No Law (Law #3)

by Camille Taylor

  She wasn’t entirely sure why this knowledge made her feel good, but it did, and she didn’t bother trying to decipher the reason. Dressing in a pair of grey sweats and oversized Minnesota Timberwolves’ t-shirt she had picked up at a game over ten years ago, she disregarded a bra. She was going to hit the sack shortly and planned to only check in with Dmitry.

  She couldn’t deny the sexual attraction she felt towards him. She had been acutely aware of him from that first moment she had seen him in Elena’s office and she couldn’t help but wonder if she could make his cool grey eyes burn with fire. Granted, she didn’t have a lot of experience with sex. Alan had been her first, last, and only sexual partner. She had spent her college years with her head in her books. Before that, she’d been the perfect small town Minnesota daughter.

  She walked quietly up behind him, thinking he didn’t know she was there. She admired how his dark hair curled at the ends, and her fingers itched to run through the thick mass. He was deeply engrossed in what he was doing so she continued to watch him, how his long fingers flew across the keyboard, his back muscles moving beneath his shirt. She flushed, thinking how those fingers would feel on her skin, touching, stroking her. She startled guiltily when he spoke.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  She nodded, stepping beside him. Since he was sitting, they were roughly at the same height.

  “Hope you don’t mind, but I wanted to get started.” He lifted her phone to show her what he’d done. “Interpol agrees he has ties to the Bratva.”

  She squinted at the screen. Beside a passport photo was Thug Number One’s name: Vasily Molotovich. There was a list of crimes he had been charged with on the site. Boy Scout, he was not.

  “You can access Interpol from your home?” she asked, awe and reverence in her voice.

  “Not exactly,” he replied. “What I’m currently doing is illegal.”

  “You hacked Interpol?” She gasped, incredulous, and quickly counted up the years they’d serve for the federal offense. She chewed on her lower lip. The last thing she wanted was for him to get in trouble on her behalf. “Oh, no. You shouldn’t have done that. You could be arrested.”

  Dmitry shrugged his broad shoulders. “Relax, Carey. You asked me what I did for the CIA. Observe.”

  He waved his hands towards his computers before turning and facing her. When her gaze collided with his, a warm fuzzy sensation exploded in the pit of her stomach before heading south, ending in an insistent throb between her thighs.

  Her body hadn’t listened to her brain. All her decisions about Dmitry suddenly flew out of her head leaving raw desire and a confused and scared Carey.

  She fidgeted, uncomfortable as dormant feelings burst to life and demanded attention. Dmitry was too darn sexy for his own good. She took a deep breath to calm her rioting body but only succeeded in drawing in his scent, a mixture of man and cologne. Of all the times to be sexually attracted to a man. She could feel the heat from his body, and it had been too long since she’d been enveloped by a man’s warmth, let alone the feeling of a man’s body weight pressing her down as he stretched out above her.

  She licked her lips, the action attracting his gaze. What would it be like to kiss him? Would he be a slow and seductive kisser or a hard and thorough one? She cleared her throat and tried to swallow, her mouth suddenly feeling as if it was stuffed with cotton.

  “Can you hack other things? Penetrate any firewalls?”

  Why had she said penetrate?

  One version of the word certainly popped into mind and refused to leave. Her breathing hitched and desire coursed through her veins. She shivered.

  “Sure, what did you have in mind?”

  Was it her imagination or was his voice slightly husky? He most certainly should not be asking her that question and a blush scorched her skin. She made herself think of the matter at hand.

  “I was just thinking. Mikhail, the boss, I remember he asked Brian where something was…the ship, he said. He was screaming and I was in another room so it was slightly muffled but what if he was asking about a shipment?”

  His brow furrowed in thought. “Do you ship many things?”

  She nodded. “When we have special shows or events we sometimes borrow collections from other museums around the world. We ship them to and from their locations all the time. Russia is one country in particular since Hamilton’s has a reputation of showcasing Russia’s finest.”

  Picking up her phone, she flicked through her messages. “I got an email the other day—” Had it only been the day before yesterday? She could hardly believe how much had changed in that forty-eight hour period. “Customs has a crate in Holdings apparently addressed to the museum, but they said it originated in export. I haven’t been able to recall what it could be.”

  Dmitry nodded. “I can look into that.”

  Chapter 21

  Dmitry turned his attention back to the computer, his mind trying to close out all other elements. His nostrils picked up another waft of shampoo and he immediately had an image of a naked Carey in the shower, soap suds dripping down her wet body. He went hard, his concentration shot. He turned back to her carefully, hoping she wouldn’t glance down at his lap. The scent of the shampoo became stronger, and he’d smelled her from the moment she’d stepped out of the shower, a mix of shampoo, soap, and woman. Carey’s own individual scent.

  Knowing she’d been standing behind him had turned him on and almost became an unbearable pain. When he thought he couldn’t take it any longer he had broken the silence and he was now somewhat disappointed. What was happening to him? Why did this troublesome redhead bring him to his knees?

