Stripped (47 page)

Brandon felt suddenly, violently ill. He threw the paper aside. “What the fuck is this?”

Aaron let out a heavy sigh. Compassion filled his gaze. “Kelly, Kate’s sister-in-law, said her brother Erik never talked much about how he met Kate. She’s never met Natalya, and she didn’t know her name. But she knew Kate had a fraternal twin sister that Kate evidently didn’t talk to any more.”

The churning in Brandon’s gut intensified as two cups of coffee threatened to make a reappearance.

“After Erik’s death, Kelly found that picture in a box of his things from college. She was saving them for Kate.”

Twin sister. They didn’t look a damn thing alike until he’d seen that picture of Natalya with blond hair.

Though that alone was enough to make him nauseous, the
fiancée
part concerned him more. He gestured where the newspaper had landed, thankfully, facedown. “And that?”

Aaron produced a sheet of paper typed in English. “You can read it, but it’s a translation of that article. Rory made a contact over in Russia. This stuff is from her adoptive parents.”

Out of patience, Brandon snapped, “What the fuck does it say?”

“The highlights are—the
Bratva
is the mafia. Dmitri there, he’s like your old man. Bodyguard translates to hit man, and Natalya belongs to him. The article insinuates she moved up from a position similar to Sergei’s.”

Her ease with a gun slapped Brandon in the face. It overpowered
belongs to
and
fiancée
with titanic force. Son of a bitch! He’d been sleeping with the same kind of killer who’d murdered his family.

“I think we’ve stumbled onto our murderer, Bran. Russian mafia sure as hell explains a lot of the ends we couldn’t tie up. It explains Rachel’s death, if Natalya works for them. They’d need an in. We fell right into it.”

Not quite. Brandon heard what Aaron would never say. He’d been on guard.
Brandon
had fallen right into the plan. He’d bought into Natalya’s long legs and her half-truths, right up to the point he’d fallen in love with her.

But a sister leading the other to death? Did Kate know? Was she part of this sick plan too? She’d asked him to hire Natalya. She’d never said a damn word about being sisters.

He bolted to his feet and swiped up his phone. Shoving it into his pocket, he snatched his pistol off the counter and started for the door. “Come on. I need my fucking car.”

Fifteen minutes later, as Brandon approached his car, he barely noticed his front bumper no longer drooped, and the headlight had been repaired. He slid behind the wheel, gunned the Shelby in reverse, and drove like a bat out of hell toward Kate’s. If she wasn’t there, he’d chase her down at the goddamned hospital. One way or another, he was getting answers.

N

atalya toweled off her hair and flipped it behind her head. She stared in the mirror, appraising the long blonde lengths and the odd paint around her eyes.

They’d staged the accident and supplied the necessary information to the press. Stories that put her in the hospital, where Kate now lay unharmed and guarded by three nurses who were more deadly than any terminal disease. She’d “die” in a few days, when the heat from the case cooled off and the accident could be forgotten.

Meanwhile, Kate was safe, and Natalya could accomplish her job. With an hour before Fantasia opened, she’d like nothing more than to collapse on the floor and grieve for her aching heart. She missed Brandon already. Seeing him tonight, yearning to touch him, unable to follow through, would tear her into pieces. Maybe—though the thought of his worrying about her made her want to retch—her false accident would keep him at the hospital.

If there was any luck in this world, it would.

A thunderous knock on the door had her reaching behind her back to check for her gun. The feel of the cool metal against her waist soothed her agitated nerves, and she went to the door, prepared to play the part of sweet, genuine, Kate.

She answered with a bright smile.

Brandon barged inside. “What the fuck is going on, Kate?”

Forty

O

h, shit.

Natalya backed up a step, giving Brandon’s temper a wide berth. She reached down deep for the lies she’d rehearsed all morning. “I can’t stay and talk, I’ve got to get to the hospital. I sent Derek next door. Do you want to ride with me?”

“No.” He took two steps closer and grabbed her by the upper arms. “I want the truth now. Why didn’t you tell me you were her fucking sister?”

Sister? Uh-oh. That one wasn’t planned. How had he found out? Smile firmly lodged in place, she twisted to free her arms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He squinted at her, his gaze searching her face. Slowly, he ground out, “I. Have. A. Picture.”

Natalya struggled to keep her mind on explanations, not the soft contours of Brandon’s mouth that hovered inches from hers.

“From college? We used to get that all that time. Once, when Natalya had trouble in chemistry, we even swapped places so I could take her test for her.” Truth. It hadn’t worked, but at least she wasn’t lying to Brandon. “I don’t know who’s feeding you stories, but I’ve got to go. If she wakes up, there’s no one there.”

Way to play the guilt card.

He flinched, but it didn’t last. He did, however, release her. Backing up, the angry color returned to his face. “I know who’s feeding me
stories, Natalya. You think I don’t recognize the face I fell in love with? Damn it, what kind of idiot do you think I am?”

In love.
Oh, God.
He’d said it. Out loud. As real as the fury burning in his eyes. Speechless, she stared at the tight line of white beneath his chin.

“You’re engaged to a Russian mobster. You show up in my club, in the middle of a string of murders, and you’ve been lying to me since the day we met.” He pounded a fist on the couch’s high back. “I want the goddamn truth for once!”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Brandon. I’ve got to go. I have a job to finish.”

Natalya took two steps toward the door and saw him reach behind his back. She moved faster, spinning on her heel, pistol drawn and level with his.

“Put it down, Natalya. I’ve got grounds to arrest you for murder. I’m not going to let you kill another girl or help someone else do it.”

The hard set to his features and the dull glint in his eyes told her the man who loved had stepped aside. A cop stood in his place, one who wouldn’t hesitate to fire. She might get off the first shot, but at this close range, she wouldn’t leave unscathed. She’d lost Brandon Moretti. If she’d ever truly had him.

