Lie to Me (34 page)

All night he’d made love to her. All night he’d allowed things to go to his head in dangerous ways. He didn’t regret a moment of it, but now that the roller-coaster ride of emotions had leveled out, he wanted answers.

He drew the back of his knuckles down her cheek. “Why’d you run yesterday? If this is what you want, why’d you run?”

Of all the reactions she could have had, stiffening from head to toes hadn’t been on his list of expectations. A frown tugged at his brow, and as she made to turn her head, he caught her chin in his hand and pulled her gaze back to his. “No hiding. You wouldn’t let me.”

Her sigh made her entire body limp. Lackluster. Like she’d just been squashed flat by a heavy weight. Not the response of the willing, eager woman he’d come to know. Sensing her hesitation, he prompted, “Russia? The FSB?”

Sasha snuggled into his body, her skin warm against his. Flattening
one hand in the center of his bare chest, she looked up through long lashes, her expression laden with softness. “What if I want to stay with you, Alexei? Immigrate. A…real life?”

Damn. Nothing could have prepared him for the vise-like tightening of his stomach and the even harder pull deeper inside. Off and on through the last handful of years, more so since he’d come to believe she was lost to Dubai and Amir, he’d considered retirement. Leaving the Black Opals, finding some quiet place to hide away in, hanging up his gun. Filling out a census report.

It had never seemed so possible as it did at this minute.
Life
with Sasha. He could get damned accustomed to that.

But she was dodging his question. No matter how tempting the idea, he couldn’t entertain this discussion—even if he fully intended to agree. Not until she gave him the same trust he’d given her, and revealed exactly why she didn’t want to go back to Russia. He shifted position and dragged her atop his chest. His hands locked around her narrow waist. “Tempting, princess. I’ll answer the question when you answer mine.”

Hesitation clouded her eyes, and she laid her cheek on his shoulder. One delicate fingertip drew a lazy circle on his left pectoral. After several long minutes of silence, her answer came in a low voice. “It’s my father.”

“Yakiv?” Alexei dipped his chin to his chest in order to see her face. “Your father’s gone to a lot of trouble to get you out of Dubai. If it weren’t for him…” He didn’t need to say the rest. They both knew she’d still be with Saeed if Yakiv hadn’t gone to MI6.

Sasha’s hair tickled against his arm as she nodded. “He has. But it’s not what you think, Alexei. He doesn’t want me back because I’m his daughter and he’s missed me. He’s the one who forced me to leave.”

Forced her to leave? Disturbed, Alexei pushed into a partial-sitting position against the pillows, bringing her with him. “How?”

“I didn’t do what he wanted me to. In fact…” She fidgeted, distressed, her fingers falling to the quilt to pluck at a loose thread there. “I did the exact opposite, and I know things that could ruin his life.” Slowly, her gaze lifted from the quilt to Alexei’s face. “He won’t…let that happen.”

In that troubled blue gaze, Alexei heard what she wasn’t saying—she was afraid of her father. Very much so, judging by the nervous tremor in her hand as she laid it on his exposed belly.

Alexei took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and held her gaze in place. “I
won’t
let anything happen to you.”

“I know.” Her attempt at a smile fell weak, only managing to lift one corner of her full mouth. “But I’d rather not go to London at all and take that chance.”

She didn’t believe him. He’d shot his partner to keep her safe, for God’s sake, and she didn’t believe he could protect her from her father. The realization stung. Worse, it set off foreboding. If Sasha believed she wasn’t safe with a Black Opal at her side, just what was her father involved with?

“What do you know, princess?” Alexei asked quietly.

She shook her head. “I can’t tell you.”

“You can.”

“No, Alexei. I can’t. I won’t put you in danger like that.”

Damn it. She was going to have to start believing in him. Ideally before they touched down in London later today.

But he sensed her reluctance and didn’t want the morning to degenerate into another fight. They had a plane ride looming. Plenty of time to dig for answers. Right now, he needed to sooth the fear before she did something ridiculous like try to run while they had breakfast. “Make you a deal.”

Her mouth quirked, and she arched a curious eyebrow. “What?”

“You tell me on the plane, and when we get there, we’ll meet with Clarke first. We’re all adults, Sasha. No one’s forcing you to leave with
your father. You let him see you’re alive, and I’ll see what strings Clark can pull on your citizenship.” He paused, swallowing down the reality of what he was saying, then added more quietly, “If that’s what you want.”