  She was so close that he could see the light dusting of freckles on the bridge of her nose. Did she have freckles anywhere else on her body? He was dying to find out, to strip her naked and explore that creamy skin in explicit detail. A proper examination would take hours and he looked forward to each and every microsecond. His hard-on jerked painfully within the tight confines of his pants and he cursed his wayward imagination and the utter deliciousness of the woman beside him who thankfully had no idea where his thoughts had led him. What would her reaction be should he speak his mind? Would she be horrified, or would she offer to strip before him, slow and seductively?

  He swallowed hard as he imagined sliding his tongue over the skin she exposed. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d never been this distracted before when a new computer puzzle had been presented to him. But what a distraction. One he planned to dedicate many hours to once he made her safe.

  “This could take some time. You look beat. No insult intended. Why don’t you try and get some sleep? I’ll let you know the results in the morning.”

  “Shouldn’t I stay? What if you find something?”

  “Not much we can do tonight.”

  “Okay, and no insult taken.” She smiled, lighting her face in a way that sent shock waves throughout his body all the way to his toes. Despite the strained look, she was beautiful and much to his delighted surprise, nothing like he had originally believed.

  “Does this bother you?” He indicated the wall of computer monitors. Since her earlier comment, it had been eating away at him. It shouldn’t matter but it did. He needed to know what was going on inside her head.

  “No. Should it?”

  “I like my tech. I’m really good at it. Not everyone is comfortable with my less than legal ways of obtaining information.”

  “I won’t complain since you’re helping me, but please be careful. I don’t want to be calling Elena and telling her I got her brother arrested.”

  Wouldn’t be the first time he got pinned. But his intentions were good, using his skills to ensure the safety of his adopted country and seek out vulnerabilities in his own security programs.

  “I always am,” he said. “Now go get some sleep.”

  Carey stepped in the direction of the bedrooms before turning back to face him. She leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Dmit
ry.”

  His stomach flipped at her gratitude.

  Oh, you’ve got it bad, old boy, he thought. You’ve got it real bad.

  Chapter 22

  Carey woke up for the first time in days feeling completely safe and content. She had slept like a rock and doubted she would have heard a thing if a war began outside the window. She stretched her body out in the queen size bed in Dmitry’s spare room. The mattress was so comfy she wanted to stay huddled inside all day. But she had things to do. A shower would get her blood pumping along with a hot steaming mug of coffee to wake her up. Pure bliss.

  She gathered her bag and trudged into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and brushed her teeth as she waited for the water to heat up. She pinned her hair up, not wanting to get it wet, and stepped into the shower. She moaned softly as the almost scalding hot water beat down on her body, removing the last of the tension still present in her muscles. She lathered her skin with Dmitry’s body wash, a subtle scent she recognized from the man, and was surprised she hadn’t noticed it the night before. Her skin flushed and not from the hot water. Her body felt strange as she considered how intimate it was to share the scent. It was almost as if Dmitry had put his mark on her.

  She couldn’t stop the slight thrill she felt at the thought of belonging to Dmitry.

  After shaving, she climbed out of the shower and dried herself off before stepping into a clean pair of white lacy panties and a pair of black jeans. She added a matching push-up bra and a form fitting dark emerald green V-neck shirt that was low enough to reveal tasteful cleavage and the creamy mounds of her breasts that spilled over the cups of her bra. She brushed mascara onto her lashes and added some clear gloss to her lips. She looked better than she had since this entire episode started. She certainly felt better.

  She let down her hair and tried to do something with it. After getting wet the night before and with no straightener in sight, her hair had immediately returned to its natural ringlet state. Brushing at the tight curls, she managed to produce a wavy look and decided that that was as good as it would get. She left the bathroom in pursuit of hot coffee.

  The first thing she noticed was the lack of coffee in the carafe, and the second thing was a noticeable absentee cup in the drainer. In the main living area, she found Dmitry still typing away at his computer.

  “You didn’t have to stay up all the night,” she told him.

  Her brow scrunched into a frown as she gnawed at her bottom lip, feeling guilty. Nothing seemed to be going right when it came to this man. She remembered their first meeting and blushed with mortification over her behavior. She was still surprised he’d agreed to help her. She knew if their positions had been reversed she mightn’t have been so forgiving. He was truly one of the best men she’d ever met. His generosity seemed to know no bounds.

  He turned, his gaze drifting slowly over her in a way that had her pressing her thighs together. The stubble on his face made him look unbearably hot and she had trouble keeping herself from leaning in and discovering if he tasted as good as he looked. Her mouth practically watered with need and she was embarrassed by her reaction. She felt as though her body wasn’t her own when he was around. He seemed to command it and it made her extremely uncomfortable. He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling the strands. She swallowed hard as her mind painted a vivid picture of a naked Dmitry, wrinkled sheets tangled about his narrow hips.

  “Didn’t realize what time it was,” he said.

  She moved closer to him. “Now I feel bad. You should have made me stay up with you.”

  “It’s fine. I’m a night owl. I'm used to staying up all night. I streamline caffeine.”

  Taking hold of his chin with her fingers, she made him look at her, his attention having slid back to the computer monitor. She critically surveyed his face, his grey eyes looking none too worse for having been up all night. So, it was true: it appeared he did this often. Her thumb stroked his jaw of its own accord and she felt the prickly whiskers. What would they feel like against the rest of her sensitive skin? She shivered.

