“Never,” Beth agreed. “Wait. Never let me what?”
Moving behind Beth, he leaned against her back. “Cut it out, Nic. No one’s breaking major, life-changing news here. Just having breakfast and getting rid of some doily shit no one likes.”
Nicola’s eyes widened for a second. “Right. Nothing life changing to announce. Got it. Well, I have to go. For real this time.”
He waved and watched her go. The uncomfortable air didn’t follow her. Roman pulled a chair over and sat, facing Beth. “That wasn’t awkward.”
“Ha. Nope.”
“You okay?”
Beth nodded. “Of course.”
“Good. Because one crazy idea spewing out of Nic’s mouth shouldn’t ruin the morning. Though the eggs are probably a lost cause.”
“Totally crazy idea…”
“Not logical at all.” His mind raced at the thought of waking next to Beth’s warm, naked body every morning. He pulled her off her chair and onto his lap. “Fuck, you smell good.”
Beth sighed, making his dick jump. Her arms crossed behind his neck. “Normal people don’t just move in together.”
“We’re not normal.” He flexed his hips, rubbing against her. “Don’t use that as an argument.”
“Well, then…” She arched her back, making the friction work so damn well. “People know each other longer before they move in together.”
“I’ve known you for years.” His hands ducked under her shirt, sliding across her smooth back.
“Are you trying to make an argument for us…?”
“Nope, just listening to your faulty reasoning.” His lips landed on hers, kissing her, feeling her mouth melt against his. Screw breakfast. He stood with her wrapped around him and headed toward her bedroom. “You could always leave this museum as it is and spend the nights with me.”
Because that wasn’t moving in together. That was sleeping with his girl.
“Maybe.”
Wrong answer. He didn’t like the hesitation. “Why not?”
“Why should I?”
“’Cause I want you there.” He settled her on the bed. “I want the real you, living in your real space. Not some stupid CIA condo.” That sounded a whole lot like he wanted her to move in with him. Because… he did. Yeah, he did. No question. “Look, Beth…”
Her eyes were large, but her mouth remained sealed shut.
“Maybe I do want you with me. Want us together.”
“We are together,” she whispered.
The woman was just coming around to the idea of him. And now he was springing this on her? But he wanted what he wanted. “Maybe I’m not patient.”
Tugging off her shirt, his hands covered her body. He massaged her breasts and grew hard, watching her enjoy it. She grabbed his jeans, tugging them down then wrapping her hand around his cock. Beth stroked his shaft, teasing the crown with her thumb. He stepped out of his pants then tugged her sweatpants free, letting his hands run wild.
Heart in his throat, dick in her hand, Roman settled between her spread legs. “I want to wake up with you.”
Her breath hitched when he pressed to her hot center.
“Baby,” she whispered, mouth gaping as he rocked, grabbing her hips for a better angle.
“I want to be with you.”
“You are…”
“I want this—” He thrust to the hilt, groaning into her mouth. “Whenever I want it. Under the same roof. In the same bed.”
“Yes.”
He withdrew and slid deep. Again and again. “Tell me.”
She nodded, moaning and climbing toward climax.
“Say the words, Beth.”
“Same roof. Same bed.” She tumbled into an orgasm, clinging to him.
Their gasps were rapid fire, their kisses deep. Somewhere his phone rang, then her phone rang. But he didn’t care and didn’t stop until they both fell back onto the bed, completely sated. Limbs loose, he tucked her against him.
She turned her head. “Both phones were ringing. I think.”
His fingertips traced over her curves. “Yeah, you know what that means.”
“We’re a go.”
He leaned over and kissed her. “Easy in and out.”
“Nothing’s ever as easy as it seems.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
After a whirlwind trip back to the other side of the world, Beth needed more sleep than she’d had the chance for recently. Kosovo was pretty, except when it wasn’t. And the part of the little town they were in wasn’t. At all.
