Page 24 of Disguised as Love

“We can’t risk her slipping.”

“She isn’t a rat. She isn’t going to turn on me, no matter how mad she is. She knows, as much as I do, that silence is what keeps us safe,” Raisa said. There was not one ounce of doubt in her voice. She believed this.

She started down the hall and then had to stop and put a hand to the wall to brace herself as she swayed. I wanted to run and pick her up in my arms like I had a day ago by the car when she’d fainted.

“I need food,” she said quietly. Then, she turned to glance at me over her shoulder with a look so damn fierce it burned me over the distance. “Food and then I’m going to see Rurik. You can come, or stay, or get on a goddamn plane and go back to where you came from. I don’t care. I’m going to find out what happened to my father, bury him, and then…then maybe I’ll do just what Mama said and burn the whole damn place to the ground.”

She forced herself off the wall and strode toward the staircase.

I’d never in my life been as turned on by a woman as I was by her at that moment. She looked like an avenging angel, blonde and glowing in the warm lights of the hall. Face set in grim determination. Bravery, whether it was foolish or not, wafted from her. She wouldn’t stop. She was here, determined to finish what she’d come for.

I followed her.

I was an idiot to do so. I needed to get on a plane and get the hell out of Russia before Manya let it slip in some drunken slur that I was not who I said I was. Before I ended up dead with my face in my soup just like Petya Leskov.

But it was as if an invisible, golden rope had been tied around me, and it yanked me after Raisa. All I fucking knew was I couldn’t walk away. I could pretend it had everything to do with my case against the Leskovs and Isamu Yano, but the truth was, it had a helluva lot to do with the woman storming down the stairs.

? ? ?

The air was crisp with a bite to it as the wind poured in from the Baltic when we got out of the car in front of a turn-of-the-nineteenth-century building near the harbor in St. Petersburg. Ilia had driven us, knowing exactly where Volkov’s headquarters were from his time as Petya’s bodyguard. As we walked into the lobby, there was a sign in Russian that read: The Fish Market. Everyone at the Bureau knew it was Volkov’s cover for his illegal activities. We’d all watched him on video saying, with a sly smile, that he was just a simple fisherman. But simple fishermen didn’t have dozens of accounts with billions in them or property and businesses around the globe. Or an army of ruthless criminals ready to go to battle for him.

The receptionist in the enormous lobby with ceilings that went up three stories greeted us with a smile as we crossed the marble floor.

“I’m Raisa Leskov, here to see Rurik.”

Raisa spoke in Russian, and the receptionist never lost her smile, but her eyes grew shadowed as she replied also in Russian. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but if you tell him I’m here to discuss my father’s funeral arrangements, I’m pretty sure he’ll see me.”

The receptionist hesitated as if unsure which would get her in more trouble?bothering Volkov in the middle of a meeting or not telling him that Raisa Leskov had shown up at his doorstep.

“Please take a seat, and I’ll call up.”

We moved over to the soft leather couches grouped together in the lobby. Ilia stood behind us, taking in every person who came and went and eyeing the security guard at his desk near the elevators. I was equally on watch but hiding behind a nonchalance I didn’t feel as I draped my arm on the back of the couch behind Raisa. At least she didn’t jump or pull away this time. It was progress.

Ten minutes later, the receptionist came over, her heels clacking on the marble. Everything seemed like it was made of marble in Russia. Showy and expensive. The buildings dripping with money the way Gennady’s men dripped their bodies in gold and diamonds. A statement of wealth for everyone to see.

“Go on up to the eighth floor,” the receptionist finally said. “He’s in a meeting, but he said he’d step out to speak to you for a moment.”

I didn’t move until Raisa and Ilia did, needing to keep up my pretense of not understanding the language for as long as possible. Until I absolutely had to reveal it. We moved toward the elevators, where we were joined by another man in an expensive suit. Dark hair and dark eyes with a scar above his brow. He was packing heat under his suit. I could see the bulge at his back.

Ilia and I took opposite sides of Raisa, exchanging a look over the top of her head that spoke volumes, not only about the man who’d joined us but about this crazy adventure of hers. Since the momentary breakdown in her mother’s bedroom, Raisa had reassembled her armor, striding with confidence, chin up, eyes shooting fire and ice. My body continued to react to it, longing to taste her determination on my lips, and it scared the hell out of me in a way that facing guns and criminals never had.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open to reveal more marble, gold, and mirrors. Like Versailles had thrown up on the space. The man on the elevator preceded us out and then turned back to us, holding out his hand in a silent command to wait. Behind him was a conference room with walls made of glass. Inside, gathered around a long table, was a sea of faces that made up the who’s who of the mafiya on the Russian counterintelligence wall at the Hoover building.

It was a conclave meeting. One that hadn’t even been whispered about in the intelligence community. The hair on my arms raised?a clear sign that my instincts were telling me I’d stepped into some deep shit.

The door of the conference room opened, and Rurik Volkov made his way toward us. He looked like the ancient fisherman he proclaimed he was. One who’d just taken off his oilskins and slipped into a twenty-thousand-dollar suit with a watch on his wrist that cost a cool half-million. His smile pulled at the wrinkles on his face and the sides of his carefully groomed salt-and-pepper mustache that matched his hair as he took in Raisa.

He kissed both her cheeks and took her hands in his, patting them and greeting her like a grandfather seeing a grandchild after a long absence.

“Raechka, look at you. Grown up and so lovely.”

My hand was on the small of her back, so I felt the tightness of her muscles, but you wouldn’t know she was upset by her voice.

“Uncle Rurik, Mama has said you’re making arrangements for Papa. Thank you for starting them, but I want to take them over now that I’m here,” she said softly.

He waved her off. “Nonsense. It is all handled. It is the least I can do for my dear friend. His loss leaves a huge hole in our world. I’d planned to come out to the palace tonight to discuss everything with the three of you.”

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