To Russia With Love (Countermeasure Series)

by Aubrey, Cecilia; Almeida, Chris

  He grabbed her by her hips and pressed her against him, the bulge in his pants a clear demonstration of what she did to him. Her little moans and sighs with each touch and nip of his teeth drove him beyond any clear thought. He was so close to losing himself in her allure.

  And then, she slipped her hand inside his slacks, circling his cock with eager fingers. The shock of her touch snapped him from his dreamy state. He realized how far they had gone, how much damage he had done. He thrust her away from him, keeping her at arm’s length. Taking a deep unsteady breath, he leaned back against the wall, heaving and trying to regain control of himself and his thoughts.

  “Stephan?” Her desire-laden eyes widened and filled with questions.

  “No.”

  “But—”Her eyes showed the tortured dullness of disbelief.

  “No, Jessica. We can’t be.” His voice was strangled, raw. There was nothing left to be said. That single sentence said it all.

  Pain filled her eyes and his heart by proxy. He grabbed his scattered clothes and slipped into his disheveled shirt as he struggled to open the door. He kept his eyes averted. A single look could have destroyed his determination to leave. Without another glance, he walked out and closed the door behind him. He all but ran to the car, leaving behind the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him.

  Stephan downed another gulp of whiskey and set the glass on the side table. He was a dumbass of the biggest kind. He had done wrong by everybody in his need to keep his heart safe. He’d used Terese as a buffer, in hopes of dimming his memories of Jessica, to find solace by taking a safe road, one with no fiery emotions involved. But Jessica’s colorful and vivid image couldn’t be erased from his mind. In fact, the distance of the last months had enhanced his fantasy. The little taste he’d gotten only left him wanting more of her, like a thirsty man who had been given a sip of water and left to wander parched in the middle of a desert.

  The best thing to do was to walk away, let her think the worst of him, hate him if she would, but he couldn’t. Stephan knew he was between a rock and a hard place. “Fuck!” He raked his hair with his fingers and, resting his elbows on his knees, dropped his head in his hands.

  His mind went through all of the items on his emotional fuck-up list. He had loose ends to tie off with Terese. He had to make it up to her somehow, smooth things for the sake of the friendship they had developed over the last months.

  Most of all, he had to find a way to deal with Jessica. First, he had to stop lying to himself. He wanted her. He inhaled a sharp breath at the realization. Was he willing to move forward with it, knowing where it would end? Could he train himself to withstand the blow when it came down to it? All for the opportunity of enjoying her presence and the pleasure of her body? It didn’t take him long to understand that he had crossed that line long ago. He would risk it all. He just wasn’t sure his heart would survive the impact this time around.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rage Inside

  IN THE EARLY HOURS OF the spring morning, the streets of St. Petersburg crawled with the commuter crowd. The brisk northern cold air still lingered, forcing people to huddle in their winter coats for a little longer. Puffs of hot breath mingled in busy bus stops as ruddy-cheeked Russians found their way to work.

  The café was a bustle of activity as patrons stopped in for a quick morning coffee or roll. It was a luxury still limited to the privileged in a country that had seen many changes in the last twenty years. From deep-rooted socialism to an emerging capitalist market, Russia was growing fast and taking giant footsteps on the playing field.

  Yet corruption still reined free and, based on the growing influence of the criminal underground, was not close to coming under control anytime soon. The old country had its homegrown flavor of the mafia. It was spiked with the hardest vodka one could find. Throughout the decades, the government had initiated several projects to handle and control fraud and corruption within its thick walls. Each had failed at some point or another and morphed into the next-best idea.

  The new country had become a capitalist version of the old. The gap between the rich and poor had widened, and those left with very little option on how to survive each and every day were easy pickings for the bigger fish.

