Risk of Exposure (Alpha Ops Book 6) (9 page)

He pulled her off the vanity and put his arm around her. He bent her back slightly and continued to watch her face as he manipulated her clit. She could feel her body lubricating his fingers as they glided over her.

“You’re beautiful, love,” he growled. “Your face is flushed, your eyes seem brighter. You seem more honest.”

She tried to bring herself upright at his words, but he wouldn’t let her. “No, you’re not stopping me. It’s not my fault that the truth hurts.” He grinned, and with her on the brink of imploding, for once she didn’t want to slap it off his face.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered.

The grin dropped from his face, and an urgency appeared. “I’m never going to stop, love.”

As his fingers danced over her nerve endings, and his eyes never left hers, she felt as if liquid light were bubbling over inside her. She forced her gaze to remain on his as she came, falling into his eyes, his sudden sincerity.

She bowed forward, leaning her forehead on his shoulder as he gathered her in his arms. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it? A moment of honesty between us? You didn’t even have to say anything.”

She wanted to be outraged or to extract some kind of revenge, but she couldn’t muster the energy. “Fuck off,” was all she could murmur as she squeezed him.

“That’s my girl.” He squeezed her back.

Gah.
No, she wasn’t. But again, she couldn’t say anything. Maybe she didn’t want to say anything. Those moments looking into his eyes as she lay exposed to him had altered something. And until she figured out how to alter it back, she was prepared to take the path of least resistance.

God, he is so confusing. Or is it me who’s confused?

She sighed and pulled herself away from him. There were noises from downstairs, and she figured it was time to make an appearance.

H
e had less than no fucking idea why he was suddenly determined to see behind the CIA operative’s mask she kept so firmly in place. No idea why he seemed to be forcing her to participate in the one thing that he usually ran a fucking mile from. What was wrong with him?

He sat on the bed and buried his face in his hands. Okay, she may have accidentally saved his life. But he’d saved her from getting wet so…yeah, that didn’t sound entirely equal. Then again, it was her fault he’d been hypothermic in the first place. Shit. Why should he be caring about this? Caring about where she fucking looks when he’s getting her off?

Was it just because she was more interested in the mission than him? Which was a real turnaround on him. He’d lost count of the number of women he’d—what had she called it?—seduced and abandoned because of the mission he was on. Maybe he didn’t want to allow her to do the same to him? Was that his ego talking? Or was it really because she wanted to admit that he meant something more than a means to an end?

Jesus, what was
wrong
with him?

He loved that she was combative with him; loved that she never backed down; loved that she knocked him on his ass in her apartment, pulled a gun on him, disabled those two guys single-handedly; loved her one-track mind—even when it was on the mission and not him; and loved that she relieved work pressure with sex, exactly how he’d always done.

What did that mean, though? Did he really care what it meant?

He hated that he’d left his bag in the barn; he had nothing to distract him up here. Abby hadn’t come upstairs at all, so he hadn’t been able to ask her to retrieve it either. So all he’d been doing is lying down, and every hour or so, he checked the border through the digi-binoculars. He had seen nothing, except a worrying band of heavy cloud, very slowly rolling toward them. Looks like they’d be enjoying another snowstorm as they searched for the Russian army. And nothing had ever gone wrong doing that.

He could kill Baston for not being able to see how capable his daughter was. Even if he didn’t know she was with the CIA, surely he must be able to see that she could take care of herself? He had no earthly idea what he was going to put in his report to him when—if—he ever got to file another one.
Shit.
Baston was bound to call if he failed to turn in a report. And his phone was in the barn. Turned on. He looked at his watch and made the time zone connection. His report was a day late and a dollar short. Unless Baston had a hot date—which he usually seemed to—he would call to see where his report was, Mal was sure.

Suddenly, a beeping sounded from the corner of the room. Not a subtle beeping, but an aggravated beeping, like a smoke alarm. It was the same sound as the sensor had made in Abby’s apartment. He jumped across the room and yanked open her bag, grabbing the sensor. He was fumbling to take the battery out when the door flung open.

It wasn’t Abby.

He smiled. “Hi, how are ya?”

They were fucked.

The woman screamed.

Really fucked.

Tanoff was clearly stressed by the situation, and Abby didn’t blame him in the least. He was pacing around the farmhouse table, putting his hand on his wife’s shoulder whenever he passed her. For her part, Abby was trying to look as contrite as possible.

Malone was just sitting there with his chair pushed back far enough from the table that he could make a quick exit if necessary. Every bone in Abby’s body wanted to do the same, but she knew the body language transmitted by sitting up against the table would give the couple a little comfort. Well, Tanoff at least. She wasn’t sure if Brigda was going to be comfortable around her ever again.

“This is too much, Abby. You bring a strange man into our house. With the children around. What were you thinking?” He started pacing again. “You have to go.”