Everything looked red and brown, made of clay and rock and dirt. The dusty, dirty town was impoverished and run down. Rusted-out cars shared the same road with mules and donkeys. Old walls were bullet ridden. Ragged children sat on the streets and broke Beth’s heart.
She headed toward the mortar-wracked building that Titan had had eyes on. As an unaccompanied, obviously Western woman—despite her headscarf—Beth felt the stares as she walked to a building with a reputation for welcoming warmongers.
Beth opened the heavy, scarred door. The stench of dust and blood permeated the air. There was no telling how long ago these halls had seen violence because some odors never disappeared. She held her head high as she passed the men posted in the hallway. No one said anything because a woman dressed as she was heading into that building only said one thing: she was protected and powerful.
The building was a labyrinth. The hallways had low ceilings and plaster walls. The amber light flickered almost constantly. She rounded a corner and stopped abruptly as she found her marks.
“Gentlemen,” she offered.
One grunted hello, but the other didn’t make a sound. They turned toward the dimly lit stairs. The power flickered as they walked. The shoddy wiring surged and waned. There had to be loose wires from years of mortar attacks and rebel strikes.
“Beth, you still hear me?” Jared’s voice came through crystal clear despite the thick walls. He’d been in her ear the entire walk to the building. “Cough to acknowledge.”
Staying behind the men, she coughed quietly. Their tactical pants swished as they clumped up the stairs. Their weapons—and there were a lot of them—made her anxious. It wasn’t her thing to be surrounded by automatic firepower when she didn’t have so much as a switchblade.
“Good girl,” Jared said. “Don’t forget: the whole world’s counting on you.”
No pressure. Though she knew there were several backup plans in place and Titan was running point on this, several nations and intelligence communities were on standby if they didn’t pull this off.
“Roman and Cash, read me still?” Jared continued.
“Roger that, Boss Man,” Cash whispered in her earpiece.
“Here.” Roman hadn’t sounded okay since Beth had nodded goodbye and headed down the road unarmed. She had no vest, weapon, or close-by backup. He’d had a fit, but while she wasn’t comfortable, there was no way to have any safety measures. But the risk was worth it.
Beth couldn’t let a little thing like nerves compromise her cover: a code authenticator assisting two terrorists with brokering a deal. The man who’d hired her—Aleksei Polzin— would bring her in and say a few words, then the codes would be confirmed, and money would be exchanged with phone calls to the appropriate bankers. She would get out, Titan would get in, grab the codes and the nuke, and everyone would go home, safe and sound.
Jared cut into her thoughts. “Time to hide your earpiece, Beth. We’ll try to keep eyes on you best we can.”
Those baby drones were coming in handy. She coughed to acknowledge, then slid the piece out and slipped it into a hidden pocket inside her jacket.
Aleksei Polzin stood at the top landing. Clad in a khaki suit, he had a hard face with pale-brown eyes and a deep, ugly scar on his chin. Generic yet dangerous. He could blend into a crowd but, oh, the sins that man must’ve had under his collar.
“You come very highly recommended.” Polzin’s Russian accent was thick, and his smile was as fr
igid as a Moscow winter’s day.
She smiled just as coldly. “I do a good job.”
“You’re virtually unheard of.”
“Discretion is just one of the many reasons I do so well.”
Polzin regarded her, his drab eyes assessing to see if he could really trust her with his mega millions and what would essentially become a terror strike.
She ignored his once-over and let her expression say that she didn’t appreciate the second guessing. “You have my services for thirty minutes. Any more time wasted, I start charging additional percentages.”
He chuckled, his clipped, former-KGB nature apparently appreciating her demands. “Very well. If all goes well, I hope we can continue business in the future.”
Her smile never wavered, though her pulse quickened. “Once we have a partnership, it’s nearly unbreakable.”
Polzin smiled. “Excellent.”
“Are we a go?”
“Yes,” he said. “How long will the authentication to take?”
“Less than two minutes.”
“Perfect. As soon as I have your confirmation, the funds will transfer, as will your fee. Immediately.”
