The Spy With the Silver Lining

T
he world is a stage, Cassie. Play to your audience and get them to love you. Life is an investment. It’s like buying a satin suit and fabulous shoes. You get what you pay for.

Head up, shoulders straight, and remember, never buy cheap.

For twenty-eight years Casmir Balasi had lived by her mother’s words, as well as her motto: quality, not quantity. She’d been a trendsetter in her youth, a runway model by age nineteen, and for the past five years Ruza’s teachings had turned the blonde with attitude into one of the most valued femmes fatales at EURO-Quest.

Her model figure and fashion sense, along with her catlike ability to land on her feet, had allowed her to infiltrate some of the most dangerous criminal circles in the world.

Code-named “the actress,” she had recovered precious gems, exposed the most cunning criminals, foiled terrorists and carried top-secret documents across enemy lines, while entertaining evil in the process. And each time she had managed to keep her identity a secret to play the game another day.

She’d been as elusive as a grain of sand in a sandstorm. Her top-notch skills allowed her to haul her butt out of tighter spots than a Gucci leather skirt.

Until tonight.

Tonight, the black wide-brimmed Tularo shielding her green eyes and the silver Devicca suit outlining her curves had fallen short. Nasty Nicky was seated at the bar and he was looking straight at her.

Normally that wouldn’t have drawn a red flag, but the smug look on his face warned Casmir that he wasn’t just enjoying the sight of an attractive woman in a crowd.

There was something else in
that
look.

It was a look of recognition, and something more. As if he knew the secret life behind her secret life.

Casmir scanned the beautiful club, and the throngs of beautiful people who had ventured out tonight to play at the Kelt. If Nicky was here, Yurii Petrov must be somewhere close by. Which meant the Russian had escaped the maximum security prison in Prague where he’d been eating and sleeping, and dreaming of freedom, for the past seven months.

And if that was true, it meant Yurii knew everything—who, what and why.

Even more damning, it meant he knew that she was responsible for his recent address change, his dismal room with no view and, no doubt, his weight loss due to crappy prison rations.

She wasn’t fool enough to believe that he’d suffered beyond what was bearable. Yurii Petrov had risen to the ranks of
soldato
early in life. He was a hardened criminal who had grown up in the company of hardened criminals. He’d reached Don status to become the most notorious blood-seeking mobster in the Red Mafia.

An iron-tough son of a bitch topped the list on his profile. A detail man who was used to getting what he wanted and holding on to it. A man who didn’t blink when it came to following the laws of the cartel.

Had she underestimated Yurii? If he was here, then, yes, she had.

A year ago her assignment had been specific. Trip up Yurii Petrov. Find his weakness and get close to him. So close she knew what brand of toothpaste he used, what made him laugh and what turned him on.

During her research she’d learned why she’d been picked for the job. Yurii had only two weaknesses—apricots from his homeland in Armenia and long-legged blondes.

She’d turned his head within a week, and literally brought him to his knees two months later.

The vision of Yurii on bended knee, pulling a velvet box from his pocket, flashed in Casmir’s mind and she glanced down at her left hand. She should never have kept the ring, but it really was beautiful—a ten-carat marquise diamond set in a circle of flawless rubies.

“Never take your eyes off your target. That’s what I promised myself that day on the Riviera. Remember,
Kisa?
You were sunbathing topless when I first laid eyes on your lovelies.”

It was Yurii. His Russian accent was thick, his breath spiked with the familiar brandy-soaked cigars he favored. His lips brushed the side of her neck, reminding her that they were a little too thin for her taste. Still, he knew how to use them; after all, he was the detail man and appreciated perfection in all things.

Yurii captured her hand, spun her quickly, and suddenly Casmir was looking into a pair of deep-set earthy brown eyes. He raised her hand and kissed it, his penetrating eyes locking on the ring he’d given her months ago.

There was an awkward moment of silence, as if he’d forgotten what he was going to say. Then he recovered. “I should be furious with you. But how can I be angry, my love?” His thumb slowly passed over the diamond engagement ring on her finger. “You’re still wearing my gift. So just maybe I’ll have to rethink killing you.”

“Kill your fiancée? Why would you want to? I thought you loved me, Yurii.”

“And I thought the feeling was mutual. But I heard a disturbing rumor while I was living in my home away from home.”

“Rumors are so unreliable.”

“Tell me you didn’t set out to betray me,
Kisa.
Tell me it wasn’t all a lie. Tell me I didn’t let an enemy into my heart, then into my bed.”

