The truth? There was no way in hell she could tell him the truth. Not if she wanted to save him.

Because he would hate her if he knew who she was. And he wouldn’t listen. He’d walk right out this door without regard to the danger he was in. He’d leave her here and disappear like a phantom. She wouldn’t find him again. Ian wouldn’t find him.

If God was just, Dmitri wouldn’t find him either. Though she feared that a confrontation between them was inevitable. It had been set in stone for twenty-one years.

And then there was Sergei. One of Johnny’s men had nearly killed Sergei last year. He’d retreated to Russia and spent months in rehab. Months learning to walk again. He was not the sort of man to forgive and forget that kind of thing. He would have harbored deep resentments, and he would have made plans.

Plans that were now coming to fruition. Kat shivered as she thought of the years she’d spent working for that man. Years in which she’d learned what the definition of hell really was.

“I have told you the truth,” she said, keeping her voice as calm as she possibly could. “I came to help you. Because there are forces out there that want you dead—but not before they use you to topple the United States government and take control of the Oval Office.”

His eyes flashed with heat and fury. “Dial it down a notch, honey, if you want people to believe a word you say.”

She growled her frustration. Of course he wouldn’t believe her. It was insane by any measure—but that was precisely what was at stake. If Sergei successfully pinned the murder of Anatoly Levkin on him, that would be the beginning of something monstrous. By the end of it, President Campbell would be in disgrace, either impeached or forced to resign, and Mark DeWitt would be president. Considering how indebted DeWitt was to Sergei, that would be a very bad thing for the world.

And then there was whatever Sergei had planned after that. Because she didn’t believe for a moment that installing Mark DeWitt in the presidency of the United States was the end of it. There was more. They just didn’t know what it was.

Johnny’s gaze dropped to her lips. She was lying practically on her back. His biceps popped as he held the chair above the ground. He was so close that if she lifted her head, she could lick his bottom lip.

Liquid heat flooded her core. She knew what it was like to lie beneath him, her heart pounding and her body on fire as he drove his cock into her. No man had ever made her feel the way this one had. The sex had been incredible because the love had been extraordinary.

In the end, she would shatter with a sharp cry, gasping for air and squeezing her eyes shut because she could barely contain all the feelings swirling inside. He would collapse on top of her, sweaty and spent, and they would lie tangled together for hours, knowing that what they wanted was impossible. She was Russian and he was American, and they both had duties to their countries.

“I’m telling you the truth. The vice president wants you stopped. He wants your organization dismantled. He also wants you dead.”

“That’s a lot of things for a Russian spy to know, don’t you think?”

“And what does that tell you about who DeWitt might be colluding with, huh?” she shot back.

She saw him struggle with it—and then he abruptly jerked her chair forward and let it go. The front legs crashed down, jarring her into a squeak. She hated that she made even that much sound. Damn him.

He paced to the other side of the room, throwing his cap off and raking his hand through his gorgeous hair. He had the beginnings of a beard. Another couple of days and he’d be unrecognizable at first glance. For someone searching, they’d figure it out. But it would take a little bit of time since she’d bet he hadn’t had a beard in years.

“So if you and Ian—and whoever else you’re working with—knew about DeWitt and the Russians, why not take him down before now? He’s the fucking vice president of the United States. A heartbeat away from becoming the leader of the free world. Don’t you think that might have been important before Campbell took him on as a running mate?”

“Nothing is as easy as it looks, Johnny. You know that.”

He stiffened and she realized her mistake. Dammit!

“Say that again.”

She decided to play dumb. “Say what? Nothing is as easy as it looks?”

“No. My name. Say my name.”

She shrugged though her heart knocked against her ribs. “Johnny. So what? It is your name.”

His brows drew low. His eyes were unreadable. His body crackled with lightning-rod tension. A storm brewed behind those eyes.

“Not many people call me that. Most would go with John or Mendez.”

She scoffed. “I have heard you referred to this way. Fine. John it is. Or Mendez. Which do you prefer?”

“I prefer the truth.”

Kat sighed though her belly twisted. “How many times do I have to explain that I am telling the truth?”

“Keep explaining it. I don’t believe you though.”

She pushed out of the chair and went to get a towel so she could clean up the spilled coffee. She hadn’t really wanted coffee. She’d just needed something to do. She bent and blotted the liquid off the floor until it was dry. Then she tossed the towel into the sink and dried her hands on another towel. All the while she was thinking. Thinking what to say, what to do, how to get him to cooperate with her.

The plan was simple enough. Keep Johnny out of the way for a few days while Ian worked his contacts and gathered intel. They’d formulate a strategy once they had more information to go on. She’d been the bait to get him out of DC, and now she had to work to keep him here.

When she turned, he was at the door, his hand on the knob. Kat cried out, “What are you doing?”

He raked her with a disdainful glare. “Leaving. You’ve told me what you know. Unless you’ve got something else, we’re done.”

“What more do you want? Yes, I’ve told you what I know—and Ian told me to stay with you. He’ll give us more when he knows more. You can’t just charge off into the night with no idea where you’re going or who you’re after.”

“Yes I fucking can. I don’t have a handler. That’s the way you spies play the game. I’m going after the motherfuckers trying to take me down.”

Kat wanted to scream. Instead, she folded her arms over her chest and returned his glare. This was so much bigger than he knew, and he wanted to leap into action without any sort of idea what came next. She had to make him see sense.

“And where do you suppose you’ll find them? How are you getting in? How are you proving anything, much less stopping them from killing you before you expose the truth? Don’t you think Ian would have stopped them by now if he could have done so?”

Johnny snorted his disbelief. “No, I don’t think he’d have done anything of the sort. What I fucking think is that he’ll use the situation to his advantage until it suits him to do something about it. If it suits him to do anything about it.”

“You’re very cynical, aren’t you?” Had he always been that way? She didn’t think so, but then again, twenty-one years was a long time—and she’d had other things on her mind when they’d been together. Namely, getting laid as often as possible.

“Cynicism is a requirement in my job. Optimism is deadly.”

“I hate to tell you this, but you don’t have a job anymore. You’re a rogue now. Like Ian. Like me. If you don’t trust us, you have no one. Let Ian work his contacts so we can do this right.”

He yanked open the door. “That’s where you’re fucking wrong, honey. I’m not waiting for Ian to run my life.”

Before she could stop him, he stormed out. She ran after him as his boots echoed down the gallery. But when she emerged onto the wooden planks, he was nowhere to be seen. She ran to the stairs and bounded down them, heading for the gate through which they’d entered the courtyard.

“Dammit,” she muttered when she yanked it open and peered up and down the street. Johnny Mendez was gone.