Alec's Royal Assignment (Man On A Mission Book 3) (12 page)

His chest swelled with pride, and Angelina quickly lowered her eyes to mask the gleam of satisfaction at how easily he could be manipulated. “Now, with your eyes closed, Mr. Tabor,” she said, keeping her voice guileless, “think about Yuri and Sasha whispering together.” She used their first names deliberately, stressing the difference between them and the formal way she called him “
Mr.
Tabor,”
as if he were more important than they were, more respectable. “Think about how they thought they were keeping secrets from you but you were too smart for them. You could hear them sometimes, but you did not let on. You did not trust them, so you listened. Not to spy on them—you are too honorable a man for that—but to protect yourself, yes?”

“Yes. That is exactly what I thought.”

Her voice was soft and deliberately feminine, but low and mesmerizing. Not putting the man in a trance—not exactly. But lulling him into a cocoon of security. “They are talking together. Whispering, perhaps. But you can hear them. You pretend you do not, but you can hear them. They speak a name, a name you do not recognize, but you know it is important somehow. You know you must remember this name in case they try to deprive you of your fair share of the money. The money Prince Nikolai offered through Sasha. The money you need to regain your pride as a man. The money you need to win back your wife.”

Mentioning his wife was a calculated risk, but Angelina took it. And it didn’t draw a protest from Boris Tabor. “No, you will not let them trick you out of the money you have earned,” she continued, still with that soft, hypnotic cadence. “So you remember the name. The name. You say it to yourself over and over so you will never forget. You repeat it when they are not around. It is burned in your memory now. You know it, yes? The name they whispered together. The name you
must
remember.”

“Yes,” Tabor said in a near trance. “Vishenko. Alexei Vishenko. Another Russian, like Yuri. I did not recognize the name, but I knew it was important. Prince Nikolai—Tcholek said Prince Nikolai would pay, but he was in prison. How could he pay? I needed the money. A fortune I was promised. I could not trust Tcholek because he lied when he said Prince Nikolai would pay. So I listened. And then I knew the money came from the other Russian, from Alexei Vishenko.”

Tabor came to the end of his recitation and there was a long silence. Then he opened his eyes and stared at her, almost transfixed, as if he couldn’t believe he’d told her the name he’d denied even existed.

“Thank you, Mr. Tabor,” Angelina said with a disarming smile. “I am glad you remembered the name. Glad you told me. The king will be grateful, too.”

“You...” Boris Tabor shouted. “You tricked me!” He was out of his seat almost before Angelina could react, reaching for her throat. She blocked his hands with an upraised forearm and twisted one of his arms behind his back, immobilizing him and pushing him facedown onto the table. Captain Zale and the two majors rushed into the interview room and quickly reattached the handcuffs Angelina had undone, cuffing Tabor’s arms behind his back.

“Come, Mr. Tabor,” Captain Zale said pleasantly. “Let me return you to your cell.” He glanced at Angelina, his eyes warm with respect and admiration. “I will return shortly, Lieutenant.”

She picked up her clipboard, which had been knocked to the floor in the scuffle, and faced Majors Kostya and Branko.

They were staring at her, not exactly in amazement, but with nearly identical expressions that said they couldn’t believe Angelina had been successful where they, and all the other male interrogators, had failed.

She drew herself up to her full five feet eleven inches. She was still shorter than the majors, but she wouldn’t back down to them. She couldn’t let them intimidate her, either. Her dream was to someday attain their exalted rank, and she knew that would never happen if she didn’t stand up for herself. “Yes, Major Branko?” she asked coolly, looking from one to the other. “Major Kostya? You had a question?”

Major Kostya glanced at Major Branko, then back at Angelina. “Do you know what you have done, Lieutenant?”

“I think so,” she answered cautiously.

Major Branko spoke then. “Do you know who Alexei Vishenko is?”

She wished she did. The name obviously meant something to these men, but not to her. All she knew was that Alexei Vishenko—whoever he was—was the real mastermind behind the plot to assassinate the crown prince. Might even be involved in the death of Prince Nikolai, but she wouldn’t know that until further investigation. “No, sir,” she said finally. “I do not know who he is.”

“You have heard of the
Bratva
, yes?” said Major Kostya.

Startled, she said, “Yes, sir. It means the Brotherhood, does it not? The Russian mob. But they do not operate in Zak—” She broke off, shaking her head in disbelief at the carefully blank expressions on their faces. “Not here in Zakhar?”

“Yes, here,” Major Kostya confirmed. “The king did not know this until recently. But yes, the
Bratva’s
tentacles have even reached into Zakhar.”

“So who is Alexei Vishenko?”

