The Lion in Russia (15 page)

She rolled over on the yacht-sized bed. Leo
immediately followed pulling her back into his embrace. She’d
almost gotten used to his constant need to touch her, what was most
troubling was that it was a need she reciprocated.

“What do you want to do today, my little
Vrieshka?”

“I don’t care as long as it starts with
blinis in bed.”

“We’ve done that every day since we came
together again,” he said.

“Precisely. Why ruin such a lovely
tradition?”

“Far be it for me to do so.”

“Let’s play the rest by ear,” she said not
really wanting to think of anything beyond the moment.

Vries sat beside Leo, propped up on a
mountain of pillows. He had several newspapers on his side of the
bed, along with three tablet computers. She had her own tablet and
e-reader and they were passing articles of interest and food back
and forth. She was surprised at how adept she’d gotten at reading
Russian in just the short time she’d been in the country. Of course
she’d been exposed through her work with Girasole and Leo still had
to help her out a great deal, but she still felt rather proud of
herself.

“Here, have this,” he said softly pressing a
particularly decadent blini, piled high with sour cream, caviar and
smoked salmon against her lips. She couldn’t resist and her eyes
rolled back at the succulent taste on her tongue. When she opened
them again, he leaned forward to kiss her, adding his tangy flavor
to the one she was already savoring.

“Watching you eat is sexier than watching
most women do a striptease.”

She looked down at herself. That was probably
a good thing because right now she was wearing the least sexy thing
she’d ever worn; one of his bright blue jerseys from FC Zenit, the
soccer team he owned. The man was insane about the club and she was
actually surprised he’d let her touch one of the sacred jerseys.
She loved wearing his clothes; they still held his scent and she
felt surrounded by the force of his presence. At some point she’d
been wearing panties, but they seemed to have disappeared. Her
underwear had a way of doing that these days. Fortunately the shirt
came to mid-thigh and preserved her questionable modesty

He leaned toward her, another blini pinched
between his thumb and forefinger.

“No. No. Really I can’t,” she protested. So
he ate the little pancake himself. She picked up her champagne
flute and drained most of the rest of the glass. “Pietro is going
to kill me as it is.”

“How did you get started in this?”

Vries frowned having no idea what he was
talking about. “I told you how it happened. I was discovered by an
agent in Atlanta and the next thing you know little Clarisse
Johnson became Vries St. John, Supermodel of the World,” she said
with a self-deprecating snort.

“Not that part. How did you become Vries St.
John, Deadly Weapon?”

“Ooh, I like that! I’ll have to get it put on
my business cards.”

“You have business cards?”

“Of course not,” she said with a dismissive
wave trying to come up with a way to change the subject. She’d
hoped he’d lose interest, but he was studying her with an expectant
look on his face.

“I don’t talk about this with anybody,” she
said.

“I’m not anybody. I’m the man who has spent
as much time as possible loving you to the best of his
ability...”

“Don’t you mean fuc...”

“Don’t you dare try to call what we’ve been
doing fucking. You know better and so do I. Besides, in all
likelihood I’ll be dead or in a gulag in a few days certainly your
secrets are safe with me.”

“For God’s sake Leo, don’t say that. We can
leave here right now. I have ways to get you out...” she stopped at
the shuttered look on his face. Come hell or high water he was
going to Moscow for that goddamned trial. She sighed and leaned
back against the overstuffed headboard of the bed. “What do you
want to know?”

“How long have you been doing this?”

“A little less than ten years. I didn’t start
out doing as an operative. At first I was just Da--another agent’s
cover story.” She rushed on, annoyed at having almost said Dare’s
name. Fortunately he didn’t seem to notice her slip.

“Why?”

“Why what? Why did I get involved?” He
nodded. “I was young and restless. By the time I was twenty-five
I’d more or less done everything I’d set out to do in modeling.
Much as I love fashion, it is pretty limiting. I have no interest
in acting or starting my own line; it’s just not me. I have no
talents in that area. Then I met someone. He needed a cover to get
out of a situation in Paris. I helped. Nothing major, but it was so
exciting. I really liked the adrenaline rush. Besides, after my
parents died I think I felt like I hadn’t really made an impact in
my life. I sold pretty clothes, but nobody would remember me when I
was gone. I hadn’t done anything important.”

