Devil’s Lair: Molotov Obsession: Book 1 Read online

  “I don’t,” he says softly, bringing my thoughts to a screeching halt. “I don’t want anyone but you. I haven’t since the moment we met.”

  “Oh.” I stare at him, unable to come up with anything else to say.

  This is big.

  Huge, really.

  There’s no possible misunderstanding here, no chance that I’m being a foolish romantic.

  Nikolai is telling me that he wants me and no one else… that essentially, we are exclusive.

  “Does this scare you?” he asks, disconcertingly astute. “Is this too much for you?”

  It is. Way too much. And yet… “No,” I say, gathering my courage. “It’s not. And I—I don’t want to see anyone else either.”

  His nostrils flare. “Good. Once you’re mine, I won’t deal kindly with any man who tries to steal you.”

  A startled laugh escapes my throat, but Nikolai doesn’t smile in response. His gaze remains fixed on me, his expression darkly intent, and to my shock, I realize that he means it, that it’s not a joke at all.

  I attempt to make it into one anyway. “Possessive much?”

  “With you,” he says, his gaze unwavering, “very much.”

  My heart stutters to a halt again. “Why me?” I ask when I recover my voice. “Is it because I’m the only woman here, within arm’s reach? Is it a convenience thing or…” I trail off as amusement brightens the dark gold of his eyes, highlighting the flecks of forest green.

  “If I were so inclined,” he says gently, “I could have a different woman flown in every week—and I often did before you came. There’s no lack of candidates willing to make the trip, believe me, zaychik.”

  Oh, I believe him. Even before I came across those tabloid photos, I knew he must have a stable of gorgeous women at his beck and call. How could he not, with his looks, wealth, and sex appeal?

  The wonder is not that women are willing to fly in, it’s that they’re not camped out in the woods.

  “Why then?” I ask unsteadily. “Why me?”

  He cocks his head. “Do you believe in fate, zaychik?”

  “Fate? Like God or destiny?”

  “Or predestination. All of us being connected, like threads in a tapestry that was woven long before our births.”

  I stare at him, bemused. “I don’t know. I’ve never given it much thought.”

  His lips curve in a faint smile. “I have. And I think at some point in the weaving of this tapestry, your thread was joined to mine. Our paths were bound to intersect, our meeting date set long before I saw you. Everything that had happened in our lives had brought us to that point, to that place and time… all the good things and the bad.” His voice roughens. “Especially the bad.”

  Like my mom’s death. If not for that, I would’ve never been on this road trip, never seen the job listing, never met him. Not that it means this is fated. But Nikolai seems to believe that, and I have to admit that we wouldn’t be here today without the violent upheaval in my life. And, it sounds like, without some upheaval in his.

  “What bad things happened to you?” I ask softly. “Or is that the long story you keep promising me?”

  His smile takes on a rueful edge. “More or less. Unfortunately, zaychik, you need to go to sleep, and I have to go meet my brother. How about I call you tomorrow around the same time, and we’ll talk some more?”

  “Oh, sure. I didn’t mean to hold you up.”

  “You didn’t.” That tender look is in his eyes again, making my heart pound in an erratic, joyous rhythm. “If I could, I’d talk to you all day.”

  “Me too,” I admit with a shy smile.

  His answering smile is dazzling. “Until tomorrow then. Sleep well, zaychik.”

  And as he disconnects the call, I push the computer off my lap and do a dance around the room, grinning so hard my cheeks hurt.

  36

  Nikolai

  “You’re in a good mood for someone who was almost killed yesterday,” Konstantin says after we place our orders with the waiter, and I realize I’ve been smiling so much even my socially oblivious brother has noticed. And it’s all because of her.

  Chloe.

  She’s fast becoming my feel-good drug.

  I love that she’s beginning to trust me, to accept what’s happening between us. I didn’t want to come on too strongly on our call today, but it was time she knew my intentions—and now she does. More importantly, I got her to admit that she reciprocates my feelings.

