Wallbanger (4 page)

“I don’t have the formula,” he reminded. “And
that’s the problem.”

“For a man who invested millions, you’re
awful trusting.”

“Like I said, people know not to cross
me.”

An exasperated breath—“
Please
put away
the neon ‘don’t fuck me over’ sign, Xander. Bright lights make my
head hurt this early in the morning.”

“Not just yet. I see it all over your face,”
his voice rose in a horribly whiny imitation of hers, “I
can’t
let Xander have Harvey. He’s a bad,
bad
criminal. I’m gonna steal it and hand it over to Connolly.”

“I sound nothing like that,” she said,
deadpan.

“Except, you can’t do that, can you, Kizzie?
‘Cause if you did, you wouldn’t get 3-19, which is what you’re
really after. Add to that the fact you don’t know if you can trust
Connolly and you’re in a real clusterfuck, huh?”

“My life has been one long clusterfuck,
Xander,” her head cocked and she grinned, “You just happen to be
the newest fucker in it, so bully for you. If this little sidebar’s
over, can we get back to Harvey? Is that why Nikolay was on
America’s shit list?”

He waited a moment before responding.
“Specifically? I don’t think so. I believe he was on the radar for
his being a member of the ICBG, as you put it. Russia left him
unchecked for years knowing full well what his business was, and
America didn’t appreciate it. A lot of those rebel factions he
supplied were fighting against interests the US had in certain
countries. And rumor had it Niko was lining big pockets in Moscow
to stay untouchable.”

“Well, somebody touched him. Sure it’s not
Amer—”

“Positive.” The certainty made her leave it
alone.

“So who else knows about it?”

“The scientist he was working with, one
Anders Yurevich. Also dead, right around the time Nikolay went
missing. Found at his home in Belarus—bullet in his head. Place was
ransacked, from what I understand. The hard drives on his computers
had been wiped.”

“And you know this because…?” She waited for
an answer, but wasn’t surprised when one didn’t come.

“Apart from him, the only other person would
be Nikolay’s eldest son, Sacha,” Xander said, derision evident in
his voice.

“Whoa. Doesn’t sound like you and Sacha are
as friendly as you and Saint Niko.” Kizzie read further into the
dossier. A little over thirty years ago, Nikolay made frequent
trips to Japan, that info consistent with the modified RDX Xander
had spoken about. She filed the data and waited for an answer to
her question.

Xander produced another file, this one on
Sacha Sokoviev. “Nikolay loved his son, but he did not like him. He
often referred to Sacha in private as ‘
Chernyi
Russkii
’.”

“The Black Russian?” The face staring back at
Kizzie from the glossy page held nothing remarkable: dark hair,
square chin and jaw, pale skin. His cheeks were flat planes and his
nose was defined. But something about his eyes made him look a
little off. “Five-parts vodka, two-parts coffee, huh?”

Xander chuckled. “An apt description.
Russian-American, raised in the States before being shipped back to
Russia at 16. At 20 he decides to make a name for himself, not
wanting to be involved with the father who didn’t raise him. But
you know what they say about apples and trees. So Sacha started his
own hustle; prostitution rings, human trafficking, drugs and the
like—a network that extended through the Baltics, reached across
the Atlantic. It runs like clockwork for seven years before he’s
picked up for the murder of a prostitute in Bali. Apparently,
prostitutes aren’t worth the fuss in some parts of the world, and
after being held for a while awaiting trial, the evidence linking
Sacha to the crime up and walks out.

“The prodigal son returned home in the last
year or two, and Nikolay embraced him with open arms; slowly began
exposing him to the family business. But, unlike the parable, Sacha
did not change his old ways. The kid’s got something to prove, and
I warned Nikolay he was more of a liability than an asset.”

“Sounds personal.”

“In a manner of speaking. Years ago, I
witnessed Sacha’s treatment of his sub and was less than
impressed.”

Kizzie looked up. “He’s a freak boy like
you?”

“I wasn’t a ‘freak boy’ when you begged me to
fuck you on my yacht, was I, Princess?” Xander said. He didn’t
speak again until she dropped her gaze. “Yes, Sacha’s a Dom. We
might both be in the Lifestyle, but we live by two completely
different ethos.”

“Rigorous standards you fellas in the ICBG
have,” she muttered.

