Threat: Follow up to Stranded but not Alone (Dragoslava Connection)

Dragoslava Connection Saga

A follow up to Stranded but not Alone.

Mikhail’s story

“You took from me…I’ll take something from you.”

Think again.

By Author Cora Blu

Copyright 2014 Cora Blu

Published by Cora Blu

Cover Illustrated by TariaReed.com

Edited by www.editing4indies.com

Formatted by Vickie Taylor

This is a work of fiction. Names characters, places, brands, media, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

Shayla Black. Thank you for your time and listening to me every morning. Four years after the fact I’ve finally laminated all the emails.

Kassanna…do I even need to say it? You’re just the right amount of reality check I need when putting pen to paper, fingers to keys or head to desk.

Shayne McClendon, your intense and somewhat shattering to my calm, writing and believable characters has become a tool, I reach for now.

TC Chadinha…Emily was rough, gritty, and violent, yet your tight writing held me to the end. Having a few friends in Nigeria had my heart stopping more than a few times. The fact you’ve seen this in your line of work was disturbing to my soul. Glad we met even if virtually.

Writing romance is an emotional exploration not just a reporting of facts. What may not appear to be important usually is.

Thank you all for influencing me in your individual ways.

Mikhail Shamochernyi has never been more than a playboy, but now that the one woman he can't get out of his heart has been labeled as the person sending him threats, he'll need to clear her name and her reputation before someone makes another attempt on both their lives.

Bethany Cansler took the office transfer from the states to Austria ready to broaden her horizons, and leave the nightmare behind, until she fell for the office heartthrob and her boss. If being kidnapped wasn’t enough, a death threat was sent from her computer’s account to Mikhail’s. Pairing up will be the only way to lure this person to the surface. Along with the pain that hangs between them.

Austria's cold winter air blew thick swirls of snow into the open lobby doors of the financial building, where polizei directed the last line of employees one by one through a metal detector before allowing them to leave the building. Frightened and wide-eyed, many shuffled along like cattle, darting glances around the snow covered ground, the stabbing icy air off the river reddening their worried faces.

SWAT lined the parking lot as financial firm employees walked in single file to their respective cars, news crews relentlessly snapping photos. After checking the vehicles, running scanners over and under them, the polizei had cleared ninety percent of the employees, leaving less than twenty employees on floors six and seven inside the Heinemann and Heinemann financial firm.

Death threats didn't drive cars. Did they think the person who sent the threat would be standing out there with hot chocolate congratulating them for making it out alive?

Perhaps that person was in the building smiling down over them, while they jerkily moved toward their cars like scared children on their first day of school. No one could be certain where or if the threats were over.

Threats were personal, never random.

A man's loud voice rang out through the cold air from the bullhorn, directing the last few stragglers past the yellow tape and barricade.

“If you've been cleared, stay behind the yellow tape...”

“—Cross the line and you’ll be taken into custody…”

“—There is an active investigation underway,” the officer announced in a staggered, broken relay of thoughts as commands filtered through the radio clipped on his shoulder.

Local and national news crews crowded the entrance around the gated fence, with their satellite dish laden vans and reporters with wires draped over their shoulders; they attempted to get a glimpse of the person who sent in a death threat.

Little did they know one of their colleagues was missing or maybe one of them did know?

Which one?

After securing the building, SWAT ushered those with level four clearance back inside to retrieve their belongings from security.

A villain never leaves the scene of a crime until the deed is done, or they’re carried out on a stretcher.

Death threats were a part of the norm for a financial firm and today CFO Mikhail Shamochernyi, grandson to Hans Heinemann, had received the third one of his career. The first...from a woman he loved.

A door slammed, the echo reverberating across the floor, shaking her awake to the nothingness around her. The sound beat at her like a sledgehammer, the pain gripped her around the head like eagle talons tearing at her skull, knocking back the groggy disjointed feeling engulfing her in the dark room.

She wanted to die from the ache in the back of her head. Had she been hit?

Why was it so cold? She couldn’t feel her fingers or toes. As if a punctuation mark, cool air floated down from the ceiling, chilling her to the bone.

On her knees, the cold slithered up her legs to settle over her body. And the thin navy blouse and pinstripe trousers weren’t providing much against the frigid sensation. Wishing she’d worn the sweater as opposed to the silk blouse, even though she was complimented on it by people saying it made her light-skinned complexion glow, she’d be warm now wherever she was.

She cracked open an eyelid to peer through her long chestnut brown hair, the color complementing blue, making her wear it more than others, and she saw nothing.

Stay focused, Bethany, you’re getting off track. Cool air grazed her nipples through the blouse. Where was her coat? Bethany tried feeling for her button and nearly broke down when she realized her hands were tied behind her back along with her feet lashed together at the ankles. Don’t panic.

How the hell not? She could taste bile rising up from her stomach.

