Page 52 of Dangerous Secrets

Veuve Cliquot, no less.

Nick couldn’t indulge in even half a glass. Not for security reasons—actually, not drinking a drop in an assembly like this one drew more attention and would compromise the mission more than getting shit-faced—but because the acid roiling in his stomach wouldn’t let him drink a drop of the bubbly. He’d just throw it up, and wouldn’t that be great for an undercover agent?

Nick barely recognized his own body. Danger didn’t freak him out, didn’t make him sweat or fill his stomach up with acid. Danger focused him, made him bright and hard, cool and controlled. Iceman.

Not now. He had a bad case of the jitters, for the first time in his life. The signals he was getting from the outside world—the armed guards everywhere, the cameras—weren’t doing it. Those signals just confirmed he was dealing with criminals. What wasmessing with him so badly was intangible, a constant buzzing vibe he found it impossible to ignore, and it had to do with Charity’s presence here.

Worontzoff had used the time in which he was outside the room to herd Charity away from the other guests and into a secluded corner. Nick saw them immediately, the instant he crossed the threshold, his eyes turned like a magnet to her.

Charity standing close to the wall with Worontzoff, his back to the crowd, cutting her off from everyone. Charity wasn’t reading it that way at all. She was smiling up at him, talking animatedly, that lovely face pink with excitement.

Nothing in her body language even remotely communicated distress, though she was standing a hand’s span from a monster. She hadn’t learned to recognize what he was because monsters hadn’t been a part of her life. She thought Worontzoff was human.

She sure as hell wouldn’t smile up at him if she knew half the things he was capable of.

Then the fucker reached out an arm and put it around Charity’s shoulders and her smile brightened. Worontzoff bent down to whisper in her ear and Charity’s bright laugh rose clearly in the air, audible all the way across the room.

Every cell in Nick’s body screamed and jangled. He had to actually stop and take a breath, because what he wanted to do was to rush forward, break Worontzoff’s arm, throw Charity over his shoulder and get out of there, just as fast as was humanly possible.

His entire system buzzed with the need toget Charity out. Hand reaching for a gun that he couldn’t use, adrenaline flooding his body with no outlet possible.

Usually, his hunches were fairly subtle—a vague feeling that he should zig instead of zag. But there was nothing subtle aboutthis. This was full out red alert, the siren in the submarine booming remorselessly just before the incoming torpedo hits.

Part of it was jealousy, of course. Two hours ago, he’d painted kisses across Charity’s shoulders, right where Worontzoff had his arm. That pretty breast pressing against the jacket of Worontzoff’s tux—he’d kissed it and suckled it so often he felt like he owned it.

So, yeah. He was jealous. Jealousy wasn’t anything he’d ever felt before, so it took him a second to recognize it.

He hated another man’s hands on her, another man making her laugh, another man inside her space.

But it was more than jealousy. There was terror bubbling right underneath, sharp and electric. Worontzoff was obsessed with her, with the woman who could have been his Katya reborn.

But it was make-believe. Charity only looked like Katya. She was another woman entirely and when Worontzoff finally figured that out—that his Katya was forever dead and Charity could never take her place—God only knew what kind of revenge he would take.

Worontzoff moved. Nick’s whole system jolted, another layer of sweaty fear added to the mix. Worontzoff had shifted so he could come closer to Charity, in profile to Nick. Who could now clearly see what had been hidden before.

A hard-on. The fucker had ahard-on. It was lightly hidden by his jacket but it was unmistakable. Thank God Charity didn’t notice anything, smiling upwards into Worontzoff’s face, chattering away. Knowing her, she was talking about a good book she’d read, the upcoming concert, her garden. She was clueless.

Clueless people ended up dead around monsters, and they died badly. Charity’s pretty head was filled with literature and music, love for her aunt and uncle and kindness towards her friends. She had no idea what the outside world was like. Shehad no idea that the man she was probably discussing concerto movements with could have her strung up on a meat hook, as one of the women who’d testified against Worontzoff’s proxy in Belgrade, Milic, had been.

Nick was the one who’d lifted the woman off the hook and down to the floor. The man who ran that prostitution ring answered directly to Worontzoff.

When Worontzoff’s madness ebbed, when he finally realized that Charity really and truly wasn’t his Katya come back to life, but a nice little American librarian, his revenge would be swift and terrifying.

Nick’s feverish imagination could conjure up any number of horrifying scenarios. Someone might lift Charity’s body off a butcher’s hook one day.

The thought drove him crazy-wild, made his whole system buzz with terror, made his heart thud.

He wouldn’t be there to protect her. One way or another, he’d be gone soon, leaving Charity staked out like a lamb for the wolves. There would be nothing between her and some of the most ruthless men on earth.

Nick’s fists clenched and for a second, he forgot to hold his wristwatch in a position to record his surroundings. He watched Charity and willed her to leave. To just turn her back on this monster and walk away.

He could protect her now. Break cover, then put her in protective custody until they’d put the scumbags away. Even if that meant ripping her from her life forever, it was worth it. Once the image of Charity’s broken, lifeless body bloomed in his mind like a poisonous flower, he couldn’t get rid of it.

Leave him, Nick told her from across the room, sending her screaming mental vibes.Get out of here. Run for your life.

As if sensing danger, Worontzoff’s back stiffened and he turned his head swiftly. Too fast for Nick to look away, or wipethe expression of hatred from his face. Their gazes met, and locked.

Nick could feel the cold blast from across the room and his stomach clenched as Worontzoff turned back to Charity and, smiling, held out his arm. From the next room came the sounds of musicians tuning their instruments. Worontzoff gave a look to one of his thugs dressed as a servant and a brass bell was rung.

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