CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
My morning begins, not with sweet kisses from the woman in my bed, but with a text from Viktor.
V: The trade is acceptable. Proceed.
Me: Morocco explodes with flowers on the waterfront at 9 a.m.
I toss the phone onto the nearest table and sit up. The sheet pools around my waist as I stretch. I glance over at Everly. She’s sleeping or pretending to be asleep. Either way, I won’t disturb her. Last night, I considered it a victory when she allowed me to sleep in the same bed.
I won’t push my luck by attempting to touch her. Besides, I doubt she’d welcome it.
I bring up my knees and lean forward, thinking of the best way to handle her demands. The crux of it all—I want to be honest with her. I want her to know the real me. Only, I want her to know the real me without the sins of my not-so-distant past.
I suddenly feel her cool fingers on my back, tracing the outline of my scar. Then her lips are upon it, and I hold myself so still that I’m barely breathing.
“How did you get this?” she asks softly, giving me the chance to redeem myself in her eyes. I shouldn’t say anything. I should send her home. I should…
“The scar is a burn, from the barrel of a gun,” I hear myself say.
She inhales sharply and sits up. “Someone burned you on purpose?”
I smile at the outrage in her voice. “No, not on purpose. I did it to myself as a lad by accident.”
Scooting closer to me, she wraps the sheet around her delectable body. “Does it still hurt?”
“I barely know it’s there.”
“Oh,” she says, her eyes now downcast.
I take her hand and place it on my side. “Knife wound.” Then I move it farther down, to the top of my thigh. “Bullet wound.”
Her head jerks up, face pale as she licks her lips nervously. “But that’s not on the side you were shot,” she says faintly.
I move her hand once more, to the other side. “Another knife wound.”
“Are booksellers attacked that often for their merchandise?” she asks, in an obvious attempt at humor.
I shake my head, wordless.
“Oh. Then…” She looks away, and then back at me. “I don’t understand.”
The door crashes open. Everly screams while I shove her behind me and reach for my Glock. Men in black walk inside the room, weapons drawn. Men I recognize as Bratva.
“You have a gun,” she shouts into my ear. “When did you get a gun? And who are these people?”
Viktor steps out of the crowd, his smile friendly while his eyes are predatory. What the hell is going on? “He’s had a gun all along, Ms. Andrews,” he says, his voice accentless. “In fact, Mr. Smith is helping us, and we thought his position had been compromised.”
“Compromised?” she repeats.
I glance at her. “He means by you.”
“The CIA tends to frown upon that, ma’am,” Viktor says, throwing himself firmly into the part. It makes more sense to me now, more than ever, why they call him the Chameleon.
“I didn’t know you worked for the CIA,” she says and then lets out a nervous laugh. “And to think I—” She shakes her head and says no more. For that, I am thankful, because Viktor had suddenly become very interested in what she had to say.
“You thought what?” Viktor prompts, and it’s all I can do not to shoot him where he stands. But these are his men in the room.
“Nothing.” The bed dips slightly as she reaches for more blankets. “This is embarrassing,” she mutters.
Grabbing the robe from the end of the bed, I turn to her and wrap it around her bare shoulders. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Everly. Nothing.”
Her face is unreadable. She glances away. “Do you even have a grandfather?”
Viktor’s smile grows wider. “I’ll leave the two of you to talk while I confer with my captain.”
Captain of what? I want to shout as he walks away. He exits the room and takes all but one man with him. My hands curl into fists.
I breathe in and then out. Anger is my enemy. Acting without thinking is death. Finally, I gather myself enough to answer her. “I do have a grandfather.”
“Is he here in Prague?”
The less she knows, the better, but I can be honest while avoiding answering the entire question. “No. He’s perfectly healthy and at home in St. Petersburg.”
Her delicately arched brows draw together. “The man who shot you, he is a guy who you were—are—after?”
“Yes. He was a bad guy. He used to sell women into sex rings.” Another truth I can share. Petrov was a reprehensible prick.
“Was… Used to… As in he’s no longer alive?” she asks. There are goosebumps on her chest, as if she’s realized that she’s been sharing a bed with a killer.
“I killed him the other night, while you were shopping.” After making sure the safety is on, I lay my gun down beside me.
“Was he trying to hurt you?”
“Yes.”
A slow nod of her head. “Then I’m glad you killed him,” she says. “My friend, Elle, works with women who’ve been pimped out and sold. They’re like empty shells, and they think their worth is only in how much they can get for their bodies.”
Her response is nothing like I thought it would be. I stare at her. “You’re glad I killed a man?”
“He wasn’t a man. He was a monster who tried to hurt you and had already hurt countless women,” she says, though now she’s shaking. Hard. “I’m glad you work with—with that man to help people.”
“Are you certain?”
She shrugs helplessly. “I’m trying to be, but it’s not easy to find out the man you—you… It’s not easy.”
Opening my arms, I wait for her to come to me. I want this to be her decision, not one I press upon her. Without hesitation, she buries her face in my neck, throwing herself against me until only the bedsheets separate us.
I run my hands down her trembling back. “It’s okay, love. I’m still Roman. I’m still the man who adores you.”