Xander ignored her. “With Nikolay out of the
picture, Sacha has obviously inherited the family business. He has
Harvey. By rights it’s mine, but what he’ll do with it is anybody’s
guess. I have a feeling he wants to cut me out of this arrangement,
and that’s not an option.”

The thought of a nuclear weapon in the hands
of a man like Sacha made her skin crawl. And Xander was right; the
idea of acquiring that technology and handing it over to someone of
his own nefarious reputation didn’t set right either. Kizzie was
already operating on the premise he was telling her a half-truth.
She’d have to think of a way to secure Harvey for herself. Whether
or not it went to Connolly was still up for debate. She had other
choices. “What do
you
plan to do with it?”

“I have a buyer, ” he answered plainly.

“I’m assuming this buyer is not one of the
five sanctioned nuclear weapons states.” He didn’t respond and she
continued, incredulous. “You’d really sell something this dangerous
to a country with no qualms about using it?”

“I’m in it for the money, sweetheart, not the
morality. I do what I have to.”

“Oh, goodie. Well, I think I have a good
start on who I’m dealing with,”—a pointed glance at him—“
and
Sach—”

“Don’t forget it either,” he interrupted.
“I’m not one of the good guys, Kizzie. Point blank, I’m using you
and you’re using me. We crystal on that?”

It didn’t require a response. No way she’d
forget it. “Where do I come in?”

“You’re going to acquire Harvey for me.”

“Why not just kill Sacha and take it? Seems
easier. One less rodent in the world is no skin off my chin.”

“This
rodent
prefers finesse.” The
corners of his mouth turned up wickedly. “When the time comes to
kill Sacha, I’ll kill him. But I want to cover all my bases
beforehand.”

“So, I get in, access his hard drives…. How
am I going about this?”

“You’ll be my submissive.”

She blinked, somewhat deflated at the
possibility of going all
Mission Impossible
to get the
Intel. Plus, being chattel rubbed her wrong, but if it meant
getting 3-19, and Harvey….

“All right,” she said, noting his expression.
“You knew I’d do it when you first called me, Xander. I’m already
on your plane and en route, so save the ‘surprised’ look for a
birthday or something.”

“But I am—at least shocked you didn’t put up
more of a fight. I half expected to find another gun pointed at
me.”

“You took all my toys, remember? And my
phones, which I want back, thank you very much.” She raised a stern
brow. “I had an idea that would be part of the job description when
I got in the car.”

“Part, Kizzie. Not all.”

“Go on.”

“Sacha and I have a meeting in a couple days.
Tomorrow night, however, he’s hosting a play party at his home in
Helsinki. I’m invited—we’ll be in attendance.” Xander inhaled a
deep breath. “I’ll be your Master…and I might let Sacha play with
you. May even release you and give you to him for a while. A
dangerous little gift.”

Kizzie frowned. She’d never been “gifted”
before. The entire idea made her feel like the cheesy Christmas
sweater no one wanted. “Don’t you have a regular submissive who can
run this con for you?”

His jaw clenched.

“Oh, what? The chick you spank on the daily’s
not part of the game?” She scored another point for herself, went
back to logistics. “You get me in, what’s my out?”

“I have to be in Paris in three days—”

“That where your subbie’s holed up?” she
interjected, “Some pretty Parisian flat?”

He ignored her. “I’ll come back for you when
I’m done.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. Never go
in without an out. She’d work it out herself. “Well, since I was
asked
ever
so graciously…guess I’m in. And why are you
smiling?”

“You just made me twenty grand.”

“I get half, right?”

“I’ll think about it,” he said with a wink.
Then he stood to stretch, reached into his briefcase and handed
Kizzie the book he retrieved.

Scanning the title,
Surrender
, she
said, “‘The Idiot’s Guide to Being a Submissive?” She rolled her
eyes and tossed the paperback aside. “How hard can it be to say
‘yes, sir’, ‘no, sir’?”

“It’s all about the mindset. You’re supposed
to enjoy doing it. A sub gets pleasure by giving her Master
pleasure.”

“When I want to smile while doing all the
grunt work, I’ll get married.” She toed off her shoes and twisted
in the seat. Back to the wall of the plane, she lifted her knees to
curl up in the chair. “And you being ‘pleased’ is not on the
agenda. You just made it crystal clear we’re using each other,
remember? My objective is to get you Harvey so I get 3-19. Then we
part ways and act like this little life interlude never
happened.”