And now, if she intended to salvage anything from this disastrous assignment, she had no choice but to tell him everything.

“I’m not the person you want. Jill is. Yes, I’ve lied to you. But not because I’m a serial killer. I’m a Black Opal, an elite CIA operative, and if you don’t let me go now, I can’t stop her.”

“Bullshit. Jill’s at home with female problems. She called this morning.”

“How convenient.” She let out a wry chuckle. “Kate said she wasn’t at the club last night either.” Her gun trained on Brandon, as his was on her, she moved across the room to the coffee table and her purse. With one hand, she fished inside for her phone and lobbed it through the air.

It landed at his feet.

“Dial pound fifty-six. When they answer, ask for Romanov. Ask him about the third frond on the palm. It’s the code name for a human trafficking ring with Dubai as the destination country. He’ll verify everything I have to say.”

His glance flicked to the phone, his conviction faltering. He jerked his gaze back to her face and shook his head. “Probably staged. Put the gun down. I’m taking you in. Your
agency
can come drag your ass out.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Brandon! Why the hell would I make that up? You obviously know about Dmitri. You think I
like
the fact I’ve been fucking an international killer for the last three years?”

A cold, calloused smirk twisted his mouth. “Which begs the question, why were you fucking me? Another job? Just part of the game, huh? At least you got a good ride.”

“No,” she whispered as her heart cracked from the strain of all the deception. Emotion rose to choke her, blinding her with tears. She lowered her gun, no longer caring about the case or whether Brandon jumped across the five feet that separated them and wrested the pistol from her fingers.

His pain broke her. She’d caused every bit of it. From Rachel to this… With a shaky hand, she set her Sig on the table at her back and covered her face with her hands to hide the tears she couldn’t stop. “No, Brandon, you were real.” She choked back an ugly sob. “
Are
real. And this is breaking my heart.”

B

randon’s hold on his pistol slipped at the sound of Natalya’s cracked voice. He lowered it a fraction, not yet convinced her tears were genuine, but disturbed by them all the same. The detective inside him sidestepped to the rear, and against his better judgment, he began to let her claims sink in.

“CIA?” he asked quietly.

She nodded on a prolonged sniffle. “Black Opals are undocumented. We don’t exist on paper.”

“What happened to Rachel?”

“Dmitri had her killed.” She dragged her hands down her face and watery eyes held his. “There’s a chain—Iskatel´ is the finder. He sights the girls and handles the capture. He delivers them to a warehouse on Nellis where Nikolai holds them until a private boat arrives in San Francisco. They’re fed meager meals, water, and heroin. When they get to Dubai they’re totally dependent on the drug.”

“And there?” Brandon asked, already knowing the answer.

“Sex slaves for wealthy businessmen and sheikhs.”

“Why did Rachel have to die?” Just knowing Natalya had been associated with Rachel’s death made him ache all over. But he had to hear what role Natalya played in that murder.

“She didn’t have to. I tried to talk him out of it, but Dmitri wouldn’t listen.”

As incoherency attacked Natalya, her words linked together with a chain of gut-wrenching sobs, making it impossible to convince himself this was staged theatrics. Her shoulders shook violently, and her face twisted with so much pain, her suffering thumped him hard in the chest. He set his gun on the back of the couch and did the only thing he could think of. He took her into his arms and held her tight.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered as he smoothed her hair. “Baby, shh. It’s okay.” Fists beat ineffectually against his chest, until, in defeat, her hand curled into his shirt, and she sagged into his embrace.

He didn’t know how long he held her. Seconds spanned into minutes. Minutes dragged on until he couldn’t gauge the passing of time. Her crying cut him to pieces. That he couldn’t stop it made him bleed. Strong, confident Natalya wasn’t supposed to fall apart. But somehow, the fact that she had, that she’d allowed him to see this vulnerability, swelled his heart to painful limits.

“Natalya.” Brandon captured her face between his hands and tipped her head up. His earnest gaze willed her to believe how sorry he was. “It’s okay, beautiful.” The salty flavor of her tears touched his lips as he
bent to kiss her. Her response was faint, a mere flutter of her lips. It encouraged him. “Come on. Let’s sit down. Is Kate okay?”

She nodded. “She’s under surveillance in the hospital.”

“And Derek’s next door?”

Natalya shook her head. “He’s with another Opal. He’s upset, but he knows his mom’s okay.”

“All right. Then tell me everything.”

“You’ll hate me.” Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks once more.

Brandon sank onto the couch and pulled her into his lap. “Doubtful.” Using the pad of his thumb, he brushed her tears away. “Just talk.”

F

or the next three hours, Natalya told Brandon everything she could think of about her job, her life with Dmitri, and the crimes she’d committed in the name of US Intelligence. The sun faded lower, casting them in shadows, telling her she’d missed arriving at Fantasia at Kate’s usual time. But the truths wouldn’t stop flowing. Her role with the women, Dmitri’s insistence she take Iskatel´’s place.

His expression remained impassive, giving her no clue as to what he might be thinking. He asked questions, digested her answers, pulled out confessions she’d never even considered. She revealed her plans for the switch, her intention to take Kate’s place and have Iskatel´ capture her, and her intention to corner Jill who wasn’t physically capable of overpowering Natalya. She gave Brandon every opportunity to shove her out of his lap, but he never took his hands off her. Never physically withdrew no matter what direction his mind might have taken.

When she finished, she let out an exhausted breath. Brandon studied her for several quiet seconds before he finally spit out, “I don’t like it.”

Natalya blinked. “Don’t like what?”

“I don’t like you using yourself as bait.”

“I have to.”

“I want to shadow you.”