His Christmas Assignment

by Lisa Childs

  Her hand tightened on his arm. “Nobody needs to watch me,” she said, her tone as waspish as it had been since he’d taken over as her bodyguard.

  She hadn’t welcomed him back into her life. In fact he wasn’t sure from whom he had more to fear: her or her father. Viktor had accepted his explanation for why he’d stayed away after he’d been paroled. Tori wouldn’t even let him explain. She had barely spoken to him over the past two weeks—which was probably fortunate for him, given how nasty she sounded when she did speak to him.

  “It’s for your protection,” Garek reminded her.

  She pulled her hand away from his arm and sat back in her chair. He didn’t know why she’d wanted to come here. She didn’t dance. She didn’t drink. She didn’t even seem to enjoy the music. Hell, she didn’t seem to enjoy anything anymore. But then, had she ever?

  He wasn’t sure if he ever remembered Tori Chekov being happy—even when they’d been younger. He hadn’t had the chance to be a kid; his father and uncle had recruited him into the family business at a young age. And then when his father had gone to prison, he’d gone to work for Tori’s father. She hadn’t had to work, though. Ever.

  Her father made sure she had everything she wanted. So why wasn’t she happy?

  But then Milek—finally—approached the table, and she actually smiled. “It’s great to see you. Come sit with me,” she implored him.

  Milek slid past Garek to take the chair he’d vacated, and his brow was furrowed in bewilderment. Maybe Tori’s warm greeting had confused him since she’d never been that friendly to him before. Or maybe he was worried that Garek intended to speak to Candace.

  He wanted to do more than speak to her. He wanted to do everything he’d done to her that night—over and over again. But she’d run from him.

  She wasn’t running now—which was good, since it had taken Milek too long to take over for him on protection duty. And the club was crowded, so crowded he had to push his way through a crush of bodies to reach the bar.

  For a moment he thought she’d slipped away, but then a man moved and he saw her sitting on that stool, her long legs crossed. She had painted her lips as red as her dress, and they were curved into a smile as she looked up at the man standing over her.

  Garek’s blood heated with jealousy and anger. He’d arrogantly thought she had come to the club to see him. But what if she’d actually come here for a date?

  He wouldn’t have brought her to a place like this. It was too loud. He would have taken her someplace quiet and intimate—like her bedroom.

  He wanted to take her there now. He pushed forward and wedged the other man aside with his shoulder. His maneuver brought his thigh flush against hers. His body tightened with desire.

  “Hey!” the guy protested.

  Garek turned to him and for once he dropped the mask of humor and let his true feelings show. He also lifted his arm just enough to reveal the holster strapped beneath it.

  The guy lifted his hands and backed up. “I had no idea she was yours. Sorry, man.”

  “I am not his,” Candace called after the man.

  But either he didn’t hear her or he didn’t believe her because he hurriedly disappeared into the crowd. Before turning toward her, Garek summoned the grin and the cocky attitude he had always shown her. “I just found out a few hours ago you were back,” he said casually, as if his heart wasn’t pounding erratically with each breath he took.

  He stood so close to her that he could feel it when she breathed in; her breast swelled and pressed against his arm. “I wouldn’t have figured this for your first place to hit.”

  She turned back to her drink, running her fingertip around the rim of the martini glass. “You don’t know me,” she said. “So how would you know what kind of places I frequent? Maybe I’m a regular here.”

  In her sexy red dress, with her black hair fluffed up and her lips painted—she looked like the other female club patrons. But she wasn’t any more comfortable than he was in his undercover assignment. She visibly fought the discomfort though, lifting her chin as if she was ready to take a blow, and her brilliant blue eyes glared at him.

  “I could be a regular,” she insisted.

  He laughed. He couldn’t help it. He loved her prickliness. That was probably why he’d spent the past year provoking her—trying to get a reaction from her. Trying to get her attention. He had missed her. He’d missed her so damn bad.

  “I know you,” he said. He’d made a point of learning everything about her—while being careful to reveal very little of himself to her.

  She shook her head in denial. “No, you don’t. But I know you.”

  She had to talk loud—because of the music. But there was still the danger that someone else might overhear her. It was better if no one knew how close they were. Or had been…

  Nobody could know what she really meant to him. Not even her. So he lost the grin, and he drew on another mask—one of coldness. “If you actually knew me,” he said, “you would have known better than to show up here.”

  “I didn’t show up here for you,” she said, her tone so disparaging he almost believed her.

  He glanced toward the crowd into which the guy had disappeared. “That loser wasn’t your date, was he?”

  She lifted her martini glass. “He bought me this.”

  “So you’re just here to pick up guys?”

  She shrugged her naked shoulders. “Why not?”

  Because she belonged with him.

  “So that’s why you came back to River City?” he asked. “To pick up strange men in bars?”

  She glared at him again, her eyes narrowed. “You say that like you doubt I can.”

  He hadn’t meant to challenge her. He knew she could pick up any man she wanted. Even him…

  And he had no business letting her affect him. But his body ached with wanting hers. “I say that like I wonder why you’d want to,” he clarified.