Xander fixed her with a penetrating gaze she
didn’t back down from. “We’ll go over it more tomorrow. You need to
sleep. There’s a couch in the back. Go lay down.”

“Er-uh, that sounded a tad like an order”—she
sniffed the air, crinkled her nose—“yep, even has that funky
‘order’ smell. I’ll excuse it this time, slick, but don’t make it a
habit.” She closed her burning eyelids and tried to rest. “I’m fine
right here.”

“No, you’re not. You’d rather sleep upright
and aware than stretch out on a couch and make yourself vulnerable.
That’s not you being fine, Kizzie, that’s you being stubborn. And
just so you know, if I wanted you dead, you would be.”

“Likewise.”

He chuckled. “You hesitated on my boat.”

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have put two in your
forehead, gone back to the hotel, ordered room service, and watched
a movie,” she said sweetly.

“So it’s like that?”

Her eyes flashed open. “Just like that.” She
didn’t miss the grin on his face when he went to the galley.

Returning with sandwiches and a couple
bottles of water Xander said, “You can find me in the cockpit if
you have any more questions.”

Kizzie smothered a yawn with her hand. “I do
have one.”

“Shoot, or should I say, go ahead.”

“Who the hell are you?” She lifted her heavy
lids again, forced herself to focus on his face. “I’ve got you
pegged through your time at LSU. Only child—middle class parents.
Then you disappear, not a whisper, only to show up a very rich man
many years later. What happened in that gap?” When he didn’t show
any signs he would answer Kizzie gave him a sly smile and coaxed,
“Aww, come on, Duquesne. Didn’t you once say ‘relationships thrive
on trust’?”

Xander cleared his throat and sat in the
chair he’d vacated. “Codename: Kizzie Baldwin—born Kendra Elyze
Porter….”

Her smile faded, and she forced herself not
to react—but it felt like all the breath had been sucked from her
body.

“32 years of age,” Xander went on, voice
clear and direct, “only child to Loretta and Samuel ‘Big Sam’
Porter. Dad was an O-8—Major General of the Marine Corps; Mom was
with the DOD, GS-15 if memory serves. Impressive. Both deceased—car
wreck. You survived. Raised by your maternal grandmother, Nadine
Anderson, until her death when you were seventeen.

“Accepted early admission to West Point where
you excelled in your studies; the standard for every good cadet.
But you, Kizzie…you were something special. The accolades are
extensive: a knack for languages, excellent marksman, skilled in
hand-to-hand combat and a proficiency with knives that’s just
downright scary. There you were, on track to graduate magna cum
laude—your Second Lieutenant Commission was in the bag, and you’da
had no problem rising in ranks with daddy being a vet. Yet, in your
third year at the Point, you drop out…. Why?”

She ground her teeth. Anyone searching for
Kizzie Baldwin got a legend showing her to be a graduate of Cal
Poly who studied philosophy and worked as a freelance travel
writer. Xander had somehow managed access to her real info;
dredging up a past she’d spent years forgetting about; years
atoning for.

The Point’s behind you…it’s
all
behind you.

He’d mentioned having low friends in high
places, and his knowledge of her true identity affirmed a sneaking
suspicion there was a leak in the Agency. She’d have to track it
down.

And kill Duquesne.

Xander stood again, gathered the items on the
table. “Now, do you have any more questions regarding
this
mission?”

She stared up at him defiantly, unwilling to
let him know he’d struck a nerve. Silence settled heavy in the
cabin before Kizzie finally broke it with, “As a matter of fact, I
do. Who killed Nikolay Sokoviev?”

“Oh,” Xander said as though he’d forgotten to
mention it before. “Sacha.”

3

Helsinki, Finland

At the first alcove, the puppet clutched the
bag of tools to her side and followed the farthest tunnel on her
left, wending her way deeper into the bedrock maze beneath the
chateau. There were twelve passages in total; the paths
intersecting at various locations to create little cubbies where
one would then decide which shaft to traverse next. Choosing the
wrong channel only prolonged the distress of being 30 meters
underground in a warm, dimly lit space. This, like the rough-hewn
walls, was all part of the design. The intent was to disorient, to
cause panic, so the traveler was fairly consumed by fear once
they’d arrived at the destination to which nearly every passage
led—
The Dungeon
. That’s what the Puppet Master called it,
and at each mention of his private playroom, both pleasure and
pride would fill his otherwise bland features.