Page 93 of Dangerous Secrets

It was dangerous, to him and to her.

If she’d harboured the slightest little doubt that Vassily was a criminal, this suitcase shattered that doubt. No one but a criminal could possibly need to handle so much cash.

Vassily was watching her feverishly, expectantly. He knew she’d seen the money. What was she supposed to say? Charity felt the danger in the room, so acutely she felt faint.

She looked around at the other four men. Vassily might look at her with affection—at least until he finally realized that she wasn’t Katya—but the other male faces were watching her with hostility.

Particularly one man, dark with silver-gray hair and harsh set features. When she met his gaze, her heart jolted at the black, fathomless hatred she read there. It came off him in sickening, dark waves.

The terrorist. Oh, God.

Nick had said that the mike wouldn’t pick up her heartbeat, but it seemed impossible to her that it wasn’t. Her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest.

“My dearest Katya,” Vassily said softly. He was standing to one side of the desk, leaning on his cane and staring at her, as if the open suitcase packed with money weren’t there. “Come to me, my dushka. Give me a kiss and then go wait for me outside. We have much to discuss.”

Charity was rooted to the spot, throat too tight for words. There was something terrible in the air, some evil presence just ready to reach out with claws and rake her. The very molecules in the air were screamingdanger. Her skin prickled with it.

Vassily wasn’t moving. He simply watched her with glittering eyes. “Come my dear,” he said again, and held out his arms, elegant black cane dangling from one ruined hand.

She had to do this. Simply had to. And then she was going to plead a headache and never come back here again.

She wasn’t built for undercover work. It felt like her entire body was signalling that she was lying as she slowly walked forward, knowing that Vassily was going to embrace her, knowing that she couldn’t flinch, knowing that she would.

The dark man watched her progress with ice-cold eyes, then turned to Vassily. “Is this necessary?” His voice was harsh, guttural, with a strong Middle Eastern accent. “She is an outsider. She has no business being here.”

Vassily didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at the man. He simply watched as Charity approached, arms wide to receive her. Vassily murmured something in Russian which she didn’t understand but she saw two of the men in the room open their eyes wide in surprise.

The dark man made a sound of disgust, swivelling his head to follow her.

“Katya,” Vassily murmured. Her skin broke out in goosebumps. He was all worked up, eyes shiny, red spots on his cheeks, hands trembling. The cane swayed with his excitement.

The dark man slapped his hand down on the desk in frustration, and she jumped. He was watching her with such hatred she was frightened he’d attack her as she walked by him. If she could, she’d have skirted him, but she couldn’t. He was right in her path

Charity actually heard his teeth grind as she drew even with his chair.

A sudden keening whine started, so loud it hurt her ears, a huge whistling noise that seemed to rise up out of the ground. Everyone froze, except the dark man, the terrorist.

“Spy!” he screamed, jumping up, pulling out a gun. “She’s a spy! She dies!”

“Katya!” Vassily shouted, throwing himself at her. There was the sound of a shot, and she slammed against the wall, her back erupting in pain. Another shot and then all sounds were drowned in the huge explosion that knocked her off her feet and blinded and deafened her.

Christ.

Nick watched, sweating, as Charity entered Worontzoff’s study. This wasn’t in the program. She was supposed to stay far away from everyone except Worontzoff and plead a blinding headache as soon as possible.

Walking into a room with Worontzoff, al-Hassad, his bodyguard and a man who’d smuggled in radioactive material wasn’t what they’d bargained for.

His eyes were glued to the screen, jaws clenched so tightly his temples hurt. Charity was completely alone in a room full of criminals and terrorists. Not just Charity. Charity and his child.

Nick could barely breathe as she entered the room.

Worontzoff, the fuckhead, looked at her as if she had become his personal possession. Al-Hassad was coldly furious.

He saw her realize what the open suitcase held and watched her swallow heavily. Charity was no fool, thank God. She knew the danger she was in. He trusted her to remain alert.

“Prepare for dynamic entry,” he said quietly into his mike. Clicks sounded in response. Nick knew the men were moving, though he couldn’t see them and he couldn’t hear them.

He slanted a hard glance at Di Stefano, ready to take him down if he objected. But Di Stefano was readying his breaching weapon, ready to blow the French windows open if necessary.

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