SPY: His Mission. His Orders. His Promise.

by Maggie Carpenter

  "Here you go," she said, smiling as she offered him the glass.

  "You are a very pretty woman, Natalie. You know I like you. I have always liked you," he declared, his fish eyes boring into hers as he accepted the drink. "I want to believe you."

  "Why would I lie about something so trivial? It hurts that you doubt me."

  Placing the glass at his lips he tossed back his head, then handed it back.

  "You do not know if a traitor is a traitor until he—or she—betrays you," he said, his accent thickening. It wasn't a good sign. "How involved were you? All the instincts I own are telling me you cared for each other."

  "Maybe he feels that way about me but it's not mutual. Won't you please tell me what this is all about?"

  "He's Interpol, Natalie," he growled, then suddenly shouted, "INTERPOL!"

  "Are you sure? I know he worked for the government in some capacity, but Interpol?"

  He glared at her, then stuffed his hands in his pockets and once again dropped his gaze to the floor.

  "Do you remember that blonde guy in Paris?" she asked, suddenly having an inspired thought. "The one who tried to screw you with the Monet?"

  "Paris? Monet? Ah, yes, Hammond. What about him? Why are you bringing up that cocksucker?"

  "Remember how the CIA was literally on your doorstep? Who got you out of there and exposed that asshole? Who saved you all that money? It wasn't Boris or Sergei, it was me, Victor, me."

  She saw his brow furrow, and when he let out a heavy sigh and nodded his head she knew she'd just dodged a bullet, possibly literally.

  "It's good you reminded me," he mumbled. "Sometimes I feel I don't know you, but then you jog my memory."

  "Would you like me to talk to Oliver? Maybe I can find out why he's here. Really here I mean, not just to look at your paintings."

  "You understand this deal is too big to lose. Failure is not an option," he said gravely. "Oleg will not accept less than one-hundred percent success."

  "I know, Victor, but everything's in place. There haven't been any problems. There's no reason for you to worry."

  "Not until now. This man, Barton, he is a problem. He is a very big reason to worry."

  "You probably know more about him than I do."

  "I know he's British, very British. I know he thinks he's James Bond. I know he drinks Earl Grey tea and he's a wine connoisseur."

  "That's a lot."

  "Our paths have crossed before. It was not pleasant. That was before you joined me."

  "Do you think he wants to even the score?"

  "There's no other reason for him to be here. If he wants revenge, fine, but not on this deal, though I find it hard to believe we've been infiltrated. He can't know about the artifact, or rather, what's special about it."

  "Even I don't know what's special about it, other than it's a miracle it was found. Maybe it's just a coincidence that he showed up."

  "It has significance in ways you don't need to know about, and I don't believe in coincidences," he scowled. "You shouldn't either."

  "No, I shouldn't," she said hastily. "Do you want me to spend time with him?"

  "Yes, but you must be very careful. The man is a snake. Don't sip from a glass if your eyes have left it even for a moment. Understand?"

  "I understand, Victor."

  "I have to get back. Wait ten minutes and join me," he ordered, then walking back to her, he took her hand. "Natalie, if I didn't have Xavier I'd be fucking you right now."

  "But Victor, you don't like being with women."

  "Exactly."

  "Ah, well that is a compliment," she said with a smile. "I wish you could accept that you can trust me."

  "I do, but my eyes are always open and my ears are always listening," he said solemnly. "It's why I'm still alive," then dropping her hand he turned and marched away.

  Hearing the door close behind him, Natalie slumped in a chair. Her pulse was racing and she felt sick to her stomach.

  "That was close, much too close," she murmured, "and what the hell is Oliver doing here?"

  "If you're really nice to me I'll tell you."

  Jumping to her feet and spinning around, she stared in shock at the only man she'd ever loved. The man who had broken his promise and her heart. He was walking in from the bedroom, then realizing he had to stop talking she began frantically waving her hands and placing her finger against her lips.

