His Christmas Assignment

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His Christmas Assignment Page 11

by Lisa Childs


  *

  Milek swallowed hard as he stared down the barrel of the gun. Last night he’d been beaten nearly to death. Tonight he nearly got shot.

  “What the hell are you doing following me?” Candace asked. Even though she’d identified him, she hadn’t put away her weapon. She held it on him as they stood near where she’d parked her car.

  It was a couple blocks down the street from the club but nowhere near the alley where she’d been attacked. She’d been fortunate enough to find a space near the more populated area of the city, where Christmas lights and wreaths decorated the lampposts.

  He knew she had never trusted Garek, but she hadn’t given him the hard time she’d given his brother. “What do you think I’m doing?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “Do you work for Chekov, too?”

  Milek wanted nothing to do with the mobster. But he wasn’t going to let his brother get himself killed either.

  “I’m helping Garek,” he said. “He asked me to protect you.” He’d also yelled at him for letting her talk to Tori. But Milek had pointed out how hard it was to stop Candace from doing what she wanted.

  “By following me?”

  “By making sure nobody hurts you again.”

  Her lashes fluttered as she blinked. She wasn’t flirting, though. She wouldn’t even look at him now. And he realized he was too late. Somebody had already hurt her. Garek.

  “What is he doing?” she asked. “Why would he get involved with Chekov again?”

  Even though he knew, Milek only shrugged. But the sight of her—so close to tears—got to him, and he added, “Everything isn’t always what it seems.”

  Especially when it came to his brother. Garek acted as if nothing bothered him and as if he cared about nobody and nothing. But he had and would sacrifice everything for those he loved. Milek suspected Garek loved Candace, or he wouldn’t be so worried about her. But he was worried because of Viktor’s threat. If the mobster figured out Garek was trying to get evidence against him, he would go after everyone Garek loved. Maybe he was already going after Candace as a warning for Garek to not betray him.

  But if he really wanted to make sure Garek wouldn’t betray him, he might just eliminate the threat. He might kill Garek before he ever got the chance to discover the evidence he needed to put Chekov away.

  “You’re worried,” Candace said, and finally she holstered her weapon.

  Milek nodded. “He’s playing a dangerous game with dangerous people.”

  She blinked again, but the hint of tears she fought wasn’t for herself. These were for his brother. “Protect him,” she said. “I can protect myself.”

  He would have argued Garek could protect himself, too. But with this assignment, he wasn’t so certain. It was just too dangerous…

  Chapter 11

  Anger coursed through Garek. That damn woman was so stubborn—she was going to get herself killed for certain. He was furious she’d shown up at the club again. And he was even more furious she’d caught Milek following her and sent him away.

  She needed protection. She needed him.

  But Garek had vowed to stay away from her. So after seeing Tori back to her father’s heavily protected estate, he’d headed right home—to the apartment he’d begun to resent. It was all white trim and beige walls—colorless and impersonal. He wanted to move into the house he’d bought with its richly painted walls and ornate trim. He wanted to move on with his life.

  But he couldn’t do that until he wrapped up this assignment—until he put Chekov away. Even after that was done, he doubted he would get another chance with Candace. He never should have told her that night had been a mistake. He’d hurt her. Then he’d convinced her that she’d been right about him, so she would never trust him now. She would certainly never love him.

  Distracted, as always, by thoughts of her, he nearly missed it when he slid the key in the lock. Usually he would have noticed the gouges right away—the telltale sign someone had picked his lock. He shook his head and murmured, “Amateur…”

  Before he’d turned double digits, Garek had been able to pick a lock without leaving a single mark on it. What the hell had this person used? An ax? Patek Kozminski would have been horrified. But then his father hadn’t tolerated incompetence—at least not in his sons. He had treated Stacy like a princess while Milek and Garek had been his lackeys—thieves in training.

  No wonder Candace hadn’t believed he could change—not when he’d been raised a thief. After his release from jail, he’d kept his skills honed breaking into museums and businesses. But that had been at their request—for him to test their security systems.

  That was another reason Logan had hired him and Milek; they had brought in clients of their own. But Garek had made Logan keep that information from Candace. He’d wanted her to discover for herself the man he’d become—not have someone else tell her.

  He had ruined any chance of that now. When he’d told her he was in too deep, he had made her think the worst of him again. But that was for the best—for her. For her safety…

  He needed to keep her out of danger—because danger was all around him. As he unlocked and pushed open his apartment door, he heard the creak of floorboards moving beneath a person’s weight. Whoever had broken into his apartment was still there.

  He drew his weapon from his holster and stepped inside with his gun drawn and ready to fire.

  *

  Candace had found the evidence she’d needed to prove to herself and everyone else Garek Kozminski was still a thief. He hadn’t stolen only her heart.

  He must have stolen plenty of other things because he’d had the opportunity. She’d found tubes of plans—building plans, security plans—for museums and art galleries not just in River City or even America but all around the world.

  She hadn’t found what he might have stolen from those places. Those things had probably already been fenced. Or maybe he’d been hired to steal them for someone else. Was that what Chekov had really hired Garek to do?

