Weather the Storm (Security Specialists International #3) (4 page)

Ren nuzzled Keely’s hair as he rubbed the nape of her neck. “Is Vanko still out east?”

Keely knew he was asking the others, but she answered, “Yes.” She snuggled her head onto his shoulder. “He’s in New York City. His sister was there to dance with the Russian Ballet. He isn’t due back until Monday. Remember? He couldn’t get back in time for Risto and Callie’s wedding tomorrow.”

Currently, they had a lodge full of guests for the quickly planned wedding. After almost losing Callie to a Colombian drug lord a week ago at SSI-East in Upper Peninsula Michigan, Risto wanted Callie tied to him, and her and their unborn child safely situated at Sanctuary.

“Tweeter, get Vanko to D.C.,” Ren said. “Give him all we have on the situation. Trey, call our DIA handler and tell him we’re wheel’s-up. Then get Vanko a Hummer from the rental agency that provides vehicles to diplomats and arm him up. He’ll be Ms. Cruz’s personal bullet catcher until she identifies the traitor and the asswipe’s captured. Keely and I will contact Ms. Cruz using the secure lines the NSA provided us, explain the situation, and persuade her it’s in her best interests to let us protect her.”

Ren brushed a kiss over Keely’s cheek and then the top of his son’s head. “Let’s keep her alive.”

No one voiced the biggest fear—that Elana could be dead already. The traitor’d had all sorts of time to find her and have her eliminated in the last ten hours.

“Uh, Ren, there’s a problem.” Tweeter scowled. “From my initial research into her background, Elana Cruz has only existed for the last twelve years. Prior to that, she was someone else. I’m working on her previous identity.”

“That’s an intriguing twist.” Ren rubbed Keely’s shoulder. “But whoever in the hell she is, she’s our best chance at taking out the fucker and that makes her essential to SSI.”

* * * *

December 3rd, 10:00 A.M. (EST), New York City

The hotel dining room was doing a brisk late breakfast service. The windows overlooking Central Park framed a snowy fairyland as NYC received its first real snowstorm of the season.

Vanko leaned against the plushy banquette. He smiled at the picture his baby sister Tatanya, her husband Jean-Paul, and their three children made as they ate breakfast and jabbered away in a unique combination of Russian, French, and English.

Last evening, he’d watched his little Tanya dance the lead in Swan Lake with the Russian Ballet at Lincoln Center. It had been standing room only. But more important to him was the week of quality time he’d spent with Tanya and her family. It had been both wonderful and bittersweet.

“Vanko?” Tanya called to him. “My brother, why so pensive? Is something wrong?”

How could he tell his sister what was wrong without sounding envious and somewhat pathetic? He was almost thirty-five years old and alone. Yes, he had a satisfying job that challenged him, but all he had to go home to at the end of the day was an empty cabin at Sanctuary. Other than Tanya and her family, his only other family were the people he worked with, his SSI family.
Fucking pitiful
.

Yet he blurted it out anyway.

“I want what you have.” He swept the table with a glance and then stared into his sister’s understanding and sympathetic gaze. “I want a wife and children. Someone to cherish, love, and protect.”

To fill the gaping holes in his heart and soul.

“You will find her,” Tanya said. “I know this in my heart. Until then, you are welcome to share my family.”

Jean-Paul nodded his agreement and pulled Tanya into his embrace and gave her a gentle shoulder squeeze.

That was exactly what he wanted. The silent understanding and emotional and physical support of a mate who loved him with all her being.

“You are far more optimistic than I am.” He ruffled the hair of Tanya’s youngest boy who leaned into his uncle for a cuddle. “I love you, little sister.”

Tanya’s eyes filled with tears. “Love you too, big brother.”

Before he could change the subject to lighten the mood, his cell rang. The tone was the one used for SSI emergencies. “Got to take this, sorry.” He answered the call. “Petriv.”

“Vanko, you some place we can talk?” Tweeter’s voice came over the crystal-clear NSA satellite connection.

“Moving to one now. Hold.” He scrambled out of the banquette and found a small conference room off to the side of the hotel dining room. He closed the door. “Okay, I can talk. What’s up?”

“The traitor just hired another merc to kill Keely.” Tweeter’s voice was cool and clipped. The man was pissed as hell.