“I believe the bed came first,” Casmir reminded him.

“I remember that night clearly. You were a one of a kind.
Da,
it is why it hurts more than I can express.”

If prison had been a hardship, Casmir couldn’t tell. Yurii looked fit and healthy at forty-nine, his wavy black hair short, with a touch of gray at his temples just as she remembered.

To go along with his dangerous good looks, he favored black shirts beneath expensive black suits—and always a bloodred silk tie. The picture he presented tonight was a carbon copy of the old Yurii, right down to the scent of his mordant cologne and an imported cigar pinched between his fingers.

Although his five-foot-nine-inch height made him appear more round than lean, his charisma was as powerful as his high-ranked position in the criminal world.

A real sweet deal, is how Ruza would have described him at a glance.

“Deny the betrayal. Let me hear the words from your hot red lips. Lips that have haunted my dreams since we’ve been apart. Tell me it’s all a terrible mistake, my love. Speak the truth.”

“I’m wearing your ring. I haven’t taken it off since you gave it to me. That is the only truth I know, Yurii.”

His hand closed around hers and squeezed. “Not exactly a confession of innocence, my love. Come. We will discuss it in private. My car is waiting.”

She felt something hard dig into her side. Without needing to look, she knew Yurii had drawn his Gyurza. The Russian pistol was famous for its cored bullets and penetration ability—a deadly weapon that could go through two sheets of titanium at 100 meters.

Casmir didn’t flinch. Instead she glanced left, then right. The nightclub was packed wall to wall, but Pasha had to be there somewhere. A little help from her contact would be appreciated about now.

“If you’re looking for your dark-haired friend, I’m afraid she won’t be coming. She’s met with a tragic accident. A lovely creature, but certainly not you.”

If Pasha was dead, Yurii knew for certain that she was a spy for EURO-Quest.

Casmir didn’t react to the bad news. She was a professional, after all. She hadn’t earned her stripes by wilting under pressure, or spilling tears in the face of the enemy.

She would cry for Pasha later, after she escaped.

Yurii saw betrayal only one way—he would have to kill her.

She had never bought into the cliché that life’s a bitch and then you die. Her mother had always professed the opposite—life’s a ball, so let’s party. Well dressed, of course.

But Yurii wasn’t in a mood to celebrate a reunion in the backseat of his Rolls. She was headed for the Dumpster in the alley, to be picked up with tomorrow morning’s garbage. Pasha was probably there waiting for her.

She saw Nasty Nicky slide off the bar stool. He was grinning, his greasy slicked-back red hair bringing more attention to his stubby nose and ruddy complexion.

Someone should suggest a new hairdo to him, and a new wardrobe, too. Double-pleated pants were out, and the cheap fabric had created deep wrinkle lines high on the inside of his sawed-off short legs, making his crotch pooch out like a deformity instead of an endowment.

Yurii’s fingers locked around Casmir’s wrist. He nudged her with the Gyurza, incentive to head for the exit.

Nicky was now shouldering his way through the crowd to join them. She was out of time. Blood was about to be spilt. Hers, all over her expensive Devicca suit.

Casmir slid her hand into her jacket pocket to retrieve her Makarov. Still playing her lover’s game, she turned slowly and poked the barrel of her weapon into Yurii’s stomach, just below the safety vest he always wore when he went out in public.

“Feel that, darling? Shoot me, and I shoot you.”

He didn’t seem surprised by her counter move. Or worried, for that matter.

His smile turned into a shark’s smirk. “You really are a bad girl, aren’t you,
Kisa?
One of Quest’s most valued she-spies, I’m told.”

“If you say so. Now slip your gun into my pocket, or we both die here and now.”

“
Da,
a bad bitch.”

“A bitch with a gun aimed at your—” she slid the gun lower “—big bad boy.”

His grin parted his thin lips, exposing nice white teeth. Yurii was famous for more than his Don status in the Red Mafia; his endowment was as thick as his accent and as penetrating as his Gyurza.

He dropped his gun into her pocket. “So the game begins. I look forward to playing. You know how I love a good challenge,
Kisa.
But in the end we will meet again. You know we must.”

“Destiny?”

“Yours and mine. Remember while you’re running there isn’t anywhere you can hide that I won’t find you.”

“You’re probably right. But you can’t blame a bad girl for giving it her best shot. No pun intended.”

He released her wrist, brushed her cheek with the back of his hand and ran a finger over her lips. “Extraordinary. From your sexy mouth to your amazing ass. There is no other like you, and even after all the lies I still want you, my love. We are soul mates, you and I. Till death do us part?”