“Please don’t send us out into the blizzard. We walked here from town,” she said.

“So you didn’t come by car? Another lie?” he said, anger mounting in his voice.

Oh, you don’t know the half of it.

“You know why I’m here,” she replied in a calm voice.

The man’s eyes darted to his wife’s, but she didn’t react to Abby’s words.

“I don’t care anymore. You can keep your money.” He paced again, this time looking out of the kitchen windows as if he expected paratroopers to be hanging from helicopters above them. “If you bring trouble to our door…to the children…we won’t be able to protect them.”

“But if you let us say, we can help you protect them,” she reasoned.

Malone stayed quiet, thankfully.

Tanoff’s eyes were cold, and she felt like she was losing the argument. “At least let us stay until morning. Until the snow passes.”

“Vot snow?” Brigda asked sharply.

“That snow,” Malone said, pointing out the window. For a second nothing happened, but then a gust blew the first flakes against the pane.

She glanced at him.
How did you do that?

He gave her an annoying smile. As more snow splattered against the glass, the children started to get restless in the playroom. Their excited chatter spilled down the hall to the kitchen.

Abby saw that as an opportunity. She stood up, startling both Tanoff and Brigda. “I’ll—
we’ll
—look after the children for now.” She nodded to Malone, who got up and was at the door before she’d even moved away from the table.

She followed him into the hall. Silently he took her hand and headed toward the playroom. Just before they got to the kids, Tanoff came out of the kitchen.

“Psht,” he said, gesturing her back with a nod.

Malone looked at her, but she had no idea what Tanoff wanted. She shrugged and went back down the corridor.

“It’s the first Thursday of the month,” he said meaningfully before returning to his wife.

Oh shit.

She turned back to Malone, trying not to be scared.

“What did he say?” Malone asked before going into the playroom.

“Every month, their son—who’s in the local police force—comes over for dinner with some of his colleagues.” She pulled a face.

“Today?” he asked.

When she nodded, he sighed. “Awesome. Well, I’ll just hide until they go. As long as you can keep your sensors from beeping.”

It was a reasonable plan, but she was worried about Brigda. She worshiped her son and his police friends. Abby found it hard to believe that she wouldn’t tell her son everything. Very hard. Maybe they just needed to leave. But go where? There was nothing between them and the border.

“You should go,” she said, holding his arm. “This isn’t your fight, and I’m sorry I got you into this. The last thing you need is to be sent to jail here in the winter. I mean, it’s no picnic in the summer, but I can imagine—”

“Shush,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere. If your sensors are working, this
is
my fight. Don’t forget England is in Europe. I won’t have Russia stomping over my continent. And if you’re wrong, well, you’ll owe me so big that you will spend the rest of your days constantly wondering how you can make it up to me.” He pulled her close and whispered in her ear, “P.S., I already have plenty of ideas.”

Relief flooded through her as she fought to keep tears from her eyes. “And if I’m right, you can spend the rest of your days wondering how you can reward me for saving your continent.” She smiled and he squeezed her hand.

“Deal.”

H
e was in no way delighted to watch her play with the children. And in no way did he enjoy playing with them himself. He wasn’t amused by Dmitri’s antics, nor was his heart squeezed when Lana, after two hours, eventually came over to show him her doll.

He didn’t love drying their tiny hands before dinner, and he didn’t like having to help some of them eat their fruit snacks.

Dammit. Yeah, right.

He’d had no experience with children, other than once being one himself, and he’d never considered ever having anything to do with them. But seeing Abby being jumped on, having her long hair played with, and watching her stroke Lana’s back so she would nap stole something from him. Maybe a degree of cynicism. Nothing more, though, he swore.

How had she managed to stay so mission-focused with these kids distracting her? And what did it say about his mission focus when all he wanted to do was watch her with the kids? This was where he should have had his cameras. Jesus. What was wrong with him? A question he’d been asking himself a lot since he’d met Abby.

She was strong and ballsy. Bitchy but kind. Hardheaded but considerate. A blackmailer. A hot, sexy blackmailer. And he was falling for her. There it was. He was nothing if not honest with himself.

They both went back up to the turret room while Tanoff and Brigda supervised the kids eating.

As soon as the door shut behind them, he took Abby in his arms and kissed her. Honestly kissed her. Not to distract her, not as a prelude to sex. He just wanted to kiss her. Because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to protect her.

He pulled away from her.

“What was that for?” she asked, a gratifying flush tinging her face.

“It’s probably going to go pear-shaped this evening. And I wanted to kiss you.” He paused. “You know, in case we wind up in the gulag tomorrow.”

“That is a strong possibility,” Abby conceded. “I’m not sure Brigda won’t be able to stop herself from turning us in to the police tonight. It’s a bonus if her son can bring in the spies.”