“
Dermo
. Has Ren gone ballistic yet?” Vanko loved Keely, would’ve pursued a relationship with her if not for Ren. The lovely little genius had turned out to be the love of Ren’s life and was now the mother of his son. Ren wouldn’t tolerate threats to Keely. Nor would Vanko.

“He’s dealing, especially because we caught a break. There was an eyewitness to the hire. Her name is Elana Cruz.”

Elana, a good Russian name. But her last name sounds Spanish.

Finally, they had a chance to fuck with the traitor who’d targeted SSI. Then an awful thought hit him, and he stiffened. “Is our witness in protective custody?”

Tweeter snorted. “No, that’s where
you
come in. We need you to get to her and protect her until she can look at our suspect list from DIA and ID the son of a bitch.”

“Where do I need to be and when?” Vanko was glad he hadn’t fully unpacked his duffle. He could be checked out and gone in less than fifteen minutes.

“D.C. As soon as you can get there. We’ll have a special Hummer for you at National and intel on where to meet her once Ren and Keely get in touch with her and impress the urgent need for her to accept our protection.”

“They haven’t spoken with her yet?” Vanko opened the door and strode toward the dining room. “She’s in danger. That asshole has assets everywhere.”

“Yeah. We’re still trying. Good news is, there are no reports she’s dead.” Tweeter paused and let out a long breath. “I’ve got you on a helicopter to LaGuardia and a private flight to National in D.C. I’ll send all the police reports plus the FBI and Homeland reports once the Feds catch up. We’re officially working on this for DIA.”

“I pick up the helicopter where?” Vanko stood by his family’s table. His sister opened her mouth and he held up a finger signaling just another minute.

“On the roof of your hotel. We obtained clearance from the locals.”

“Got it. Tell Ren I’ll call him once I’m in the air and have reviewed the materials.” Vanko shook his head at his sister who’d muttered “Vanko” in a disappointed tone. “What did this Elana do that got her into all this trouble?”

Tweeter chuckled. “Nothing. She’s a technical services and research librarian. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He paused, then added, “And she’s not who she seems to be.”

“A librarian? And how is she not who she seems to be?” Vanko’s sister caught his attention as she perked up and blatantly listened to his side of the conversation and smiled. Damn, her eyes had that unfocused look she got when she was looking into a world no one else could see.
Shit
.

Tweeter’s voice broke through the uneasiness that Tanya’s visions always wrought. “Until twelve years ago, Elana Cruz didn’t exist. I’m working on breaking through some really good firewalls and encryption. Seems Interpol gave her a new name and life in the U.S. I’ll have her real name by the time you land in D.C.”

Interpol?
His former employer. Whatever she’d gone under for, it couldn’t have been good. Interpol wasn’t in the business of creating new identities for just anyone.

“I know you will. Later.” He disconnected and looked at his sister and her husband. “I have to go. Break in a case.”

“Who’s Elana?” his sister asked, a twinkle in her eye. “Good Russian name. And a librarian who is not who she seems to be? This sounds like a romantic suspense novel.”

“It’s not fiction. It’s my job, Tanya.” He leaned over the table and gave her a kiss. “Got to go. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Tanya said as he shook hands with Jean Paul and kissed his niece and nephews. “I have a good feeling about this Elana of yours.”

Vanko scowled. “She’s not my Elana. She’s a witness and needs protection.” When Tanya shook her head and smiled in that not-of-this-Earth way she had, he growled, “What did you see?”

“Lots of things. All sorts of possible futures. You know I can’t tell you. Fate does not work that way.” When he snarled under his breath, she laughed. “I can tell you Elana is yours…if you wish it to be so. Both your futures are in your hands alone.” Tanya stood and hugged him. “Have her call me after all this, whatever it is, is over. I want to talk with her.”

He leaned his head back and looked down at his fey sister, whom he’d loved and protected from the day she was born. “You see this going well, then?”

“My brother, of course it will go well,” she stroked his face, “because you are a protector and fight fiercely for those whom you love.”

Vanko shuddered. God help him, he believed her. The last time his sister had one of her feelings she’d saved him from certain death at the hands of a Marseilles sex trafficker and drug lord.

