Smoke and Mirrors (19 page)

Reassured, Nell returned her cousin’s hug and made for the door. She wondered where Rodion was. She wondered where the man in the blue T-shirt was. She retrieved her things from the cloakroom and asked the girl there for a taxi number.

Two bouncers lounged against the unmanned ticket desk, idly chatting and watching her cross the foyer.

As she stepped alone into the street, she felt more frustrated than ever, and yet she was on a high because she’d seen him again, because he still set all her pulses racing and he still wanted to kiss her. At the very least. There may have been a new wariness, a deeper suspicion in his manner, but that wasn’t necessarily aimed at her. The important thing was, he was alive. She’d found him. Or at least, he’d found her, and now the possibilities were endless.

There appeared to be a lull in business. No new clients arriving and none apart from Nell leaving. The bouncers had retreated inside, and Nell waited at the kerb for her taxi, alone with her galloping thoughts.

When the attack came, it took her completely by surprise. Someone grabbed her from behind, with an arm around her throat, and bent her right arm painfully up her back. Without thought, before she even had time to feel, she lashed back with her left elbow and her head. Both connected so violently that it hurt like hell, but at least her attacker’s grip loosened enough for her to bolt. Derryn would have been proud of her.

She didn’t get far. He grabbed her by the shoulder, and she felt the cold sharpness of a blade at her throat. She froze, staring at the knife and the hand that held it. Then another hand closed over the first; there was a yelp, and the knife clattered to the ground.

Nell whirled around in time to see Rodion crash his fist into the man’s face. He went down like a stone, but Rodion was after him, hauling him off the ground by a handful of sweatshirt. Her attacker looked terrified. Not only that, he wasn’t the man in the blue T-shirt.

“Kosar,” he whispered.

Rodion was frowning. “You don’t work for the Bear.”

“Fuck no. Passing money, Kosar, for a quick job. I didn’t know she was a friend of yours. The thing—”

“Who paid you?” Rodion interrupted.

“English bloke. Leather jacket, blue T-shirt.”

English?
What the hell did that mean? Had Derryn gone back on his word and sent one of his real agents to watch her?

Rodion yanked the man to his feet. “I should kill you just to keep your mouth shut.”

“No need for that, Kosar,” her attacker pleaded. “I’m silent as the grave.”

“You could be. Fuck off, Fedor.”

The man bolted. Rodion and she both looked after him. “I’m going to regret that,” Rodion said, just as the man in the blue T-shirt stepped out of a doorway with a gun. Fedor, her attacker, skidded to a halt, hands spread wide. The man in the blue T-shirt shot him.

Nell’s mouth opened in a silent scream.

“Or not,” Rodion said through the echoing blast as he turned sharply on his heels. “Walk.”

As once before, he held her arm and hurried her through cobbled streets, dodging up alleys and through gardens until she was thoroughly lost.

“Sonya,” Nell gasped, suddenly pulling away. “I have to go back. I can’t leave Sonya alone with that nutter out there.”

“He isn’t after Sonya, is he?” Rodion said. “He paid Fedor to go after you.”

“The man in the blue T-shirt.” Nell stared up at him. “Who’s English. This doesn’t make any sense. Why do people start trying to kill me whenever I talk to you?”

“You’re just lucky. Some people get killed without ever talking to me.”

“Will you be ser—” she began angrily, then broke off. Rodion looked at her. She said, “He was after you, wasn’t he? Using me to draw you out of cover. And he shot your friend there so he couldn’t tell anyone else. Who the fuck
is
that guy?”

“I’ll make a point of asking,” Rodion said grimly. “In here. I’ll buy you a drink.”

It was a tiny bar without a sign of any kind. The only woman present looked almost like a stereotype of a prostitute. She smiled at Rodion. He nodded to her and to the barman, who wordlessly poured two glasses of vodka. Rodion picked them up, dumped them at the table by the kitchen door, and adjusted a stool to sit blocking anyone’s view of her.

He got out his phone and read something before deleting it.

“He’s British secret service,” he said. “According to Ilya.”

Fuck.
Derryn after all. Lying, deceitful, traitorous bastard. Although, if she was honest, this was rather the pot calling the kettle black.