“His real name is Aleksandrov Vishenko,” Major Branko explained. “Interpol knows him by both names. He is the head of a branch of the
Bratva
that operates in the US...as well as Zakhar.” His face was impassive. “He deals in drugs. Money laundering. Prostitution.”

When she heard the word
prostitution
,
Angelina suddenly remembered what Alec had told her about why he was here. About why the king had requested him and only him as the US embassy’s RSO.
“The king brought me here because there’s a human-trafficking ring operating between Zakhar and the US, for purposes of prostitution.”

Was it possible? Could Alexei Vishenko—the Russian mobster behind the assassination attempt—be the same man who was responsible for the human-trafficking ring that had ensnared Caterina? And if he was, what could she do about it? How could she use this information to help find her cousin...if she was even still alive?

“You will keep that information to yourself, Lieutenant,” Major Kostya ordered, casting a reproving glance at his colleague, as if he’d said too much.

“Captain Zale—”

“Not even Captain Zale,” insisted Major Kostya coldly. “Unless and until the king himself authorizes the release of that information.”

“But the investigation,” she began. “The attempted assassination... Captain Zale needs to know there could be a connection.”

“We will take the investigation from here, and will inform His Majesty.”

Resentment flared through her. How dare these men—majors who far outranked her, yes, but still
men
—pat her on the head, in effect, and tell her to run along? They weren’t the ones who’d tricked Boris Tabor into giving up Alexei Vishenko’s name. They weren’t the ones who’d saved Crown Prince Raoul, either, despite their air of superiority. It was the
queen’s
security detail—she and Captain Zale—not the
king’s
who’d accomplished those things.

As Captain Zale had said just over a week ago, the king’s men thought they were in command. But Captain Zale had also said,
“Let them think they are superior. We know the truth. And
we
—not
they
—will ensure a successful outcome.”

Military law wasn’t the same as civilian law, but ever since she’d joined the Zakharian National Forces, Angelina had made it a point to add a detailed understanding of military law to her résumé in addition to her civil law degree. In the normal course of things—if they were all just members of the military—the majors, who outranked Captain Zale as well as herself—could give her an order she had to obey.

But while she was still a member of the Zakharian National Forces, she was on detached status. That meant the normal code of military law didn’t apply. Captain Zale answered directly to Colonel Marianescu, who answered directly to the king—and she answered to Captain Zale.

Angelina knew the majors had no legal authority to give her an order in violation of the chain of command. She would not tell them this, however, but would let them think they’d intimidated her into silence while she ignored their
illegal
order and informed Captain Zale at the first opportunity.

Chapter 12

A
ngelina’s first thought as soon as she left the jail was to call Alec and share the good news with him. Then she quashed that impulse.
Do not get into the habit of relying on him,
she warned herself.
Not even to celebrate.
A warning that would be difficult to remember, especially since she didn’t want to.

If she couldn’t tell Alec, she couldn’t tell anyone. Certainly not her parents. And none of her friends, either. This was an ongoing investigation, and until all the guilty parties had been arrested, she had to keep what she knew confidential. Except from Alec. Alec, who was here at the king’s instigation. Who’d
intervened
, as he’d explained to the king, to help break up the assassination attempt. Who’d discussed her with the king—man-to-man, as he’d worded it—to get him to intercede on her behalf with Captain Zale.

Using that as an excuse to do what she wanted anyway, she pulled out her cell phone and hit the speed-dial button for Alec’s office in the embassy. He’d keyed all his numbers into her cell phone last night over her perfunctory objections.

He wasn’t in his office. Or at least that’s what his administrative assistant told Angelina when the American woman picked up the phone. “No, no message,” she said abruptly. “I will call back, thank you.”

She called his cell phone, but it went right to voice mail. She didn’t leave a message.

She was disappointed beyond belief, because she’d wanted to hear his voice. Wanted to hear him call her “Angel” the way no one else did. He’d be proud of what she’d managed to accomplish. Alec had believed in her when she’d been at her lowest point emotionally. Now she wanted to share this emotional high with him, as well.

But she didn’t call back. She told herself she was too busy, and she was. She made sure of it, even though it was an off-duty day for her. She stopped to see her parents and listened to their carping with as much patience as she could muster. She went to the gym, working out with weights as she did religiously three times a week, as well as sparring with her tae kwon do instructor, and having the satisfaction of taking him down twice. She practiced for an hour at the gun range—she was sharp and intended to stay sharp.

Grocery shopping really had been a necessity—she was out of milk and eggs and several other items she used every day. She returned books to the library. She ran every errand she could think of, even laying flowers on the graves of Caterina’s parents— something she’d neglected to do lately, she realized as guilt washed through her. She tried to make it to the cemetery once a month, doing what her cousin would have done if she could.