Sasha’s smile was instantaneous and as brilliant as an angel’s. She squirmed in close, giving him a tender kiss. “I want that.” Her lips lingered against his. “I want you.”

Mm. Those were the kinds of words that got to a man. Alexei’s blood thrummed in response as desire shot through his veins. But work, and the day ahead of them, loomed. He’d have plenty of time to enjoy the sweet playground of her body when they were tucked away in a hotel in London.

He gave her ass a playful squeeze. “Why don’t you go shower. I need to see if Misha’s up and find out what time we’re leaving.”

Nodding, Sasha slid from the bed. Her steps were reluctant, but in her smile, a quiet peace resonated. Alexei followed her exit, stopping long enough to don a clean pair of jeans. In the kitchenette, Misha looked up from a day-old croissant and a glass of milk. A ball of lead rolled around in Alexei’s gut—he never should have mentioned Payton. The remark had been out of line, uncalled for. And apologizing had never been Alexei’s strong point.

He did the best he could with an offered, “Want me to go down to the restaurant and bring up breakfast?”

Misha regarded him thoughtfully for a handful of seconds before he shook his head. “Nah. This’ll do. I figured we’d stop on the way to the airport.”

Helping himself to a cold cup of coffee—which he promptly stuck in the microwave—Alexei asked, “You heard from Clarke?”

“Yeah. And Natalya.” Misha dropped onto the now-folded sofa bed, one ankle resting on his knee. “Shit’s bad in London, Alexei.”

A prickling finger of dread inched down Alexei’s spine. Coffee in hand, he took the seat opposite Misha. “How bad?”

“10-X-6 made the bomb, Alexei. Sandman can’t disarm it. They can’t contain it either. Hughes is looking at an entire sector of London being exposed to Novichok. They’ll die in minutes.”

Alexei stared, his mind working frantic circles. 10-X-6 had been the name assigned to an elite designer, the same person who’d blown up a subway in London years ago. His detonation devices were top of the line. Embedded in a tiny touch-sensitive microchip with the same serial number as his name, they were simple, elegant, and beyond the scope of the large majority of professional disarmers. In all cases where 10-X-6 bombs showed up, they’d been forced to explode them. Though there had been only three beyond the subway, and those three hadn’t caused casualties, they were enough to make any bomb squad quiver.

But 10-X-6 had been silent after turning in a list of arms he’d been involved with that were en route for terrorist nations. They’d known he was out there; they’d never been able to find him after his phone call. Yet after that stunning reveal, no one thought he’d ever surface again. Bombers didn’t just give up their goods if they intended to continue. Certainly not a crate of seventeen altered nuclear warheads.

Now, he was back, with one of those fucking masterpieces attached to Novichok. And Sasha was headed straight for London.

“How long do we have?” he asked Misha.

“All intel points to the detonation occurring tomorrow at the EU meeting. They’re debating whether to sound the alarm and evacuate the city, or whether to keep working on a containment means.”

Fuck. Tomorrow.

Misha leaned forward and plucked his cigarettes off the table. This time, instead of rolling it between his fingers, he stuffed it between his lips and lit the end. It bobbed in the corner of his mouth as he continued. “Hughes wants Sasha and her father out of the country tomorrow morning, says he doesn’t want them in the mix. Trubachev advises we stay here. Clarke’s leaving it up to you, but cautions that our relations with MI6 are strained enough.”

Son of a bitch—Clarke wasn’t making this easy. If they kept Sasha here, Hughes would have a fit. All claims that the Opals were working in coordination with British operatives would fly out the window. If he kept Sasha behind as instinct and his heart demanded, God only knew what would happen between the Opals and MI6. They could quickly find themselves at odds and looking over their shoulders for people they had once relied upon. Deadly shadows who were now threats.

S
asha toweled out her hair and slid into a pair of jeans with a comfortable, casual black tank top. Casualwear for a plane ride, and if she had to run from her father, she’d get farther in jeans. And she definitely anticipated running—too many days of being chased by guns had erased her initial idea of confronting her father. Although now, she wouldn’t dream of leaving Alexei far behind. If anything, she needed to convince him on the plane that the moment he stepped off with her, he was in danger as well.

