Authors: Camille Taylor
No Law (Law #3) (12 page)
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, Dmitry.”
His stomach flipped at her gratitude.
Oh, you’ve got it bad, old boy
, he thought.
You’ve got it real bad
.
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 the 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.
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.
“So, what’s the plan here? Do you need me to hack in to unlock the doors?” he asked. Granted, it wouldn’t be easy. He would have to use his phone but he was good at what he did and as long as he had the Internet anything was possible.
She grinned at him with affection and his heart thumped. “Nothing so melodramatic,” she said. “I have a key.”
“Oh.” He kind of enjoyed playing white knight and showing off his many skills to impress her.
He followed her to the large blast door barring the entrance to Customs. Carey produced her Hamilton Museum pass from her pocket and flipped it so he could see the American Customs I.D. pass along with her photo and signature. She ran the plastic data strip through the pass mechanism and the door made a large
clunk
sound, signaling that it had been disarmed. He pulled opened the heavy door and allowed her to precede him into the building.
Inside, the warehouse was dusty. A skylight in the roof and several naked bulbs the only sources of light. He followed Carey past several fenced areas containing different sized crated shipments, the wire gates padlocked. How did anybody ever find anything here?
Carey came to a stop in front of a large sliding mesh covered door. Attached to the door was a sign:
Warning Authorized Personnel Only.
Holdings Area.
She slid her pass once more through the lock mechanism and he heard another
click.
The gate automatically opened, making a loud squeaking sound announcing the fact that the runner needed some WD-40, stat. Dmitry noted the fixed security camera above the door.
“This place has more security than a prison,” he said.
She nodded. “I only hope we find this box before someone comes to see what we’re doing. I don’t fancy explaining what’s in the box to anyone.”
Whatever was in that box was worth someone’s life, and considering the mafiya was involved, he doubted it was coffee beans or even Cuban cigars. He did quick mathematics and summed it up to be about twenty to life.
The Holdings room was a large warehouse with tall stacks filling up the room. He counted at least fifty. Twenty-five in each row. On the stacks were a mixture of boxes and crates in various sizes and styles, all waiting for someone to come and collect them. Several shelves were completely filled, some precariously stacked. If anyone caught them there and started asking questions he could probably use the threat of a safety inspector as a way to keep their visit quiet.
Carey glanced down at her palm where she had written the numbers Customs had sent her. She’d explained during the car ride that the number was to help them find where the box was buried. He had asked her why she didn’t just take her phone with her, and she’d replied that cell phone coverage was spotty inside the structure and that writing it on her hand was just as easy if not easier than looking it up on her phone. It seemed she wasn’t much for technology, but he was certain he’d be able to covert her and told her so, just as he had when he’d first come to America and discovered Lucas had an archaic operating system on his computer. Since then, Dmitry had kept him up with the times. In reply, Carey playfully accused him of being a technology snob, and he didn’t deny it.
He followed her as she turned down aisle thirty-four, the first two digits of the number she had been given. Each stack was around six meters long and about half that high. She kept her gaze on the numbers attached to the stack itself, explaining it was the section number. She suddenly stopped and raised her chin. He followed her gaze to a shelf halfway to the ceiling.
“I think I’ve found it. Wait here.”
She disappeared around the side of the stack and soon he heard the rattling of metal as she pushed a rolling step ladder with a platform into the aisle where he was standing. She stopped beside him and climbed the stairs, his gaze on her ass as he followed closely.
Could be worse.
She stopped when she reached the platform and searched the numbers printed on the box beneath a barcode. She pushed at one box that was sitting on top of a medium sized crate roughly fifteen to eighteen inches long. He stepped up another step, the tight confines of the ladder bringing him in close contact with her body. Was it his imagination or did her breathing just hitch?
Her body stilled as he reached past her and pulled the crate she’d been attempting to retrieve down off the shelf and placed it gently on the platform. She bent down, giving him a view down her shirt.
The label on the box read:
Hamilton Museum
C/O Curator
Washington D.C., Virginia, U.S.A.
There was no return address. This was definitely the right crate.
“What are you two doing here?” a voice called out.
Both he and Carey peered down from their perch at the young rent-a-cop wearing the Customs uniform. He was about to speak when Carey touched his arm and gently squeezed, silently warning him. She tugged at the hem of her shirt, pulling it down slightly to show more of her delightful cleavage.
Victoria’s Secret, eat your heart out.
Carey stepped down slowly from the step ladder, glaring at the young guard. “Do you know who I am?” She placed her hands on her hips, steaming with false anger. “I am the acting curator for the Hamilton Museum. Do you think that I want to be here on my day off? My
only
day off? No, I don’t. But here I am trying to fix someone else’s mistakes so that person doesn’t lose his job.”
