Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
What are his habits? Does he have a daily pattern he follows? Vulnerabilities I could exploit? I need to observe his psychological profile as well. What is his emotional state? Stress levels? How does he respond under pressure? Is he plugged in with any biometric tracking devices? What’s his physical condition?
“Ugh. Do we really, though?” she asks in a little voice that almost makes her seem childlike. I half expect her to pout.
“I know you’d rather get back into that hazmat suit and lead your team to find the pathogen so you can set up your mock decontamination stations,” I say with a grimace. “But remember, there are no real infected civilians here and you were so successful with the last threat simulation, your professors were practically tripping over themselves to congratulate you.”
Her eyes shine at me. “Markov. You’ve been paying attention.”
I shrug. “It’s what I do best.”
Not the only thing I do best, but it’s an important skill to cultivate.
“Anyway,” I tell her as I reach for a bag of chips and open them up before I hand them to her. “We don’t have to stay long. You have an early morning session with your personal trainer before another long day at your clinical.” I wink at her.
“And my father doesn’t have to know you’re my personal trainer?” she asks, taking the chips from me. “I’m glad they’re bringing in some American foods for us.”
“A lot is being asked of you,” I say as I reach for a sandwich for myself. “The last thing you need to do is try choking down foods that are foreign to your palette after a hard day’s work. How’s the American asshat today?”
She groans and rolls her eyes. “He’s such a goody goody, it makes me sick. When Morozov asked me to explain why I’d chosen a certain protocol, Jake droned on and on about the stupid research he did about decontamination procedures and his experience with the Harvard team. He spent extra hours memorizing protocols. And when Morozov asked me to select the team members based on strengths and weaknesses, Jake made some snide comment about my lack of upper body strength as a woman and how he or Maxim would be better suited for anything requiring physical exertion.”
She snorts, but I’m not the slightest bit amused.
“Did he, now?” I ask curiously. I empty my water bottle and crush it in my fist, wishing it was the American’s scrawny little suck-up neck.
“Markov,” she says, sobering. “You cannot intervene. It could put everything at risk.”
Not everything.
“Please,” she pleads. She stifles a groan. “God, why did I tell you anything?”
“Because it’s my job to protect you, and I asked.” I lean over and tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “And I’m your husband.”
I know it’s only fake. I know we’re only pretending, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like how it feels saying that. Vera’s two telltale signs—the flush of her cheeks and the way she bites her lip—tell me she’s no different. She likes it, too.
“Remember, I asked you to trust me, Vera.” I reach for her hand and bring it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. Ah. There’s that lip between her teeth again. My cock stirs.
“When do we have to leave to meet with my father? I have to finish this demonstration before we go.”
I check my phone and frown. “Dammit. He’s moved the time up. We have two hours.”
“Two hours!” She leaps from the table. “I can’t do that!”
Vera needs a little time to shift from one thing to the next, likely due to the intensity of her focus. I give her a look. She can and will do this, even if she doesn’t want to. “In your experience, is your father amenable to you saying you can’t meet his demands?” I ask, knowing the answer before she tells me.
With a groan, she shakes her head. “Point made. Fine, alright. I can get ready, but I have to finish up what I’m working on and tell them I need to leave.”
Two hours later, we’re getting ready to go and meeting the car her father has sent to pick us up. While she was getting ready, I brushed up on the facts I know about Markov, in case her father asks.
Vera looks like a nervous wreck. She’s biting her lip nonstop, fidgeting, tapping her foot. I even find her biting a nail, something she never does.
“Why so nervous?” I ask. I open the door to the car and confirm the directions to Zoloty Kupol, or “Golden Dome,” a renowned restaurant known for its golden accents and panoramic views of the city’s skyline, including the famous domes, in the heart of Moscow town. It’s a place only for the elite, and reservations are required months in advance.