Weather the Storm (Security Specialists International #3) (17 page)

He breathed a sigh of relief when she entered a black Hummer and closed the door. The vehicle sped away, almost hitting the gunmen. Good for the driver! Elana was safe for the time being…now all he had to do was find her, get her back, and take care of whatever danger she was in.

The thought he might have his Elana back soon hardened his cock. His excitement was so high precum covered his cockhead. He placed a hand over his throbbing member. He could almost climax from the mere thought of her body under his. Elana was the only woman who could arouse him from a distance. It was one of the reasons he’d wanted to possess her all those years ago, why he’d fallen head over heels in love with her…and still loved her.

“I didn’t believe it either.” Ziv’s words called him back to the present. “After the doctor alerted me, I found the news report and had one of our techs get hold of the original You Tube video. Our man pulled a close up of her face off the video and compared it to the photos we have of her.”

“And?” Sergei could barely choke out the words. He couldn’t stand it if his hopes had been raised and the woman turned out not to be his Elana.

Ziv let out a gusty sigh. “The comparison is accurate to 99.9 %. It’s her, boss, or her twin sister—and she had no siblings. We were tricked by the fucking Chernovs.”

“They’re dead men.” Sergei fisted his hands on his thighs. He wanted to choke the life out of Elana’s uncles himself. They’d kept him from his true love all these years. “Send the Tortutov brothers after the Chernovs. I want the bastards captured and held in my Caucasus house until I can deal with them.”

“It will be done, Sergei.”

“And, Ziv, find out where she is now—”

“That’s why the doctor called,” Ziv interrupted, “she’s at the Russian ambassador’s residence in D.C.”

“Good…that is good.” Sergei couldn’t contain his glee at the news. She was safe and in a place he could easily control. Then a chill went down his spine as he recalled the look of shock and pain as she almost fell. “Elana was shot. I saw her flinch. What was the doctor’s report? Is she okay?”

“He said her wound was a deep gouge through the fleshy part of her side, just above her hip. No major organs involved. She will be fine, especially since the man in the Hummer—the one who rescued her—treated it quickly and did a good job. Her rescuer then took her to the ambassador who owed him a favor.”

“Who is this rescuer that he has access to Grigori?” Sergei watched the replay of the amateur video as the black Hummer came into the picture and Elana jumped inside. He couldn’t make out the driver, though he could see it was a male.

Ziv didn’t reply for several seconds. The pause was uncomfortable. His friend did not want to tell him who had rescued Elana.

“Ziv?” Sergei prompted. “Who was the driver of the Hummer?”

“An SSI operative.”

SSI was well-known in the shadow world. Sergei’s people came up against them only when his targets were smart enough to hire Ren Maddox’s well-trained operatives. Sergei had no particular issue with SSI one way or the other. They, and he, were businessmen, just on opposite sides. In fact, he admired their skills and tried to avoid coming to their specific attention.

“Which operative?” Sergei whispered.

“Uh—” Ziv’s hesitancy confirmed what he’d already suspected: Sergei wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Vanko Petriv,” Ziv finally stuttered out.

“
Pizdets
.” Sergei surged to his feet, picked up the classic Eames chair, and threw it at the wall. The chair broke into pieces. He picked up the chair’s mate and threw it at the expensive flat screen, destroying both items. His anger raged inside him like an out-of-control wildfire and would not be assuaged. The driver would have to be Petriv, an ex-Interpol agent; the man was the only reason SSI had beaten him the times they’d met head-to-head.

“Sergei? What do you want me to do?” Ziv sounded worried.

Sergei took several deep breaths and sought to harness his rage, and—yes, he would admit it—his jealousy. He couldn’t stomach the thought of Petriv anywhere near his Elana. The damn Ukrainian had a reputation as a ladies’ man, and Elana was a temptation for any red-blooded male.

But now he owed the fucking Ukrainian for Elana’s rescue, and Sergei Demidas always paid his debts. He’d make sure his men killed Petriv humanely after they took Elana away from him.

“Who do we have in or near D.C. right now, other than the good doctor?” Sergei walked toward Sabina and stroked a finger over and around her clamped nipples before yanking on the chain connecting them. She screamed behind her gag.

“Vassily and Ivan—”

Sergei walked around Sabina’s body.

