Red Alpha: A BWWM Russian Alpha Billionaire Romance (4 page)

“God, no.” Osip made a face, his grimace one of pure distaste. “She’s a fucking sand rat for heaven’s sake.” His expression became a bit more delicate. “I was hoping that you could handle her for me.”

Arching a brow, Demyan stared down at Osip as he waited for him to continue. ‘Take care of her’ could mean a host of different things; granted, it had been a long,
long
time since Osip had asked him to kill.

That didn’t mean he didn’t remember how.

But somehow, Demyan doubted that even Osip would be that stupid. To murder an official sent specifically for diplomatic relations? That was asking for trouble. No, they would need to be cordial, warm and hospitable – at least for the sake of appearance.

Which must be why Osip needed him.

Picking up a file from his desk as if he’d plucked it from a sewer drain pipe, Osip tossed it to Demyan. The taller man managed to catch the folder before its contents went spilling across the room. The moment he opened it and his eyes fell on an image of the woman to be their visitor, he realized immediately why Osip refused to house her.

She was black.

Not that such a thing was a crime in his book, but Osip had always been viciously racist - a quality instilled in him by his late father. The darker the skin, Ivan always insisted, the lower the caste.

That said, this woman’s skin wasn’t particularly deep-hued. It was more like the color of toffee – rich and chocolatey brown. She had a profusion of dark, unruly curls that spilled over the collar of the suit she wore, wide, light brown eyes and a mouth as full as it was alluring. The paperwork declared her to be one Cadence Freedman. She was training to be an information carrier for the UN and was required to spend a certain amount of time stationed in different parts of the world in preparation for her duties.

Apparently, she spoke no Russian and knew little of their country, as her specialty was in South American cultures. Though she was barely thirty, according to the notes scribbled down in Osip’s file, she was the pet project of a prominent UN speaker, and would have to be dealt with carefully. This was a favor to said speaker, as a sign of trust and goodwill between Russia and the United States, she was being…
lent
to them, so to speak.

Which meant that she would have to be returned in one piece.

Demyan thanked God that he wouldn’t have to get his hands dirty. Of everyone present, he probably hosted the least amount of animosity towards the Americans. While he hardly wanted to be fettered with an unwelcome visitor, he wouldn’t be tempted to lose her, that was for certain. If he left her with any of Osip’s lackeys for very long, she might turn up floating in the Danube.

And they couldn’t have that.

She was a pretty little thing – though, in his opinion, she appeared far too delicate to be sent into the freezing cold Russian winter. The temperature, however, would be the least of her worries. Cadence Freedman would be in Moscow for exactly three months. Though it was obvious that she would have to spend
some
of that time with Osip, Demyan would do his best to make sure that it was minimal. The less time she spent with the prime minister, the better.

Closing the file, he set it back on Osip’s desk, his expression carefully neutral. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I knew you would.” Danshov grinned, showing teeth that were in bad need of a cleaning. “I can always count on you to deal with the trash, brother.”

How long had it taken him to stop wincing when Osip called him that? To bury his disgust that the son of the man who had murdered his parents thought of him as kin? Far too long, Demyan knew. But as long as he could still serve a purpose in the capital, he would keep quiet.

There would come a day, he knew, when he would be the only one who could keep Osip in check.

Gazing out of the window of a Boeing 747 flying at ten thousand feet, Cadence got her first views of Russia.

It was breathtakingly beautiful. Alessia hadn’t been able to stop gushing the first time she called from Moscow. It was like an ethereal, magical kingdom of ice, she’d insisted. While Cadence wasn’t on the ground yet, she could see what her sister was talking about.

Everything was white. White interspersed with patches of dense dark green that represented the thick forests that blanketed land between cities. Of course, they would see fit to send her to Moscow in the dead of winter. Cadence had been told to be prepared for subzero temperatures and winds frigid enough to freeze her tongue to the roof of her mouth – neither of which she was terribly excited for. She was born and raised in the southern part of the United States, and as such, had rarely experienced temperatures dipping below the forties.

