Weather the Storm (Security Specialists International #3) (13 page)

The traitor’s mercs might follow the Hummer to this motel, but he and Elana wouldn’t be there. They’d be safely on foreign soil in the United States, beyond the reach of any U.S. citizen.

Unfortunately, Vanko hadn’t known all of Elana’s background
before
he’d made the call. The planned stay at the ambassador’s residence would have to be cut short. He couldn’t risk Grigori’s employees and staff recognizing her from her kidnapping and supposed death twelve years ago.

Demidas had informants everywhere.

They’d stay long enough to have her wound and her general health checked over by the doctor assigned to the Russian Embassy and to obtain her some warmer clothing.

If SSI backup couldn’t get to the east coast within the next twenty-four hours, he’d get another, more untraceable, vehicle. They’d go on the road and head inland, away from D.C.

He didn’t want to take an injured, exhausted Elana on a potentially lengthy road trip. But it couldn’t be helped. Demidas was just as great a risk to Elana as the traitor and his killers were. As much as he’d like to, he couldn’t go tearing off half-cocked to Europe to find Demidas and rip his fucking head off. He also couldn’t beat the shit out of the Defense traitor for ordering a hit on Elana since he didn’t know who the fucker was—yet.

He traced the curve of her jaw. She sighed in her sleep and leaned into his light touch. All he wanted to do was strip down and crawl into bed and replace the pillows supporting her back with his body.

Instead, Vanko rose from the bed and tucked the blankets over her exposed shoulders. She made a soft mewling sound. He smiled. She not only curled up like a kitten, she purred like one too.

He paced the small room, checking out the window frequently. The view gave him a perfect line of sight to the Hummer sitting in the mostly empty lot. As he scanned the parking lot and area around the hotel, his neck began to itch. Every survival instinct told him the mercs were on their way and it would be close as to who would reach the motel first—the bad guys or Grigori’s limo.

As he prowled, he replayed Elana’s voice and expressions as she’d acknowledged being raped by Demidas.
God!
His gut roiled at the thought of Elana being violated. She would also have been tortured, such acts had been an integral part of Demidas’s play book for his “sex toys”, as the bastard called the girls and women he’d kidnapped. Vanko had seen the results of Demidas’s actions and understood why Elana hadn’t shared the full extent of what had happened during her captivity.

Vanko fisted his hands. He wanted to kill Demidas up close and personal, but taking the crime lord down wouldn’t be easy. The man was well-protected and had positioned himself as the face of capitalism in the new Russia. Underneath the slick public facade, Demidas remained the street thug who’d clawed, maimed, and killed his way to the top of a particularly foul dung heap.

Interpol had listed Demidas as a major target, but no criminal charges had ever stuck to the man. Eyewitnesses to his many crimes never lived long. He had highly placed political protection, some said all the way to the presidency of Russia. It wasn’t any wonder Elana’s uncles had felt forced to fake her death and obtain a new name and life for her in the United States.

Vanko left the window and moved back to the bed. He leaned over and smoothed a stray hair off Elana’s flushed cheek and tested her forehead with the back of his hand. She was warm, but not overly so. Grigori’s doctor would take care of her.

Standing at the side of the bed, he examined her features. A combination of contentment, joy, and desire swirled through his mind and body. The complexity of feelings were unlike anything he’d ever felt for a woman before.

She was a perfect fit for him with her gallant bravery and intelligence. Her sense of humor paralleled his—and she could swear like a Russian sailor. Her lithe body, Slavic bone structure, dark hair and light eyes more than appealed to him. All of which made Tanya’s prescient feeling Elana was the woman for him more believable.

He probably wasn’t good enough for her. Elana’s mother’s people had descended from a minor royal line. But Elana’s mother had also been royalty of another kind—a much-loved prima ballerina who’d married an Italian diplomat. A fairy tale couple, they’d lived in Moscow in the Italian embassy, a palatial, gated estate which had once belonged to one of Peter the Great’s relatives. Elana had been born into a sheltered, monied world of privilege—and then had it all destroyed by a vicious street thug.
Never again.