Maybe he’d listen when she told him her father was a
Bratva
faithful. Alexei would understand that danger. He’d been entangled with it for too many years.

She ventured down the hall, entering the sitting room to find Misha and Alexei in silence, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a plastic spoon. She glanced between them, instinct telling her that their grave expressions had nothing to do with the argument the night before. Warily, she sat on the arm of Alexei’s chair. “What’s going on?”

They exchanged guarded glances that only set her nerves on edge more. She glanced between them prompting, “Alexei? Misha?”

“Fuck,” Alexei muttered as he thrust himself out of the chair. He stalked to the corner of the countertop that divided the kitchenette from the sitting room and passed an agitated hand through his hair. “There’s some complications about returning you to London.”

“Complications?” Nerves hollowed out her stomach. What had her father said? Had he tipped his hand? Would he go that far just to bring her home? Oh, God, she’d do anything to erase her past. Anything that wouldn’t give her father the ability to destroy the future she could create with Alexei. “Someone tell me what’s going on.”

“You’re being used as bait, darlin’,” Misha answered flatly. “If we take you back, there’s a good chance you might not make it out again. If we keep you here, like we both want to, two countries could find themselves at odds.”

The room swayed at a dangerous angle. She grabbed the arm of the chair to keep from toppling with the rocking motion and sucked in a deep breath.

“Nice,” Alexei muttered as he threw Misha a glare. “Scaring the shit out of her isn’t exactly the best approach.”

Sasha shook off momentary dizziness with a shake of her head. “I’m not scared.” Not like he imagined. It was the consequence of whatever had happened that terrified her more. The knowledge that, in a handful of hours, she’d lose Alexei forever. But she clung to a portion of what Misha said, hoping beyond all reason it might turn the tide in her favor. “I told you, Alexei, my father wouldn’t risk my coming home.”

Alexei heaved a sigh and his shoulders slumped. His gaze fell on her, conflict brewing behind his bright green eyes. “It’s not your father, Sasha. It’s a man named 10-X-6. An elite bomb designer who blew up thirty or more people a few years ago in London. He’s back. He’s planted another. This time he’s attached it to the nerve agent Novichok. If it blows—and no one knows how to disarm it—thousands of people will die.”

He continued, but the noisy buzz in Sasha’s head only allowed her to catch bits and pieces of how she related to the conflict. None of it mattered anyway. Her father had won, and nothing could change that fact. She would die. She’d known it all along, but she’d never dreamed
her father would stoop to the level of using his biochemical knowledge against innocents. That he’d kill thousands in his quest for revenge.

She clung to the chair’s arm, fighting down the sudden rise of bile in her throat and the heaving of her stomach. This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be. She’d destroyed her designs. Reported all she could so no one could ever use them again. How had her father…

Her thoughts skidded to a halt, along with her heart. The test site. The last time her father had taken her and her team to the testing facility, the bomb had failed to detonate. He had a secondary team dismantle it, claiming it was too risky for her, or her team, to try. He’d rather have someone else take that risk.

At the time, like all the other things he’d said throughout her life, she’d believed him. Thought that her father was keeping her out of harm’s way. And she’d walked away from that undetonated bomb, leaving her prototype design intact. A design that would go on to haunt her, years later.

She swallowed hard, struggling to breathe through the narrow straw her throat had become, and forced herself to focus on Misha. She couldn’t look at Alexei now. Couldn’t bear the pain that would etch into his handsome features. “You have to take me back.”

“Don’t be absurd,” Alexei protested. “I’m not putting you in that kind of danger. We’ll figure out something.”

Misha’s gaze narrowed. Speculation flickered behind his ice blue eyes. He knew…something. And he was waiting for her to continue, she realized. She swallowed again as perspiration trickled down the underside of her arms. “No. I have to go back.” Bravely, she held on to Misha’s stare like it was a life raft. If she looked away, she’d never find the courage again.

“I can disarm that bomb. I won’t have thousands die.”

At her side, Alexei protested. But she didn’t hear the words, only the sound of his adamant voice. If he’d been looking at her, instead of pacing, she was certain he would have seen whatever it was that Misha
recognized and turned his speculative gaze into hard, obvious awareness. His dark eyebrows lifted in momentary surprise, then flattened out, his expression flat. Penetrating all the same.