“But not today, Yurii. I would prefer dying a little later. Say…thirty years from now, when my amazing ass has fallen.”

Casmir slid her Makarov lower and ran the barrel over the length of his
big bad boy.
“Dance with me, darling, and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Yurii started to move in time with the music. He was a good dancer. A fan of Sinatra.

As they blended into the crowd on the dance floor, Casmir blew him a kiss, then got lost in the mass of gyrating bodies. She reached up and removed her hat. Before the brimmed Tularo settled on the floor, she plucked a few pins, then shook her head, sending the length of her black wig cascading down her back.

She spun right, danced behind a beefy giant grinding his hips. There she pulled her jacket off, quickly turned it inside out and slipped it back on.

Feeling the music,
the actress
danced toward the exit, her silky black hair moving around the shoulders of her shocking pink jacket.

When she wiggled past Nasty Nicky, his eyes never left the dance floor as he searched the crowd for his boss, and the silver goddess wearing the black wide-brimmed hat.

“Y
ou’re in the deep freeze, Balasi. Your cover’s been blown, and until we can find another use for ‘the actress,’ and Yurii Petrov is no longer a threat, you’re ice.”

Four days after her escape from the Kelt in Bratislava, Casmir sat in Lev Polax’s office in Prague dressed to kill. She wore a pale-blue satin pantsuit, complete with matching shoes and handbag, her blond hair twisted in a trendy knot, drawing attention to her slender neck and the silver filigree earrings dangling from her ears.

Prepared to sit through her commander’s predictable performance—Polax was number one when it came to grandstanding—she crossed her legs and made herself comfortable.

He would do a bit of yelling as he paced the floor, leaving footprints on the plush beige carpet, then stop and yell some more. After exhaustion set in—he was in poor shape, so it wouldn’t take long—they would get down to business and discuss the reason he had sent for her at seven in the morning.

“How in the hell did Petrov escape maximum security? That’s what I’d like to know.” Polax’s voice boomed like a cannon. “Now we’ve got the Russian Mafia crawling up our ass.”

It seemed more appropriate to be asking that question to his superiors, or the prison authorities, Casmir thought. She’d done her job. It had taken months to get close to Yurii, and now those months had been flushed down the toilet.

For sure, Quest had taken a giant step backward on this one. Now they would be scrambling to restore their success record in the spy world.

But the really bad news wasn’t what Quest had lost, or businesswise what Yurii had lost—his empire was still standing. What he’d lost was far more precious. Far more personal.

“I can’t believe this has happened,” Polax raged.

Ditto, Casmir thought.

She uncrossed her long legs and played with the diamond on her finger. It really was beautiful. Flawless, Yurii had said. The diamond from Africa, the rubies from Brazil.

Flawless like my future bride, Kisa.

Polax was on his feet now, starting to pace, his pet chair trailing his flat ass. Or maybe it wasn’t all that flat. Maybe it only looked that way because his chubby tummy stuck out from his cinched belt like a balloon that had had too many injections of helium.

He stopped and faced her. “Are you hearing any of this? You’re sitting there as if you’re expecting me to invite you to lunch.”

Of course she was hearing him. He was shouting, and as spacious as his office was, the soundproof technology inside created a ping-pong effect. Actually she was hearing everything twice. As far as lunch was concerned it was too early, but breakfast would be nice. A glass of OJ, coffee and a little protein.

“We haven’t only lost Petrov. One of our best agents had her throat slit.”

It was understandable Polax would be upset about Pasha. She was an excellent agent, an agent who followed Polax’s orders to the letter.

Casmir had mourned her comrade in private, the Hungarian with the hot temper. They hadn’t always seen eye to eye, but they had respected each other.

Polax was back in his chair, the motorized wonder speeding him behind his monstrosity of a desk.

“The agency can’t afford to lose you, too, so pay attention to what I’m saying. I have a plan to defuse this ticking time bomb.”

Here it comes, Casmir thought. A new identity on a remote island. Crete sounded nice, or maybe she could spend the summer with Nadja in the Azores. It would be great to see the baby. Nadja had brought Bjorn’s child into the world a month ago—a beautiful blond baby boy they had named Dane.

After six months on a tropical beach she’d come back ready to go to work with an amazing tan, as a brunette or a redhead. No, not red, it would clash with her wardrobe. She’d probably have to cut the length. Not her best look, but doable. Gain a few pounds—oh, God, not that.