  "Natalie, you don't have to worry. We're not being watched or listened to."

  "That's impossible."

  "I can assure you the cameras have been disabled and the bugs are gone."

  "But if the camera's aren't working they'll know something's wrong."

  "I'll explain later. We have more important things to discuss."

  "No shit. What the fuck are you doing in my suite? Are you insane? What if Victor had—"

  "It's nice to see you too," he continued, cutting her off as he drew closer.

  "Were you in the bedroom all this time?"

  "I was, and ready to leap to your aid if you needed me."

  "I repeat, are you absolutely insane?"

  "No, but I think you must be. Why, in the name of King and Country did you get involved with the Russians?"

  "I'm not telling you a damn thing," she angrily retorted. "You almost got me killed just now. Explain what you're doing here and make it fast. I have to get downstairs. Are you really with Interpol? Why don't I believe that?"

  "Natalie, I'm here to get you out of this mess before it's too late,"

  "You have no right telling what to do."

  "Need I remind you," he said, lowering his voice and moving closer to her, "two years ago you promised—"

  "That promise became null and void when you broke yours!"

  "I'm not sure promises can become null and void, but that's a conversation for another time."

  "Like never."

  "Natalie," he pressed, his voice becoming solemn as his mesmerizing eyes melted her. "Victor Pichenko? I don't believe it for a minute. Who are you really working for?"

  "Believe or don't believe what you want."

  "The CIA? FBI? Who recruited you?"

  "Oliver, I don't know where you've been for the last two years and I'm past caring, but let's get one thing straight. I won't tell you who I'm working for, if anyone, unless you tell me exactly why you're here."

  "You're right. Why I'm here and why you're here are the only questions that matter. Which one of us has the courage to spill the beans first?"

  "I'm just a feckless female."

  "A feckless female who speaks six languages, is an accomplished art historian, and can disarm a bomb."

  "Seven actually, and only some bombs. The older models. I'm here because I'm Victor's art consultant. There's no great mystery. I work for him. But there's nothing but mystery swirling around you. You're here because of the artifact, right?"

  "I suppose you could say that, though there are other reasons for my presence, most notably, you!"

  "The damn relic. Fuck! That is why you're here. I knew it. Fuck. Victor believes that too!"

  "Didn't I spank you for using that word?"

  "Those days are long gone," she muttered, dropping her eyes, "and you're a problem."

  "It's not the first time I've been called that."

  "Listen to me, Oliver," she said urgently. "Five minutes ago I had to talk my way out of a bullet through my skull because you messed up. You looked at me across the room like a cat eyeing a canary whose cage door is open."

  "I was simply ogling a beautiful woman."

  "You were in that bedroom just now and you heard every word. You know exactly how Victor is feeling. You're in danger. Serious danger, and you're putting me in danger."

  "And your point is?"

  "Don't be such a smart-ass!"

  "Such language, and you look so elegant in that gown. Using words like smart-ass just doesn't fit."

  "I have to go," she said testily, "but you know Victor wants me to play nice a
nd grill you."

  "I'm delighted we'll be spending time together."

  "The last thing I want to do is spend time with you. This isn't a game, Oliver."

  "No, it certainly is not."

  "I'll approach you, and please cooperate. You have to be cool. You have to act as though—"

  "As though we were merely proverbial ships passing in the night."

  "Exactly," she muttered, feeling an annoying flush cross her face. "Please cooperate, for both our sakes."

  "Cooperate. How much exactly?" he asked, moving closer to her. "Mmm, you're still wearing that wonderful Penhaligon perfume."

  "Stop it."

  "Stop what exactly?"

  "Stop being so cavalier about all this. Don't you remember what happened the last time we were together?"

  "I remember a great deal," he purred, placing his lips against her ear. "I remember how much you enjoyed my unique way of—"

  "You know what I remember?" she said sharply, cutting him off and stepping back. "I remember waiting in an airport for six fucking hours. I remember feeling anxious and terrified that something had happened to you. Fast forward two years and here you are, but God forbid you explain or apologize. I don't even get a, how are you, Natalie? "

  "How are you, Natalie?"