He sighed. “I know. But every mission I’ve ever been on had this possible ending. So we’ll plan for the worst and hope for the best.”

“We have a few hours,” she said, looking at her watch. “Where do you want to start?”

“Well, I was going to say map of the border, but if we have a few hours, my plan has changed. Completely.” He raised his eyebrows in a mock leer.

“Oh yeah,” she replied with a grin. “A whole new plan?”

He laughed. “Nap time.”

She pouted.

“If we are going to be up all night stopping a Russian invasion, or, you know, being interrogated all night by quasi-Russian police, I think we may need to be well rested.” He pulled back the covers of the tiny bed, and they undressed silently. She left on her panties and bra, and they lay down, just as they had found themselves that morning. He set his watch and put it on the floor beside them. “Two hours, then one hour of planning, then it will be dinner with the enemy,” he said. “For you anyway.”

“Or am I sleeping with the enemy?” she countered drowsily.

“
An
enemy, perhaps, but not
the
enemy. So, you know, it’s okay.”

“’kay.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her on top of him, her legs tangled in his. Her heart beat against his sternum, and the steady thump lulled him to sleep.

He silenced his phone as soon as it beeped, but Abby had been awake thinking about their evening activities. She was going to skip dinner. It wouldn’t be weird because she’d only ever been there for dinner one time since she’d been there.

If they both were able to keep quiet, maybe they could slip out while the family was eating. Then there’d be nothing to worry about. Except being caught. Being ratted out by Brigda, or being captured by the Russians.

“Are you awake?” he asked, his voice rumbling through his chest where her head was currently resting.

“Mmm-hmm,” she replied, enjoying her low level of consciousness too much to want to speak just yet.

His arms squeezed around her once, and then he stroked her back. It felt loving. As if she were cared for. She would take all she could get, because she could be dead tomorrow.

Although wasn’t that always true? Even if she had the most boring office job in the agency, she could as easily be run over by a bus as be killed on a mission. Maybe she needed to seize life a little more. Be cared for. Care for someone. Maybe that didn’t necessarily mean that she’d lose focus. Maybe she could focus on more than one thing? Did she want to, though?

She roused and propped her head up on her elbow. “I think I should go downstairs and make my excuses. If I don’t turn up for dinner, no one would be surprised, because I’m rarely here, and we can sneak out while they’re eating.”

“Sure, if you think they’ll let you get out of it. We can be quiet up here. Look, it’s getting dark now. Maybe we can even get out before they arrive,” he said, sitting up in bed.

“Let me slip on some clothes and go down and tell them I won’t be there. I’m sure they’ll be happy to get rid of us. I’ll be right back to make a plan with you.” She smiled. “A real plan.”

“Roger that, team leader.” He yawned and stretched, and suddenly she wanted to do nothing but stay in bed with him and kiss his chest and talk about things. Things like his favorite football team. Or maybe soccer team. About his family. Favorite vacation places—although she had a feeling he’d taken far fewer vacations than she had, and she’d taken two in the past ten years.

She fought the urge to kiss him and got up, slipping her socks and jeans on and pulling a turtleneck sweater over her head. “I’ll be back in a few.”

He saluted her as she left the room.

She wasn’t back in a few.

She ran downstairs, through the hallway and into the kitchen, slipping on the tile floor as she tried to stop.

Uh-oh. Her heart started racing.

Four police officers sat around the table with shot glasses of vodka in front of them. They all shuffled to their feet when she entered the room. There was no getting away from this one. Shit, and they hadn’t even made a plan. One of the men still had his shot glass in his hand, and he raised it to her. She smiled in response and sat at the table, making them all sit too.

So far, so good. They hadn’t rushed her and handcuffed her, so Brigda must have held her tongue so far. Tanoff put a shot glass in front of her and filled it, then went around the officers, filling theirs too. She raised her glass to the couple’s son and downed the liquor in one gulp.

The men laughed loudly and did the same. The older man refilled the glasses again from the bottle Tanoff had left on the table. “Is too cold not to,” he said in fragmented English.

“Da!” She grinned, taking a slightly more reasonable sip this time. She didn’t want to be dancing-on-the-tables tipsy tonight of all nights. Although if Brigda did decide to break the news over dinner, at least she’d have a cushion of alcohol for any interrogation.

She caught Tanoff’s eye. He raised another shot glass in question, and she shook her head, just enough for him to see. Maybe if she could get the policemen drunk, that would serve her well too.

Brigda refused to meet her gaze, which still gave Abby concern. The conversation revolved around the snowstorm and the electricity still being out in town. One of the policemen thought that maybe the Russians had shut off power because the Ukrainians had done the same to the Russian-occupied Crimea. The others laughed at him, saying that their town wasn’t big enough for any country to worry about. They couldn’t even get the Ukrainian government to pay for new roads. If the Russians wanted to retaliate, they would try to hack the power grid in Kiev, of course.