  Steal something?

  She turned back to the plans—trying to figure out which place might be his next target. Most of the plans looked old, though; some dated from years ago. In addition to the dates, there were notes on them—pointing out the weaknesses in the security system. That must have been how he’d figured out where to break in. But then she noticed along with the weaknesses, there were recommendations on how to eliminate them.

  And she remembered that strange comment Milek had made about his brother; everything wasn’t always what it seemed. Garek Kozminski certainly wasn’t.

  “So which place do you think I’m hitting for Chekov?” a deep voice asked.

  She shouldn’t have been surprised he’d caught her. He always moved so silently that, of course, she hadn’t heard him come in. She turned to find him leaning against his bedroom doorjamb, his gun in his hand. He had heard her or maybe he’d seen the signs of her sloppy lock picking. But the barrel of his weapon was pointed down, at the hardwood floor, instead of at her.

  “These plans are old,” she said as she reached for them. The gun was still pointed at the floor, but her hands shook as she rolled up the papers. Maybe that was because of where she was, though.

  In his bedroom…

  It had just dawned on her that was where he’d caught her—after he’d told her to leave him alone. He probably thought she was stalking him.

  And maybe she was.

  “Doesn’t mean I still couldn’t use them,” he said.

  “After you recommended how they could improve their security systems, I doubt you could break in again.”

  He chuckled. “Oh, I could…” He chuckled again. “You, however, could not.”

  “I got in here,” she said and waited for him to yell at her about it.

  He shrugged. “I don’t have anything I want to protect. A child could break in here.” He snorted. “From the looks of the lock, I thought a child had.”

  She wasn
’t too proud to admit, “I don’t have your skills for breaking and entering.”

  He sighed. “Fortunately for you, you weren’t raised to be a thief.”

  And for the first time she realized how hard it must have been for him being born a Kozminski. He’d been expected to become a thief; he hadn’t been given the choice to be what he’d wanted.

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “What did your parents want you to be?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Whatever I wanted.” They hadn’t had any expectations for her.

  “I don’t really know anything about your family,” he said.

  Whereas everyone knew everything about his family. The Kozminskis were River City legend.

  She shrugged. “Nothing much to tell. My dad is an army man. My mom a former beauty queen and housewife. She follows him to every base he gets assigned.”

  “So did you,” he said. “That must have been hard for you—moving all the time.”

  She’d felt sorry for herself a time or two, but she shook her head now, disgusted with herself. She’d had no idea how hard a childhood could really be. Garek hadn’t even had one.

  “The moving wasn’t that hard,” she said. “It was my mom putting me in pageants that was hard.”

  She waited for him to laugh—like every other man she’d told that to had laughed at the ridiculous idea of her being in beauty contests. Garek must have been too pissed at her for breaking in—especially after he’d told her to leave him alone—to find any humor in her admission.

  “I didn’t see any trophies in your place,” he said instead.

  She laughed now. “That’s because I never won.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” he said. And finally he holstered his weapon and stepped away from the doorway.

  Even though the gun had been put away, she was still shaking. Actually, she was shaking more because of the way he was looking at her—like he had looked at her that night, as if she was beautiful.

  “I guess I haven’t been the only one who has struggled to see the truth about the other,” she said. While she’d thought he was a criminal, he thought she had been pretty enough to win a beauty contest.

  “What do you think the truth is?” Garek asked.

  She quoted his brother. “That everything isn’t always what it seems.”

  “Why are you here?” He stepped even closer, so close she felt the heat of his body. “Why were you so desperate to get inside that you picked the lock?”

  Heat rushed to her face. He must have thought she was stalking him. “I know you told me to leave you alone…”

  He nodded and acknowledged, “I did say that…”

  “And you said you’d leave me alone.”

  “I said that, too.” He reached for her, his hands closing around her shoulders. “And I meant it…”

  She swallowed, trying to force down her embarrassment. “So I should leave you alone…” She hadn’t found what she’d thought she would find. But maybe she’d found what she had needed to find.

  He shook his head. “I told you to leave me alone and said I would leave you alone,” he reiterated. “But even as I was saying it, I knew it wasn’t possible.”

  Her heart began to pound heavily and quickly in her chest. “Why not?”

  “Because of this…” His hands moved from her shoulders to her face, which he held while he lowered his head and kissed her deeply. Passionately.

  His lips moved over hers, his teeth nipping gently until she opened her mouth. Then he slid his tongue deep; it moved sensually over hers. He pulled back, panting for breath. “Because I want you…”

  She wanted him, too. It was crazy. She still couldn’t trust him. Even if he had been legit in the past, he was working for a mobster now and by his own admission was in deep. She needed to leave him alone like she’d promised she would.

  But she couldn’t leave. She was in too deep.

  She wanted to know if she’d romanticized her memories of that night—if she was remembering it—and them—as more than they’d been. So she reached for him. Her hands cupping his jaw, she pulled his mouth down to hers. And she kissed him with all the passion burning inside her. She nipped at his lips and slipped her tongue inside his mouth.