The weather at her destination stood at a resounding five below zero currently, and Cadence had packed her heaviest jacket to accommodate.

With a fond smile, she remembered the pep talk that Geoffrey had given her before she left. She hadn’t had much time to spend in her own department while she’d been preparing to join the Russian Unit. Director Cresseda was a hard task master, and though Cadence had passed both her physical and written exams with flying colors, the woman still seemed hell bent on putting her through every trial in the book.

“She’s convinced you’re trouble.” Geoffrey had been amused with the director’s attempts to get Cadence to drop out. She made sure she always got graveyard duty, even after pulling an entire day of exercises, made her repeat seminars to which she’d been a mere five minutes late, and called her into her office for the slightest perceived infraction of the rules.

Of course, there had been no
real
infraction. Cadence knew that Cresseda was testing her mettle – and she wasn’t surprised. The director expected her to try something – to shove off on some kind of vengeance mission to make things right for Alessia’s death. While the young woman had to admit that, were she in the director’s position, she would have the same suspicions, she herself didn’t plan on causing any trouble.

She had a mission to see too, and she would stick to it. Of course, as she would be in the heart of Moscow and among influential political circles, if she happened to
hear
anything, well, she would be lucky; but Cadence didn’t intend to go looking for trouble.

No, that was more Alessia’s style.

Despite Geoffrey’s jibes, the young woman convinced him that she was on the straight and narrow. If she was going to tell anyone about some ‘secret agenda’ it would be Geoffrey. He had been one of her first friends when she began her foray into intelligence, and after a short, slightly embarrassing stint during which he’d been sure that he was in love with her, they’d settled down to become thicker than thieves.

Even remembering the days when Geoff had been insistent about his undying devotion made Cadence roll her eyes. How long had it been since she was seriously interested in a man? It had to be since she’d broken up with her first boyfriend in the wake of her sister’s death. At the time, he hadn’t understood. He called her cruel and callous; and Cadence believed him. After all, they’d been happy. What else could she be for ending that?

But hindsight was always twenty-twenty. The delirious happiness she had with her ex, Cadence now knew, would never have allowed her any growth. Jaden had been like her parents – loving and well-intentioned, but unable to see the big picture. Things never would have worked out between them. Since then, she’d devoted her entire self to finding out what had happened to her sister. There had been little time for dating, socialization or boys – much to Geoff’s exasperation. Whenever she was sharp with him, he would profess that she needed to get laid.

In reality, that was the absolute
last
thing that Cadence needed. Romantic entanglements were a distraction – though sexual ones seemed to be the choice of leisure time activities for most of the men she worked with.

Cadence chuckled at the memory. Her male coworkers liked to flaunt their positions as much as they could. While they weren’t permitted to tell the women they picked up in bars the exact nature of their jobs, all they had to say was that they worked for the FBI or the CIA and then, as they said, ‘the panties fell off’.

Somehow, Cadence found that a little hard to believe. Perhaps it was because she worked in intelligence herself, but for her, it would take a lot more than a title to have her scrambling out of her clothes. Thanks to an over proliferation of movies and TV shows about intelligence organizations, people – and in particular, women, tended to think that every man that worked for the government was another James Bond.

The fact of the matter was that, generally, such notions couldn’t be further from the truth. Yes, when they were trained for assignments in certain fields, they were taught how to shoot and other various skills. They worked on their stamina and were required to have language capabilities depending upon where they were sent. But there was none of that ‘license to kill’ nonsense. If your life was in danger, you did what came naturally.

Or so she’d been told. This would be her first time in the field abroad – her first time armed, and her first time under any sort of cover.

Cadence
should
be nervous, she knew. But, somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to be afraid. Exhilarated, yes, but not afraid.

She had her assignment: she was to gather low key intelligence on Prime Minister Osip Danshov and those closest to him – make sure that he didn’t have anything nasty up his sleeve for the coming months.

