Prime Target (14 page)

I push back the hair that’s fallen over her beautiful face. “Like what?”

“So honest. So real.” She blinks up at me. “It turns me on and makes me want to be that way with you, too.”

I let my forehead drop to hers as I slow my thrusts, as I force my body to become tender and loving, instead of this savage beast I’ve let out.

This is the only time I can be honest with her. She doesn’t know my real name. She doesn’t know I’m a killer. That I’m a filthy monster hiding in plain sight. Why in the hell did I ever allow things to go this far with us?

“Roman?”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Yes, love?”

“Make me come,” she orders, and just like that, I’m out of my head and focused on her once more.

*

As I suspected,
Everly adores the Astronomical Clock. She takes picture after picture with her phone, smiling all the while.

“Roman,” she shouts, waving me over. “Let’s take a picture together.”

Like a dutiful lover, I stride to her and indulge in the pretense of our relationship. It’s not entirely one-sided, but I’m still guarding my heart against her.

“Thank you,” she says, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

My heart speeds up from her innocent show of affection. So much for guarding it.

I take her hand, lace our fingers together, and begin to walk with her along the streets. It’s cold, and our breath comes out in little puffs.

“Are you enjoying your trip?” I ask, stopping by a street vendor to purchase cups of hot chocolate.

Eyes sparkling in the streetlights, she smiles. “Best trip ever.” Her smile fades. “Well, it would be, if the reason we came here wasn’t because your grandfather had to see a specialist.”

“There is nothing wrong with enjoying yourself.” I hate that she feels so guilty over a lie. “In fact, I told him more about you. Showed him a picture I had taken.”

“You did?” She takes the hot chocolate from the street vendor. “What did he say?”

“That you are a beautiful woman with a loving spirit.”

Her smile returns. “So, that’s where you get your charm.”

It’s where I learned to lie, learned to kill, and learned to enjoy my solitude. “What about you?”

“My charm comes naturally to me.” She winks. “All southern women are born with it. If you aren’t, then they kick you out and make you go live up north with the Yankees.”

“But you’re a Yankee,” I point out.

Everly makes a face, clearly offended. “I am
not
. But some of my friends are, and the little old ladies I help are from up north, bless their hearts,” she adds quickly. She sighs.

“So all Americans are Yankees except for southerners. Is that correct?”

“No.” She gives me a look and I wink at her. With a laugh, she lightly smacks my shoulder. “You are a tease, Roman.”

“I thought you loved it when I tease, so…”

She leans against me and sighs one of her adorable sighs. “I do love you—when you tease me, that is.” An uncomfortable silence fills what little space is between us. I can pretend to have only heard the last part and not the first. But at this moment, I can’t pretend at all. I can’t ignore her slip of the tongue. Yet I remain mute.

After a minute, she clears her throat. “Look. People selling things. I like things.”

She walks away, steaming cup of hot chocolate in her hand. I rub the back of my neck. Take down evil, kill in the morning, and back by the afternoon in order to see her face. Absolutely no problem.

But to acknowledge what lies in Everly’s heart and possibly mine—I’m a bloody rookie.

I
join Everly
on the balcony of our suite. She’s bundled up in a fluffy, white robe. She didn’t say much on the way back, but she held my hand the entire time.

A good sign, I suppose.

The view of Prague from Hotel Pariz is world famous, and the starry sky is beyond words, but all I see is Everly. The graceful curve of her neck, the way her skin nearly glows in the moonlight, and the small smile on her lips. Does she even know I’m outside with her, or is she so lost in her thoughts that I’m not even a blip on her radar?

I cover her small hand with mine. Her skin is ice cold. “Shall we go to bed?”

“I’m not sleepy,” she says, still not turning my way.

“We don’t have to go to sleep.”

She shakes her head, sending mahogany-colored waves tumbling over her back. “I’m not—”

“We could watch a film.”

Finally, she turns to me and there are tears in her eyes. Shocked and furious, I look for the one who has done this to her. “What’s wrong?”

She shrugs, her lower lip trembling. “I don’t know.”

“Are you hurt?”

“I don’t know,” she repeats, and I start to panic. What does she know? Has Viktor gotten to her? “I’m not sure what’s going on, Roman.”

Fuck me. She does know. “I’m only trying to protect you, Everly. I want you to know that. If you believe nothing else about me, believe that I never want to see you hurt or—”

“Protect me from what—myself?” She sniffs, her spine visibly stiffening. “I’m a stupid romantic who decided to take a chance and fly halfway around the world with a man I’ve known for months, yet know absolutely nothing at all about. And it’s plain as the nose on my face that you don’t feel the way I do.”

Taking her by the shoulders, I bend my knees slightly to get on eye level with her. “I forbid you from calling yourself stupid. There’s not a damn thing wrong with being a romantic, with taking a chance. I’ve—you don’t know what I’ve risked being with you.”

“You’re right. I don’t know, because you don’t share anything about yourself, while I can’t shut up. You know everything about me, from my family to my favorite drink. You know what I like to read, my favorite candy…while I don’t even know how you like your coffee. Or how you got that scar on your back.”

I take her in my arms, trying to comfort her. “But you do know,” I murmur into her hair. “You know more about me than you think. More than any other person should.”

“I don’t,” she cries softly. “I only know what you want me to.”

I lean away from her. “What about while I was in the hospital? And later?”

Tears have made wet tracks on her cheeks and the sight of them claws at my heart.
I’m
the one who’s hurt her. “If it weren’t for you getting shot and me finding you, we wouldn’t be together, would we? We never would have had our first date and your grandfather never would have requested to meet me.”

“We…I…you…,” I begin, and then stop. She’s right. We wouldn’t be in this predicament at all. Our weekly flirtation would have stayed exactly that—a flirtation that never went anywhere. “I’m sorry.”