  He gently removed her hand but continued holding it. He pulled her closer and his warmth enveloped her and she desperately wanted to step into his arms and lay her head on his solid chest just as she had the night before. “Besides, I wasn’t working all night on your problem. That only took an hour,” he said.

  She could hardly breathe, her pulse pounding at his nearness. “Y-you got in?”

  He grinned at her, a roguish look. “This is what I do.”

  He turned his attention back to the computer and using his free hand brought up the United States Custom spreadsheet for all shipping regarding Hamilton Museum.

  “Now this is just the last three months’ worth. I can easily go back further if you want but this should have what you’re looking for. On the left side are all your exports, on the right the imports.”

  She moved closer to the screen, and ran her finger down the imports column, recognizing the shipments, remembering the contents of the crated boxes she had sent. The list was just numbers and dates and had a link to the consignment and manifest.

  She frowned when she got to the bottom of the list. The last export was only a week ago, just days before Brian’s death. There was something wrong with it. She could feel it right down to her bones. Reviewing the information, she flicked back and forth from the last import column to the exports. There was the number two, listed in the items section. Surely that was a mistake. Only one shipment was to go back to Russia.

  She skimmed the imports again. The same date was on the last shipment too. Brian had said he was picking up a shipment from Customs, which was why he chose to send her shipment when he went to get his. Had he made a mistake? No, that couldn’t be right because the museum got their figurines back. Both columns, import and export, had a two in the number of shipments.

  “Can you bring up the manifest for both the import and export on the last day?”

  Dmitry nodded and immediately brought up a PDF view of the consignment for both the import and export for the day Brian had gone to customs. It wasn’t an error. There was a two in number of shipments on both forms. She knew she had only given one box to him for export and he had only came back with one. He’d been slightly agitated when he’d opened the crate, as if what was in the box was not what he’d been expecting. She had seen the contents and found no visible problem.

  The import consignment had been filled out by the customs officer in Russia. He had marked two deliveries to be made from the Moscow State Historical Museum, but only one had arrived, only one was expected, and all was accounted for. She turned her attention to the export consignment. The image was a scan of the copy Brian had filled out. She recognized his messy scrawl. He had written the delivery address as the Kremlin, Moscow, Russian Federation.

  She knew she was missing something. She just couldn’t think what it was. The insurance notation was also high, over fifteen million, which was why customs tended to let antiquities and art imports go through with only a cursory inspection. They didn’t want to be stuck with the bill should the museum open it and find a scratch on some priceless artifact. She was sure the shipment from Moscow hadn’t been worthy of insurance over fifteen million dollars.

  She remembered the email she had gotten from customs. The incorrectly labeled crate sitting in Holdings had come from exports. She recalled all the times she had gone to pick up her shipments and send a few as well. It was all done in the one area, the customs officer placing her pickup beside her exports. Once, she had almost sent all the crates including her pickup. If she hadn’t realized when she got to the car that she was missing a box, she would have lost the shipment.

  That must’ve happened to Brian. He had been edgy in the days preceding his murder. He must not have been paying close attention, and when the officer had placed the two crates beside hers to go to the Kremlin, he must have assumed only one was for pickup and sent the two together. But since the box in question had only t
he Hamilton Museum’s address on it, it had been moved to Holdings until the problem was sorted out because it didn’t have the same manifest number as the consignment.

  Her body hummed with excitement. She’d finally cracked the case of the extra box. “The idiot picked up one box and assumed the other two boxes were my exports. It just wasn’t the box Mikhail wanted.”

  “What do you think is in there, drugs, weapons?”

  She shook her head. “Highly doubtful. As lax as customs is with our shipments, they still put them through the x-ray machine. Guns would certainly show up and the drug-sniffer dogs they keep on the premises would have picked up the scent. I have no idea what is in there.”

  “But you want to find out?”

  She nodded, almost jumping up and down with excitement and adrenaline. She was so close to finding out why her life had been turned upside down. She felt like Sherlock Holmes, on the trail of an investigation, although she was more Watson to Dmitry’s Sherlock since he was the one who’d hacked Customs. She shivered at that, worried Dmitry might get in trouble for helping her. What if he got caught? She knew she’d step in and take the blame. She wasn’t about to allow Dmitry to be deported for something involving her.

  “Okay, we’ll go, but first let me have a quick shower and shave, that way I don’t look like the Unabomber,” he said.

  Getting up, he made his way to the bathroom. He stopped when she said, “I would have said a young Rasputin, myself.”

  “Thanks.” She grinned at him.

  Chapter 23

  Dmitry stopped the car outside the grey metal structure housing American Customs and Border Protection. The place was built like a fortress. They had already been through the external wire gates at the main entrance, driving past the guards with Glocks secured to their belts and were now parked just meters from the door to the Holdings building. He glanced around and noted that this part of the building was deserted. He looked across the cement parking lot towards the import-export area, at the heavy stream of human traffic in and out, policed by another couple of rental guards. Carey got out of the car and he caught her gaze across the roof.