quiet conversations reached him. Even on such a sad day, the allure of Dubrovnik was in high gear. He slipped into the front seat and settled in, tugging the brim of the ballcap down lower. Still no sight of Claudia. Filitov put the car into gear, pulling away from the curb.
“Sorry, buddy,” Filitov offered.
Boris shrugged, scanning the moving mass of people on the sidewalk. “I knew it was coming.”
“I’d say it’s always better to avoid entanglements like that while on the job, but I’m not so sure that’s true.” Filitov tutted, peering down the street before he hung a left. “Sometimes, it’s the only glimpse we get of what could have been.”
“Yeah.” Boris squinted, struggling to pick out her messy topknot from the throngs of people crossing the street. He swallowed the urge to roll down the window, to shout her name into the heavy, hot mid-day air. “I’ve never done this before.”
“I know.” Filitov turned onto a different street, moving them even further away from Claudia. His throat tightened and he sat up, craning to continue scanning, even as they put more distance between them. Claudia. Just one more glimpse. Please.
“Can we circle the block?” He adjusted his glasses, settling back into his seat. The Embassy grew smaller in the rearview mirror. “Just to make sure she makes it in okay.”
“Boris, she’s fine. Nothing’s going to happen to her outside of that building.” Filitov sent him a long glance. “We shouldn’t go back.”
Boris’s belly lurched, like he’d been punched. “I know.”
A long silence stretched between them. Boris studied the flashes of Dubrovnik as they drove; faceless people, wisps of color, the vibrant green of the bush-and-tree-lined streets.
“Now where should I take you?” Filitov arched a brow. “You have a decision to make.”
Boris groaned, resting his head against the seat. “Trust me, I know. It’s been killing me.”
“You stay with me much longer and they’ll think you’ve defected. You could be a wanted man already.”
“I think the showdown before we left the warehouse could safely be pegged on the mystery attacker, which they probably won’t associate with you.”
“But if they somehow do?”
“Then I’m fucked.”
“Exactly.” Filitov squeezed the steering wheel. “Which brings me to my next question.”
“Don’t ask it.”
“Are you willing to defect?”
Boris’s gut seized up, like he’d just swallowed a handful of barbed wire. The answer was on his lips—yes—but there was a hesitation lurking. Unresolved aspects that needed some more time to simmer.
“I think there’s a better way.”
Filitov hefted with a laugh. “Is there?”
“For me, yes.” Boris gnawed at the inside of his lips. “I’ve been thinking about a plan. But it’s not quite solid yet. I need some more time.”
“Take all the time you need. Just cover your ass, and remember who you’re dealing with.”
Boris nodded, snagging a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower over the tops of some buildings. “How could I forget?”
Silence settled between them, the radio murmuring quietly. After a bit, Boris straightened. “After we get back to the safe house, I think I’ll head out.”
Filitov nodded. “Where will you go?”
“I’ve gotta call Pavlichenko. And I need to buy a new cell phone.”
“So you’re going through with the mission?” Filitov looked over at him, and he swore there was a sadness there. Maybe he was a secret fan of what had bloomed between him and Claudia. Like a father wanting for his son what he’d never managed to obtain in his own life.
Boris heaved a sigh. “Like I said, I’m working on the plan.”
“All right. At least have lunch with us first. Then I’ll release you back into the wild.”
Boris nodded, squeezing his fist as his mind worked over what the next few days might look like. “I think I can manage that.”
***
Claudia took a shaky breath, alone on the bustling Dubrovnik sidewalk. Boris and Filitov had dropped her off ten minutes ago, but she hadn’t found the strength to enter the embassy yet.
She hadn’t expected this onslaught of emotion. Of the trepidation, of the sadness that hit her like a sack of bricks as she watched Boris drive away in that car. She drew another deep breath. You’ll be on your way home now. Back to the US. Back to Dad, your home in America.
After so much adventure and action, those things seemed like fantasies. As remote as the concept of kidnapping had been to her a mere two weeks ago.
She redid her bun, staring up at the fortress of the embassy. Imposing stone façade, sprawling green gardens. A little slice of home territory here in Croatia.
Looking back once more at the street—like a final confirmation that Boris was in fact not returning to grab her, to kiss her, to insist he come with—and headed up the long sidewalk leading to the Embassy.
A guard stood posted outside the door, and some people milled around. She tried to pull open the door but the guard stopped her.
“Do you have an appointment?” He narrowed his eyes.
She shook her head. “No, but I need to speak with someone. My name is Claudia Zvonimira and I’ve—”
“You can’t get in without an appointment,” the guard said, stiffening.
She paused. “I understand that. But sir, I haven’t been able to make an appointment.” She gulped, looking around. “I was kidnapped.”
When the guard looked dubious, she added, “My father is Stjepanory Fellows, the King-in-exile of Slavonia. I was kidnapped while backpacking in a different part of Croatia nearly two weeks ago. I was taken to a sex cruise, and then rescued, and then taken hostage, and…” Her breath hitched with emotion and she clutched at her chest. Dear God, what if this man didn’t let her in and help her? What if he thought she was a crackpot? “I finally found my way here and I need your help.”
The people in the periphery turned to look at her with wide eyes.
“I recognize you,” one of them said, a sandy-haired man. His accent placed him as American. “I read about you in the news! You were the Princess that was kidnapped!”
A frightening cocktail of emotion streaked through her—surprise, dismay, and the most pervasive sense of relief she’d ever felt in her life. They’ve been looking for me. The news traveled the world. She stumbled a bit and the guard grabbed her arm, steadying her.
“Give me a minute,” the guard said, pulling out a phone. He made a quick call to someone, speaking in stilted Croatian.
“Are you okay?” The sandy-haired man asked.
Claudia jerked her head into a nod. “I am. I’ve just… had a rough time.”
The guard jerked his head toward the embassy. “You should come with me.”
She followed him into the main foyer, stumbling behind him like she’d just woken up. The marble tiles of the embassy gleamed up at her; inside, there was a hush of official orderliness. The quiet hum of bureaucracy. Gazes flicked her way as he led her through the lines of people waiting to be attended at the line of counters. He pushed through an unmarked door, holding it o
pen for her.
The hallway they entered was dimly lit but opulent. Wood paneling betrayed an older elegance; occasional oil paintings featured portraits of people she didn’t recognize. He rounded a corner, then another, and brought her to an office. He knocked twice and then pushed it open.
“Speak with him,” he commanded. She walked through the door, finding a middle-aged man behind a large, wooden desk. He glanced up at her, gesturing for her to sit down.
“Are you Claudia Zvonimira?”
Going Once, Taken Twice: A Dark Romance Page 13