Blinking, attempting to bring the space into focus was useless; it just added to her headache.

A second slam rattled her shaky nerves.

No mistaking that was a door. Not solid like the door on a house or the muffled huff following someone closing a car door. It came from inside. Hollow. She was inside a building.

Where?

Worry about what building later. Right now, focus on preparing to handle whatever her surroundings revealed.

The penetrating cold on her stocking feet yanked at her attention. Why could she feel the cold on her toes? Wiggling them, she wanted to scream as they found no resistance. Are you serious, her heels were gone? Her favorite patent leather stilettos were gone. What sadistic freak would take her shoes?

This was bad on so many levels.

Calm down and start over.

Squeezing her eyes shut she tried again, as if the picture would change.

That sense of dread made her break out in a cold sweat. Bethany knew her life was out of her control and in danger’s hand.

There was nothing to clue her in to her surroundings, nor tell her how much time she’d been in her current location. Was she still in the office or on lunch in the bathroom at the restaurant by the Danube River? It was her favorite spot. The only place that served stuffed zucchini flower appetizers. Great, denial had her picturing her happy place down by the river in her favorite restaurant; the menu Mikhail introduced her to a year ago, when he met her at the airport in his three-piece pinstripe navy suit and twenty million dollar smile. Russian, broad chested, and brilliant with numbers, he’d been a mentor and friend instantly. She wasn’t introduced to the playboy until she’d already lost her mind to his charm. Grateful they hadn’t slept together or she’d be disgruntled. Thank goodness for morals.

That restaurant had become their favorite eatery way before they started dating. They had business lunches there weekly.

Stop that now, you’re doing it again.

No, don’t go there. You and Mikhail were over with after his little show of infidelity. That knight, in tarnished and dented armor, wasn’t coming to save her today.

Tipping her head back, tension crisscrossed her mouth as a rag tied around her head made her gag. That was why her long, overdue for a trim, bangs never moved, they were trapped beneath the worn flannel. So why leave her eyes uncovered?

Because they were going to kill her, why else.

The longer she stared the darker the space became, weighted in shades of black, not even a sliver of grey or a smoky haze indicating if this were bad or horribly irreversible.

It closed in on her with every breath she stole against her fear, and the worn rag tied around her head covering her mouth, and her fighting not to scream.

Dark spaces played tricks with her mind; she had to refuse to play the game of panic and terror. This could just be another nightmare she hadn't woken up from holding her to the dark.

That made it imperative to stay focused and figure out where here is. Nightmare screamed at her all the time. When she did laundry or walked into the kitchen, or put the knives away. Lord, don’t start to cry, Bethany, deal with one problem at a time.

Screwing her eyes shut she pushed back the shade that frightened her the most, the memories of Robert and the blood and the day her brother breathed his last breath of life.

There had been so much blood, she could never forget the coppery smell that stayed with her for months…years, after she’d graduated and went to college. Even now, years later, they still haunted her sleep.

Come on Bethany you can do this. That was a lifetime ago, and you’re a survivor. A warrior against adversity. Do warriors cry? No, so stay calm. Shake like a ninny later when you’re safe at home.

Her new boss had called her warrior when he made her the offer to transfer to the Austrian office. Black silk waves he wore like a crown atop his tall brawny physique. His chiseled Russian features combined with the deep German accent and his suave tailored dress made him a sought after bachelor according to all the European magazines. Why did she get involved?

Don’t go there, Bethany. Now is not the time to think of Mikhail Shamochernyi. How could she not, the rag tied around her head smelled like his expensive two hundred dollar a bottle cologne. Leave that ex-boyfriend in the past, you’ve moved on.

Tears pricked the backs of her eyes as paranoia wrung her gut with big meaty fists.

No crying, she’d start balling her eyes out if she replayed those memories.

Breathe.

This time she opened her eyes slower, and the dark never changed. But she was still Bethany and could handle whatever she found on the other side of her eyelids.

As long as it didn't touch her.

Stay in control.
You’re starting to freak out and that’s never good. That’s what the doctor always told you and you’d get through anything.
Eventually someone would hear her.

The sound of footsteps settled in front of the door, and her pulse quickened.

“Bethany Cansler.”

She trembled violently at the abrupt sound of her name being called through clenched teeth.

“Hell woman, I love the sound of your name when I say it. It’s feminine and soft.” A dark graveled German accent filled the room as a slice of light slithered over the floor. A large male form hid the light on the floor, as it filled the room around her.

Shifting closer to the wall putting distance between her and the hulking form crouching down beside her, Bethany wanted to vomit as fear tore at her mind.

It fed her every villain she’d ever seen, before a scream flew muffled from beneath the worn strip of flannel. A hand slapped over her mouth, stinging enough to cause a tear to drip from her eyes. His fingertips scratched the skin in front of her ear, sending a second level of pain down her neck.