Her cover story came with a tale of a client gone wrong, one who had not transferred her money as expected and had been left alive for the sole purpose of suffering. “Then let’s do this.”
He pushed through another door. Polzin’s muscle followed, and even though she knew they were Team Bad Guy, she liked having two men with assault rifles with her as they entered an unknown room, kind of like a shitty security blanket.
On the other side of the door, the same type of men, guns, and arrangements likely waited. She wasn’t one hundred percent sure. Titan had maintained eyes on the building for more than a day and saw only a few men connected to the deal enter. The drones had several shots of various rooms, but no one knew exactly where the negotiations would occur. The building was a strategic nightmare, making Roman and Cash’s job of keeping eyes on her hard. Polzin led them down another dingy hallway, and her heels clicked on the broken, stained tile floor.
He stopped in front of a marred door and eyed her then his two men. “Ready?”
Everyone signaled affirmative, and he knocked then opened the door. Adrenaline pulsed through her. She swallowed her nerves and straightened her spine.
They entered a makeshift suite that was furnished and not nearly as dirty as the rest of the building. The walls were painted. The couches and tables were heavy, ornate, and as professional as one could expect in this building.
One man sat on a couch arranged behind a table holding a dirty silver coffee pot. Behind him, two mercenary types were dressed like Polzin’s Rambos. The large room was awkwardly shaped, and voices floated from the back, while another guard milled along the wall. A small briefcase lay next to the coffee service, and Beth broke out in a cold sweat, knowing how close all these men were to nuclear power.
Polzin confidently strode into the large room. Attitude was everything, and it boded well for their safety. He was a major player, experienced and respected.
“We meet in person,” he said as his counterpart rose from the couch.
They each exchanged pleasantries. The Rambos took their positions. Beth stood awkwardly to the side.
Polzin motioned to her. “Let’s start.”
Beth stepped forward. The fragrant smell of coffee permeated the air, and cups clinked on saucers from the same direction as the voices, whose owners she couldn’t see. The Rambos shifted their gazes, tracking all the occupants in the room, as the air sizzled with tension.
“She’s the one?”
Polzin nodded again, accepted an envelope from the other man, and handed it to her. Beth’s mind was calm, her resolve steady. This would be fine. She would just do her part and let Titan handle the rest.
“What…?” A voice surprised her from a far corner. “Is that Beth?”
Her throat went dry as her stomach plummeted. Shit. Beth dropped her scarfed head, knowing she was dead. Gregori Naydenov was in the room.
Polzin’s counterpart turned. “Is there a problem?”
“No—” Beth shook her head.
Glancing up, she saw Greg and Evan. Evan, with a cell phone pressed to his ear, jumped back, grabbing a gun from his waistband. Greg was faster. He fired a bullet point blank at her CIA handler. Blood splattered as Evan collapsed, the gunshot echoing dully in the room. The lighting in the suite shook and flickered. Beth screamed, ducking behind the heavy wooden hutch.
Both sets of Rambos flew into strategic, operational positions, dragging couches and chairs into barrier lines and readying to fire. Shouts in native tongues flew. The armed guards barricaded and protected their assets. Everyone was in an armed position, except for Beth, who was tucked down and nowhere near a weapon.
“Stand up,” Greg ordered. “Now!” His voice strained and cracked, anger rolling off him. “Beth. Stand.”
Fuck. Slowly, she rose from her crouch, standing in no man’s land between the buyers, the sellers, and Greg. She put her hands up in the air. “It’s not what you think.”
“I think Evan Nathaniel introduced me to you.”
“Yes, but—”
“He said you were an art collector. An expert.”
“I am—”
“He lied. Now he’s dead because I know him. I’ve done business with him. I know who he is, and if he lied, there was a reason.”
“Greg—”
“What is that reason?”
She bit her lip. “Please don’t do this.”
He took a step forward. His gun dangled by his side, and a wash of emotions rolled over his face: anger, confusion, hurt, and heartbreak. “What are you doing here, Beth?”