The guard, a man of around twenty by the looks of it, regarded Carey with uncertainty, his eyes wide. Had it been Dmitry, he would have simply pulled her into his arms and kissed until she was all soft and mellow. The boy stared at him.
“Well, what about your boyfriend?”
Carey made a dismissing motion with her hands. “You know how it is. I’m not about to cart that frigging crate all the way to my car and ruin my manicure.” She showed the guard her hands, and Dmitry noticed she didn’t bother correcting the guard on his assumption. The guard’s gaze went from her cleavage back to her face in a heartbeat, most likely thinking he’d been caught looking. “You guards are like cockroaches when the light goes on. Can’t be found,” she continued. “This guy’s just my muscle. So listen up,” she read his name badge, “Kevin Saunders, I’m going need to fill out the 3461, the CBP 301, the DNR and the 3299.”
Carey continued to spout off numbers and letters, while the guard tried in vain to keep his gaze from wandering to her chest. Hell, even Dmitry was having trouble concentrating.
Did she just say DNR? Was she making this stuff up? The woman certainly had a talent for lying on the spot. She made them all sound so daunting and important. She finished her tirade and pinned the guy with a glare, waiting for him to snap into action.
“Um, it’s all been made digital now.” He brought up a piece of chunky equipment that in Dmitry’s opinion was identical to the very first cellular phone.
She beamed at him. “Perfect.” She took the scanner from the guard and turned to let the red laser beam flash over the barcode. It was followed by a loud beep. She pressed a few buttons before swiping her Customs pass through the scanner. She signed her name on the small LCD screen before producing both the machine and her Customs identification for verification.
“Thank you
Ms.
Madigan…?”
Dmitry swore he saw stars in the guy’s eyes and more than a little puppy love. Not that he blamed him; he was more than a bit enamored by her, himself.
Much to his displeasure, Carey smiled sweetly at the kid. “Yes, but you can call me Carey.”
He stepped down off the ladder, holding onto the crate. “Yeah, but there is a
Mr.
Muscles,” he said, letting the possession of her come into his voice.
Carey sent him a look that told him she knew exactly
what
he was doing.
The guard smartly backed away. “Well, you have a good day now Ms.—Carey.”
“You too, Kevin,” she replied and led him back through the corridors to the front door and opened it for him. He stepped through into the bright glare of the sun. It hadn’t seemed like a long time, but they’d been inside for over an hour.
“That was very impressive,” he said as they walked to the car.
She shrugged. “He was green. I was hoping that spouting off a tirade of numbers would overload him. That and the fact he was concentrating on my cleavage added to my advantage.”
She opened the door to the back seat before standing to the side.
“We were all looking at your cleavage,” he admitted somewhat huskily. Once again his gaze drifted; she hadn’t yet returned her shirt to its original position and the creamy mounds were more than a little distracting.
He placed the box on the back seat before closing the door, then took two steps closer, crowding her. She let out a stuttered breath as he pressed her against the car. Her gaze dropped to his lips before locking onto his. She wet her lips and he followed the motion of her tongue.
His hand cupped her face as he leaned down and kissed her hard, his tongue slipping between her parted lips to glide against hers. Her delicious and addictive taste exploded in his mouth as he crushed her against him, his free hand resting on her hip and his fingertips biting into the resilient flesh he found there. She responded to him, adding her fire to his and burning them both.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him to her. His arousal woke as she arched her hips and came into contact with him. She groaned as her tongue explored his mouth, tasting him as he’d done to her. The world once more melted away, leaving only him and Carey and this scorching desire between them.
She felt so good in his arms, better than he could’ve ever imagined. His hand slid into her hair and tangled in the tight curls, holding her captive for his less than gentle but thorough and passionate assault. He breathed in her scent and knew if he didn’t end the kiss now, he wouldn’t be able to. Already his body was hard and aching and demanding her touch. He broke away and put some distance between them. When he’d managed to get some semblance of control, he glanced over at Carey and felt immense satisfaction when he found her breathing heavily and her lips wet and swollen from his assault.
When she caught his gaze, she asked breathlessly, “Are they still watching?”
He grinned at her, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. Invigorated. He’d enjoyed himself immensely. Maybe Elena was right. He did need to get away from the computer more often. He’d have no complaints provided Carey was there to entertain and distract him. He could still taste her in his mouth and desperately wanted to kiss her again. She was like a drug to his system and once was definitely not enough. “There was nobody there,
malyshka.
I just had to kiss you.”
She scowled at him. “Don’t call me baby.”
Carey moved—unsteadily, he noted with extreme pleasure—around to the passenger side and climbed in. He remained outside the car for a few moments longer, willing his unruly body to settle down, a fire still alight inside him.
Interesting,
he thought.
She said nothing about
not
kissing her.