  Her sweetly murmured “me too” is still playing in my mind on a loop.

  “Do you have the report?” I ask, ignoring Konstantin’s comment. It’s none of his business what kind of mood I’m in or why. Besides, there’s nothing like almost dying to make one appreciate life and all of its wonderful possibilities—such as taking Chloe to bed as soon as I get back home.

  “Not yet,” Konstantin says, picking up his cup of chamomile tea. “Hopefully, either later today or tomorrow. But we have verified the info the security guard provided, and it all checks out. The operation is a go for tonight.”

  “What’s taking so long? Your hackers usually come through within hours.”

  He blinks behind the lenses of his glasses. “You’re still talking about the report on the girl?”

  I grit my teeth. “What else?”

  “My team’s been busy, and it’s not an easy task you’ve assigned them.”

  “How so? All I’ve asked is for you to look into her mother’s death and her movements for the past month. How difficult is that? I know she’s been off the grid, but there’s got to be traffic cameras, gas station cam—”

  “There seems to be some interference.” He sips his tea. “A few of the security tapes my guys have pulled have been damaged or wiped clean.”

  I still. “Wiped clean?”

  “A professional job, from the looks of it.” He sets down his cup. “You said she’s just a civilian, right? No affiliation?”

  “None that I’m aware of,” I say evenly.

  Is it possible?

  Could she have fooled me?

  Is sweet little Chloe involved with the mob… or worse, the government?

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I ask Konstantin, who, once again oblivious to the bombshell he’s delivered, is calmly spreading sundried tomato pesto on a piece of freshly baked rye bread. “Don’t you think it’s important for me to know?”

  He bites into the bread and chews leisurely. “I’m telling you now,” he says after he swallows. “Besides, my guys only realized what’s going on last night. A couple of damaged tapes could be just shit luck. But several—that’s a pattern.”

  “So let me get this clear. You’re telling me someone’s erasing all the security tapes where she appears.”

  “Not all the tapes.” He reaches for another piece of bread. “My team’s been able to reconstruct her movements for the majority of the past month. Just certain tapes… ones I suspect may hold the answers you’re after.”

  Fuck.

  This is big.

  I don’t know what I thought Konstantin’s hackers would uncover, but it wasn’t this.

  A thought slithers into my mind, a suspicion so awful my stomach turns over. “Do you think it’s the—”

  “Leonovs?” Konstantin sets down his bread. “I doubt it. My guys have come across their hackers’ work before, and this doesn’t feel like it.”

  “Feel like it?”

  Light glints off the lenses of his glasses. “It’s hard to explain to a non-techie, but yes. There’s a certain sloppiness to the way this was done that doesn’t fit the Leonovs.”

  “I thought you said it was professionals.”

  “There are different levels of professionalism. My guys are top notch, the Leonovs’ team isn’t far behind, and many are way, way worse. These guys are somewhere in the middle, which is why I think my team’s going to come through for you. They just need more time.”

  I take a breath and let it out slowly. Just th
e possibility that Chloe could’ve been hired by my enemies is enough to spike my blood pressure. But Konstantin knows what he’s talking about, and if he doesn’t think it’s them, I have to lay that suspicion to rest for now. Besides, if the Leonovs knew enough to plant Chloe in my compound, I doubt they would’ve sent a guy on a motorcycle as a warning.

  There would’ve been no warning, just straight-up war.

  “About the biker,” I say. “Any luck tracking him down?”

  “No. And that does have Leonov fingerprints all over it. If I had to guess, Alexei’s pissed that you’re here, interfering with his bid.”

  “You’re probably right.” I fall silent as the waiter brings out our food. Once he leaves, I continue. “He must’ve found out about my meeting with the Commission head.”

  “Valery’s doubling your security until then, just in case. Now”—Konstantin drizzles dressing onto his Greek salad—“let’s discuss your talking points for tomorrow.”

  And as he goes over the technical specifications of our product, I do my best to focus on his words instead of the growing number of questions about Chloe and my increasing obsession with her.

