To Russia With Love (Countermeasure Series) (54 page)

Without anything to go on, he turned his attention back to his keyboard. His fingers spit out commands, searching and finding all calls made and received by Mikhailov’s cell phones within the last few days. It seemed that whatever had happened earlier that day had disturbed the hive. He hoped to find something useful in the transcripts that could lead him to Trevor’s whereabouts.

The query results returned several calls exchanged amongst them and other numbers not previously captured. Pulling the transcripts, George forwarded them to Jennifer, requesting help in translating the conversations.

Reaching for his phone, he replied to Cassandra’s earlier email.
Ears on. Will keep you posted.
Pushing back from his desk, George rocked in his chair as he waited for the requested translations. His priority had now become tracking Trevor’s whereabouts and easing Cassandra’s and his own fears.

*****

Boris contemplated his next move while lounging comfortably in his small study. He was close to having everything for which he had worked so hard in his hands. The side of his mouth curved and eyes gleamed at the thought of their expressions when he delivered what he’d promised. A part of him felt sorry for having pressured Robert’s family into service and capitalizing on Trevor’s skills. But the other, the one that had given up so much over the years to get to that point, wasn’t. He needed to get that behind him.

A soft creak sounded on the porch and Boris cocked his head, listening for any more disturbances. Another creak sounded.
What the hell?
Boris switched into action. In a fluid move, he turned off the table lamp next to him, drowning the room in darkness, while palming his gun and cell phone from the table. He dropped to the floor and, keeping to the shadows, slid to the window. He pushed the curtain aside slowly, just enough to peek out, and spotted two shadows moving toward the front door. His heart hammered in his chest; his mind became void of all thoughts until self-preservation took over. On his stomach, he elbowed his way to the hall and the kitchen beyond.

Reaching the pantry, he eased inside and, just as the door closed, gunfire peppered the house. Boris flattened to the floor and shifted the potato bin, revealing the hidden trapdoor. He dove into the dark, damp crawl space, pausing only to close the trapdoor above him before he wormed at a fast pace toward the end of the passage. As he scurried, his thoughts returned to the two men he had glimpsed on his porch.

Considering he had been playing both major gangs in St. Petersburg, he couldn’t tell for sure to which the men belonged. But one of them looked like Lev, a foot soldier in Mikhailov’s organization. At the end of the tunnel, he burst out into the field beyond his house, grateful he’d had the foresight to plan an escape route all those years ago. The game he played was a dangerous one, and he had to be prepared in the event that one day his game was up.

Under the cover of night, he looked back at his house in the distance. A savage curse burst from his lips. About ten men surrounded the house and were still riddling it with bullets. Boris watched the brutal action for a few minutes and confirmed the identity of at least two of Mikhailov’s men among the trigger-happy thugs. Mikhailov was out to get him.
Has Trevor been caught? Did he disclose our deal?

His rancor overcame him, hardening his resolve. All those years he had sacrificed—his dignity, the love of his life—all for nothing. To come this far, this close to the final result, only to watch it all go down the toilet. With the strong possibility that Trevor was either in Deminov’s hands or on the run, Boris had an obligation to fulfill: his promise to Trevor. But first, he had to reach Cassandra.

Keeping low to the ground, Boris backed further and further from the house. He hit the tree line and wound his way deeper into the woods. Staying out of clear sight from the road, he ran south in the direction of town.

If he was lucky, Trevor had made it out alive and had been able to smuggle the data out before all hell broke loose. If that was the case, Boris wanted to get his hands on it as soon as possible. Find Cassandra, and he might quite possibly find Trevor.

Once he had placed enough distance between him and the house, he pulled out his cell phone and, after a moment’s hesitation, he made the dreaded call.

“
Da?
” The voice on the other end sounded furious at the late intrusion.

Hating that he had to ask the favor, he cleared his throat. “I need help.”

