The Soldier's Seduction

They were traveling fast and erratically. Steffi was thrown around by the movement of the vehicle as her abductor wove wildly back and forth across the road. He was swearing under his breath and, unable to figure out the reason for his strange behavior, Steffi risked shifting into a half-sitting position so she could glance out the rear window again. The cause of his annoyance soon became obvious and her heart gave an optimistic bound.

Bryce was still tailing them...and he was gaining on them. Even though it was impossible to see his face across the distance between the two vehicles, Steffi could imagine his expression. The determined set to his jaw. The stubborn glint in his dark eyes. The way he held his whole body rigid. It was a look she had provoked often enough. She never would have believed the time would come when Bryce Delaney’s obstinacy would be such a welcome sight.

There was little early-morning traffic, which was just as well, since her abductor was veering across to the other side of the road in an attempt to throw Bryce off his tail. With a feeling of mingled horror and elation, she figured out what Bryce was attempting to do. He was going to try a PIT, or precision immobilization technique, maneuver. It was a pursuit tactic from one of her movies. Although a stunt double had been used in the driving scene, Steffi had been fascinated by the maneuver itself and the skill it took to pull it off.

Had Bryce been trained to do this? She knew he had been in the army, but she had no idea of his role. From what she could see, it looked like he knew what he was doing as he pulled alongside the Russian’s vehicle. Carefully aligning his front wheels with the fleeing car’s back wheels at such high speed was no easy task.

“I told you to stay down,” the Russian growled at Steffi. The words lacked any heat as he struggled to avoid Bryce’s next move.

Steffi ignored the warning, watching with her heart in her mouth as Bryce swung his wheel and made contact with their vehicle before steering a sharp quarter turn into its side. The Russian let out another furious stream of curses as his car spun out and came to a stop.

“Stay here.”

Like that’s going to happen.

As he grabbed up his gun and leaped out of the car, Steffi slid the door on the opposite side open. The vehicle had come to rest at the edge of the highway, right at the point where the tarmac ended and the road sloped down to a steep wooded bank. Crouching low, she used the vehicle to shield herself from view as she slithered down the incline on her bottom. Her boots squelched into a narrow creek, and she bent almost double, following the muddy water away from the car as fast as she could. As she reached the shelter of a line of trees, she heard a single gunshot and bit back the cry that rose to her lips. If Bryce had been killed because of her...

For several heart-stopping minutes nothing happened. Not daring to risk leaving her hiding place, Steffi waited in silence for some clue to what had gone on.

Eventually, she heard footsteps and a voice called out, “Steffi? Where the hell are you?”

It was Bryce and this time she allowed the cry to escape her lips. She had intended to shout his name, but instead it came out as a strangled sob. Emerging from the trees and looking up the slope, she saw him at the top. Leaning down, he offered her his hand. Reaching for him, she twined her fingers into his and let him haul her up the bank. Glancing over at the Russian’s car several yards away, she saw her abductor writhing on the ground, clutching his left knee and groaning. Blood was seeping through his fingers and dripping onto the road.

Even though he was clearly in agony, he raised his head and glared at her. Through clenched teeth, he muttered a warning. “You think you can outrun the Big Guy? Think again, Stefanya.”

Steffi felt her own knees begin to wobble and was glad when Bryce slid his arm around her waist as he led her toward the Range Rover. “Let’s get out of here before someone calls the cops.”

* * *

“Damn.” Bryce felt the unmistakable drag on the wheel as he pulled out onto the highway.

“What is it?” Steffi slewed around in her seat. “Are we being followed?”

“No, we have a flat tire. It must have been damaged when I immobilized his vehicle.”

She made a sound that might have been the start of a hysterical laugh. It tailed away as she looked his way again. “Do we have to stop?”

In normal circumstances, Bryce would not have driven with a flat tire. He had no desire to run up a hefty repair bill, and he knew the damage he would do to the rim if he didn’t pull over and change the tire. But these circumstances were far from normal. Whatever was going on with Steffi, he had to get her away from a situation where these guys, whoever they were, could catch up with her again.

“Not yet. But I don’t understand why you won’t call the police.” Bryce looked across at Steffi as she returned to her huddled position low in the passenger seat. She looked like someone who was trying to disappear into herself. He had tossed her his phone as they got into the car, but all she had done was stare at it as if it was a coiled snake. “Don’t tell me you don’t know who those guys are.”

“If we call the police, I will have to tell them who I am.” Her voice was a quiet monotone. He got the feeling she had said those words many times, maybe just not out loud.

“You said you didn’t commit those murders.” Bryce kept his voice low, sensing she was close to a breaking point.

She pushed her curls back from her face with a hand that shook. “I didn’t, but you have no idea what I’m up against.”

“Tell me.” He risked glancing away from the road again and was shocked at the raw fear he saw on her face.

“Can we get off the highway first?”

“Steffi, that guy isn’t going to be moving anytime soon. There’s no way he’s following us.”

“He won’t be alone.” Those haunting eyes were wide with fear. “Please?”

Bryce gave it some thought. His house was on the opposite side of town, and he was seriously concerned about Steffi’s well-being if she stayed in the car much longer. She was walking a knife-edge between stability and hysteria, swaying precariously back and forth from one to the other. He had no idea what was going on, but it was clear she was scared half to death. He also had the issue of a shredded tire and an increasingly damaged rim to take into account.