  He groaned. Then he was lifting her—as easily as he had that night in the alley—as easily as if she were one of those petite, girly girls she’d always secretly wished she’d been. With him, she felt like that; she felt feminine.

  He laid her on the mattress, atop the plans she hadn’t rolled up yet. Then he pulled off his coat and his holster and gun. He dropped them beside the bed. But he wasn’t moving quickly enough for Candace.

  She reached out and grabbed his belt, tugging it loose. But he caught her hand when her fingers touched the zipper tab. Had he changed his mind? Didn’t he want her?

  But then he turned his attention to undressing her. He removed her holster, then pulled her sweater up and over her head. A gasp of breath slipped through his lips, and he murmured, “Red satin…”

  “It’s Christmastime,” she explained. And she liked red. She also liked silky things against her skin.

  She liked his fingertips, too, as they glided along her collarbone then over the swells of her breasts. He pushed the cups down to tease her nipples.

  She shifted on the bed and moaned as tension built inside her body. She needed him. Now.

  But he continued to tease her, with his lips and his tongue stroking over her nipples. He unsnapped, unzipped and pushed down her jeans. And again he murmured, “Red satin…”

  She reached for the clasp on his pants again. This time he let her lower the zipper and release his pulsing erection. He groaned as her fingers skimmed over him.

  He tugged off his shirt, revealing his muscular chest and washboard abs and bruises. She gasped and intended to ask about those bruises.

  But when she opened her mouth, he leaned down and kissed her like he always kissed her—with such passion—that she couldn’t think. She could only feel. She stroked her tongue along his. Her questions would keep for later; she needed him now.

  He must have needed her, too. He kicked off his pants and joined her on top of those rustling plans. His body covered hers, like it had that night on the couch in her apartment. She loved the weight of him on top of her. But she really wanted him inside her.

  She nipped at his shoulder and then the side of his neck. She felt his pulse leap beneath her lips. Then his mouth covered hers, and he kissed her like she wanted him to make love to her—his tongue thrusting inside her mouth. He kissed her deeply. And as he kissed her, he removed her bra and her panties. Her legs tangled with his, and she thrust up and pushed against his erection.

  But he was in no hurry—not like she was. He took his time with her, with her mouth, and then he moved his lips down her body. He kissed her shoulders and then her breasts.

  She writhed beneath him as the tension in her body drove her to madness. She wanted to drive him crazy, too. So she kissed him everywhere she could reach—his shoulder, his arm, his chest…

  And she reached between their bodies, sliding her hand up and down his shaft. As if to reciprocate he slid his finger inside her, in and out, while his thumb teased her most sensitive spot. She screamed his name as she came apart.

  Then he was inside her, filling her. She locked her legs around his waist and bucked up, knocking him to his side. They rolled across the plans until she was on top. And with the madness driving her, she rode him as he stroked her breasts. An orgasm rippled through her, overwhelming her with pleasure—with ecstasy. She screamed his name.

  He grasped her hips, moving her faster as he thrust deeper. She came again. Then he joined her, his body tensing before filling hers.

  She hadn’t imagined that night, nor had her memories of it exaggerated what had happened. It had been as wild and wonderful as she remembered.

  Maybe even more so…

  He pulled her down on top of him, clasping her naked bo
dy against his as he stayed inside her. He clasped his arms around her, holding tightly, as if he didn’t intend to let her get away again.

  Or as if he intended to protect her. He could protect her from danger; he had saved her life twice. But could he protect himself from danger?

  Her heart pounded as frantically as it had when they’d made love—as fear for his safety overwhelmed her.

  Garek would need to protect himself because he was undoubtedly in danger. Viktor Chekov’s right-hand man had been murdered just weeks ago. If Garek got any closer to the mobster, he might be next.

  *

  Nicholas Rus stared down at the body lying atop the steel table in the morgue. The guy’s throat bore deep scratches. But those wounds hadn’t killed him. The hole in his chest had done that.

  The bullet had already been removed and rushed to the FBI lab. Nicholas had to know who’d killed him and with what weapon. He had to know if the man who’d attacked Candace Baker had anything to do with Viktor Chekov.

  This was the man who’d grabbed Candace in the alley. Had he intended to kill her or only hurt her? And on whose orders?

  His cell rang, startling Nick. He hadn’t realized he’d have reception in the morgue. He clicked the talk button. “Agent Rus.”

  “Nicholas?”

  “Chief Lynch.” While Nick was on assignment in River City, the Chicago Bureau chief was still his boss. He’d had to approve the rush order for ballistics.

  “I got the results.”

  The chief must have rushed them even more than Nicholas had thought possible.

  “It’s the same gun,” Lynch continued, “the one that killed the man your witness says Chekov shot.”

  Nick didn’t know if he should curse or celebrate. The gun was still in play—not disposed of as he’d feared. But Chekov had used it to kill the man who’d tried to kill Candace. What did that mean?

  Was he tying up loose ends? He had no looser ends than Garek and even his own daughter.

  “This is big, Nicholas. How are you handling the investigation without more agents?” Lynch asked. “I’ll send Dalton Reyes up to help.”

 

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