“I’ve contacted a friend of mine. Everything has been arranged. You’ll leave immediately.”

It was time to speak, make a few suggestions. “Someplace warm, I hope. Crete, or maybe I could visit—”

Polax looked over the top of his glasses, which were perched on his puggy, turned-up nose. They were new. Not the best choice for his face shape. Mini oval rims did nothing for his narrow temples. They made his cheeks look like his tummy—as if they had taken one too many hits of helium. A silver finish would have been better than gold, as well. He should have called her and she would have arranged to go with him to pick out something more flattering.

He pulled two passports from his top drawer. “You’ll be en route within the hour. No one will know where you are except for me and your bodyguard. He’ll pick you up.”

“You’re giving me a bodyguard? That’s generous, but not necessary. I’ve soloed on more missions than any other agent at Quest. I certainly don’t need a babysitter lying on the beach blocking the sun.”

“You need whatever I deem relevant. You’ve been assigned a keeper, and that’s that.”

“A keeper?”

“If you prefer bodyguard or babysitter, call him what you wish. Watchdog. Glue. Fungus. I don’t care.” He shoved two passports across his desk. “I hate to inform you of this, but there was a kidnapping attempt on your mother last night. I believe it was initiated by Petrov.”

“He went after Mama?”

“If he had been successful he would have used Ruza to lure you out of hiding. You would have probably gotten emotional and made some silly deal with him to free her. Of course that would have ended up with both of you dead. Since that is unacceptable, I’ve decided—”

“Was she hurt?”

“A bump on the head, and shaken up a bit. I took it upon myself to assign her a guard after the incident in Bratislava. An agent was staked out in front of her apartment. We interceded before she was taken.”

“Obviously not a very good one if someone was able to break in.”

Another austere look over his glasses. “Ruza is packed and ready to join you on your little getaway. She’s been given a story that parallels the bullshit you’ve been feeding her over the years about working for an international real estate agency. As your real estate boss—” he made a face “—I’ve told her that we’re sending you on a little business/pleasure trip. I sent someone to pack for you. You’ll leave straight from here and meet Ruza at the airport.”

“Our destination?”

“The U.S.”

Too vague. “Where exactly?”

“An out-of-the-way little place called Le Mystère.”

“Le Mystère? It sounds lovely. Which coast?”

“The Gulf.”

“Florida?”

“Louisiana.”

“What’s in Louisiana?”

“Alligators, snakes and…hot weather. It seems I’ve made one of your wishes come true.”

“Why not a sunny island in—”

“Because your bodyguard is familiar with Louisiana. He’s got a house there.”

“With alligators for neighbors.”

“Look at it this way. You won’t have to make an effort to be…nice. You can be yourself.”

At Quest, Casmir was known as the bitch with an attitude, the agent who got away with far more than Polax put up with from anyone else. She didn’t know why that was. She knew agents who had been suspended for speaking their mind. She, on the other hand, had simply gotten Polax’s famous
look.

“Does my bodyguard have a name?”

“If I’m not mistaken, you’ve already met.” Polax opened the file on his desk and shuffled through a stack of papers. “Pierce Fourtier was the agent who helped out on the Austrian mission a few months ago. The one you played body double with.”

Not that arrogant jackass. No, Casmir thought. The gods wouldn’t be that sadistic. Give her anyone else. A seven-foot gorilla with body odor, a three-foot circus midget on crutches. A transvestite with a shoe fetish, and better taste than hers. Anyone, just not Pierce Fourtier.

“An excellent operative. I’ve never met him, but his file is quite impressive. Seven years as a rat fighter makes him the perfect troubleshooter to watch your backside.”

“The perfect asshole, you mean.”

“As I said, call him whatever you wish.”

“I can’t work with him. We didn’t get along in Austria.”

“I have no record of that.”

Of course he didn’t—she hadn’t made an issue out of it because she was sure she’d never see him again.

“I’m not asking you to like him. You’re a professional, and professionals put their differences aside. Bring your acting skills along and you’ll do fine. It’s always worked before. Until four days ago, that is. This time the only difference will be that instead of standing out in a crowd, and dining with royalty in a two-thousand-dollar miniskirt, you’ll be blending in to your surroundings. That should lighten your suitcase, and Quest’s expense account.”

That was mean. He knew damn well that she spent money out of her pocket for at least half of her wardrobe.

She should point that out. Point her toe and give him a kick under his oversize desk.

Instead, she asked, “How long will it take to put Yurii back behind bars?”