  “I think it’s safer picking up strangers than taking a chance on a man I know.” She sighed. “The men I know always disappoint me.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, to point out she hadn’t given him a chance. For a year she had ignored him or fought with him. When he had finally gotten close to her, she had run from him.

  “Maybe you didn’t really know them,” he said.

  She met his gaze and held it for a long moment before nodding in agreement. “Maybe not…” She wriggled down from the stool, and her body pushed against his.

  He remembered that night—remembered how close they’d been, nothing between them as skin had slid over skin. His breath caught in his lungs. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t speak. But he could hear the warning Milek uttered in his earpiece. “You have a problem.”

  He’d already known that. But he glanced up and noticed Viktor had stepped from his back office into the heart of the club. If he saw Candace…

  She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear and murmured, “Or maybe I’ve known them too well…”

  He shook his head. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have come back. You would have kept running.”

  Anger flashed in her blue eyes. She didn’t deny, though, she had run.

  He stepped aside, so that she could get past him. And he advised her, “Run, Candace, run…”

  She called him a name no lady should even know. But she was Candace. She’d fought in a foreign country. She’d fought in her own country. She was the toughest woman he knew. But when she walked past him, he noticed the faint sheen in her eyes. He had hurt her, and he hated himself for hurting her. But instead of reaching for her, he curled his fingers into his hands and resisted the urge.

  He had to let her go.

  And go she did. Her head held high, her chin up, Candace walked past him as if she didn’t know him. As if she didn’t care…

  Had she cared? Had whatever Stacy had said to her compelled her to come back? To try to help save him from himself, or from Chekov?

  And had he just t
hrown away whatever chance he might have had with her?

  Like he’d resisted reaching for her, he resisted watching her walk away. Instead he lifted his head and met Viktor Chekov’s gaze. The man had avoided prison for so many years because he didn’t miss anything. He knew how to find and exploit the weaknesses of his enemies.

  Had he just discovered Garek’s greatest weakness?

  *

  Candace’s eyes stung. But it wasn’t with tears. It was the cold that was getting to her. While she’d retrieved her long jacket and winter boots from coat check, she still wasn’t warm enough. The winter breeze penetrated her jacket and chilled her to the bone.

  She should have used the valet parking. But she’d wanted easy access to her vehicle in case she’d needed it. Two blocks and an alley away wasn’t easy access, though. She shivered and blinked. But it wasn’t against tears. She was blinking away snowflakes.

  They fell heavily, wetting her hair and dampening her jacket—chilling her even more. But maybe it was Garek’s words and his attitude that had chilled her most.

  He hadn’t wanted her to come back.

  She’d tried to pretend that night had never happened. She hadn’t realized that he would want to pretend the same thing—until she’d looked into his face and seen no memory of their encounter in his eyes. He had looked at her as if he’d never seen her naked.

  As if that night had never really happened…

  Had it?

  Or had she dreamed it all?

  Garek Kozminski had her doubting herself all over again. She’d thought she’d known him so well. But maybe she did. Maybe that was why he’d pushed her away like he had. He didn’t want her too close.

  Not because of Tori Chekov. Just like she hadn’t seen any memory of their night on his face, she hadn’t seen any love for that woman on his face. He had lied to Logan about his reason for working for Viktor Chekov again.

  Why? What was he really doing for the gangster?

  For the past year she’d been claiming he hadn’t changed—that he was still the criminal he’d once been. Of course she’d had no evidence to back up her suspicion. She wasn’t even sure why she’d been so desperate to believe the worst of him. Because he’d irritated and frustrated her? Because she hadn’t wanted to acknowledge or give in to the attraction she’d felt for him?

  But maybe she had been right about him after all. Had he gone back to his old life in every way?

  She stepped off the sidewalk to pass through the alley to where her car was parked on the other side—on another street. The snow was deeper between the buildings as were the shadows. Her boots slipped on the snow-covered asphalt, but she regained her balance, catching herself before she fell.

  She uttered a little gasp of surprise and relief, grateful she hadn’t fallen. Despite her jacket and boots, she wasn’t dressed warmly enough to take a tumble in the snow. So she slowed her steps, moving more carefully as she continued into the alley.

  Maybe the person behind her was moving just as carefully or maybe the snow had cushioned his footsteps—because she didn’t hear him until his shadow fell across her. She barely had a moment to reach for her purse, to fumble for her gun, before he attacked.

  Her purse fell from her shoulder, dropping—with the gun still inside—into the snow. She couldn’t use it to protect herself. And with her limbs numb from the cold, she wasn’t certain she could move quickly enough to fight off her attacker. He was big, his hands strong—as they wrapped around her neck. She couldn’t see his face, though. He wore a ski mask, but it wasn’t in deference to the cold. It was as a disguise. So she couldn’t identify him.

  Why had he bothered? It was apparent he had no intention of letting her live.

  Chapter 5

  Fear clutched his heart in a tight vice, making the pressure on his chest unbearable. That pressure had begun to build the minute Garek had seen that sheen of tears in Candace’s eyes. She acted so tough and was so strong physically, but emotionally she was vulnerable. And he’d hurt her.

