Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
“Peter…” Pulling back, I gaze up at him. “You’re not going to do anything to Marsha or Agent Ryson, right?”
He stares down at me, his hands tightening on my sides. “Define ‘anything.’”
“Peter, please.”
His lips flatten, and he steps back, releasing me. “Fine. Your friend is safe. I won’t go near her. Even if she didn’t avoid us like the plague, you now know better than to trust her.”
“My lips are sealed around her, I promise. And you won’t go near Ryson either. Right?” I prompt when Peter neither confirms nor denies my statement.
A muscle ticks in his chiseled jaw. “He poses a threat. You know that, Sara. It’s no longer just an assignment for him. He wants to bring us down; he’s obsessed with it.”
“Yes, but we’re not doing anything wrong—just living our life. And if we continue doing that, he won’t be able to do anything to us. However, if you rise to his bait…”
Peter swears under his breath and turns away, walking over to stand by the window. I follow, knowing that if I don’t extract this promise from him, the FBI agent’s days are numbered.
“You know this is exactly what he’s hoping for,” I say when Peter turns to face me, his expression forbidding. “He wants you to violate the terms of your deal. It’s killing him that you are here with me, and that we’re happy. This”—I reach out to clasp Peter’s hand—“is the best revenge you can have. Let him run around sniffing at our heels. He won’t find anything because there won’t be anything to find.”
As I speak, Peter’s fingers tighten into a fist in my grasp before slowly relaxing, and his eyes take on a peculiar gleam. “All right,” he says huskily as he grips my wrists and moves them lower. “I see your point.” He presses my hands to his crotch, where I feel a growing bulge.
I lick my lips as an answering warmth ignites in my core. “So I have your word?” I gently massage his erection through his jeans before sinking down on my knees in front of him. “You won’t hurt Ryson in any way?”
He closes his eyes and grasps my shoulders as I unzip his jeans. “Yes, you have my word. He’s safe.” His voice is strained with need, but I hear the dark note underneath as he adds, “As long as he doesn’t try anything else.”
21
Henderson
I turn into an alley, shivering at the biting gust of wind. It’s unseasonably cold in Budapest this week, reminding me of my brief stint in Vladivostok in the early nineties.
Fuck, I miss those simpler days.
She’s waiting for me by the back door, as agreed, her small, boyish figure bundled up in a thick jacket and her short, platinum-blond hair standing up in spikes around her elfin face.
If I didn’t know what she really was, it would be easy to believe her cover as a waitress at a trendy bar.
“Mink?” I say as I approach, and she nods.
“Here.” I hand her a thick envelope. “US passport and half of the agreed-upon payment.”
She takes the envelope and stuffs it into her coat. When she takes her hand out, she’s holding a folder. “These are the men you want,” she says, handing it to me. Her English is as American-sounding as mine, without so much as a hint of an Eastern European accent. “They’re the best, and they’ll do anything.”
I open the folder and flip through the files inside. Each of the candidates has a rap sheet as long as my targets’, and all are elite former military.
Best of all, I see four whose appearance could be sufficiently altered with wigs and makeup.
“All good?” she asks, and I nod, closing the folder.
These were the last puzzle pieces I was missing.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take him out myself?” she asks as I stuff the folder into my own coat. “Because I could, you know.”
“No, you couldn’t,” I say. “He’s too well guarded. And even if you managed, that’s not the plan. Your job is to make sure he doesn’t get taken alive, understand?”
She gives me a mocking salute. “Aye, aye, General. Consider it done.”
And pivoting on the heel of her Doc Martens, she opens the door and disappears into the bar.
22
Peter
I didn’t think it was possible to love Sara more, but as the weeks pass and we find our stride as a married couple, my feelings for her both intensify and deepen. I realize now that there was a lot I didn’t know about the object of my obsession—our relationship had been so tense that she’d never truly relaxed around me. Now, however, I get to see a different side of her, and I adore every new trait and quirk that I uncover.
My ptichka hates politics but is weirdly fascinated by natural disasters, religiously devouring all the news coverage before sending in a generous donation. She claims to love dogs more than cats, but it’s cat videos she’s addicted to on YouTube. She thinks The Big Bang Theory is the funniest show of all time and makes me watch it with her on the weekends. And best of all, she sings when she’s in a great mood—sometimes under her breath, sometimes out loud.