Saturday, December 3rd, 11:30 A.M. (EST), Georgetown Campus

Elana wiped her eyes. She and Betsy walked in total silence toward the library. Libby was dead, her body taken off life support immediately after a Caesarean section. Her baby, a little boy, was healthy. Libby’s husband was now left to deal with both the grief of losing his young wife and the joy of becoming a father. Elana would miss the grad student who had managed to brighten her day with a funny story or a lead on a good sale on shoes.

Her cell rang, startling her. She pulled it out of her messenger bag, looked at the caller’s number with no ID, and then frowned. She’d turned the phone off in the hospital per regulations. When she’d turned it back on a few minutes ago, she found over twenty messages from one number—this number. She’d planned to call it back later, after she’d gone home.

Betsy turned to her. “What’s wrong? You looked puzzled. Who is it?”

She just shook her head and answered the call. “Yes?”

“Elana Cruz
nee
Fabrizzio?” The voice was female.

“Who is this?” Whoever it was knew her
real
name. Her insides turned to water. And there was no
nee
about it. Ohmygod. Someone had broken the cover her uncles and Interpol had meticulously created to protect her from Sergei Demidas.

“Keely Walsh-Maddox, Ms. Fabrizzio. I’m calling to warn…”

Elana let out a huge sigh of relief. “I was going to call and warn you, Dr. Walsh, uh, Maddox—a man hired…”

“We know, Elana. And please call me Keely. Are you okay?”

“Why shouldn’t I be?” She paused, her brow furrowing. “How did you know about the situation anyway? And my name?” Elana’s identity hadn’t been released to the press, or had it?

“We have our ways.” Keely sighed audibly, and a man’s low voice murmured in the background. Then Keely said words that sent a chill through Elana’s blood, “Elana, you’re in terrible danger.”

No, not again.
She was supposed to be safe in America. She was a boring librarian, for God’s sake.

Keely continued, “The D.C. police sent their reports to the FBI and Homeland Security. The case is now under federal jurisdiction and relates to national security. We suspect the man who hired the mercenary Crocker is a traitor we’ve been seeking on behalf of the Defense Intelligence Agency. The DIA has asked us to protect you.”

Just her luck. Of all the places the Boss could’ve chosen to hire a killer, he picked her library. What were the odds? And had she only been bemoaning her dull, but safe, life just hours ago? She’d tempted fate and it bit her on the ass.
Karma sucks
.

Elana thought a moment longer about what Keely had just said. “Wait a minute, we? You work for SSI? But you’re an MIT professor.”

Out of curiosity, she and Betsy had looked Security Specialists International up on the Internet while keeping vigil at the hospital. The news stories and the other info about SSI she’d accessed had impressed her. They did on-the-ground-intelligence gathering for whoever hired them—HUMINT in defense-speak—and security and personal protection for high-profile people. And it seemed they also did government contract work for the United States. SSI performed the kind of information-gathering and analysis she’d dreamed of doing.

Keely replied, “I’m married to the one of the principals of SSI—and as an MIT professor, I’ve always done contract work for the NSA in COMINT.”

COMINT was the acronym for communications intelligence, a perfect fit for Dr. Walsh’s expertise, but—“Why would the D.C. police send a report about a local double homicide to…”

“Double? Our report says one killed, one injured.”

Elana choked back a sob. Betsy rubbed her arm in support. “The injured, her name was Libby, was removed from life support after they delivered her baby son.”

“Baby! She was pregnant? Oh God, no…” Sniffling sounds came over the line and a man’s voice said, “Keely, love, don’t. You know I can’t stand it.”

“Keely? Dr. Walsh? Are you okay?” Elana stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Betsy pulled her out of the path of students going to weekend classes, leftover alumni from last night’s game, and tourists.

“Elana,” the man who’d comforted Keely came on the line, “this is Ren Maddox, Keely’s husband. The news of the baby threw her—and me. Our son is almost six months old and…”

“No need to explain, Mr. Maddox. I understand.” Libby’s death had decimated her, too.

“It’s Ren.” He paused and then cleared his throat. “Since you can identify the man who hired Crocker, you need to be in protective custody. You aren’t safe.”

Elana could barely get out the words. “Protective custody?”

She glanced at Betsy who avidly followed the conversation from Elana’s end. Neither one of them was paying attention to what was going on around them. All of a sudden she felt as if a huge target was on her back. Standing still on a crowded sidewalk was dangerous, so she began walking, pulling Betsy with her.