  He hated himself for hurting her and just letting her walk away. But then another feeling had come over him, chilling his skin and his blood even in the crowded, heated club. Fear.

  He wasn’t worried about just her emotional state anymore. He was worried about her physical state, too. So he’d ignored Viktor gesturing him over to his private table. And he’d pushed through the throng of club patrons to the exit.

  He asked the valets in the club foyer, “Did you bring a car around for a beautiful woman—”

  “Lots of beautiful women come and go from Mr. Chekov’s club,” one of the valets sarcastically remarked.

  “This one is really beautiful,” Garek said. “She’s tall with black hair and—”

  The cocky kid clicked his fingers together. “Oh, yeah, that one…”

  The other kid uttered a lustful sigh. “She has legs that went on forever…”

  His buddy bumped his arm with his fist. “You’d know, you lucky bastard. She leaned against you to change from her heels to her boots.”

  At least she’d put on boots. “So did you bring her car around for her?”

  The kid shook his head. “No, she didn’t check it with us. She walked.”

  That fear clenched his heart harder. “Which way did she go?”

  One of the kids pointed toward the left.

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “There aren’t any parking lots that way.”

  The valet shrugged thin shoulders. “She must’ve parked along the street.”

  She couldn’t have parked close to the club then. Those spots were always already taken—no matter what time of day. Even when the club was closed, Viktor did business here. It may have been where his right-hand man had been killed.

  That crime scene hadn’t been discovered—just the man’s body in a Dumpster. A Dumpster that had been near the club…

  Garek pushed through the doors and rushed out of the foyer. “Mr. Koz,” one of the kids called after him. “You don’t have a coat.”

  He didn’t care about the cold. He cared only about finding Candace before she wound up in a Dumpster, too. Footprints led away from the front of the club—going off in different directions. More than one set led off the way the valets had indicated she’d gone.

  Had she been walking with someone? Or had someone followed her?

  He tracked those footprints. None of them stopped at the curb but continued down the street and around the block. But the wind picked up with a mighty gust that obliterated the rest of the footprints—the rest of the trail.

  Where the hell had she gone? Had her car been parked near here and she’d left already?

  That chill had gone deeper than his skin, though—to his blood and bone, and it wasn’t from the cold. It was from that odd premonition he’d had about her safety. The worry and unease hadn’t left him yet.

  She wasn’t safe.

  Then he heard it. Something striking metal—like a Dumpster. The noise ricocheted off the brick walls, as if coming from an alley.

  He saw it a little farther down the block, the opening between two tall buildings. Uncaring if he stepped in front of traffic or not, he jumped off the curb, squeezed between two cars and ran across the street to the alley.

  “Candace?” he called out as he ran. His shoes slipped on the snow, and he nearly fell. But he caught the wall, brick stinging his palm as he hurried around the corner into the alley. With his other hand, he drew his weapon.

  Between the tall buildings, the alley was dark. He could see nothing until his eyes adjusted—too slowly. Somebody ran out the other end of the alley, but all Garek saw was a huge shadow—a bulk of muscle and height.

  That wasn’t Candace.

  He had to find her—had to make sure she was all right. Maybe she hadn’t even been in the alley. But then his eyes adjusted, and he noticed the body lying in the snow—beside the Dumpster.

  “Candace!”

  He dropped to his knees beside her. Snowflakes fel
l on her face, melting against her silky skin and running down her cheeks like tears. “Candace!”

  Her long lashes, thick with snowflakes, too, fluttered and opened. While he felt a moment of relief, she obviously didn’t—her eyes widened with fear.

  “It was you!” she said, her tone full of accusation.

  “What was me?” he asked, as he leaned closer to her.

  She shrank back in the snow. “You attacked me.”

  A pang struck his heart. Obviously her opinion of him hadn’t changed any. No wonder she’d left that night. “No, I didn’t. I just found you.”

  She stared up at him through narrowed eyes, her suspicions not appeased yet.

  He studied her face, checking for blood—for injuries. “Are you okay?” She’d been out for at least a moment. Had she hit her head? He reached for her, but she flinched and lifted her hands to fend him off.

  There was blood on her fingers. He caught her wrist. “You’re bleeding.”

  “That’s not my blood.” She sat up and now she studied him as intently as he had been studying her. “Where are you bleeding?”

  “I’m not.”

  She touched his neck, and her fingers were like ice against his skin. “You’re not…”

  “Where are your gloves?” he asked. But then he noticed them lying in the snow beside her. She must have taken them off to fight her attacker.

  Her fingers stroked along his throat now, and concern replaced the suspicion in her beautiful blue eyes. “Where is your coat?” she asked.

  “I didn’t take the time to grab it.” And while snow was falling, he barely noticed the cold. Her touch heated his blood. He lifted her from the snow, wrapping her tightly in his arms. “You must be freezing.”

  She shook her head, but her teeth clicked together with a slight chatter. Snow covered her, clinging to her coat and her skin. “I’m fine…”

  “You’re not,” he said, calling her on her obvious bluff. Candace hated admitting to any vulnerability—either emotional or physical. “You’ve been attacked. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

  She shook her head again, but then her head lulled back against his shoulder—as if she’d nearly passed out.