To Russia With Love (Countermeasure Series) (32 page)

With a deep sigh, Cassandra rolled and curled into Trevor.

“Hey, I meant to ask if you’ve heard from Jessie,” Trevor yawned as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her snug against him.

“We talked briefly when she sent over the information she researched for me. She said that Dublin is great and that she’s having the time of her life.” Cassandra’s tone was unsure.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Trevor chuckled. “Of course she’s having the time of her life. Pubs…Irishmen.”

Cassandra snorted. “No. For some reason I don’t think she’s partying hard. She sounded…I don’t know how to explain it. Something’s different. Something happened and I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“Well, we better not walk in on somebody else’s white Irish ass keeping her company on our couch when we get back.” His humor rumbled in his chest and she could feel his silent laughter under her palm.

“Oh my god, Trevor. That is
so
wrong.”

“What? Just saying. Besides, any guy applying to date Jessie has to go through my seal of approval. She’s like a little sister to me now.”

Cassandra laughed out loud as she snuggled closer and slipped her arm around his waist, already feeling the fingers of sleep tugging at her eyelids. She could hardly wait to see Trevor behaving like the protective brother in the near future. It sure as hell would put Jessica’s panties in a bunch.

*****

Heart racing, Cassandra ran into the alley, trying her best to lose the tail she’d picked up about two blocks back. Looking down at her cell and the GPS application on the screen, she took a left, a quick right, and then sprinted all the way down the block to cross the next street. Once there, she glanced over her shoulder and saw she still had a buddy.

“Fuck!” she cursed under her breath, drawing a startled look from a passerby.
Can’t shake him.

Not wanting to draw attention to their base location, she ran for the metro station only two blocks away from her. Her heart raced, sweat beading down her back as she weighed her options. If she could get there, she could fake catching a train and double back to the apartment unnoticed.

She caught a glimpse of the tail reflected on the window of a store she passed. The tail—a man of slight build, just under five feet tall, wearing a black trench and sporting a black fedora—looked familiar to her. Her pulse surged.
Do I know him?
She picked up her pace and, reaching the metro, jogged down the stairs.

As luck would have it, there wasn’t a line at the booth. She dropped some notes in the slot and pointed to the first stop on the map so the attendant would know what ticket she needed. Her Russian was spotty at best and she didn’t have time to mess around. The woman took forever to print the ticket.

“Come on, come on, come on!” she mumbled under her breath as her hand tapped on the counter and she threw glimpses toward the top of the stairs. Just as the tail’s loafers and trench coat came into view, she snagged the ticket out of the attendant’s fingers without waiting for change and took off for the platform.

She moved at a brisk pace until she reached the stairs to the second entrance. A flow of commuters crowded the platform, making it impossible for the man to catch up with her. Her stomach turned in knots as she waited for her chance to get out of there. Just as the train barreled into the station, she sprinted up the stairs in the opposite direction of the flow of people boarding. Cassandra hoped he had lost sight of her in the commotion. She sucked in gulps of brisk fresh air as she reached the street and ducked into the nearest store—a bakery.

Her breath came in quick gasps as she bent over, resting her hands on her knees. Sweat ran down her temples in rivulets as she straightened and pretended to shop, looking over the pastries on display in the window, giving the illusion she was looking to purchase something, all the while keeping an eye on the metro’s entrance. A flash of black appeared in her peripheral vision.
Shit!

She hid from sight and watched her “buddy” exit the station. His eyes scanned the surrounding area, head turning rapidly from one side to the other, looking for her. Catching a better glimpse of his face, her mind stumbled. She recognized him! “What the fuck?!”

Cassandra’s eyes snapped wide open as she sprang up in bed in the darkened room. Her heart filled her throat, beating wildly, making it hard to suck in air. Sweat coated her brow as she shoved her hair back from her face.

What the hell!
Cartoon characters? A freaking nightmare with Boris Badenov from
Rocky and Bullwinkle
? Really?
Damn, Cassie, get a grip
. As she waited for her pulse to slow its frantic pace, she took it as a sign she wouldn’t be getting any more sleep until she dug deeper. Slipping out of bed, she mulled over the meaning of the dream.

Shivering in the dark room, she noticed the time on the clock: three in the morning—the witching hour. “Figures,” Cassandra muttered as the last cobwebs of the dream fell away. The need to find out more about Boris pounded in her head as she moved to the table and booted up the laptop.

Trevor was deep asleep, undisturbed by her sudden awakening. She shifted the laptop so that the glow from the screen wouldn’t wake him. Checking her email, she found two—one from her father and the other, oddly, from Nathan.

Cassandra opened Nathan’s first. It held an update regarding the house they were interested in “renting.”
The premises are still available for the next few weeks. No tenants have reserved the location.
She grinned. She had to give him credit. He had been inventive in passing on that bit of information regarding the safe house. As she continued to read, a frown creased her brow when she saw the closing:
Think of me.
She rolled her eyes and moved on to her father’s email.