He nodded. “I am familiar with that feeling.”
There was a brief silence. “Have you killed a lot of people?”

Vries felt faintly dizzy remembering the coup
she’d unknowingly helped foment. “I have killed. But I have not
knowingly killed a lot of people.” No way would she tell him about
the fiasco in Laritrea. He’d never understand. Hell, she didn’t
understand it and she’d been there and had even precipitated
it.

“That’s a strange answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re going to get.”

“Fair enough.”

Another silence. Longer this time. Vries
thought he’d lost interest, but then the questioning resumed.

“Have you ever been hurt?” he asked.

“Of course. So far I haven’t been shot, but
I’ve had broken bones and a few knife wounds. One guy tried to
choke me to death...”

Leo held up both hands. “That’s okay; I don’t
want to hear anymore of that.”

They continued to read their papers. Leo
poured them both another cup of tea from the set up the maid had
left on a table beside the bed. Vries smiled as he passed her the
traditional Russian
podstakanniki
. Obviously he had access
to any manner of china he liked, but he preferred the tea glass.
Studying the ornate beauty of the piece she could understand why.
He added quite a bit of sugar to both glasses and hot water, as the
tea in the pot was doubly concentrated. She inhaled the delicious
tea aroma with closed eyes, the warmth of the cup comforting her
and relieving a bit of the tension of the past few weeks.

“How much longer do you plan to do this?” he
said.

“Drink tea and eat blinis?” she said
deliberately misunderstanding him. “Until Pietro removes them from
my cold dead hands.”

“You know what I mean.”

She frowned thinking about Lelia’s offer.
Coming in out of the cold had a certain appeal. She couldn’t
reasonably expect to continue relatively unscathed for much longer.
And certainly once her modeling career was done she wouldn’t have a
decent cover for the travel needed to continue.

“I don’t know. A lot of things are coming to
an end for me these days. I can only reasonably expect to continue
modeling for another year or so. Pasha, darling though she is,
can’t keep me around for much longer.”

“It’s my company; I can keep you around as
long as I like.”

“Yes, but I do recall you saying you wouldn’t
risk your company for a woman.”

“Do you need money?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course I need money.
I live in Italy. The taxes are ridiculous. But I don’t work as an
operative for the pay, lucrative though it is. I got into it for
the thrill. Now, to tell you the truth, I don’t know why I’m still
doing it.”

“I can take care of you.”

“Imagine that, I finally meet a sugar daddy,
except he’s liable to die at any moment. Mainly through his own
stupidity.”

“I’m serious, Vries. I don’t want you to
continue doing this. I can provide you with whatever you need. The
contract with Girasole is yours for as long as you want, or I can
just give you a monthly stipend.”

“I might take you up on that if I manage to
keep you alive.”

“If you do manage to keep me alive, we’ll
need to have a talk.”

Vries frowned. “The most dreaded words in the
English language. Aren’t I supposed to be the one saying this?”

“You are? What do you want to talk to me
about?”

“I don’t want to talk to you about
anything.”

“Then why did you say you were the one who
should be saying we needed to have a talk?” he said, frowning his
puzzlement.

Vries raised her eyes heavenward. Sometimes
the language and cultural barriers were maddening. Usually he had
no trouble getting her sarcasm; unfortunately this wasn’t one of
those times. “I was making a sarcastic commentary on the nature of
male/female relationships. You know, I’m supposed to ask you where
you think the relationship is going. And you’re supposed to say
you’re not ready for a commitment right now. Then I’m supposed to
be all heart-broken and pissed about your fear of commitment.”

He gave her blank stare. “Fear of commitment?
But I don’t fear commitment.”

“Seriously, does none of this sound familiar
to you?”

“No. When I’m with a woman, I’m with her
because that’s where I want to be. I don’t sleep with women I’m not
interested in a commitment with.”

