Extreme Danger (2 page)

“There is nothing else I can tell you,” she said crisply. “This conversation is over. Do not ask me for anything else. And keep in mind, brokering arms deals undercover is one thing. Getting up close and personal with Zhoglo, as Arkady, is going to be very different. If you don’t have the guts to do whatever Zhoglo might ask of you, you’re dead. And if you do have the guts, you’re damned. Think about it before I give Arkady’s cell number to Milla.”

“I’m thinking. I thought,” he said promptly. “I’ve decided. I owe you, Tam. If you ever need anything from me—”

“You still don’t get it, do you? I haven’t done you any favors. I’ve just cut your life short by about fifty years.” She glanced at the glass in his hand. “Depending on how hard you’d drink, of course.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. I wouldn’t know what the hell to do with those fifty years anyhow.”

She sighed out a long breath, pressing her slender hand against her midriff. The look in her eyes mirrored his own.

Cold, wind-whipped wastes. Secrets in the shadows. Rocks and hard places.

“You want to do me a favor?” Her voice was low. “Do the world a favor. Kill Zhoglo. Don’t just spy on him. Don’t just hand him over to the law. Put a bullet through his brain stem at close range.”

He thought about Sveti. “Tam, I—”

“Kill him if you can. If you can’t, then God help you.”

She turned, and disappeared into the gloomy shadows.

Nadvirna, The Ukraine

Vadim Zhoglo slowly sipped the fine brandy from the crystal snifter in his hand and gazed out at the snowy peaks of the Carpathian mountains. “Transport details for the first shipment are in place, Pavel?” he asked.

“Yes,” the man replied stolidly. “Everything’s arranged.”

Zhoglo turned to look at him. “And you can vouch for each one of your people this time? No more surprises, like six months ago?”

Pavel’s hand darted to the collar of his suit, tugging to make space for his large and lumpy Adam’s apple to bob and twitch.

That was his answer. Again. Zhoglo closed his eyes. “What has happened this time, Pavel?” he asked with deceptive gentleness.

“Nothing serious,” Pavel hastened to assure him. “But one of the men in place in Puget Sound had to be, ah, replaced.”

“Killed?” Vadim frowned. “How is this possible?”

“Suicide,” Pavel forced out, his voice gravelly and reluctant. “He hanged himself. Pyotr Cherchenko.”

“Your nephew, no? The one you had me arrange those expensive immigration documents for? I see. Yet another wasted investment,” Vadim said. “My condolences, Pavel. And his replacement?”

Sweat shone on Pavel’s pale forehead. “A man named Arkady Solokov. From Donetsk. He’s taking care of security on the island.”

“And you can vouch for this Solokov? Without hesitation?”

Pavel’s eyes slid away. “We’ve had dealings with him before. He was with Avia. He brokered those deals for the M93 grenade launchers and rockets to Liberia four years ago. He seems very competent. And his English skills are—”

“Seems competent,” Vadim repeated, with ironic emphasis. “I invest millions in this project, and you tell me this person ‘seems’ competent.”

“I had to get someone in place quickly, Vor, and I am sure that—”

“I am sure of nothing. Except that you’re an idiot who compels me to take risks. Very well. We will proceed as planned. You may go.”

But Pavel lingered, shuffling his overlarge feet.

“What is it?” Vadim barked. “You’re boring me, Pavel.”

“My—my sons?” Pavel faltered. “You promised that we could have Sasha and Misha back if I—”

“The agreement was that you could have your sons back if you corrected the error you made in that unfortunate business last year. But you have not, Pavel. You have compounded your mistake.”

“Vor, please. My boys are just two and eleven, and—”

“I am not heartless. You may have one son back. The other goes out with the first shipment. To defray the cost of your errors.”

Pavel’s face drained to the color of ash. “One? But I—but Marya—” The clock ticked loudly. “Which one?” he whispered.

Vadim shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. There is equal demand for vital organs from two-year-olds and eleven-year-olds.” He smiled indulgently. “Take an evening to think about it, Pavel, by all means. Discuss it with your wife. Let me know your decision in the morning.”