Abby smiled as she listened, not reacting to anything they said. What they weren’t thinking about was that a town right next to the border, without power to communicate, would be important to the Russians. She hadn’t even thought about it before, but it made perfect sense. More sense than the snow blowing out the electricity. This area of Ukraine had snow sometimes eight months of the year. She caught Tanoff’s eye and stared meaningfully at him. He also knew why they would be interested in this small town. She just hoped he was on her side when push came to shove.

She itched to go back to the room and tell Malone. If they had shut off the grid, there was zero doubt in her mind they were about to do something bad—like invade. All the Russian president wanted was to make the USSR whole again. And all NATO wanted was to stop that from happening.

Brigda dished out food—the best food was always saved for her son and his…Abby wanted to call them comrades, but she wasn’t sure if they were pro-Russia or pro-separatist. They gave no hint. Excitement and fear battled for supremacy as she forced herself to eat and smile and drink. Everyone seemed to be relaxed and having a good time, except Brigda and Tanoff; she hoped their son would think the tension lay between them, rather than having anything to do with her.

She kept an innocent smile on her face and widened her eyes to give an open expression, but every time Brigda said something or even opened her mouth to eat, Abby’s stomach twisted. She hoped Malone would realize what had happened and was making a plan, because with as many eyes as were on her right now, she could only think about running for the door and shouting “run” to Malone too. Some plan that would be.

As Brigda brought dessert to the table, and more vodka for the glasses, Abby started to relax. There would be no reason for her to suddenly blurt out that spies were in the house now, would there? Not when they were so close to leaving. Relief made her giggle.

Everyone stopped and stared at her. She should have been mortified at the attention, but she giggled again. Then she looked aghast at the five empty bottles of vodka on the windowsill. There were seven of them at the table. Which meant there was a chance that she’d drunk half a bottle of ninety-proof liquor. Hell.

She giggled again and pressed her hand to her mouth. Suddenly the men started laughing too. Brigda and Tanoff were unmoved and looked disapprovingly at her. Shit. That would tell their son quite clearly that she was the problem in the house.

She stood up. “Excuse me…I should go and leave you to…drink.” This time she manufactured a giggle and raised her glass to them. They all bid her good night loudly, and she escaped.

She closed the door quietly and waited for a second. The conversation resumed behind her as she tiptoed down the corridor to the stairs. She was halfway up the first flight when someone said her name. It was the son. She searched for his name. Anton. That was right.

“Is everything all right, Anton?” She smiled.

He ran his finger beneath his collar as if he were hot or uncomfortable. “Do you know what has happened with
mama a otets
?” He’d slipped into plain old Russian, not the Ukrainian hybrid language his parents used. She hoped that wasn’t a bad sign.

She thought fast. “Your parents had a bad night. Two of the children sneaked out into the snow. We couldn’t find them for ages and I think it affected your parents.” She paused. “They were in the chicken coop, keeping the chickens warm.” She smiled. “You should leave soon before the snow makes the road impassable. Good night.” She turned and took two steps.

“Don’t worry about us. We are staying the night. That is why all the vodka.” He cocked his head. “Must you go?”

Nothing was going to go right for them. This whole mission was jinxed. Doomed. She forced a pout. “I must, yes. The children get up early. I’ll try not to let them wake you.”

This time she took the stairs with purpose to stop him following her. She paused before taking the turret steps until she heard his footsteps disappear back down the corridor.

She took a breath. Once upon a time, and it felt like years ago, she’d wondered if it could have been worth striking up a relationship with him, given his rank with the local police. Now she was glad she hadn’t. That would have been a complication too far.

She knocked gently and then opened the door to the small room.

“Jesus. I thought I’d lost you,” Malone said, wrapping her in a hug. “I was giving you ten more minutes before coming for you.”

“They were all already there. Anton plus three other police officers. The worst thing is that they are all staying the night.” She pulled away to see his expression, to see if he was as scared as she was.

“That’s not the worst thing. The worst thing is you stink of alcohol. How can you drink when you know we’re spending the night in freezing temperatures? Alcohol can lower your body temperature even further in the snow. You should know that.” He held the tops of her arms and shook her to get her attention.

“I know that. I couldn’t not drink. They were toasting and pouring. It was already tense down there; I didn’t want to stick out in any way. Listen. We have to go. Brigda didn’t say anything over dinner, but who knows what might be discussed when they continue to drink after dinner? Besides, there’s no way we’ll get out if we wait for them to go to bed. Someone is bound to hear us.”

“Okay, let’s suit up.”

She was gratified that he wasn’t going to argue the point with her, despite the fact that she still felt a little woozy from the vodka. He was right—that had been a boneheaded move. But there was no use crying about it now. They had to get out there to the border. “What’s the plan, Stan?”