  "Tell me, point blank, Oliver," she snapped, ignoring his question, "exactly why you're here. Spell it out, just so I'm clear!"

  "The priceless Roman Antiquity. The one that's been missing for over four-hundred years, but more importantly what it might be carrying or is hidden in its packing crate. Something that cannot fall into the wrong hands. Aha!" he exclaimed. "That was a newsflash."

  "You just set me up!"

  "Come on, Natalie," he said, lowering his voice. "There's no way you're working for someone like him, I don't care what he's paying you. Being around him is perilous."

  "We need to talk some more, but not here," she said softly. "You know I told Victor I'd see him downstairs in ten minutes and time's up. I need to go, and he needs to see us reconnect."

  "Reconnect? I like the sound of that. One more thing."

  "Isn't there always?"

  "About my promise."

  "Uh, what about it?" she asked, feeling her stomach flip.

  "Someone was supposed to contact you at that airport. I didn't know they hadn't until it was too late. You were gone."

  "I don't believe you, and even if I did, two years, Oliver? Two fucking years and not a word?"

  "I've been trying to find you."

  "Sure you have. A man like you? If you'd wanted to find me, you would have."

  "And I finally did. Here I am," he said, locking her eyes. "I'll see you downstairs, and I owe you a spanking."

  "Fuck you."

  "Two in fact. One for breaking your promise and getting involved with a Russian mobster, and the second for continuing to use that word out of context."

  As he turned and strode away, though she hated herself for it, she couldn't help but admire how he walked. Silent, smooth and quick. Waiting until she heard him leave, she poured herself a shot of vodka. Downing it in one gulp, she picked up her beaded evening bag and walked to the door, but as her fingers curled around the handle she stopped. Her head fell forward against the hard wood and she stifled a sob.

  She still loved him. She loved him from the depths of her soul.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A former Russian Marine Commando and member of the Spetsnaz elite fighting squad, The Alpha Group, Victor Pichenko had once been a modern day gladiator. Able to hunt and kill with the prowess of a deadly predator, after leaving the military he had continued his own rigorous training regimen and had lost none of his edge or skill. He carried himself with the arrogance of one who had no fear. His hands were lethal weapons and he didn't hesitate to use them, but Victor could captivate as easily as he could kill. Charm and wit were part of his arsenal, and were implemented with the panache of a seasoned diplomat.

  In spite of his psychopathic soul, outside of money and power Victor held a passion for two things. His lover, Xavier, and art. All types of art. Prized paintings, spectacular sculptures, beautiful bronzes, perfect porcelain figurines, glittering jewelry, and even pottery would catch his eye. With his knowledge and fervor he quickly become a kingpin in the criminal underbelly of the art world. If a private collector became obsessed with a particular piece they'd seek out Victor Pichenko, the man who could arrange intricately crafted burglaries, replacing originals with counterfeit duplicates that could fool the most noted of experts. On occasion it was the collector who was the recipient of the forgery. Pichenko would keep the priceless treasure for himself, secreting it away in his hidden vault with the rest of his precious possessions.

  But above all else Victor was a master manipulator. He saw life as a giant chess game. Except for Xavier, people were his pawns to be moved about in order to achieve his goals, and as he watched Natalie glide into the exhibition room, he felt exceptionally pleased with himself. His meticulously executed plan had worked. Keeping Natalie quietly hidden away had made his arch enemy Oliver Barton desperate to find her. As Victor had exposed her, like a moth to a flame Oliver had come running. Natalie was now disposable. She'd served her purpose. She'd been the bait on the line and Oliver was hooked.

  As she walked towards him, Victor had to admire her beauty. Wearing a slinky floor-length emerald green gown with a low draping back and a high-rhinestone collar, she looked like a princess. She'd played the scene in the hotel suite exactly as he'd expected she would. She'd given him a half-truth, the smart thing to do, though he did hold an idle curiosity about her current feelings for the handsome British spy.