*****

Nathan had been in St. Petersburg under official orders for well over twenty-four hours. Three days before, Director Franklin had debriefed the team on a rookie babysitting assignment. Everybody, including him, had groaned at the thought of being deployed on that mission until Franklin had mentioned the location—St. Petersburg, Russia. He couldn’t resist the tempting opportunity to be closer to Cassandra.

Ever since she had hooked up with the Blarney Stone, contact between them had been minimal. When she had made contact, it was always with work-related questions: “Hey, can you check this out for me? Can you get me access to…?” The odd request of a couple of weeks back had pissed him off and gotten under his skin. Something was up.

With that thought in mind, Nathan had raised his hand. “I’ll do it.”

Franklin had lifted his eyebrow. “You? Are you serious? This isn’t the type of assignment I’d have expected you to jump at.”

Sensing all eyes on him, he had shrugged. “What can I say? Maybe the newbies will benefit from all this.” He tapped his head. “Who better than me to whip them into shape? Besides, I have more field experience than anyone here.”

Franklin had frowned, but accepted his offer, probably relieved at having the decision to assign someone taken out of his hands.

The babysitting mission was to oversee the security detail for a low-profile diplomat in Russia being handled by fresh-off-the-farm and newly deployed agents. But Nathan had his own agenda. He planned on checking up on Cassandra and the asshole to see what they were up to, and to make sure she was safe.

Nathan had arrived in St. Petersburg around dinnertime the day before, the address he’d received from Robert safely stored in his phone. He’d checked into his agency-assigned hotel room and hit the sack. He wanted to be in top form in the morning when he confronted Cassandra and Bauer regarding their activities in Russia. However, his plans were waylaid. Instead, he found himself tied up with work for the whole day.

Nathan was beat, still under jetlag’s influence, and feeling miserable. To top it off, he was performing a task that always put his boxers in a bunch—typing. Not a pretty combination. Rubbing the back of his neck, he glanced at the clock. One in the morning and he was still stuck at the embassy.
At some point, I’ll get to the fucking hotel room tonight.
Closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the chair, he let his mind wander.

He knew he should have warned Cassandra of his arrival.
She is definitely going to blow a gasket,
he admitted to himself. He put the finishing touches on the report, adding his thoughts regarding the new recruits assigned to the diplomatic security detail, and hit send. With a fist pump, he stood and arched his back in a big stretch.

Nathan’s neglected stomach rumbled. As he grabbed his trench coat off the rack, his focus once again turned to Cassandra.
Shit, I’ll definitely have to face the music tomorrow morning, when I show up at their doorstep unannounced and, most likely, unwanted.
Yet he would attain deep satisfaction in watching Bauer burn when he pointed out his shortcomings. Maybe Cassandra would finally realize her husband was a nuisance, worthy only of a temporary fling.
She had already been shot because of him, for fuck’s sake. What else is he getting her into? If she ever….

Nathan’s mood veered sharply to anger. Shrugging on his coat, he headed out the door. At the elevator, he repeatedly pushed the button, impatient to get out of there. He would straighten things with Cassandra the next day and remove her from the Irishman’s influence before it was too damn late.

Exiting the embassy into the cool night air, his plan was to get a burger at the hotel and some much-needed shuteye. The vibration of his cell against his thigh startled him and he fumbled around inside his pocket for it. His chest tightened when he checked his inbox. An email from Cassandra.

Curious, he opened it. It had arrived a few hours earlier while he been knee-deep into the report. The sight of her new last name in the sender’s field fanned his anger. A sour taste filled his mouth at the thought of the Irishman’s arms around her. He would need a lot of bleach to scrub that image from his head.

Scrolling to the body of the email, his chest tightened even more and his blood ran cold at the sight of the single word,
FUBAR.
Stunned to see the acronym used by Cassandra, he could only stare at the cell in his hand. “Holy Fuck, Cass!” he exclaimed as the meaning behind her message sliced through his mind like a sharp knife. All thoughts of food vanished in a blink of an eye.

Pulling up the logs from the safe house on his phone, he found evidence that the code had been used within the last eight hours. Nathan replied.
Are you safe? Are you hurt?
He cursed and paced the sidewalk, waiting on her response.