“—they work in the embassy’s security department,” Ziv reported.

The men were highly trained killers, but oafs and not known for their gentle handling of women. But he had to work with what tools he was given; they were the closest to Elana’s location and had easy access. He wanted her back as soon as humanly possible.

“Contact them.” Sergei checked Sabina’s bindings, tightening the ones across her torso. His plans for her had changed and he didn’t want to give her any room to move. “I want Elana retrieved as soon as they can get to Grigori’s residence. Petriv is to be taken out cleanly. Have the men take Elana to my property in the Bahamas.”

He paused and added, “Stress to those ham-handed
duraki
that Elana is to be treated with special care. Make sure they understand if she is harmed any further, there will be dire consequences.”

“It will be done, Sergei.”

“And, Ziv, the men who shot at her are to be found and killed—painfully. Use all our resources. I want to know why she was running for her life.”

“I’m already on that. I’ll also find out what Elana’s been doing for the last twelve years.”

Sergei could always count on Ziv to be on top of things. “Get my jet ready. I want to be on my way to the Bahamas. I’ll expect your preliminary reports on the plane.”

“Sergei,” Ziv audibly gulped, “is it wise to go to the Bahamas? Interpol has become more aggressive in pursuing you of late. I and my team can’t guarantee your safety outside of Russia.”

“This is about Elana, Ziv. She is on the other side of the Atlantic,” he gritted out, “and that is where I need to be…by her side.”

“Yes, of course, Sergei. I understand. It will be done.” But his aide’s tone of voice indicated he was anything but happy about the trip.

“Call me when the plane is ready. I need to deal with Sabina.” Sergei walked to the intercom and punched the speaker off. Then he stalked toward his soon-to-be ex-wife.

He didn’t need Sabina any longer. He’d have Elana—and she’d be his wife, his one true love, his sexual submissive, and the mother of his sons.

Sunday, December 4th, 2:00 A.M. (EST)

Russian Ambassador’s Residence, Washington, D.C.

Elana lay on her left side. Her injured right side supported from behind by something warm and solid. Her foggy mind pondered the sensations and what might cause them. Then she realized it wasn’t a what, but a who. A male who.

In a half-awake state, she struggled to get away, but a heavy arm anchored her to the bed.
Trapped!
She mewled with fear and shoved at the muscled arm. A stinging pain had her crying out and brought her completely awake.

“Elana. Shh,
goluba moy
.” Vanko’s low, soothing voice broke through her fear. And then she recalled everything—where she was, why she was in pain, and who lay behind her, not binding her, but protecting her.

Trembling through the aftermath of her fright, she whispered, “Vanko, I’m sorry…I’m an idiot—”

“Hush now. Remember what I said about apologies? It’s okay. Are you in pain? Did I hurt you?” His breath whispered over her cheek as he leaned forward.

Vanko surrounded her—but in a good way. She needed to keep reminding herself this was Vanko—her rescuer, her protector—not the monster of her nightmares.

“You didn’t hurt me.” And if she hurt, she only had herself to blame for reacting so crazily. Vanko had been everything that was good since he’d picked her up and whisked her away from certain death.

“You’ll let me know if I do harm you.” It was a command, not a request.

Bossy
. Her lips curved; she liked his kind of bossy.

“Do you need to use the restroom?”

He asked the question so matter of factly, as if it were something he did all the time between running gun battles and treating bullet wounds. She bit her lip so she wouldn’t laugh at the diverting incongruity.

“No.” She’d like to avoid the embarrassment of him helping her to the restroom if at all possible.

Don’t buy trouble, Ellie. Cross the bathroom bridge when it comes.

“Just thirsty.”

Lovely, now you
will
need the bathroom.

She angled her head and looked into his starkly handsome face. She read his expression as concerned…and something else she could only classify as tender. “Pepsi?”

Vanko’s lips quirked. “No Pepsi,
angel moy
. I’ll get you some water or juice. Which do you prefer?”

Niggling dictator. Who made him the Pepsi police?

He pulled away and helped her turn onto her back after he placed an extra pillow to support her head. He then placed other pillows on each side of her body as if he were packing precious china. “Do you need a pain pill?”