“Everything makes so much sense now. The store, the grumpiness…the way you—”
“Not an act, darling. Sorry.”
She laughs. “Good, because I adore my starchy, stuffy bookseller. I adore him so much it hurts.”
Viktor returns, his face pinched as he takes us in. This is not what he was hoping for. Perhaps he wanted hysterics from her, so he could drug us once more, but instead, he got the brave woman in my arms. A woman trying to make sense of things, while believing the best about me.
“Hate to break things up, but I need the two of you to get dressed and come to the embassy. There’s some paperwork I need you to fill out, Ms. Andrews, and Mr. Smith needs to be debriefed.”
Everly exhales and then stands, keeping the blankets wrapped tightly about her. “Thank you so much, Mister…?”
“Jones,” Viktor supplies.
“Mr. Jones,” she says with a smile. “I appreciate all that you are doing to keep us safe.”
“Quite welcome, ma’am.”
I glare at him from behind her back, but the bastard has the gall to fucking wink at me.
“I’ll get dressed, and then we can leave,” Everly says before she dashes to the bathroom.
“Care to explain this?”
“You’ve been compromised. I’m here to help you get Everly out of the country. Safely.”
“Then why all the pretense?”
“I thought you cared for her. This is the only way,” he says softly. He knows me too well. The anger and tension building in my body dissipate.
My lips flatten, then I run a hand through my hair. “Let me talk with her first.”
Viktor nods. “Be quick. We don’t have much time.”
“I will find a way to repay you,” I vow.
My old mentor takes a step back. “I know you will.” Then he leaves the room.
I swing my legs over the mattress and stand up before pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweater. Joining her in the bathroom, I use the facilities and wash my hands.
Everly reaches up and musses my hair. “I can’t wait to see your shiny badge.”
“Don’t have one.”
“Okay, shiny ID card.”
I shake my head again and start to brush my teeth.
Her emerald eyes grow big. “Are you like Mission Impossible CIA? Like to the rest of the world, you don’t actually exist?”
An accurate description, except I’m on the wrong side of the law. I allow a ghost of a smile to cross my lips as I set down my toothbrush. “Something like that.”
“Good thing you don’t have to kill me,” she says cheerfully, and I almost choke as I rinse out my mouth.
“Why would I have to kill you?” Fuck me. I hate that she says this, thinks it’s a game.
She lowers her voice dramatically. “For knowing too much.” Apparently, my horror must show on my face, because she shakes her head and then says, “Haven’t you ever watched a spy movie?”
“No.”
“Do you want to see one?”
“Not particularly.”
She beams at me. “Gosh, Roman. You don’t know how happy you made me. I feel like…like everything’s back to normal. I’m the chipper one, and you’re the grumpy guy I like to tease.”
“Brilliant,” I mutter.
“Is that your real accent?”
“One of them,” I admit.
“It’s really hot,” she says as we head back to the bedroom. “But I haven’t heard the rest, so…”
The situation, her flirting…everything is laughable. I want to shout at her, to shake her, and insist she leave, that she run away, because I am not one of the good guys. And Viktor sure as hell isn’t one of the good guys either. We are death and destruction. We are vanity and greed, and we seek to conquer and take.
I lace her fingers with mine, before grabbing my coat. “Let’s get this over with.”
One of the men in black motions to us. “Follow me to the elevators.”
Leaving the others behind, we quickly do as he says and step inside. Viktor and Ben are waiting. Only Viktor’s face is pale and Ben’s doesn’t hold its normal humor.
Suddenly, it hits me. We won’t all make it out of here alive.
“Close your eyes,” I say softly, pulling my phone out of my pocket. I scroll through the menu and tap on the music app before gently slipping the attached ear buds inside her ears. “Listen to this. “Symphony Number Four” is one of my favorites.”
“Do you need to talk without me listening?” she asks, and I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
So precious to me. So utterly irresistible that I couldn’t stay away. I should have stayed away. I should have packed up and left the minute after she placed her first order for romance novels.
“Yes,” I say roughly.
With a smile, her eyes flutter shut. Such trust she has in me. “Roman?” she asks as I turn up the music. The music swells to a crescendo. I pull her to me, wrapping one arm around her waist and dipping my head to kiss her one last time while keeping my sight on the men in the elevator with us.
My cousin. My mentor. Which one is my enemy?
With my free hand, I reach for my Glock and train it on the back of Viktor’s head, then Ben’s. My heart slams against my chest, but my aim is steady.
Everly begins to shake, her fingers curling into the fabric of my suit jacket, as if she knows what’s about to happen.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” my cousin says, turning to face me, his gun out.
Despite everything, my heart sinks at his betrayal. He is the threat, not Viktor. I should have known, but my cousin… I don’t want to kill him in order for Everly to live. I practically helped raise him. “I would do anything for her.”
His knowing gaze turns to Everly, then back to me, his eyes blinking rapidly in Morse code. Nearly letting out a sigh of relief, I inch to the left before shoving Everly behind me. This is going to hurt like a motherfucker.
“Weakness is unbecoming of an assassin,” he says right before he shoots.