Pavel stood like a statue, eyes staring. Zhoglo pushed a button on his belt to summon two large thugs. They hustled the man away.

Chapter
2

S kinny-dipping. Skydiving. Crewing on a yacht. Camping under the stars in the Sahara. Backpacking through Europe. Getting a cute tattoo. Having passionate love affairs with untamed guys with lots of rippling muscles. The list went on and on, all the crazy things girls did before they calmed down and found The One. Things that Becca Cattrell had never gotten around to trying.

Aw, face it, already. She’d never had the nerve, let alone the time.

Becca stubbed her big toe in the dark on a board that stuck up out of the wooden walkway. She braced herself for the time it took for pain to flash through her nerves and assault her brain. That interval was significantly slowed by the alcohol in her bloodstream. It got there eventually, though, and oh crap, that hurt.

She lifted the uncorked cabernet to her lips and took another swig. The bottle felt suspiciously light. So did her head.

No matter. She had to loosen up. By brute force, if necessary. She was no longer willing to play her divinely ordained role as a dutiful, dependable, reasonable goody-two-shoes twit. She was going to work her way down that list, and do every one of those silly things.

And enjoy them, too, goddamnit. Just watch her.

However, on isolated Frakes Island, there wasn’t a whole lot of choice in terms of running wild. Getting plastered alone, trespassing on some millionaire’s property, skinny-dipping in his pool without an invitation, hey—it was the best she could do without advance planning.

It did seem like something that Kaia would do. Kaia would probably take it a step further, though, and have exotic six-way sex in the millionaire’s pool. But alas, Frakes Island was deserted in mid-April. There was nobody around for Becca to have aquatic erotic adventures with.

Aw. Poor her. What else was new?

Kaia. Thinking about that girl made every muscle in her body contract. Becca shivered. She was naked beneath Marla’s terry-cloth robe, wearing only flip-flops that slapped against the boards of the walkway. She should have scrounged jeans and a sweater from Marla’s vacation garb. Being naked in the woods at night was unnerving. Too quiet for a city girl like her. The silence felt like a pillow, smothering her.

She didn’t have a stitch of appropriate clothing for this island adventure. She hadn’t had a chance to go home and pack before she dodged the tabloid reporters lying in wait for her in front of the Cardinal Creek Country Club. She’d been forced to sneak out the service entrance, and her boss, Marla, had rushed her straight from there to the ferry dock. Bye, Becca. Don’t hurry back. Don’t get eaten by a bear if you can help it.

Good ol’ Marla. Becca silently thanked her again for the heart-warming support.

She must have looked ridiculous when the taxicat guy had brought her over from the mainland in that cool catamaran. Breasting the waves in a houndstooth power suit. Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of cab. She took another swig.

To say nothing of her red, puffy eyes, her paleness, her bluish lips. Just call her the Corpse Bride. Hah. Except that she couldn’t get up the aisle as any sort of bride, corpse or otherwise.

She chased that thought away with a bigger swig of wine. Marla had assured her that she’d left plenty of casual clothes at her boyfriend Jerome’s vacation home. Marla was more or less Becca’s size. A bit less than more, actually. So she’d fast till she fit into Marla’s jeans. The wine diet. She stumbled, reeled, caught herself on a tree. Great.

The walkway that went around the perimeter of Frakes Island was abruptly bisected by another path. She lurched to a stop. So. This was the path that led to the millionaire’s swimming pool. The other direction should take her down to the millionaire’s boat dock.

She hazarded a left turn. It was like going through a narrow, vaulted tunnel, the trees were so thick. Bats and moths swooped and fluttered, darting crazily. The beam of her flashlight seemed so feeble.

So did she. God, what a hopeless wuss she was.

After a couple hundred yards, the big, glassed-in poolhouse loomed before her, skirted by a broad wooden deck.

She tiptoed up the steps, shone the flashlight on the door. Take a dip, Marla had urged. They never lock it. The owner is a nice, nerdy software mogul. He won’t mind. They keep it warm year round. I’ve swum there in November. You deserve it, after what you’ve been through.

Becca fitted the key into the door. It sighed open, letting out the faint scent of pool chemicals. She reached into the darkness, groped and flicked the first switch she found, then gasped in silent wonder.