  Nikol Petrovna took a last drag of her cigarette and flicked the butt to the sidewalk. The server clicked his tongue and gave her a disgusted look. She shrugged. It was a nasty habit, one she had struggled to abandon many times in the past. What used to be a two-pack-a-day habit was now down to a stick. Her cravings surged each time she went undercover and she used that one a day as a relaxation moment, time to put her thoughts in check. Considering she had very little time to relax and let her guard down on a regular basis, she’d be damned if she would let anyone spoil her one vice. When she achieved her goal she could quit. All of it. The force and the habit. But until then, she would do what had to be done to keep her sanity.

  She lifted her cup in the direction of the server and raised her eyebrows. At her demand, he retrieved the carafe and refilled her cup. She nodded and wrapped her hands around it in an effort to absorb its soothing warmth. The cup was overly hot to the touch, but the burn was better than having icicles for fingers.

  Over the rim, she stared at the file spread out before her. Her eyes hardened and her mouth tightened into a grim line. She intently traced the features of the man in the mug shot on the dog-eared page. His features were as familiar to her as her own fingerprints. Very much so. For the last five years she had kept tabs on him. Followed the progression of his features over the years—each new wrinkle, each new crease added to her memory bank.

  Rage flooded her insides, fizzing and bubbling like lava. A rage that had burned deep in her soul for a long while. An inferno that had grown over the years since her mother confided her story. It had taken years in the service for Nikol to reach that point, years as an underling, years of careful planning, pain, and abuse among the filthiest underground organizations peppering the country. But now, everything was within her reach. He was within her sights. Finally.

  She glanced at the crystal face of the Mondavi watch gracing her wrist. “Fuck!” she murmured under her breath.

  She would be cutting it close. She flipped the page of the file and grimaced as the deep steel-gray eyes stared back at her. Sergei Deminov was an unexpected complication. She studied his image. It was nothing like him. The mug shot was placid, just a snapshot of a second of the man’s life; it did not translate the heinous aura that bled from him. Up close and personal, the six-foot-two Siberian was a force to be reckoned with.

  He was also a womanizer—she had seen women fawning over him in nightclubs. Granted, some would consider him handsome with his chiseled cheekbones, broad lips, and tight muscular body sculpted during his many stays at state-run prisons. But she knew better: he was a monster. Her mouth filled with the raw and bitter taste of bile each time his slimy hands touched her. His interest and possessiveness was a surprise even this early in the game. She hated how he often stated that she was the perfect fit for him. That she was as hard and cold-hearted as he was. What scared her most was that he could be right.

  So far, she had been able to fend off his sexual advances, but he was becoming more demanding and forceful. That was fine with her, because now that she had him hooked, he would unwittingly help her accomplish her goal faster—he was her ticket into the organization. The reason she had been put through the most grueling hazing those last few weeks. She was determined to pass the initiation and be welcomed into their den even if it meant….

  She shook her head, not willing to dwell on those details just yet. Her thoughts bounced to the latest test. Last night’s activities had been distasteful, but a necessary evil. Had she failed, she too would be floating in the river, dancing with the fish. She had prevailed, had pulled the trigger with no remorse. The bastard Sergei had taken her to interrogate had been a traitor, and doubly so. A traitor to the organization she was trying to infiltrate and
a traitor to the organization she was accountable to.

  Anatolii had recognized her while he had huddled on the concrete floor before her, a bloody pulp of a man after the beating and cutting Sergei had delivered. When she had stepped from the shadows to take her turn, she had seen recognition in Anatolii’s eyes as they bobbed from her to Sergei and back again. A sly look had invaded his narrowed calculating eyes, a gleam of revenge had filled them as he had squared his shoulders confidently—the scum had been about to rat her out.

  Without hesitation, she had pulled the Heckler & Koch from the waistband at her back and swung her arm from behind her, shooting him dead center in the forehead. “Fuck!” Sergei had yelled. The weight of a hard right hook had smashed into her jaw, causing her head to snap back under the impact. She had fallen to the ground, barely conscious, but had steeled herself to face Sergei’s anger. “You fucking bitch! We needed him.”

