“Enough. Step back. She’ll be fine.”
Alexei ignored Grigoriy’s terse order and pressed two fingertips to the side of her neck. His tightly coiled gut relaxed by several degrees at the feel of her strong, steady pulse. Grigoriy hadn’t screwed up the dosage.
Thank God.
His partner, however, didn’t need to know he’d been accurate. Alexei let out a hiss and grabbed at Sasha’s wrist, checking the pulse point there. “Son of a bitch.” He dropped her hand in her lap. “You’ve overdosed her, asshole.”
“Bullshit.” Though he protested, a note of doubt tinged Grigoriy’s oath.
Mistake three. Opals never questioned their decisions. Once made, they had to believe, no matter who tried to disprove them. It was part of why they all possessed a natural arrogance. The best of the best didn’t fuck up. Even when they did.
“Not bullshit.” Alexei made a show of lifting Sasha’s heavy eyelids to check her dilated pupils. “Look for yourself. Her heart’s barely hanging in there. You’ll be lucky if she makes it an hour like this.” Though his words were an act, the loathing he directed at Grigoriy as he turned around came from the gut. “That’s why you were the driver, and I dosed the girls.”
Another low growl rumbled in Grigoriy’s throat. He stomped across the small space separating them and bent over Sasha’s crumpled form, taking her wrist in his to check for himself.
Triumph lodged behind Alexei’s ribs as he claimed opportunity. In one fluid motion, he pulled his gun, aimed, and shot Grigoriy in the temple. A forceful sideways shove stopped him from pitching face-first
on top of Sasha. He fell on his side, his dark eyes staring vacantly at the tree trunk, blood forming a crimson pool on the ground beneath his head.
Alexei closed his eyes on a deep, steadying breath. It was the only remorse he gave the man he had once called friend. Grigoriy had tread too far into
enemy
to deserve the full clench of Alexei’s heart. He blocked that painful squeeze and hastily shoved his gun into his holster. Then he cradled Sasha in a desperate embrace and yielded to the need to hold her tight. To tuck her as close as possible, vainly trying to chase away the fear that had struck when Grigoriy pointed that gun at her helpless body.
She was safe. For now. He had nearly lost her, nearly watched his own life come to a slow end. And the terror of that reality made his insides quiver.
Shouts broke out in the distance, jerking him from the closeness that he needed. From the feel of her heartbeat against his chest, her soft breath falling across the side of his neck. Contenting himself with the fact she was alive, he pressed a fleeting kiss to the top of her head and scooped her into his arms. As an afterthought, he grabbed Grigoriy’s pistol, knowing his partner would carry nothing that could identify him, and jogged down a row of lush vines toward the parking lot.
Three hundred yards away to his left, a group of five men stumbled through the vineyard toward the tree he had abandoned. Alexei remained in the shelter of the outbuilding’s shadow, pressed against the wall, holding his breath as he prayed no one would look their way.
Too late, he realized one of the men pointed directly at him.
Swearing beneath his breath, he positioned Sasha more securely and bolted for the closest vehicle, a shiny red Fiat. He would have preferred something less obvious, but it would have to do. The next closest car was a good fifty feet away. By the time he got there, the men would be on his heels.
It took three tries to pry open the steering column with his pocketknife
and access the wires, another four to actually cross the right ones and fire the engine. But as the men rounded the side of the outbuilding and burst onto the paved lot, Alexei threw the car into reverse and stomped on the accelerator. Tires squealed as he tore down the drive.
Ten minutes max, he figured, before the
polizia
came barreling down the road, sirens blaring. Twenty, maybe, before someone turned in the plates on the stolen car.
He didn’t waste time with speed limits. Instead, he punched the Fiat for all it was worth and took the curves like a dragon was on his heels. When the road evened out, he stole a glance at Sasha through the rearview mirror, reassuring himself she was unharmed, that she merely slept. That she would wake before the night was over.
Sure as he’d predicted, as he reached the limits of Florence proper, three police cars sped by, their sirens in full wail, lights flashing. To avoid calling attention to himself, he gave them room to pass, then, when their taillights flashed in his rearview mirror, he cut the corner sharply and sped around the edge of town.