Wow. A circle of lights lit the water from beneath, creating a jewel pattern of overlapping shadows on the mosaic tiles of the oval pool. The walls of the poolhouse were floor-to-ceiling art deco glasswork.

She walked in, dazzled. She set the wine bottle down, kneeled, scooped up some water. Caressingly warm. Swimming in that would be like swimming inside the heart of a perfectly cut sapphire. Magic.

She let the bathrobe puddle around her feet like a Hollywood diva, took off her glasses and shook her hair loose over her shoulders, letting it tickle her back. Becca stretched luxuriously, savoring the anticipation before she dove.

Ah. The shock of the water on her skin was delicious. She swam slowly across the pool in a lazy sidestroke. The water sloshed and gurgled sensually as she moved through it.

So beautiful and so solitary. Bliss. Just what she needed, after the last few days fending off media vultures. The extremely tense interview she’d had today with the club manager hadn’t helped much—the one about “taking some time away until the fuss dies down.”

She was afraid that was a code phrase for “you’re fired.”

Damn it, she liked her job. She didn’t love it, but she liked it, and more importantly, she needed it, with her younger sister and brother both in school and needing her help. Besides, she was the best events organizer the Cardinal Creek Country Club had ever had. She was an organizational freak. Busy, busy Becca. Wrestling a zillion details into a coherent whole satisfied her on a deep, emotional level. Kinky, maybe, but there it was.

But the powers that be at the club had a horror of bad publicity. Whether this sordid mess was her fault or not, the result might be the same. She might have to retool her resume. Do the old job hunt cha-cha-cha.

But who would want to hire a pathetic laughingstock like her?

At least if she was canned, she’d be spared the snickering from her ex-fiancé Justin’s guy friends at the club. Smirking, stinking, oinking bastards.

The pool was beautiful, magical, but her soul could not be soothed tonight. Her thoughts harried her like a hungry dog with a bone. What the hell was wrong with her, anyhow? Where were her wires crossed? She was a good person, damn it. Smart, sensible, practical, hardworking, unselfish. Relatively pretty, if not a raving beauty. She gave all she could to her family, her job. Her fiancé. She deserved better. She tried so freaking hard. All the time.

But such qualities evidently did not give men erections. Men wanted a whole different set of attributes and gifts. Men wanted women like Kaia. The pigs.

Gah. If only she’d played it cooler, hadn’t made such a big public deal of the engagement. But it had seemed too good to be true. Telling the four winds had made it feel more real. Justin was a great catch, after all. Charming, handsome. Rich, prominent family. Big plans. Justin was an up-and-coming prosecuting attorney with political ambitions. He’d told Becca once that she’d be a perfect politician’s wife.

She’d taken it as a sweet compliment at the time. Her heart had gone pitty-pat, imagining herself as the devoted political wife on the campaign trail with her handsome husband. Hah. How innocent.

She’d been so ready to move on from her rented apartment in a ramshackle old house. Ready to buy a real home, with a lawn for the kids she hoped to have. A minivan, with space for the car seats. Cargo room for strollers, travel cribs, dirt bikes, skateboards, scooters. Camping equipment for those family vacations. All day shopping trips to Ikea and Costco.

Her daydreams seemed so silly. To think she’d been holding court at their bachelor/bachelorette bash, giggling as she opened up Kama Sutra bath salts and his-n-her bath towels. Prattling like a ninny about the merits of marble countertops versus tile for her dream kitchen. And all the while Justin was giving his college girlfriend Kaia “a ride home.”

Some ride. Tall, sun-browned, sandalwood scented Kaia, with her yellow cornrow braids. Sun tattoos on her shoulders. Funky Nepalese jewelry. Nose and navel piercings.

Ready, willing, and able to perform a blow job on Justin as he drove down a busy city street. In Becca’s own car, no less. As it happened, Justin’s driving had been no match for Kaia’s skill at fellatio. Becca’s car had ended up wrapped around a telephone pole smack in the middle of a bustling shopping district. It was blind luck that he hadn’t killed someone. Or many someones.