Yeah, he might not be good enough for Elana, but he would love and protect her with all that was in him. He’d told Grigori that Elana was his woman. Elana would have a fit if she knew he’d decided to keep her after all this was over. But by then, he’d hoped to win her trust and promise to give a relationship with him a try, if not her love.

Using the excuse of making her more comfortable, he sat on the edge of the bed and gave in to his constant need to touch her. He carefully pulled out the pins anchoring her now-disheveled hairstyle. He ran his fingers through the thick, tangled tresses and then massaged her scalp, soothing her—soothing him. Her hair was long, silky, and a dozen shades of brown and gold with tinges of red. He lowered his head and sniffed at the luxuriant mass as it fanned out across the white pillow; her hair smelled like flowers and something more, something uniquely Elana.

Her scent aroused him. His stiff cock throbbed painfully as it pushed against the limits of his jeans. He’d have to take his cock in hand. Elana didn’t need a horny man added to her already stressful situation.

Elana whimpered and her lips twisted into a grimace. Vanko pressed a light kiss on her pallid forehead. She sighed in response and her taut facial muscles relaxed.

At least he could give her peace in her sleep. It was a start. “Sleep,
devochka
. No one will harm you.”

* * * *

5:30 P.M. (EST)

“Elana.” A husky male voice whispered in her ear. “Wake up,
zaychik moy.
”

She opened her eyes, and all she saw in the gloom of the room was a dark and very large male-shaped shadow bending over her. She let out a sharp gasp and began to struggle against whatever imprisoned her. It was bedding. She was on a bed and mostly naked. She let out a scream and began to fight in earnest.

Not again. Never again.

“Hush, Elana
moy
. It’s Vanko.” The male voice called to something deep inside her, calming her. “Shh, shh. It’s Vanko. You’re safe with me. Wake up,
milaya
.”

A sharp pain on her lower right side brought the last day totally into focus.
Vanko. Hotel room
.
Safe.
She stopped fighting. “I’m okay.” Past a tightness in her throat, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

“We need to leave.” Vanko untangled her from the blankets and sheet and then raised her from the nest of pillows to a sitting position. “Let’s get this T-shirt on you.” She reached for the shirt. “No, no,
goluba
, let me do all the work. I don’t want you to pull your wound and possibly start to bleed again.”

No use fighting the man when he had that commanding tone in his voice. She sat still and let him dress her like a doll. Later, when she felt better and wasn’t so helpless, and if he were still around, she’d let him know how she felt about his high-and-mighty attitude.

“Is our ride here?” she asked as he zipped her skirt over the thickness of the bandage. Thank God for stretch cottons.

“They will be by the time we make it to the exit on the other side of the building.” Vanko spoke from the area of her feet as he put her shoes on her bare feet. Her pantyhose had become history during the treatment of her wound. “The enemy’s at the Hummer. I figure they’re waiting for backup before they make a search of the motel.”

“Oh, God!” She stiffened and regretted the movement as soon as she made it. “They’d do that? Terrorize innocent people to find us?”

“They’re getting paid to do a job—you’re the job.” He turned on the bedside lamp. “The rest is collateral damage to men such as them.”

Vanko’s grim expression said it all. He’d dealt with these kinds of men before and would use any and all force needed to stop the mercenaries from getting to her. Because Vanko was a good man, he’d try to avoid hurting others, but there were never any guarantees.

Elana couldn’t allow a small war to break out here. She had to be of help and not a hindrance. She needed to get her ass out of bed before the mercenaries stormed the motel.

She moved, but more slowly this time, and only felt a slight twinge from her wound. The drugs Vanko had given her were doing an okay job. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and began to stand. Not a good idea. The room swam around her and she dropped gracelessly onto the mattress.

“Vanko, I…”

“I have you.” He swung her up into his arms. “Hold on.” She grabbed his neck as he one-handedly picked up the medical kit, her tote bag, his duffle and hung the three bags over his shoulder as if they and she weighed nothing. “Can you shoot a gun?”