She mentally crossed her fingers and hoped for answers to her questions about Boris Kostas. As she read, her hand stilled and her focus moved inward as the names—Boris Kostas, Boris Badenov, Boris Kostas, Boris Badenov—formed a continuous loop in her mind, hammering at her until suddenly, things made sense. She fell back in her chair shaking her head.
Holy hell! Boris Badenov was Boris Kostas.

His favorite quote, “It’s good to be bad,” brought shivers to her skin. The sneaky little Russian cartoon spy she’d seen on the old reruns of
Rocky and Bullwinkle
sometimes engaged in his own schemes, like the episode where he wanted to start his own organized crime gang. Was her sixth sense trying to tell her something? Either way, it was time to get Jessica and George to work their magic.

Quiet Before the Storm

T
RADITIONAL RUSSIAN MUSIC PLAYED SOFTLY in the background as Boris nursed a glass of aged port while relaxing in his comfortable recliner. He was enjoying the calm before the storm when a call rang through to his cell phone. He suspected who the caller was. One more reason to have ignored the first call to the house phone earlier.

Boris’s tone was sharp when he finally answered the call in his mother tongue. “You should not be calling me. Especially not now.”

The familiar voice laughed and, with a hard edge, answered in kind, “Skittish, are we? Should I remind you who the boss is?”

“What do you want?” He wasn’t up to games. The events over the past days were snowballing. To top it off, he had become the focus of Mikhailov’s latest henchman—or henchwoman, to be exact. He pictured the woman in his mind. There was something about her….

The caller’s casual, unhurried response drew him from his musings. “You have not called in a while. I just thought I would check on you. I do not want you to think I have forgotten you. I am watching. We are always watching,” Boris’s boss continued. “Do you have the information we need?”

“Not yet.” Boris was treading very carefully. It had taken him almost ten years to get this close to Mikhailov. “Do not ruin it by meddling. You will get what you need. Soon. I will make sure of that.” Boris’s tone was confident. He would get his hands on the information the man on the other side of the call wanted desperately.

Russian organizations took each other out regularly. Betrayal among rival gangs was common, even within the gangs themselves. What made the Russians exceptionally ruthless wasn’t the violence, but the willingness to turn members, hand them over to the police or rivals if the situation called for it. Flipping the weakest to cover their ass and pay their way out of the hole. Boris knew his way out of holes. He had used his connections in the past to help Mikhailov avenge his wife’s murder, and now that “good deed” was finally paying off.

He never thought it would take so long for Mikhailov to take into account the services he had provided and finally bring him in, but the man had become more suspicious and cruel over the years, as if the loss of his wife had created a violent progression that was getting worse each year—catapulting Mikhailov into the annals of brutality, extreme even for the Russian mafia.

“When?” the man demanded.

Boris sighed. “I do not know for sure. I will know more tomorrow.” He paused and added, “Do
not
call again. I will call you when
I
have what you need.”

Boris disconnected the call before the man had a chance to retort and took a long sip from his glass. The smooth sweetness of the port coated his tongue and relaxed him as he considered what he would have to do. He had gotten used to living a double life. Boris missed his old self, the one who could laugh and enjoy the small things. When had he lost that part of him?

Alina’s face crossed his mind and he tried to push back the memories of her, to no avail. Alina. His long-lost love. A sigh burst from him at the thought of her. He swirled the glass in his hand and took another long pull of his port, all but shooting back the rest of what remained in the glass. A nice warmth filled his chest, but didn’t reach his heart. She’d left him when she could no longer handle his dedication to his activities and the associated hazards that had come with it.

If only he’d had the insight into his life then that he had now, he would have made different choices.
Would I have, really? Would I have given it all up for her? Followed her to the ends of the earth. Gone wherever she had wanted to, as long as she would stay with me? Would she have stayed then?
That part of his life was water under the bridge. He would never know for sure. Boris exhaled a deep sigh and set the glass on the side table. It was time for bed. He would catch a few hours of sleep before he had to brave the storm.

You Belong to Me

C
ASSANDRA CURLED INTO TREVOR AS the first tendrils of consciousness pierced her. Laying her head on his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist, she stared off into the darkness. Her thoughts focused on the danger he was about to face and how he would be at the mercy of a lethal Russian mafia leader.

What concerned her most was that he wouldn’t have anyone whom he could completely trust to watch his back. The microphone in the shoe was fine and dandy, but it would only give her ears. Without eyes or a way to communicate directly with him, there wasn’t much she could do for him if trouble ensued. A war of emotions raged inside Cassandra and her mind worked overtime again as she ran through different scenarios in her head, but couldn’t formulate a single viable backup plan. Her old fears were back with a vengeance; loss, a devil rearing its ugly head again.

If only they had a better handle on Boris, they could determine whether or not he could be of help within the mansion’s walls.
Boris
. Her thoughts tumbled to Robert’s good friend.
He’s a good man,
Robert had asserted in his email.
I wish I knew that for sure, Dad,
she berated in her head. But until she could eliminate all of her doubts about his motivations, he was one of
them
.