  "Victor, I don't see him," she said softly as she approached. "Did he leave?"

  "He's in the portrait gallery. I assume you have your phone in that bag."

  "Of course."

  "If you decide to head off for a drink somewhere make sure you let me know."

  "You don't have to tell me that, Victor."

  "My gorgeous girl," he whispered, gripping her arm as he leaned in, "I don't waste words. If I feel I must tell you something, then I feel I must tell you something."

  "Sorry, Victor, it won't happen again."

  "Tell me, do you still pine for Oliver Barton."

  "No. I don't. I never did."

  "So you said, yet I sense you are holding back."

  "I'll admit it's strange seeing him again, especially here. Perhaps that's what you're picking up."

  An evil curl lifted the outside of his lips. It was fun toying with her. Like a cat with a cornered helpless mouse.

  "Perhaps, but this worries me," he lied. "Strange seeing him. That means you're unnerved."

  "Yes, I am, especially with your fingers digging into my skin."

  "Don't let him get inside your head," Victor warned, and with a last tight squeeze he released her. "You cannot have divided loyalties. I don't care how good he is in bed, he's the enemy."

  "I can have fun and stay removed."

  Victor's grin widened. It was a clever retort, and stepping back he jerked his head towards the tall open doors that led into the adjacent gallery, signaling her dismissal. As he watched her walk away he noticed the red marks of his strong hand showing on her upper arm, then shifting his gaze he enjoyed the sight of the silk satin flirt with her bottom's voluptuous curves. Maybe he'd have her there before he killed her. Xavier would enjoy watching that, then shaking his head he changed his mind. He didn't have time for such frivolity. She and Oliver Barton needed to be quickly eliminated.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Oliver felt his heart skip as the woman he loved floated towards him. He'd been watching her from the shadows for several days, and as much as he'd wanted to step into the light, sweep her into his arms and rescue her from the villainous Victor, he was bound by duty. He had his mission. His orders were clear. Find the plans hidden in the artifact and eliminate Victor Pichenko—but not before locating and gaining access to his vault.


  The mission, though almost suicidal, had been coveted, but when he'd learned Natalie had surfaced and was working for Pichenko he'd fought for the job. He had no illusions. He had little doubt Victor had snared Natalie as a magnet to draw him in. The man could have his pick of art consultants, and there were others of greater note than Natalie. It wasn't her expertise he cared about. Victor was bent on revenge.

  The last time the two men had faced off, Oliver had retrieved a priceless bronze Victor had stolen, and Victor had escaped death only by managing to leap from a car as it plunged over the edge of a cliff. That he'd walked away with only a broken wrist had been a miracle, and from the moment Oliver had heard about Victor's inexplicable escape he knew he'd be in Victor's cross-hairs. He also knew Victor possessed extraordinary patience. If it took two years or ten, Victor wouldn't give up.

  But Oliver didn't care that Victor's machinations had brought him to his enemy's doorstep. He'd been on a frustrating search for Natalie for almost two years. There'd be a sighting, he'd race to the location, and though he'd have confirmation that she had been in the area he'd hit a dead end. She'd proven to be remarkably elusive, and he'd had the sense he was being led around by the nose. When he heard she was working for the celebrated collector, Victor Pichenko, he'd felt sick to his stomach. He had to find out where she was and get her away from the ruthless lunatic. It was only a short time later the mission had surfaced.

  "Hello, Natalie," he said warmly, taking her hand to kiss it. "What a charming surprise. I thought it was you I saw earlier."

  Natalie breathed a sigh of relief. He was going to the play out the scene for Victor's benefit, but the touch of his fingers had made her heart skip.

  "Oliver. What are you doing in Vegas?" she asked, hoping she sounded calmer than she felt. "More to the point, what are you doing at this exhibition?"