“He can’t be that secret, then,” Nell objected.

“Oh, Ilya can get classified information from just about anywhere.”

Then she hoped Derryn had at least stuck to her condition that her name be kept off any official lists.

Rodion leaned back so that his shoulder touched the peeling wall. “So how have you been? Have you missed me?”

Baffled, she gazed at him. “Either that or I wanted to slap you. I came, didn’t I? Without invitation. Perhaps I should be asking if
you
missed
me
, except I already know the answer.”

He smiled, and it was more devastating than ever, almost depriving her of breath. “Do you? I wonder. They have rooms here, you know. I could get us one.”

“Is that why you brought me in here?”

“No, I’m waiting to see if your compatriot is still following us. But as a fringe benefit, I wouldn’t mind. Apart from the bed fleas.”

“You know how to seduce a girl, don’t you?”

“Can I?” he asked.

She frowned. “Can you what?”

“Seduce you.”

She flushed, reduced, not for the first time in their acquaintance, to speechlessness. He smiled. “I love it when you do that.” Unexpectedly, he lifted her hand off the table and pressed his lips to her palm. Electricity sizzled right through to her toes and all points between. “Thank you,” he said softly.

“For what?”

“For coming here. For trying to help.” His knee brushed against hers. “For kissing me. I missed you a lot, for what it’s worth.”

“Is that true? Or a necessary lie?”

“You still haven’t learned self-worth, have you?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m a realist. And God knows I’m no femme fatale.” She lifted her vodka and sipped. It was wicked and burned and tasted ridiculously good.

“They brew it in the bathtub,” Rodion said. He reached out, and her breath caught. He ran his finger through a lock of her hair, a smile playing on his lips. “Femme fatale,” he repeated. “I don’t know quite what that is. But if it counts, right now I’d probably be prepared to die for a night of unfettered passion in your arms.” His eyebrow twitched as heat flooded through her body to her face. “I may yet do so. Die, I mean.”

She gave a shaky laugh. “If only you can find the right way to seduce me?”

“How am I doing so far?”

“Your approach is novel,” she allowed. “It always was. Maybe that’s why I keep falling for it.”

His knee moved more definitely against hers. She stared at their joined hands, then lifted her gaze to his face. “What happened to you?” she asked huskily. “All I saw was you exploding into a ball of fire and catapulting down the road. When the smoke cleared, you’d gone. No body. No ashes. Nothing.”

Rodion turned the glass in his left hand as though admiring the clarity of the liquid, then lifted it to his lips and knocked back a good half of it. “Let’s just say it was a damned close-run thing. When Marenko gave the order to move the treasure, I burned the ladder he was climbing to escape. I was gathering energy for another attack—I thought I might need it to kill Marenko to protect you. The Guardian felt it and decided I’d had enough chances. She decided to take me out.

“Fortunately, I’d been preparing for that. I blended the energy of her fire into mine and used it to lessen the heat and increase my protection.” He glanced at her. “Sounds such a load of bollocks, doesn’t it?”

“A month ago, I’d have said that to you. How did you get away? Where did you go?”

“Anna and the others picked me up. They were always our getaway, although, in the original plan, they weren’t supposed to go looking for me. The rest of the journey is pretty dull—and a bit of a blur, to be honest, although I did renew acquaintance with the friendly trawler captain. What about you? What did you do in the weeks since I considerately exploded back out of your life?”

Even then, she knew he was turning the subject. There were things he didn’t want to talk about, or think about, so she didn’t press it.

Instead, she said, “I went to see my dad in prison.”

He
‘d been in prison. One even less salubrious than Saughton. Maybe that was why he looked interested, and the whole story of the visit and how it affected her came out. She hadn’t meant to say half that stuff. It was hardly the time. But he listened. In her experience, that was rare in a man. He even commented.

“So you’ll look after him when he gets out? He’ll need you. I think you need each other.”

She regarded him. “Was it like that for you? When you came out?”

He finished the vodka, so she knew she was back on difficult ground. “My case was different. I was busted out and thrust into action. I didn’t leave the fear behind, because so much depended on what I did or didn’t do. But yes, even I needed the support of family to adjust.”

“Anna?”