  Nikol had schooled her features and wiped the blood from her mouth with the back of her hand before pushing herself up from the warehouse floor. She had glared at him maliciously as she casually holstered her gun at her waist. She had wiped her hand against her thigh, defiantly crossed her arms at her chest, and shrugged. “He bored me.”

  Her tone had been neutral, masking the fury boiling inside her. It had taken a huge amount of control—a control she’d exercised and mastered over the years—to keep her from whipping out her gun again and wiping Sergei from existence.

  A gleam of lust had flooded Sergei’s cold gray eyes. He had grabbed and jerked her into his arms. It had taken everything in her being not to react to that rough handling. His hands had harshly outlined the curves of her body encased in fatigues and a tight-knit turtleneck before palming her breast and squeezing it hard. He had buried his face at her neck and bit the tender flesh, murmuring, “I love a woman with a masochistic streak as wide as mine.”

  The memory sent a shudder through Nikol’s entire being. His attentions had become more intense with each month she had been around him, but she was willing to put up with it for now. Let him think his actions thrilled her right up until the moment she put a bullet in his head. And she would. There was no question about it.

  The blaring honk of a car pulled her back from her dark thoughts and she gathered the files, shoving them into her backpack. Nikol tossed a few notes on the table, pulled the hood of her jacket tight around her, and headed out for her appointment—a briefing with her superiors.

  She knew they would hold her accountable for Anatolii’s death. At least until right about the time they read her complete report, which was already typed and waiting in her backpack to be handed off. It should be a short meeting.

  Traitors and snitches weren’t tolerated, especially in post-Cold War Russia. Anatolii had been a first-class weasel responsible for the deaths of two of their best operatives in the past few years. Luckily, she had been able to identify the source of the leaks and take him out without compromising herself.

  Walking briskly, Nikol cut through an alley and headed in the direction of the stone building located just a few blocks away on Suvorovsky Prospekt. She hated that building. Had hated it since her first day there. She followed procedure. Made sure she didn’t have a tail and then cut through another shadowy alley. One could never be too sure. Sergei was still weary of her and tried to trip her up at every opportunity.

  The pungent stench of rotting garbage and sharp tang of urine invaded her nose. The tart aroma didn’t bother her anymore. It was life in the city—so different from the small-town farm living of her childhood. She reached a recessed door and glanced around before ducking through it.

  The ringing of phones and the loud buzz of conversation assaulted her ears. Unwilling to walk through the maze of cubicles and by the dispatch desk, she fled to the stairwell and jogged up three flights, bursting through the door on the fourth floor. Shoving the hood from her head, Nikol moved through the desk-infested floor with hurried purpose, ignoring the snide remarks tossed her way. Names like “slut” and “bitch” followed in her wake. She didn’t care what they thought of her. The means didn’t matter. The end did. And she would get to the end she wanted.

  When she reached her destination, she turned to the room at large and gave them all a one-finger salute as she entered the conference room.

  “Petrovna. Sit.” Colonel General Stanislav Olegovich’s familiar voice was stern and cold.

  On entering the room, she cleared all expression from her face—but that didn’t ease the pounding of her heart, which was beating loud in her ears. She unzipped her jacket and shrugged her backpack from her shoulder as she approached the chair positioned in front of the long table behind which three men sat motionless. That routine was getting old. Had she been a man, she wouldn’t have been called before the inquisition.

  She saluted them and took the appointed seat, setting the backpack at her feet. Back straight and hands folded respectfully in her lap, she waited. The three men were silent.

  The Colonel General had his eyes buried in a file and didn’t bother diverting his gaze from it on account of her arrival. The second man, senior police officer Eduard Alexandrovich, refused to look her in the eyes, as if by doing so her darkness would contaminate his soul. However, the third, Grigori Maximka, had no such affliction. His eyes bore into her like a laser-guided missile. Nikol squared her shoulders, held his gaze, and sneered. After a while, he averted his gaze. She almost chuckled inside. Wimp.