She found herself loitering near the US embassy for no reason she could fathom, gazing longingly at the windows, wondering which one was Alec’s office.
This must stop,
she told herself sternly, forcing herself to turn around and head toward her apartment with her firm stride.
You are acting like...

Like most of the women of her acquaintance, whose men took precedence in their lives. They had stimulating, fulfilling careers but would gladly trade them for the traditional Zakharian role of wife and mother. Only a handful of women would choose otherwise.

The more Angelina thought about it, the more wound up she became. Back at her apartment, she quickly changed into her jogging clothes and headed out for the run she’d skipped this morning because she’d wanted to get to the jail as early as possible to interrogate the prisoner after Captain Zale told her she could.

She jogged for miles, looping through the central district, then out to the palace on the hill and back again before heading to the walkway that followed the meandering path of the river. She ran until she was drenched with sweat and the sun was setting. With a stitch in her side, she forced herself to walk back to her apartment through the chill of the evening.

Alec was waiting for her by her front door when she got off the elevator. The smile that broke over his face when he saw her would have gladdened the heart of most women if they hadn’t been working themselves into a frenzy the way Angelina had.

His smile faded when she didn’t return his smile, just stared at him with a distant, uncompromising expression she knew held no welcome. “What’s wrong?” he asked, walking toward her, too perceptive not to know immediately something wasn’t right, and too direct not to question it.

“Nothing.” Angelina wasn’t about to tell him. But when he went to kiss her, she shied away, and his face hardened with understanding.

“You didn’t call back.” He almost bit off the words. Accusing.

“How did you know I—” she began, and then grew angry at herself for the betrayal. “You were busy,” she told him tightly. “As was I.”

“Not too busy to go jogging,” he said, indicating her sweaty clothes that were a dead giveaway. “If you’d told me, we could have gone together. If you’d waited for me...”

“I did not need a man to jog with me.”

Comprehension dawned on his face, and his eyes narrowed. “So that’s what this is all about.” His sudden anger took her by surprise. “Did it ever occur to you that
I
might need
you
?” he asked tightly. “That I might have had a hell of a day? That I might have needed the stress relief jogging brings? That I might have needed your company—not to soothe me, not to minister to me, but just to
be
with me? To be with someone who
understands
? Or don’t you give a damn about me?”

Her anger rose to match his. “
I
am not the one who was unavailable. If you needed me, why did you not call? You have my phone numbers—you insisted I give them to you. But you did not call, not even when you suspected I had called you. You think I have nothing better to do than wait around in case you have a free moment? That my work is not important, too?”

She pushed past him to get to her apartment, but he caught her arm and swung her around. “Damn it, Angel,” he said gratingly. “Don’t walk away from me when we’re fighting.”

She jerked her arm away from his hand. “Touch me again and die,” she hissed at him. They stared at each other for a few seconds, both of them breathing heavily. Then Alec did something Angelina never expected. He laughed.

At first, his laughter merely fueled her anger, but then he said, “Touch me and die. Christ, Angel, do you have any idea how much that makes me want you? How much that makes me want to ravage you? Force you to admit you want me as much as I want you? You have no clue, do you?”

* * *

Alec and Angelina barely made it inside her front door before they were tearing each other’s clothes off. Frantic kisses. Random words of need and desire. He managed to get a condom on just in the nick of time before she enveloped him, meeting his fierce thrusts with demands of her own—now, now,
now
! He plastered her against the wall, riding her fast and hard until she came in a shuddering wave of desire unlike anything she’d ever known.

She sagged against his shoulder and realized he wasn’t done. He was still rock hard inside her body, but waiting. Waiting for her to be ready for him to continue. “Alec,” she moaned, unable to prevent that
needy
catch in her voice. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, her nipples still aching from contact with him and from an orgasm that had shredded her self-control.

Then he moved again. Slower this time. Tantalizing both of them. But less than a minute later, his tempo increased. As if even Alec’s iron self-control had limits and they’d reached them. His mouth found hers and took possession of it. Demanding, not coaxing. And Angelina gave him everything. Willingly. Then he grasped her hips, holding her in place as his thrusts grew wild. Frenzied. And the world spun out of focus as she came again just as he did, arching into her one last time, throwing back his head in a wordless cry.

She would have slumped to the floor when her knees gave way, except he held her in place against the wall. His eyes were closed, his throat working soundlessly, and he was breathing as if he’d been running flat out. When she made a little sound and attempted to free herself, he managed to say, “Give me a minute, Angel,” so she did.

When he finally withdrew from her body, she thought he’d let her go, but he didn’t. He still held her hips, but then his hands slid up, over the curve of her waist, the sides of her breasts, grasping her shoulders so she couldn’t escape when he demanded, “Why?”

“Why?” She was too dazed to understand what he was asking.

“Why were you avoiding me?”