Fifteen minutes later, Alexei allowed himself to breathe. He loosened his death grip on the steering wheel and cut his speed. He needed to ditch the car. But first he needed security. A place to stay. Someone he could trust.
And trust right now was the last thing he could muster. Clarke was in transit. Hughes…well, no matter how Hughes might work in conjunction with the Opals, he was still MI6 at heart, and Alexei was in no mood to take chances. He’d already taken several. Already put faith in someone who should have never been questionable.
Besides, until he could talk to Clarke, he didn’t want a Brit knowing an Opal had turned traitor. Clarke had already mentioned Hughes’s diminishing faith in the Black Opals. Grigoriy’s act of treason would only further deteriorate their unsteady relationship with MI6.
Sighting a crowded parking lot, Alexei made the turn and nosed
into a space beside a hulking monster of an unmarked SUV. The Fiat fit neatly in its looming shadow. He cut the engine and gave in to a heavy sigh.
He needed help.
Kadir was on his tail still, and his own partner had stabbed him in the back. The authorities were likely hot on the trail of the explosion, and now they’d soon be investigating a dead body. Not to mention the stolen car.
He needed a whole lot of fucking help.
Sasha mumbled something unintelligible from the backseat that made Alexei’s throat tighten. He couldn’t remember a time when a mission had gone so drastically wrong…or when the outcome mattered as much. Returning Sasha to London had become more than just a matter of success or failure. He no longer cared about his pride or his satisfactory report. Or even duty. The only way Sasha would be safe was if she got the hell out of this country and to someplace where Kadir couldn’t touch her. The only way that would happen was if Alexei could meet with Clarke and tell him about Kadir’s change of allegiance. The text message was only the tip of the iceberg, and Alexei had heard nothing to confirm Clarke had received or comprehended it. If he didn’t already know, once Clarke discovered he had a renegade Black Opal on his hands, he’d do everything in his power to guarantee Sasha’s safety.
Meanwhile, there was only one person Alexei knew how to get hold of who could understand how a mission could become entirely too personal. One person who’d be willing to bend a few regulations to help him find stable footing, and who he knew, without a doubt, he could trust implicitly.
He flipped open his phone and punched in Natalya’s number.
She answered on the second ring. “Alexei?” Confusion vibrated in her greeting.
“Yeah, it’s me.” Old familiarity stirred at the sound of her voice. They’d had some good times, him and her. Some necessary healing
times. But that was all it had been—good friends enjoying a little bit of humanity in the dark world of the
Bratva
they had become part of. “I’m in trouble. Deep shit. I need help.”
Concern instantly resonated. “What’s going on? Where are you?”
He glanced around at the vibrant colors of the buildings surrounding him, the interlaced lush green trees, and the backdrop of rolling fertile hills. “Florence. Trying to get Sasha Zablosky back to London. I just shot Grigoriy.”
Three heavy heartbeats of silence filled the line. Then, as he had known she would, Natalya became all business. She understood if it came down to executing his partner, something had gone terribly wrong. She wouldn’t ask questions. Didn’t need to.
“Okay. Do we need a cleanup team?”
“No. The authorities are already on scene.”
She blew out a hard breath. “Tell me what you need. I’ll make it happen.”
He pushed a hand through his hair in frustration. “I don’t know. I don’t
fucking
know. Kadir’s on my tail, he’s threatened to kill me if I don’t give her over to him. Fucking
Kadir
, Natalya. He’s rogue. Grigoriy made a deal with Symon and the
Bratva
. They all want Sasha.” He took a deep breath to stop the quickening of his pulse. It didn’t work, and to his absolute shame, desperation filtered into his words. “And goddamn it, they can’t have her.”
“Calm down. Keep your head. It’s not like you to lose it.”
More quietly he answered, “I know. But she’s…” He stopped, aware he was saying too much. Then again, Natalya had been part of his life, part of his combined assignment with the
Bratva
, after Sasha. He’d told her a little, but nowhere close to everything.
Thankfully, Natalya didn’t remark on his slip. She delved on ahead, all logic and confidence. “All right. Is transportation set up?”
“Hughes has some plane scheduled. I don’t know when. Last I heard the crew reported mechanical failures, and he doesn’t want us on a commercial flight.” He thumped a fist against the steering wheel.