  37

  Chloe

  I’ve never felt as giddy as I do this Sunday. All day long, I catch myself smiling uncontrollably and walking around like I’m floating on a cloud. It’s embarrassing, really, but I can’t stop. Each time I think about last night’s call, my pulse races with excitement.

  Nikolai wants me.

  He misses me.

  He wants us to be exclusive.

  I feel like a teenager whose movie star crush just asked her out on a date. Which, in a way, is what’s happening.

  Nikolai wants us to date, or more precisely, to be in a relationship.

  It should seem crazy, and on some level, it does. We’ve known each other less than a week, and for the past couple of days, he hasn’t been here in person. It’s way too soon to be talking about exclusivity, much less destiny and fate. But I can’t deny the strength of the attraction that burns between us, of that powerful, magnetic force that’s terrified me from the start. It wasn’t the attraction itself I feared, though—it was getting hurt. I was afraid of falling for a man who, at best, thought of me as a few nights of entertainment. But that’s not how it is for Nikolai. He made that clear last night, and though it may be naïve of me, I believe him.

  I see no reason for him to lie to me.

  There are other obstacles to our relationship, of course—like his status as my employer and the fact that I’m on the run from a pair of ruthless killers. At some point soon, I’ll have to disclose that, and I have no idea how he’ll react. But that’s a worry for another day.

  Right now, all I want to think about is seeing him on my computer screen tonight.

  * * *

  “Someone chasing you?” Alina inquires at dinner, and I freeze, my heart stopping for a second before I realize she’s referring to the speed with which I’m devouring my food.

  “Just hungry,” I say after I swallow. “Sorry if I’m being rude.”

  She shrugs her graceful shoulders, which are left bare by her strapless evening dress. “I don’t care. Just curious why you’re in such a rush.”

  I’m in a rush because I’m dying to get up to my room in case Nikolai calls early, but there’s no way I’m telling her that. “No reason other than yummy food.”

  Slava giggles at my side. “Yummy. I like yummy in my tummy.”

  I beam at him. “Yes, you do.” We’ve spent all day learning various words and phrases, including this little rhyme, and I’m beyond pleased he remembers it.

  “At this rate, you’re going to have him speaking English in a week,” Alina says, cutting a piece of chicken and placing it on his plate.

  I grin at her. “I hope so—but more realistically, in a couple of months.”

  She smiles back at me and resumes eating, and I do likewise, eager to be done and ensconced comfortably in my bed with the laptop. Like Alina, I’m wearing an evening gown, and I’m looking forward to changing into my pajamas. Although… maybe I shouldn’t. Nikolai might enjoy seeing me like this, even through the camera.

  In fact, I should probably refresh my makeup before he calls.

  “Want to race?” I ask Slava, and make engine-revving noises to remind him of our racing game with toy cars. “See who can eat faster?”

  He blinks, not understanding, so I pick up my fork and begin shoveling food into my mouth with exaggerated speed. Catching on, he does the same, and we clean our plates in record time. Alina, who’s eating at a normal pace, watches our race with amusement, and by the time we’re done, she pushes away her half-eaten chicken.

  “I guess I’m done as well,” she says dryly. Louder, she calls, “Lyuda, Slava gotov!”

  Lyudmila appears from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. I smile and thank her for the delicious meal—though, truth be told, it was nowhere near as good as what her husband makes. The chicken was on the dry side, the potatoes were too salty, and most of the appetizers and side dishes were leftovers. But I’m not about to quibble: Food is food, and I’m grateful to have it.

  Smiling back at me, Lyudmila picks up Slava, and just like that, my evening is free.

  * * *

  As soon as I get to my room, I completely redo my makeup—all I had on at dinner was a light layer of foundation and a coat of mascara—and fix up my hair. I still don’t look nearly as polished as when Alina did this for me, but hopefully, Nikolai won’t mind.

  I was barefaced and in my PJs on our last two calls, so this is a definite improvement.