“I was not—” she began. Then she admitted, “You are right. I
was
avoiding you.”

“Did I do something? Did I
not
do something?”

“That is not why...” She shook her head, unable to explain the convoluted thought process that had led to their confrontation. This time when she pulled away from him he let her go.

“Then why?” As if she owed him an answer.

And I do owe him an answer,
she admitted to herself. And though her answer was just as logical as his question, there were layers of complexity to it. Layers he probably wouldn’t understand. “Shower first,” she deferred. “I needed a shower even before I saw you, and now...” When she glanced down at her pile of sweaty clothes and chuckled, he joined in.

“Yeah, we both need one now.”

They washed each other leisurely beneath the shower spray, drawing pleasure from bodies that were well matched physically. Angelina loved the way his muscles rippled beneath the surface of his smooth skin when her fingers stroked over his arms, his chest, his abs and lower. He wasn’t a muscle-bound weight lifter—his powerful body had a purpose more important than just showing off. Just as hers did.

She couldn’t get over how much her body pleased him, an enjoyment he didn’t bother to hide. Not to mention the inevitable reaction his body had to hers. But when she would have caressed his arousal, he held her off. “Not this time,” he told her firmly.

He shut off the water and they toweled themselves dry in silence. Neither had any false modesty. Neither pretended not to look, to sneak peeks at each other’s bodies. They looked openly, pleased at what they saw.

They fell into bed together, and Alec drew her into his arms, flush against his body. “So why?” he asked, as if their earlier conversation hadn’t been interrupted by the shower they’d just taken.

She didn’t pretend she didn’t know what he was asking. “Because I was excited about something and wanted to share it with you, but you were not available.” That was only part of the story, and Alec obviously knew it because he waited patiently for the rest. “So I did other things. Things I would normally do on my day off. But then I found myself standing on the sidewalk outside the US embassy with no idea how I had gotten there. It was not a conscious thing—my feet just followed that path. And all at once I realized...”

“That you wanted to be with me?”

She shook her head. “More than that,” she admitted in a low voice. “That I
needed
to be with you.”

* * *

Alec sighed in relief as understanding finally dawned. “It’s not a crime, Angel,” he said softly. “Needing someone. It’s not a crime to admit it, either.”
Maybe for her it is,
he thought. Then he remembered what he’d told her before, and he could have kicked himself for not realizing. “I know I told you I want to be the one who gives you what you need,” he said, emotion making his voice rough. “And that’s the truth. But I didn’t tell you how much
I
need
you.
I didn’t...” The words wouldn’t come easily. The words that would explain so she’d never doubt him...would never doubt
them
again.

“I never needed anyone before. Not like this. Not like you. My family—yeah. My brother Liam. But that’s not the same thing at all.” He was silent for a moment and she didn’t say anything, just snuggled closer. Moved her hand so it was lying against his heart, and he drew courage from that silent confession.

“I didn’t realize a man could need this way,” he admitted. “I didn’t realize
I
could need this way.” It still wasn’t enough. He had to break through that wall in her head, in her heart. “It’s as if I’ve lived in a world of black and white all my life, Angel. But with you, everything is in color. Glorious, unbelievable color. Could I go back to my black-and-white world? Yeah. If I had to. I just don’t want to.”

His arms tightened around her. “Please don’t doubt what we have together. The jobs we do... I could be dead tomorrow. So could you. But we’d survive. That’s the way we’re made—we’re survivors.” He breathed deeply. “But don’t exile me back to that black-and-white world just because you’re afraid of needing me.”

He rolled over suddenly, taking her with him. Pinning her beneath his body. “You’re the bravest woman I know,” he told her fiercely. “You’re not afraid of
anything
, not even death. Don’t be afraid of needing me.”

* * *

Aleksandrov Vishenko settled back against the leather seat of his cherished 2011 black Lincoln Town Car—the last year the luxury vehicle had been built—his hard, cold eyes fixed on the man sitting next to him in the backseat, the man he’d bought and paid for years ago.

They were alone. At least, the man
thought
they were alone, a condition he’d imposed on all their meetings from the very beginning, and Vishenko had humored him. Vishenko’s chauffeur had driven his boss in the Lincoln to this deserted parking lot in the wee small hours of the morning for this arranged, illicit meeting, then had gotten out of the car and walked away, leaving them alone. Vishenko’s bodyguards were hidden everywhere. They could see, but they couldn’t hear. And that was good enough for Vishenko.

He hid his contempt for the other man because he was still useful. When the man was no longer useful, he would be dead. Vishenko knew that, but the other man did not. He might
suspect
, but he didn’t
know.
Vishenko had used that suspicion more than once to his own benefit.

“What do you have for me?” he asked in a voice as cold as ice.