One Week Later
“Arms up,” said Yuri.
Roberta raised her arms without complaint. The pat-down was standard practice but I knew that wasn’t the only reason it was being done. This was the first time Luka and Vasiliy had ever—knowingly—met someone from the CIA. They wanted to remind her who was in control.
Yuri stepped away and nodded her over to our table. He was still solemn—he was Yuri, and that would never change—but he did seem just a little lighter, since Olaf had died, as if a door to his past had finally closed forever. I’d even caught him smiling, once.
We were in a coffee shop that, until a few moments ago, had been full of customers. They’d all cleared out as soon as we’d arrived. Word had spread of the fall of Olaf Ralavich. If they’d been scared of us before, now they were terrified.
That didn’t bother me as much as it used to. There are worse things in life than being feared. People are going to be scared of someone. Better that that’s a family with some notion of honor and justice.
Luka sat on one side of me, hulking over the table like a bear. His untouched coffee looked comically small in front of him. He looked as if he might smash the table in two at any moment, his hatred for the CIA barely contained. But I wasn’t scared of that anger, anymore. I’d seen the man inside, the one who’d always been there. He’d just needed the right person to bring him out.
On my other side sat Vasiliy. He’d insisted on forgoing his painkillers that morning so that he could be sharp, although he’d then proceeded to kill the pain with vodka instead. He stared at Roberta with as much venom as his son...and with a hint of something else, too, something I couldn’t quite read.
“Mr Malakov...and Mr. Malakov,” said Roberta as she reached us. Then, to me, “Arianna.”
Silence. I kicked Luka under the table.
He inclined his head. ‘You may call me Luka,” he growled.
Roberta turned to Vasiliy. “And may I call you Vasiliy?”
Vasiliy gave her a strange smile. “No. You may call me Mr. Malakov,” he said. His voice was velvety smooth.
Roberta blinked at him and sat down. It was strange, seeing her outside Langley. It reminded me of when we’d first met, when she’d recruited me. Once again, she was in a sharp suit—actually, an even sharper one. Of course, she could afford the upgraded wardrobe, now.
“They promoted you, I hear,” I said.
She nodded. “Things are a little...chaotic, back at Langley. That’s why they wanted me to come over here and make our position clear.”
“You mean, explain why a senior CIA man was working with arms dealers,” said Vasiliy sweetly. “I think our government is wondering the same thing.”
From what I’d heard, there had been a lot of very embarrassed diplomats rushing back and forth between the US and Russia over the last few days. There were rumors of desperate bargaining behind the scenes and the whole thing had narrowly avoided making it into the press.
“Adam pled guilty last night,” said Roberta. “He didn’t have a lot of choice, given the evidence.” She looked at me. “Well done.”
The thing about a photographic memory is, it’s always on, whether you want it to be or not. I’d seen Adam’s laptop screen and all the account numbers and amounts were burned indelibly into my mind. That was more than enough for Roberta to go to her superiors and demand they subpoena the banks, and that had started a domino effect. Adam’s whole career of deceit had come spilling out.
Roberta put her hands flat on the table. “We wanted to acknowledge the part you played, as well,” she told Luka and Vasiliy. I could tell this wasn’t easy for her. “And to let you know—off the record—that the CIA won’t be pursuing investigations into your trading at the present time.”
“Meaning you’d rather have us around than scum like Ralavich,” muttered Luka.
“Meaning keep it clean,” said Roberta, a warning tone in her voice. She stared at Luka, but kept glancing meaningfully at me. “Play nice. Be respectful. And we won’t have to get involved. Am I clear?”
I could feel the motherly concern and disapproval coming off her in waves. Even Luka was a little subdued by it. He nodded and I couldn’t help but smile.
“And you,” said Roberta, turning back to me, “are free to come back anytime.” She tossed me my Arianna Scott passport. “There’s a job waiting for you, if you want it.”
I looked at Luka. “I don’t.”
She looked at the two of us and a sort of world-weary smile touched her lips. “Well, I’m there if you need me,” she said.
“And I’m here if you need me,” I said. I meant it, too. I owed her one. And I figured that an American in Moscow, under the protection of one of the most powerful families in Russia, was probably quite a useful thing to be.
She nodded gratefully and was about to say something else when Vasiliy interrupted her. “And what about you, Roberta?” he asked. His voice still had that smooth tone. “I can call you Roberta, can’t I? Can I tempt you away from the CIA? I’m sure I could find something for a woman like you.”
He locked eyes with her.
She flushed.
Oh.
That was what was going on. I stood up quickly and made let’s go motions at Luka. Luka being Luka, he took his sweet time to get up, nod a goodbye to Roberta and allow me to lead him away from the table. We left Roberta looking panicked, as if she couldn’t decide whether being left alone with Vasiliy was the worst thing in the world or the best.
“Your dad better not sleep with my boss,” I told Luka.
“Ex-boss,” he rumbled. “It’s out of my hands. You think this is first time he’s done this?” He grinned, just a little cruelly. Goddamnit, he’s enjoying this! He seemed so much less troubled now, and it was more than just the Ralavichs no longer being a problem. It was finally having someone to open up to and trust, after all those years alone. I understood that, because I was feeling it, too.
Being together, though, hadn’t cooled off the sex one bit. I’d taken the precaution of adding a safeword to our games, because that seemed sensible. But Luka’s big hands were still shredding plenty of pairs of panties, and sometimes whole dresses, and that was just the way I liked it.
I glanced back at the table. Vasiliy was leaning forward a little; Roberta was leaning forward a lot. Oh, good grief.
“She’ll be fine unless he shows her his gunshot wound,” said Luka knowledgeably. “Then, all is lost.”
I glanced back again. Roberta was nodding. Vasiliy started to unbutton his shirt.
Oh shit.
“We Malakov men know how to handle American women,” said Luka proudly.
He’d find out, soon. Nancy had promised to visit in a few weeks. And once Vasiliy had fully healed up and could spare him, I was planning to take Luka on a trip to the US and show him Wisconsin—cows, rain and all. And there’d need to be business trips, too—to New York, first, and then all over the US, to finalize the gun deals. With Ralavich gone, we could take over his US gun business cleanly and without violence. Soon, we’d be the main pipeline into the country.
The idea didn’t scare me as much as it once had. Russian guns were coming into America one way or another—better we controlled it than someone like Ralavich. We could at least do it with the minimum of bloodshed. Once we controlled the whole supply, there’d be less need for in-fighting. And I’d persuaded Vasiliy to introduce my no guns to gangs who employ kids rule—it was a small victory, but at least it let me know we were heading in the right direction.
“Oh, you know how to handle us, do you?” I asked.
In answer, he pushed me up against a wall. Dammit, we were still just about within sight of Roberta...although, she was looking quite distracted. I looked back at Luka, feeling myself rapidly getting lost in those fiery, ice blue eyes. I could feel my breasts pillowing against his muscled chest, the hard bulge of his cock pressing against my thigh….
“Oh, the hell with it,” I muttered. And kissed him.
<<<<>>>>
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