Kat was nervous. This was turning out to be far harder than she’d thought it would be. But how could she have possibly thought it would be otherwise?

She was in danger of messing up so many things. It was risky to be here, risky to have any contact with him. She’d thought she could do it because she’d given him up once before. She’d reinvented herself, become someone new, and he’d lived. So had she.

She’d never thought she would see him again. But nothing ever turned out the way she wanted it to.

So here she was, sitting across the table from this man she’d loved so wildly once, pretending to be someone else even while she drowned in a flood of memories. Memories that made her want to wail against the unfairness of life. The price had been too high. Too damned high.

She swallowed and studied him as evenly as she could. She’d changed her hair a long time ago—once she’d left Russia for good—but she couldn’t change her features. Oh, maybe she could have, with surgery, but she’d never quite gotten that far.

Instead, she’d become Ekaterina Kasharin this time. Kat. She liked the name. It helped her to remember that she needed to be a cat—flexible, silent, adaptable. Deadly.

Cats did not put themselves in danger though. She was doing that right now. Coming out of the shadows to talk to him. Taking a risk that she would be seen by more than the predator sitting opposite.

The predator who studied her intently. Taking her apart like a jigsaw. Looking for weakness. He was confused for now, but that wouldn’t last. She’d gone against her instincts when she’d arrived and stood in the entry, letting herself be a target. She’d pretended to be searching and uncertain.

It hadn’t been easy. She’d known him the instant she’d walked in. She could have floated to him like a bee to a flower and never wavered in her course. But she’d gone against her training because he would see through her ruse if she didn’t.

He needed to believe she was someone else. For both their sakes. Because if she had to tell him the truth, she didn’t think she could survive it. She wasn’t free and never would be. Sergei was still out there, still dangerous. She couldn’t ever be complacent where he was concerned.

Perhaps she’d made a mistake in taking this on. Ian knew her past, though not quite all of it. He’d come to her when he knew Sergei and Dmitri were involved in the plot against Johnny. How could she say no? How could she let those two harm him after all they’d done?

Johnny had changed in nearly twenty-one years. They both had. He’d always had a little bit of gray in his night-black hair, even in his twenties. He’d told her it was a family trait—what he called salt-and-pepper hair. She’d thought it beautiful. She still did, though what she could see of it peeking out from the ball cap was much grayer than it had been back then. The lines around his eyes were more pronounced now, but they made him more handsome rather than less. He was one of those men who became even more gorgeous with age. Like the American actor George Clooney, or Sean Connery of James Bond fame. Men who’d been handsome when younger but then turned into stunners when they hit their fifties.

This man wasn’t even fifty yet. How much more gorgeous could he possibly get?

“And how do you plan on helping me, Kat?”

She darted a glance at the nearby tables. They weren’t full yet, but they were filling quickly. Perhaps this place had been a mistake. She’d been enticed by the romance of it, the jazz music, the name. Two Sisters. She was pretending to be her own sister, so why not? The whimsy of it had struck her.

A fatal flaw, as Dmitri would have said to her back in the old days. Dmitri Leonov had dominated her life then. He’d been her mentor, her handler. She did nothing without his approval. Until she’d fallen in love with John Mendez. Oh, she’d gone too far then. Gone right over the edge of what she’d been supposed to do and taken a leap beyond imagining.

She’d paid for it in the end. But what about Johnny? Had he paid too? Or had she been the only one whose heart had shattered beyond repair?

“Kat?”

She shook herself. She’d been lost in memories and emotions she’d thought she’d buried long ago. “I… yes, sorry. I was thinking of Valentina.” She cocked her head. “Do you have the locket?”

He reached into his jeans pocket and produced a silver locket she recognized. Her heart stuttered to a stop before lurching forward again. She had to stop herself from reaching for the smooth oval necklace.

He hit the catch and it opened. When he turned it to her, she had to bite her cheek. A locket was such a silly thing to own in these days of cell phones and instant photos. It had been the only thing of her mother’s she’d possessed. She’d given it to him the night before she’d disappeared. It had been an impulsive gesture, and she’d often wondered if it meant anything to him. If he still had it.

The answer was before her. Her photo stared back at her, faded and small. Valentina Rostov.

She reached for it but he pulled it away. His eyes flashed hot as the veneer of his civility shimmered.

“This is mine,” he clipped out.

“That was my mother’s before it was Valentina’s.”

“I know.” His eyes narrowed. “She never mentioned you. Why not?”

Kat swallowed. “We were not always close.”

“Twins are usually close.”

Her pulse kicked. “Who said we were twins?”

He tipped his chin at her. “Identical twins—or this is a ruse.”

Oh God…

“Twins can be separated, raised by different parents—”

“Valentina was an orphan.”

“Valentina was an FSB agent. She said what she was told to say.”

His eyes narrowed. But they still burned. “And how would you know that if you weren’t close?”

The hole was getting bigger. Deeper. Pretty soon she wouldn’t be able to see the sky anymore. She shoved herself to her feet.

“We need to get out of here,” she said. “Staying is dangerous.”

He didn’t move. His gaze skipped over her, caressing her curves. Heat prickled beneath her skin.

“Why would I go anywhere with you? For all I know, you’re setting me up. You and Leonov. Is he the one who killed the ambassador?”

A shiver rolled in her belly at that name. “I don’t know who killed Levkin. But it is no concern of mine. You need to come with me. Now.”

“You’ve given me no reason to trust you.”

Infuriatingly stubborn man. “And I’ve given you no reason not to. There is a safe house nearby. Ian said to tell you a name if you resisted.”

“Again with the names? What is it with you spies?” He rose to his full height, and her throat went dry. He looked tough, angry, intimidating. And delicious. “It better be a good one.”

“He said it was. He said the name is Phoenix.”