  Feeling giddy again, I grin at my reflection. I look much better than when I first got here. My cheeks are no longer painfully hollow and the dark circles under my eyes have faded, as has the look of desperation in them. Last night was another one with no nightmares, only sex dreams, and I have Nikolai to thank for that. I may have woken up wet and aching, with my hand pressed between my thighs, but at least I slept through the night.

  God, I can’t wait to talk to him.

  Hurrying over to my bed, I sprawl on my stomach and grab the laptop, willing him to call at this very moment.

  He doesn’t. I guess my mental powers aren’t up to snuff.

  Sighing, I go into my inbox to check for any replies from the journalists. There’s nothing, naturally—though there is a quote from one of the PI firms, detailing their hourly rates and retainer fees.

  I skim it and wince. It’s a lot, way more than I can hope to cover with my first week’s paycheck, at least given the number of hours I anticipate they’ll have to spend. I’ll need at least a couple weeks’ pay for the retainer alone. Maybe the other PIs will be cheaper, but they haven’t responded yet, so I have to wait.

  Like I’m waiting for Nikolai, who’s still not calling.

  Taking a breath, I remind myself to be patient. He said he’d call me around the same time as yesterday, and it’s nowhere near that. For now, I need to distract myself with something, so I begin researching my mom’s friends and co-workers again on the off chance I missed something the first time.

  I’m scrolling through the pictures of her manager’s daughter’s quinceañera when the call request pops up, sending my pulse skyrocketing.

  Beaming, I smooth my hair and click “Accept.”

  38

  Nikolai

  Chloe’s smile is so radiant I feel like I’ve stepped out of an underground bunker onto a sunlit beach. “Hi,” she says, slightly breathless as she sits back against a stack of pillows and places the computer on her lap. “How’s it going? How’s your nuclear bidding thing?”

  I smile back at her, pleasure spreading through me like molten honey. “It’s good, zaychik, thank you.”

  And it is. Valery’s operation has gone off without a hitch, and the Energy Commission is already swarming around the Atomprom plant, seeking to contain the fallout from the reactor that exploded overnight. The radiation leakage is minimal, as expe
cted, but the damage to Atomprom’s reputation is significant—which sets us up well for my lunch meeting with the Commission head today.

  More importantly, for the past hour, I’ve been watching Chloe’s online activities and examining her browser history from yesterday, and I’ve concluded that she’s unlikely to be affiliated with any government or rival organization. If she were a plant, she’d know everything about me already and wouldn’t need to translate Russian articles with the aid of free online tools. Nor would she be researching her mother’s friends and co-workers using nothing more than their public social media—or looking into PI firms.

  Something else is going on with Chloe, something I find both worrisome and intriguing.

  My best bet is to get her to open up to me, to tell me the truth, but if I press her on it now, she might get spooked and try to run—and I don’t want that. Not when I’m an ocean away. The next best option is to get Konstantin’s team to hack her Gmail; the spyware allows me to see what sites she’s on but not the content of them, like individual emails.

  Either way, I’m going to get the answers. I just need to be patient a little longer.

  “How was your day?” I ask, settling more comfortably into my chair. “What did you and Slava do?”

  Her smile turns impossibly brighter, and she tells me all about my son’s amazing progress, her small face so animated I can’t take my eyes off it. She sounds as proud as any parent, and for the first time since I’ve learned of Slava’s existence and Ksenia’s death, my chest doesn’t feel as painfully tight when I think of him and the future that awaits him because of the tainted blood running through his veins. Instead, I feel a sliver of hope as I picture Chloe with Slava, playing with him, cuddling him, loving him… giving him what his mother can’t.

  What I can’t.

  And that’s part of it, I realize, part of why I want her so badly. I want her not just for myself but for my son. I want her sunshine to touch him, to warm him… to keep away the darkness of his heritage for as long as possible. I want her the way I’ve seen her through the cameras in Slava’s room, gracing my son with her radiant smile, making him feel like he’s the most important person in the world to her.