They were driving along Lakeside Drive. On their left was Stillwater Lake, the huge body of water that bordered the city. His brother Cameron had a house here, a beautiful designer property that was tucked away in the trees above its own private lakefront view. Since his recent marriage, Cameron had moved into a sprawling ranch on the road out toward Park County. He and Laurie were restoring the old property and were planning to sell the lake house. It was so private, it should reassure Steffi that no one could find them. Once they were there, maybe she would be able to calm down and tell him what the hell was going on. His ribs gave a twinge. And maybe he could take a look at his injuries at the same time. That guy back at Steffi’s cabin had used his fists the way other people took a mallet to a fence post.

He turned the car off the highway and down a narrow, winding track that led between tall pine trees. Steffi eyed him suspiciously. “Where are we going?”

“My brother’s house.” Correctly interpreting her look of horror, he quickly attempted to reassure her. “Don’t worry, no one else will be there.”

Although she didn’t seem convinced, Steffi remained silent as he pulled up to the wrought iron gates, waiting while the sensor on his windshield opened them automatically. She glanced around her nervously, but seemed relieved when the gates closed behind them. The same sensor opened the double garage. As Bryce pulled into the gloomy interior, the fluorescent lighting kicked in. From there, they could mount an internal staircase into the house itself. Bryce had a key, and he also knew the code to the alarm system. He was convinced they hadn’t been followed, but he was keen to calm Steffi’s nerves by showing her he was taking her apprehension seriously. Pocketing the gun he had returned to the Range Rover’s glove box after shooting Steffi’s abductor, he led the way into the house.

The lake house was stunning, but its story was tragic and Bryce no longer felt comfortable in the beautiful glass-and-wood dwelling. It had been designed by Cameron’s former girlfriend, Carla, who had died on the lake. At the time it was believed it had been a boating accident. It was only recently it had emerged that she was one of the victims of the serial murderer known as the Red Rose Killer. The city, and the Delaney family in particular, were still reeling from the impact of that investigation. It was the reason Bryce drove around with a loaded gun in his glove box.

Steffi appeared not to notice her surroundings. As Bryce made coffee—adding several heaped spoons of sugar to her cup—she hugged her arms around her waist and gazed out of the full-length window. He took the drinks through to the large family room and set them on the glass-topped driftwood table. Although the weather was cool, he opened the glass doors that led out onto the deck, allowing the breeze to filter through from the lake. Sitting on one of the large, squishy sofas, he gestured for Steffi to join him. She perched stiffly on the edge, apparently poised for flight.

“I think it’s time you told me.” This situation was totally out of the scope of his experience, but he did his best to keep his voice gentle. He could only help her if he knew the truth.

Steffi was gnawing her lip so hard he thought she might bite right through it. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Just talk and let’s see where it takes us.”

She nodded decisively. “Greg Spence wasn’t my boyfriend. Everyone thought he was because we were so close. The press even speculated that we were about to get engaged. It made us laugh.” She took a deep breath, lifting her eyes to his face. “His real name was Gregori Anton, and he was my brother.”

Chapter 4 (#u4aa186bc-28f6-5553-bed8-42ac5f27d921)

“When I was born, my name was Stefanya Anton.” Bryce was right. Once she started talking, it became easier to keep going. Until now, Steffi hadn’t figured Bryce for someone who might be easy to confide in, but he surprised her. Her story wasn’t an easy one to tell, but it felt like he was really listening, rather than judging her.

“Our parents died when I was five and Greg was eight. We were placed with separate adoptive families and we lost touch. Although I became famous, he hadn’t recognized me from my movies. It was sheer coincidence that we met again. He had a minor part in one of my films. There was something about him—” she smiled reminiscently “—I couldn’t place what it was. Then, one day, I got something in my eye while we were shooting a scene together. He came to my assistance, saw my eyes and knew right away I was his sister. He remembered my cat’s eyes from when we were children.”

“But you let people believe you were an item?”

She bit her lip. This was the hard part. “There were reasons why we couldn’t tell anyone our true identity.”

Although he wasn’t judging her, it was clear Bryce wasn’t going to let that go. “You’re going to have to tell me all of it, Steffi. Two people are dead and I shot a man today to help you escape. If I’m going to help you, I need to know why.”

He was right, of course. It was just so hard to talk about something she’d kept locked up inside herself for so long. “Although we lived in America when our parents died, Greg and I were born in Russia.” She drew in a long breath. “Our father was involved in organized crime. More than involved. He was the leader of one of the largest gangs in Russia, and he brought his criminal activities with him to this country.”

There. She had said those words aloud. Words that had, until now, only been spoken between her and Greg. It was only recently, since their reunion, that they had pieced their story together, realizing with dawning horror who they were and what they had witnessed all those years ago.

Steffi watched Bryce’s face, waiting for his reaction. She was unsure what to expect. Disgust? Rage? Contempt? Any combination of those would be natural, she supposed. She was the daughter of one of the most notorious Russian mob bosses of all time. She herself was a wanted alleged killer who had tricked her way into Bryce’s employment. He was hardly likely to pat her arm and say it was all going to be okay. She bit back the sob that tried to rise in her throat. It was never going to be okay.

His expression remained carefully neutral. “Go on.”

“I was too young to remember much of my life before his death. Greg told me we moved to America when I was about three. My father was very wealthy, as you can imagine, and he had connections in high places.”