“Uh…no.” She shook her head, and her hair caught in the light-colored beard stubble on his chin. He’d taken her hair down as she’d slept, and she hadn’t even felt it. Any other man and she would’ve woken up and screamed. Any other man and she wouldn’t have fallen asleep with him in the room in the first place, no matter how many pain meds he’d given her. She unconsciously trusted this man; her conscious mind was still playing catch up. She probably owed him an apology for fighting him.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Vanko stopped at the door and looked into her eyes. “Not everyone can handle a gun. I’ll manage.”

“Not sorry about that, though I am,” she bit her lip, “I’m sorry I screamed when you woke me up. If the enemy had been close, I’d have…”

“Don’t apologize. I startled you. Between the medications, shock from being shot, and lack of sleep, I’m surprised you didn’t scream louder.” He kissed her brow.

A frisson of awareness shot down her spine and settled in her belly. It was a good feeling, not a bad one, and another steely thread to her past broke. It was amazing how quickly she’d gotten used to his touches and light kisses. Most of the men she’d dated had never gotten even that far.

“Elana, you with me?”

“Uh, what?” She looked and found his brow creased and his gaze dark with what she read as worry.

“I asked if you could hold the gun. I can handle you and the bags, but won’t be able to get to my gun if I need it. All you have to do is hold it and hand it to me when I tell you. Okay?”

God, she did
not
want to handle a gun. She hated guns, which was why her uncles had taught her how to use a knife. But Vanko had asked very little of her and he was doing all the hard work, so she said, “Okay.”

“Good girl.” His smile and the warm approval in his voice made her reluctant acquiescence worth it. “Reach around to the small of my back and pull it out.”

“What if it goes off?” She’d never even handled a gun and was scared to death of them.

“It’s a Glock,” he explained, “and the safety feature is in the trigger mechanism. You’d have to use more pressure than you’re capable of right now for it to fire.”

Elana nodded and took a deep breath and then let go of his neck. She slid her left hand down his back and reached under his jacket and pulled the gun out. She brought the weapon back up to his shoulder. She transferred the gun to her right hand and cradled it against her chest. She then hooked his neck with her left arm once again.

The matte black gun was ugly and bulky; her hand barely fit around the grip. She wrinkled her nose. It smelled like oil. Even more reasons why she’d never like guns.

“Good job.” Vanko’s breath warmed her cheek. “All set?”

“Yes.” She settled her head on his shoulder. She was still woozy, and her neck didn’t quite have the strength to hold her head up. “Have the bad guys tried to come into the motel looking for us?”

“Not yet. They just arrived. I’ve been checking the lot from our window every fifteen minutes since you fell asleep.” He bent and levered the door handle with the hand holding her legs. He used his leg to prop the door open just enough to stick his head around the doorway. He checked the hallway in both directions. “Our ride checked in a few minutes ago, right after I spotted the mercs.”

“But they’ll still try to search the hotel—” She couldn’t live with herself if anyone else was hurt because of her. She kept having gruesome visions of Libby, Harry, and the downed pedestrians on the Mall.

“Not if the local cops are screaming into the parking lot and zeroing in on our Hummer, they won’t.” He winked. “I called 911 and reported suspicious activity and men with guns just before I woke you up.”

Elana let out a relieved sigh. “Okay, good.” She snuggled into his muscled shoulder and took in deep breaths of Vanko. His scent calmed her as it had earlier. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“No thanks needed.” He brushed his cheek over her hair as he pulled his head back into the room, his leg still bracing the door open. “There is no one in the hall. Hold on tightly. I’ll be moving fast.”

Elana held the gun firmly against her chest. When Vanko exited the room, the door slamming shut behind them, she grabbed more tightly onto his leather bomber jacket with her left hand. Even though Vanko had placed her uninjured side against him, her wound still made itself known as she was jostled with the fast pace. Her right hand was shaky and weak. But she’d hold onto the gun with her last ounce of strength, because Vanko trusted her to do so. She clenched her jaw and bore the twinges of pain, dulled by the pain meds. Her metabolism was already flushing them out of her system.

Damn, Elana hated being useless…weak…out of control. She’d had the same trio of feelings when she hadn’t been able to stop Demidas from shooting her parents. She’d felt the same way when his man, Zivon, had used her as a shield during the rescue by her uncles. Why was she always so incapable?

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against Vanko’s neck.