“So I’m right?” she asks in a small voice.

“Everly, I—”

She pushes away from me, heading inside. I start after her.

“Leave me alone, please.”

“Don’t shut me out.”

“Says the man who won’t let me
in
.” She crosses her arms as she turns to face me. “Figure out what you want, Roman. Figure out if I’m worth opening up to, and then do it.” Her chin lifts. “Or I’m going home.”

Fear claws at me—not only at her ultimatum, but also at what will happen to her should I fail to comply. She will die. This much I know. She knows my identity and that’s enough to seal her fate.

In an organization that craves the darkness and shadows, she’s the light that exposes us all.

M
y morning begins,
not with sweet kisses from the woman in my bed, but with a text from Viktor.

V:
The trade is acceptable. Proceed.

Me:
Morocco explodes with flowers on the waterfront at 9 a.m.

I toss the phone onto the nearest table and sit up. The sheet pools around my waist as I stretch. I glance over at Everly. She’s sleeping or pretending to be asleep. Either way, I won’t disturb her. Last night, I considered it a victory when she allowed me to sleep in the same bed.

I won’t push my luck by attempting to touch her. Besides, I doubt she’d welcome it.

I bring up my knees and lean forward, thinking of the best way to handle her demands. The crux of it all—I
want
to be honest with her. I want her to know the real me. Only, I want her to know the real me without the sins of my not-so-distant past.

I suddenly feel her cool fingers on my back, tracing the outline of my scar. Then her lips are upon it, and I hold myself so still that I’m barely breathing.

“How did you get this?” she asks softly, giving me the chance to redeem myself in her eyes. I shouldn’t say anything. I should send her home. I should…

“The scar is a burn, from the barrel of a gun,” I hear myself say.

She inhales sharply and sits up. “Someone burned you on purpose?”

I smile at the outrage in her voice. “No, not on purpose. I did it to myself as a lad by accident.”

Scooting closer to me, she wraps the sheet around her delectable body. “Does it still hurt?”

“I barely know it’s there.”

“Oh,” she says, her eyes now downcast.

I take her hand and place it on my side. “Knife wound.” Then I move it farther down, to the top of my thigh. “Bullet wound.”

Her head jerks up, face pale as she licks her lips nervously. “But that’s not on the side you were shot,” she says faintly.

I move her hand once more, to the other side. “Another knife wound.”

“Are booksellers attacked that often for their merchandise?” she asks, in an obvious attempt at humor.

I shake my head, wordless.

“Oh. Then…” She looks away, and then back at me. “I don’t understand.”

The door crashes open. Everly screams while I shove her behind me and reach for my Glock. Men in black walk inside the room, weapons drawn. Men I recognize as
Bratva
.

“You have a gun,” she shouts into my ear. “When did you get a gun? And who are these people?”

Viktor steps out of the crowd, his smile friendly while his eyes are predatory. What the hell is going on? “He’s had a gun all along, Ms. Andrews,” he says, his voice accentless. “In fact, Mr. Smith is helping us, and we thought his position had been compromised.”

“Compromised?” she repeats.

I glance at her. “He means by you.”

“The CIA tends to frown upon that, ma’am,” Viktor says, throwing himself firmly into the part. It makes more sense to me now, more than ever, why they call him the Chameleon.

“I didn’t know you worked for the CIA,” she says and then lets out a nervous laugh. “And to think I—” She shakes her head and says no more. For that, I am thankful, because Viktor had suddenly become very interested in what she had to say.

“You thought what?” Viktor prompts, and it’s all I can do not to shoot him where he stands. But these are his men in the room.

“Nothing.” The bed dips slightly as she reaches for more blankets. “This is embarrassing,” she mutters.

Grabbing the robe from the end of the bed, I turn to her and wrap it around her bare shoulders. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Everly.
Nothing
.”

Her face is unreadable. She glances away. “Do you even
have
a grandfather?”

Viktor’s smile grows wider. “I’ll leave the two of you to talk while I confer with my captain.”

Captain of what?
I want to shout as he walks away. He exits the room and takes all but one man with him. My hands curl into fists.

I breathe in and then out. Anger is my enemy. Acting without thinking is death. Finally, I gather myself enough to answer her. “I do have a grandfather.”

“Is he here in Prague?”

The less she knows, the better, but I can be honest while avoiding answering the entire question. “No. He’s perfectly healthy and at home in St. Petersburg.”

Her delicately arched brows draw together. “The man who shot you, he is a guy who you were—are—after?”

“Yes. He was a bad guy. He used to sell women into sex rings.” Another truth I can share. Petrov was a reprehensible prick.

“Was… Used to… As in he’s no longer alive?” she asks. There are goosebumps on her chest, as if she’s realized that she’s been sharing a bed with a killer.

“I killed him the other night, while you were shopping.” After making sure the safety is on, I lay my gun down beside me.

“Was he trying to hurt you?”

“Yes.”

A slow nod of her head. “Then I’m glad you killed him,” she says. “My friend, Elle, works with women who’ve been pimped out and sold. They’re like empty shells, and they think their worth is only in how much they can get for their bodies.”

Her response is nothing like I thought it would be. I stare at her. “You’re glad I killed a man?”

“He wasn’t a man. He was a monster who tried to hurt you and had already hurt countless women,” she says, though now she’s shaking. Hard. “I’m glad you work with—with that man to help people.”

“Are you certain?”

She shrugs helplessly. “I’m trying to be, but it’s not easy to find out the man you—you… It’s not easy.”

Opening my arms, I wait for her to come to me. I want this to be her decision, not one I press upon her. Without hesitation, she buries her face in my neck, throwing herself against me until only the bedsheets separate us.