Did she? She assessed her body’s status. The pain, for the most part, was bearable—well except for when she did stupid things like struggle against imaginary bad guys. At the moment it was a dull throb masked by the drugs he’d already given her.

But the loss of his body’s heat and support had her aching in another way—a way she’d never thought would ever happen to the messed-up-in-her-head her. She wanted Vanko back on the bed, lying against her. She now realized why the married women of her acquaintance loved sleeping with their men. It was all about the closeness, the shared body heat, and the primitive feeling of protection from the world at large…the male guarding his female as she slept. She’d never had that reaction before with any other male of her acquaintance.

Vanko stood at the side of the bed and stared down at her, a slight smile on his lips. He looked as if he were waiting—oh, shit, he’d given her choices and she’d started drawing fantasies in her head. She blushed.

What had he asked her? No, told her in a very autocratic voice, a voice she’d become addicted to in the very short time they’d been acquainted. “Oh, orange juice if they have it. And no pill. I’m good.”

He narrowed his eyes and scanned her.

Damn, she’d forgotten how easily he read her.

He let out a short huff of breath. “You’ll have a pain pill in another hour whether you feel you need it or not. I want to keep ahead of the pain in case we have to move.” He leaned over and tucked the blankets more closely around her and then patted her leg. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

“Not planning on moving,” she retorted.

His smile widened and showed white in the dimness of the room. “Have I mentioned,
zaychik
, I like sassy women…a lot? I like to kiss them to occupy their mouths.”

She licked her lips, remembering his taste.

Yay, be sassy more often, Ellie.

Elana barely heard Vanko move across the bedroom to the doorway leading to the suite’s outer room which was lit by one lamp. The back-lighting outlined his body as he opened the door wider. Her pulse beat more rapidly accompanied by an unaccustomed flutter of excitement in her lower abdomen at the sight of his lean, muscular body. Even injured and in pain, everything female in her responded to this man. She couldn’t ever imagine feeling this way about any other man.

Vanko stiffened like a predator at the scent of prey and didn’t enter the suite’s living room. Instead, he shut the door without making a sound, throwing the bedroom into relative darkness once more. He approached her bed, a large, dark shadow flowing over the darkness.

“What is it?” His hyper-alertness and actions warned her to speak in a whisper. “What’s wrong?”

“I need you to move into the bathroom. Can you do that for me?” His voice was calm, but she sensed the anger roiling underneath the placidity. The atmosphere around him was charged with electricity like before a thunderstorm.

Elana struggled to sit up. She winced as her right side protested, and Vanko who had to have the eyes of a night creature cursed under his breath.

“I’m fine,” she muttered. “I can do whatever you need me to do.”

“Good.” Vanko approached the side of the bed. “But I’ll help anyway.”

Before he could get to her, Elana placed her feet on the floor and stood—and swayed.

“
Zaychik
!” Vanko’s voice was a mere wisp of sound in the darkness. “You’re too weak.” It was a statement, not a condemnation. He anchored her with an arm around her waist and pulled a coverlet off the end of the bed. After wrapping her nude body in it—and why hadn’t she noticed her nudity before?—he picked her up as if she were a precious piece of art. He carried her to the bathroom lit only by a nightlight. He placed her in the deep, old-fashioned, free-standing tub and tucked the cover around her, protecting her nudity from the chilly surface.

“Stay down,
dushka
. The cast iron of the tub will protect you from stray bullets. No matter what you hear, do
not
move until I come for you.”

His words struck terror in her heart. What guns? Bullets? Who was out there? Why hadn’t she heard the danger? She forgot to breathe for a second or two. What if he didn’t come back? What if she lost the chance to know this special man better?

No! She couldn’t think that way. She grabbed his arm. “Please…be careful.”

“Don’t worry.” Vanko stroked a finger over her cheek. “I’m hard to kill.”

He left her and moved toward the slightly ajar bathroom door where he paused and looked over his shoulder as if he wanted one last look. Then he left, closing the door behind him.

Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod. Please keep him safe.
She prayed as she’d never prayed before. The emotion in Vanko’s eyes as he’d stared at her from the doorway was etched in her mind and her heart. He cared for her. She was more than a mere job. He’d brought her to the safest place he could and then had gone out to battle to protect her from…whom? How could her enemies have found them so quickly?