  Nikol glanced at her watch. Time was slipping by and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—be late for her next meeting. The silence in the room was thick, cut only by the sound of the shuffling papers. She grew weary of waiting. The Colonel General must have sensed her agitation, for he looked up from the papers with profound irritation coloring his stare.

  “Explain yourself,” the Colonel General frowned at her.

  “Sir?”

  “The body of Anatolii Svyatoslavovich was pulled from the river early this morning. Informants fingered you and Deminov.”

  Maximka jumped to his feet, planting his hands on the table as he leaned forward and darted her with his words. “You are not fit for this job. You let a comrade die!”

  “Sit down, Grigori.” The Colonel General turned his head to her. “Report.”

  Nikol relaxed her body back against the chair and spoke without remorse. “He was a traitor. The bastard was responsible for the deaths of Taras and Semyon. He compromised their cover. His leaks were the reason they were killed.”

  “This is ridiculous,” senior police officer Alexandrovich scoffed. “He was a stellar detective. An honorable man.”

  Nikol pinned him with her stare. “Not only did he rob from the mob, but he was about to compromise my own position within the operation to save his neck. He was a greedy bastard. A corrupt one.”

  She reached into her pack, pulled out her report, and tossed it on the table. “It’s all there. I shot him. He was about to seal my death warrant. I couldn’t let that happen. My role within the secret service is more important than his life ever was.”

  Senior police officer Alexandrovich dragged the file to him, glanced over it, and slid it to the Colonel General. Maximka sputtered. “I don’t believe you. You are a rogue who needs to be put down. You’re a turncoat. You don’t work for us. You are cold-blooded killer and the mob’s bitch.”

  A flush crept up Nikol’s neck at the accusations flung in her face. With extreme control, she stood, crossed to the table, and splayed her hands on it, leaning until her face was inches from his.

  Her voice was low and she smiled smoothly, hiding her rage. “You can call me a cold-blooded killer, but my actions have been for the success of this mission. You are the ones who put me in this position. I walk with death every waking moment, while you sit on your bureaucratic ass in your safe, puny office.” She fought her own battle for restraint as Maximka’s jaw clenched and eyes narrowed. She leaned in closer until they almost touched nose to nose. She could see the accelerated pulse on
his neck and dilated pupils. Fear. Perfect. She couldn’t stop herself from whispering humorously, “You’re soft. You would never last in the world you have assigned me to.”

  “Take your seat, Petrovna.” Nikol’s head snapped at the Colonel General’s directive and she backed away from the table with hands out before her.

  “My deepest regrets, sir.” A quirk of a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth and disappeared just as quickly.

  She turned to her chair, but, instead of sitting, grabbed her backpack and shrugged it on. “You have my report. It’s all there.” She eyed them dryly.

  “We are not finished with you, Petrovna,” Maximka bit out, frustration seeping from his every word.

  “Oh, but you are.” Her attention focused on the Colonel General. “I’m late for an interview with Mikhailov.” A smug expression overtook her face. “We’re there, sir. By this evening, I’ll be a member of the inner sanctum.” Nikol turned on her heel and strode to the door. With her hand on the doorknob, she turned back to the room and saluted her superiors. “It has been a pleasure.”

  Once back in the hall, she skirted the room and ducked into the stairwell. Flying down the stairs, she burst into the alley and back out onto the busy city streets. She mingled with the passersby as her thoughts focused on the upcoming meeting, wondering what she would be up against. Let the games begin.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Old Connections

  CASSANDRA’S THOUGHTS SPUN AS SHE sat at the kitchen counter chewing on the end of the highlighter in her hand. A map of St. Petersburg lay open on the counter, several suitable apartments, hotels, and suites now marked on the grid. They had to finalize their plans regarding the location for their base of operations in Russia.