After a few minutes, Nathan ignored all precaution and jumped into the car. He loaded the coordinates to the safe house into his phone’s GPS and buckled in. He revved the engine and gunned it. The back end of the car fishtailed and rubber burned into the asphalt as he shot out of the embassy parking lot, heading north. His first thought was to reach Cassandra to make sure she was safe and unharmed. His next centered on how much pain he would inflict to that fucking bastard she’d married for putting her life at risk again.

*****

Cassandra brushed her hair back from her face. Her tailbone was numb and her legs cramped from siting too long in one position on the cold, hard wooden floor. Setting the laptop aside, she slowly rolled to her feet and worked the kinks and blood flow back into her stiff muscles.

A flash of loneliness stabbed at her, and heaviness sat in her chest. Evenings had lost their appeal since Trevor’s sequester in the mansion. That night would be the worst of them all, without his voice to soothe her. Edgy and restless, Cassandra occupied herself with rearranging the bags. She wanted to leave at a moment’s notice once Trevor arrived. A sob escaped her and her father’s voice sounded in her head. “
Man up, Cassandra Cristina
.”

“Yes, Sir.” Her words echoed through the room. She repacked the duffel bags— passports, wallets, three-hundred dollars in rubles, and plane tickets to Prague—and set them by the entrance. She wandered to the window and moved the curtain aside. Scanning the property and seeing no movement, she returned to her spot on the floor to wait. “Damn it, Trevor! You better get your ass here or I will track you down and kill you myself!”

She glanced at the computer clock; it had been over twelve hours since their last contact. Cassandra’s shoulders drooped under the weight of exhaustion beating at her. Shifting into a more comfortable position, she let her head rest back against the door. From under hooded eyes, she stared blindly down the hall as images began to flash in her mind—the first day Trevor charmed his way into her heart with a single word. The first night in each other’s arms. His proposal. Their wedding.

Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut and tears seeped from them, little trails of salty fingers dripping down her cheeks
. I’d know if he were gone… wouldn’t I?
“You’re a part of me; I am a part of you.” Words whispered against her ear. Her eyes snapped wide open and darted around the room. His gentle whispered words, just a memory in her head. Dejected and anxious, the stress of the day finally crashed down on her, leeching the last of her reserves, and her eyelids grew even heavier. Cassandra instinctively reached for the gun and pressed it tightly against her thigh. Her knuckles gleamed white under the tension of her grip as a fitful sleep overcame her.

Darkness pulled her into its tight embrace. Cassandra’s eyes tracked frantically back and forth across the dark room and her body twitched, searching for escape. “
Mí-ádh!
” rang out in the room, soon followed by, “
I will love you always.
”

“
Trevor!
” she screamed as she fell through nothingness, hand outstretched, reaching for his. Cassandra’s body jerked and her eyes snapped open, blinded by the darkness. Scrambling to sit upright, she drew in deep gulping breaths and concentrated on slowing her racing heart.

She tightened her grip on the gun and raised it, aiming it down the hallway until the cobweb of her dream faded away. “A dream. A freaking dream,” she muttered, scrubbing her face with a hand, unable to shake its hold on her. Her eyes grew used to the darkness, and the empty room slowly revealed itself to her. Lowering the gun, reality kicked her square in the chest. He was just a dream. Not real. Not there.

Cassandra pulled her knees tight against her chest and rested her forehead on them. Her thoughts continued to spiral out of control.
Trevor is quick and resourceful. He knows what he’s doing. Fuck! Those people are brutal.
A flashing bar on the screen caught her eye. Straightening, Cassandra pulled the laptop closer and opened the window. Two email messages from George appeared. The first, received hours earlier, was a reply to her initial communication, advising her that he had his “ears on” and would keep her posted.

She opened the more recent message.
Nothing solid so far. Bad news. I still don’t know where he is. The good news. No one appears to have any clue where he is either. I’m searching. It’s like looking for fucking Waldo. Hang tight. Hang on, Cassie. I’ll find him.”