“If I knew that I’d moonlight as a psychic. The important thing is coming out of this smelling like petunias instead of yesterday’s socks. The eyes of the intelligence world are watching us. We can’t afford to make another mistake where Yurii Petrov is concerned. He’ll be out for blood now.”

“Mine.”

“Well put. He has unlimited resources. Behind every legitimate business he owns there’s a million-dollar fraud in the works. From money laundering, to smuggling, to forgery and counterfeiting. He’s the go-to man every criminal wants as their friend when they need someone to disappear, or a few billion dollars cleaned. To put him out of business we need the location of his headquarters. It’s too bad he never took you there during the months you spent with him.”

He was referring to Nescosto Priyatna. Yurii’s secret sanctuary was still a mystery to the intelligence world, and to her.

“For us to come out of this bungle with our heads high, we’re going to have to get creative. We want his operation destroyed. Until that happens you’ll be vacationing in hell.”

“Hell?”

“Sorry. I should have said heaven. Snake heaven, that is. I’ll keep you up to date on the situation on a need-to-know basis. For now you don’t need to know anything, except what time your flight leaves.”

“Snake heaven.”

“You really are listening. Good.”

Casmir knew Quest’s policy when it came to offering information—only active agents involved in the mission were briefed on the when, where and how.

She didn’t want back in the hot seat, but it was a foolish move to keep her out of the loop altogether. She’d been the only agent to get inside Yurii’s tight circle. She knew his habits. Knew things that hadn’t made it into his file.

She’d gotten close enough to know that he slept on his back, not his belly. Knew what he did first when he got out of bed in the morning, and it wasn’t make a trip to the bathroom. Knew what quenched his thirst above all else, and why he had his shoes custom made, and it wasn’t the same reason she did.

She couldn’t shake
that
feeling that she always got when the cards in the deck had been switched and she was playing poker, holding a sucker’s hand.

She said, “Now that Yurii’s been burned, it won’t be easy getting close to him. He has plenty of men to do his legwork. Their loyalty is beyond question. And he has Filip.”

“Yes, the brother. Thank you for bringing him to my attention.” He scribbled the name on a piece of paper. “So that’s it, we’re on top of the situation, with every confidence that we have the right bait to make Yurii bite.”

If they were on top of the situation, Yurii would never have escaped his iron cell in the first place, Casmir thought.

Polax looked up and gave her a satisfied smile. “You’re on vacation starting now.”

“But I—”

“There’s no need to concern yourself further. I’m confident this time things are going to go our way. Get comfortable in your new home and take up a hobby. Knitting, perhaps, or maybe cooking. Can you boil water yet?”

She would like to boil him, and the look she gave him said so.

“You won’t be returning to Quest until Petrov’s command center has been destroyed and the final paperwork is on my desk. My advice is to put your feet up and enjoy the time off.”

“I don’t see why—”

“Your argument will be a waste of your time and mine.”

Casmir scalded him with her best bitch look. The problem was by now Polax had become immune to it. But she kept it going.

She’d been given the name
royal bitch,
which she embraced. She’d had a good teacher. Her mother had written the rule book on bitchdom, and Casmir had read every word.

A weak woman was as vulnerable as a three-legged dog on a fox hunt, Mama had always said. A strong woman knows how to get what she wants. When to add a cup of sugar, or a drop of arsenic.

A confident woman is wrinkle free, walks like she owns the sidewalk and isn’t afraid to kick a little ass when the shoe fits. And if the ass is big, wear boots—preferably a pair you can run in should your aim be an inch or two off and the brute doesn’t go down.

Polax was speaking again. Casmir made eye contact, her eyes snapping like a bitch on fire.

He dismissed the look. “We never know what tomorrow will bring in the intelligence business, Balasi. Four days ago you were
the actress.
A busy little spy doing what you do best, playing games with a winning hand. But now your cards have been turned over and Petrov knows you outplayed him. Until we have him back, you’re—”

“A prisoner with an asshole jailer.”

“A jailer who has a reputation that gives new meaning to the word survival. I’m confident Fourtier will be able to protect you should your sunny disposition irritate the neighbors and start them hissing.”

Very funny, Casmir thought. If a reptile crossed her path, she was going to shoot it in the head with Yurii’s dependable Gyurza. She still had his gun, with a round of ammo guaranteed to turn Fourtier’s neighbors into leather shoes, complete with matching handbags.

“Your plane is waiting, and so is your mother. I’m sure Ruza will recover from her injuries in a few days.”