She had nothing. What was he doing here? Evan, too? Since when did money launderers show up at meets for the money exchange? Never. Did the CIA not see this coming? Or was the CIA involved? Maybe Evan was in on it with no backing from the CIA? Because Agency powers-that-be knew she was here. But Evan did not. Jasper did not. Evan was… a traitor. Shit.
Greg began to shake. Veins protruded in his neck as his face went red. And all the while, she couldn’t keep an eye on Polzin or the other team.
Greg looked over her shoulder and told the men, “Get out of here. Go. Now.” Then he turned his angry glare back to her. “Now tell me who the fuck you are.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tactical men encircle their charges and leave the room. Her heart pounded in her ears, sweat dampening her body. She was all alone, just her and Greg. There was no way out of this one.
Titan could hear her. They were probably scrambling for a backup plan, trying to get visuals, maybe trying to get a man inside the building. But that would take too long. Besides, Titan had more important things to consider, like tracking down a nuke. Their priority was the weapon. As it should be.
She closed her eyes and accepted her fate. She should have told Roman she loved him.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The echo of a gunshot echoed through Roman’s earpiece, but that wasn’t what made his blood turn to ice. “Did someone say Beth?” he roared into his comm piece.
“Who’s got eyes? Who the fuck has eyes? Goddamn it!” Jared bellowed. “Parker, what’s going on in there?”
“Workin’ it.”
“Parker. Now,” Jared growled.
Seconds ticked by. They all knew how many dirty windows were in that shitty building, how they had nothing in terms of decent surveillance. Roman peered from his position, checking every angle he could with binoculars. Nothing.
Who the fuck had said Beth? “Cash?” he asked, even though he knew his buddy would’ve already called a visual if he had it.
“Roman,” Cash whispered with a serious level of calm-the-hell-down in his voice. “Give it a sec, buddy.”
Roman scanned the perimeter, ignoring the team in his earpiece as everyone turned up a lack of intel. There wasn’t much between Roman and the building. He a
nd Cash were the closest by far, but they weren’t anywhere close to being in a strategic position to enter the building.
“Stay put,” Cash said, apparently reading Roman’s mind. “Don’t move till we know more.”
This was a total game changer. With scattered thoughts, Roman mapped out the path to the building with the most coverage. He could duck out of his current spot and be there in maybe two minutes. It wouldn’t be easy. There were—he scanned again—one, two possible alcoves in nearby storefronts that could shelter him, plus a few cars and street vendor carts along his best route. But nothing that would hide him in tactical gear, rushing a building surrounded by foot traffic. His heart pounded in his chest.
“Roman!” Jared barked. “We don’t know. Hang tight.”
Muttered whispers came from Beth’s comm piece, but Roman couldn’t tell what was said or even who was speaking. Fuck, he couldn’t tell if she was alive.
“Speak up!” a man’s voice boomed.
Scratchy noise echoed through her mic, then the sound became clearer.
“It’s not what you think,” Beth said.
Roman’s heart leapt into his throat. Beth, alive, but clearly in danger. Sweat dripped down his spine as he rose into a crouch.
“I need an explanation,” a man barked. “You and Evan working me over?”
“You didn’t have to kill him.”
Him? Evan? Her handler? And who was that? The voice sounded familiar. Then, it came to him—Gregori Naydenov.
“Parker’s got a hit,” Jared said.
“Naydenov.” Roman was already on his feet and moving toward the stairs. “We’ve got problems.”
“Affirmative.” Jared cursed in the background. “Voice recognition matched. What do we got on him? Any history—”
“She was working a CIA job with him.”
“Goddamn it,” Jared growled.
Roman jumped down a flight of stairs, racing down another.
“You moving already? Roman?”
“Abso-fuckin’-lutely.”
Boss Man cursed. “Christ. Cash, catch up with him. Reposition. We need eyes in there. Parker, get me better ears, and I want to see that whole damn room. Every fuckin’ angle.”
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