“I need someone I can trust. There’s too much going down for me to protect her solo.”
“Okay, Alexei, I’ll send you someone. He’s en route to help me on this problem in London, but I’ll cut him loose for now. He’s close. Two hours or so.”
He nodded. She wouldn’t reveal names over a non-secure line. But she wouldn’t send him anyone remotely questionable. Still, with the recent developments, and men like Kadir changing alliances, Alexei suffered a moment of apprehension.
The sound of nails clicking on a keyboard drifted through the line. One harder smack accompanied her muffled mumble. Patiently he waited, his gaze fixed on Sasha, praying like hell she’d wake up now. Dreading her rightful anger when she did.
“Ah ha! Got it.”
“Got what?”
“I found you a room. It’s a suite at the Il Salviatino. You’re registered as Mr. and Mrs. Bocharov. You build luxury yachts.”
“Yachts?” he asked incredulously. “I don’t know a damn thing about yachts.”
“Make it up. Don’t talk to anyone who would. Work with me—it’s the best I can do.”
He surrendered with a sigh. He’d had worse aliases. Keeping silent, avoiding attention, he could do.
“There’s a rental waiting on you there too. And…” She trailed off, clicking away once more. “To help with the fallout, you’ve been in country for a week, staying at a private residence in Tuscany, rented under the Bocharov name.”
A slow smile spread across his face. This new lead analyst position fit her well. “Thanks.”
“Anytime. Call me if you need anything else. But when you meet up with your new contact—he’ll phone from the front desk—I think you’ll be more relaxed. You know him.”
That made everything slightly better. He nodded, though she
couldn’t see him, thankful he’d made the decision to contact her instead of Hughes.
“One more thing.” Alexei glanced once more in the rearview mirror. “Sasha’s out cold. Grigoriy drugged her.”
She hesitated only a second before providing a tidy solution. “I’ll tag your reservation with a VIP alert. There’s a private entrance on the east side of the hotel, go in there. No one will ask questions.”
“I owe you one.”
“I’ll see you in London, Alexei.”
“Yeah. See you then.”
He hung up, started the car again, and backed out of the lot. Now to find a place to ditch the car before he reached Il Salviatino. The less time he spent carrying Sasha, the less he’d call attention to himself.
And the less chance he had of Kadir picking up on their location.
F
or once, luck favored Alexei. He managed to find a packed parking lot two blocks away from the hotel, and he parked the Fiat in the last row. A sudden rain shower disbursed the sidewalk lingerers, making it possible to carry Sasha to the entrance on the east side without a hassle. When he entered, no one asked questions, other than his name, before handing him a keycard.
Now, if only luck would stick around a little longer.
He bent over Sasha’s sleeping form and brushed a hank of blonde hair out of her face. Unable to completely shrug off his worry, he couldn’t resist checking her pulse one more time. She should be awake by now. At least stirring, not passed out cold.
Just like every other time he’d checked in the two and a half hours they’d been here, Sasha’s pulse beat strong. Frustrated, worried, and at a total loss, he straightened, huffed out a heavy breath, and mounted the stairs that led to the sitting room. He couldn’t put the agitated part of his brain to sleep. His new partner was late, which only added to his increasing mistrust.
Passing the leather sofa where he’d first set Sasha down while he discovered where the bedroom was, he tripped over one of her shoes. He muttered a curse and toed it aside. As the sneaker tumbled into its mate, the loose flap of rubber caught on the lavish Oriental rug.
Alexei picked up Sasha’s sneaker.
Kadir’s idea of tracking her wasn’t half bad. If it turned out he couldn’t trust his new partner, or if Kadir managed to get ahold of her
before they left Florence, Alexei wouldn’t have to look long to find her. A single push of the date button on his watch would reveal her location, making it that much easier to not only rescue her, but kill the next asshole who tried to interfere.
Yeah, Kadir had the right idea all along.
Taking her shoe to the lamp on an end table, Alexei set it on the wide ledge and unfastened his watchband. From beneath the battery covering, he withdrew an identical cylindrical device, no bigger than a raw grain of wheat. He’d brought the thing along in case things went south and he ended up being the one in need of extraction. His watch, and Clarke’s computer, were the only gadgets that could pick up the signal.