“Anna,” he agreed, raising his empty glass as if in a toast. His eyes flickered as the pub door opened and closed again behind one of the patrons who’d gone out for a moment. Not for a cigarette. The air was thick with smoke inside.

“The coast is clear,” Rodion said casually.

“How do you know?”

“The man with the giant moustache has just been out to check. No sign of your friend.”

“How do you know that without even turning round?”

“Magic,” Rodion said.

“So, are we leaving?”

“If you want to. Or we could finish our drinks. We never did have a civilised date.”

“I don’t think this counts as civilised when someone tried to kill me.”

“Actually, I don’t think he did, although he’d have been happy enough to rough you up a bit. You saw him off. Nice moves, by the way.”

“I did judo when I was at school. Apparently, it didn’t all leave me.” It didn’t. Derryn’s trainer had been grudgingly complimentary in their brief session together before she left Scotland.

Rodion’s eyes never wavered from hers. Somehow he still held on to her hand. She’d let him because the touch soothed and excited her. It was an irresistible combination. The horror of the attack, of seeing a man die, faded remarkably quickly in his company.

He rubbed his fingers gently over the soft skin between her thumb and forefinger, moving round to caress her wrist, lingering over her galloping pulse. She shivered.

He said, “I was lying. The sheets here don’t have fleas.” He stood, drawing her to her feet. “Stay. Please.”

This time, she had several smart and witty responses to choose from, but the words wouldn’t come out, because his normally hard, veiled eyes were raw with need, with the storm of lust that excited her beyond endurance. She rose in silence and let him lead her through the kitchen door to a narrow staircase. Her heart thundered. Between her legs, arousal pooled and clamoured.

He went first, still holding her hand as he climbed the first two stairs and waited for her to join him on the wider third. There, he pushed her against the wall and ran a lock of her hair between his fingers. Then he bent and seized her mouth in his.

She grabbed on to him for support, opening wide under his onslaught. He grabbed her leg, hooking it over his hip so he could push his erection more effectively between her thighs. She gasped into his mouth, writhing, straining into him as the lust galloped out of control. His hand stroked the thigh hooked around his hip, reaching up under her dress and over her stocking to the bare flesh above.

“Nell. Yelena,” he groaned against her lips. “I could do it here and now. I can’t wait any longer.”

She broke free of his mouth. “How far do we have to go?” she gasped.

“One flight. A bloody marathon.”

She smiled and kissed him. “I expected better stamina,” she teased.

“You’ll get it,” he promised and swept her upward, half carrying her the rest of the way up the stairs and falling into one of the rooms at the top. Her back hit the inside of the door, her coat was flung on the floor, and he pulled her dress up over her head. “Underwear,” he said, as though surprised to see her bra.

“I bring clean clothes on most visits when I get the chance.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

She did, while he unclipped her bra with practiced ease and slid his hands up over her breasts. Christ, she’d missed his touch, so eager and tender. Her nipples ached with need under his palms, his teasing fingers; her whole body seemed to contract and pulse with pleasure.

He pulled back to look at her, moving his hands aside and smiling at what they revealed. She tugged at his jeans, loosening his belt, and then she cried out as his hand slid between her thighs and cupped her.

“Oh yes,” he whispered. “That’s what I wanted to feel. You, so wet and hot…for me.” He wrenched down his jeans and underpants, and his cock sprang free. Nell’s mouth went dry. He delved inside his coat and came out with a condom, which he unwrapped and rolled on in record time. Then he paused and looked at her.

“Now, Rodion,” she said shakily. “Do it now.”

He pushed her up on tiptoe, pulling aside her panties. She felt his cock nudge against the sensitive skin of her pussy, and then he pushed in with a groan. She clutched him, gasping, as the excitement morphed suddenly into blinding, galloping pleasure. He pushed in farther, harder, and she came, falling apart while he stared at her, holding her upright and grinding slowly inside her as though he couldn’t help it.

“Fuck,” he said as she began to refocus on his avid face. “That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Laughter caught in her throat, quickly changing to something more breathless as he strode with her to the bed and fell onto it with her beneath him. He was still wearing his coat.

“You’ve given me yet another ambition,” he said, holding very still inside her.