There was no lost love between Danshov and the US. Despite all that he professed, the Prime Minister was his father’s son – and Ivan Danshov hadn’t kept his hatred for the US a secret. He had been one of the most violent opposors to the abandonment of the communist system; and even after it had gone, he continued to operate as if Russia was his own personal playground.

Osip was different. At least on the surface, he pretended to play by the rules. He made nice for the cameras and was on his best behavior for every diplomatic visitor the US threw at him.

But by a virtue of some intelligence gathered by other agents, Director Cresseda had reason to believe that Danshov had begun to stockpile nuclear resources in anticipation of a coming conflict with the US. Of course, they had no concrete proof yet – but that was what she was hoping Cadence could help them bring to light.

She was to report in every week with her findings from a discreet, previously arranged rendezvous point – but for the time between, Cadence was completely on her own.

For the first time in her life.

As the captain announced that they were beginning their descent into Moscow, she buckled her seatbelt and exhaled a long breath as her eyes slid closed. This was it – the moment she’d anticipated for what seemed like a lifetime.

“I’m coming, Alessia.” Her words were murmured in barely a whisper, but no one needed to hear them.

No one except her.

Though Cadence had been warned, she was still shocked by the intensity of the cold when she disembarked the airplane. She had to take a short bus ride through the open air in order to reach the terminal and in about ten minutes, she thought she might be frozen solid despite the multiple layers she wore beneath her coat. Then, she had to work her way through the sea of people in the airport, as well as please the customs officials.

Her cover was that she was preparing for UN placement at the behest of one of the speakers – and as such, she had a new, diplomatic passport. The customs official barely glanced at it before waving her through – and then she was left to her own devices to find the baggage claim. The task would have been a lot harder if she hadn’t spoken Russian – and Cadence had to remind herself not to look as though she knew too much. She had no idea who was watching.

Eventually, however, she made it seem as though she found the baggage area by happenstance and claimed her luggage.

Then all there was to do was to look for her ride.

There was another throng of people waiting at the exit – hawkers for taxis, goods, and a variety of other services in every language from English to Chinese, but Cadence staved them off as politely as she could as she searched for someone holding a sign with her name.

She scanned the crowd, holding her hands close to her mouth in an attempt to warm them, despite the gloves she wore. The young woman thought she might very realistically freeze to death before she found her ride – and then what would Cresseda say? She reached down to grab her bags, only to grope around in surprise when she found they were gone. Her heart in her throat, Cadence whirled to give a cry of outrage – only to have it die in her throat.

She found herself standing at the edge of the crowd, the majority of which had parted to let through the man who had obviously come for her.

And what a man he was.

For a moment, Cadence had trouble groping for words as she took in the impossible length of his form. “Miss Freedman, I presume?”

He spoke perfect English, with only the slightest trace of a Russian accent, and Cadence forced herself to snap from her reverie – though it was no easy task. The man had to be close to six and a half feet tall, his skin a pale contrast to the inky black hair that curled about his collar. He had a few days’ worth of carefully groomed stubble on a sharp chin, and eyes so brilliantly green that they seemed to pierce straight through her. His mouth was full – far too full for a man – but somehow, it softened the rest of his sharp features.

Not only was he tall, but he was broad as well. Though most Russians Cadence met stateside were statuesque and thin, this man looked as though the gym saw his devoted attendance. His tall form was wrapped in a wool coat and scarf, his chest a broad pane that all but blocked her view of the street beyond the airport.

He smelled
amazing
– like some mixture of spice and cloves that made her stomach twist in longing, even as she slowly realized that she was in very,
very
deep trouble.

Cadence knew this man. His identity had been drilled into her not only by years of schooling, but also in the past six months of her training. She could rattle off everything from his family history to his blood type – and she knew far more than enough to realize that Osip Danshov was obviously taking no chances where she was concerned.