“Dude, you really are a throwback. Nobody
thinks like that anymore,” she said.

“I do.”

Vries sighed. “So this is a relationship.”
Despite herself she felt a bit of relief at that notion. Totally
crazy really, because there was a good chance one or both of them
would be dead before the week was out. Still it felt good to know
where she stood with him.

“What did you think it was?”

“I wasn’t sure.”

“Why not?” he said.

“For one thing, I thought you were pissed at
me because I didn’t tell you I was hired to protect you. And you
think I’m a whore.”

“I
am
pissed with you about that, but
apparently not angry enough to keep you out of my life, or my bed.
I’ve never thought you were a whore. If I did, you wouldn’t be in
my bed.”

Vries rolled her eyes, but decided to set his
obstinacy aside for the moment.

“You know what I’d really like?”

“Another blini?”

“Hmmm, maybe after...” she said with a
smile.

He grinned as he leaned over her for a kiss.
“Long after.”

Chapter Twelve

Time seemed to telescope and suddenly it was
time for the trial. There had been no more attempts on Leo’s life,
but then for the most part they’d stayed at his home. Vries wasn’t
sure if he chose to stay at home as a security measure or because
he preferred to, but she didn’t really care, especially since they
spent most of their time in bed. Each night she clung to him as
tightly as she could wishing away the upcoming trial. But now the
day was here. They’d flown down two days before on Leo’s private
jet, taking up residency at another one of his homes. This one was
a spacious apartment as when in Russia, St. Petersburg was the
center of his operations. Moscow was a satellite office. Pushka was
with them as were two other security guards, but Vries knew that
Leo placed the onus of his security on her. The trial had started
earlier in the week, but Leo was expected to testify for two days.
As Vries sat in the courtroom listening to the questioning, she was
surprised at how banal it all seemed. Her Russian had improved
greatly and she probably understood every third word or so. Enough
to follow the proceedings such as they were. Given the subject
matter and the typical Russian temperament, she’d expected a lot
more fireworks. There were no dramatics as the attorneys presented
their arguments with as much passion as they would reading a phone
book, perhaps even less.

Leo had spent the past two days in the
witness box while she sat in the gallery. He wasn’t that far away,
but she was still uncomfortable with the distance between them.
Fortunately her discomfort helped her maintain her vigilance
through the impossibly dry proceedings. Several of the jurors had
to be prodded awake. Even with her limited grasp of the Russian
language she realized almost immediately that the guilt of the
Russian official being tried was a foregone conclusion. It was only
as the trial continued that she finally understood why it had been
allowed to go forth in the first place; it was obvious that either
the man had run afoul of Putilin in some fashion and was being
thrown to the wolves, or he was being used as a distraction. The
protests against Putilin were growing larger and larger each week.
The obvious rigging of the latest election had left the Russian
people angry. Tired of the continued corruption, they were finally
in the mood to “throw the bums out,” or the equivalent Russian
expression.

Finally it was over, but Vries knew she
wouldn’t be able to relax until they were safely ensconced back in
Milan. She and Leo were arm and arm leaving the administrative
building where the trial had taken place. Though Moscow was at
least as cold as St. Petersburg, she was wearing her puffer coat
instead of the furs he’d so generously bought her. It wasn’t
totally impossible that a paparazzo might be lurking about the
capital and she really didn’t want any grief from PETA. Leo was
wearing a heavy coat as well, but was hatless, she turned to
comment on this fact and the reflection off a telescopic lens from
atop one of the surrounding buildings flashed in her peripheral
vision. The presence of a sniper registered in the blink of an eye,
and one of the other guards must have spotted it at the same time,
because he yelled “Pistolet,” the Russian word for gun.

Suddenly Pushka was there and he grabbed
Leo’s arm and all but threw him toward the car. As Leo had a death
grip on Vries’s forearm she was dragged along too. There was no
guarantee that Leo was the gunman’s intended target, but she had no
intention of taking a chance. The building where the trial had been
held was part of a complex forming a large square the size of a
city block. The discharge of the bullet echoed through the square,
followed rapidly by others. Then there was silence.