The Spy With The Silver Lining

Maybe the idea of snuffing her out of his life would grow on him again, but for now killing Kisa was the furthest thing from his mind.

Yurii closed his eyes and tried to imagine his hands around her neck, choking the life out of her.

He fed his muse, but it was no use. He wanted his life back. The life she had given him.

He wanted his Kisa back.

And maybe, after a time, his feelings for her would grow cold, and once his heart had become a chunk of ice, the idea of killing her would bring more comfort than torment.

He would think on it, but first there was business to attend to. It wouldn’t take long. He wasn’t crazy about a rendezvous in the middle of the Mediterranean with the Chameleon, but he was more than simply a good customer.

The Chameleon was a man much like himself. He was a man of honor and power. A family man with a wife and a son. He valued his home, and his privacy in the Greek Isles.

He had no need to know exactly where. And likewise, there was no need for anyone to know where he sought refuge away from the eyes of the world.

Da, a rendezvous at sea with the Chameleon, a few words exchanged. Dates and times agreed upon. A price settled. The deal sealed over a drink and a handshake. Then he would be free to focus on Kisa.

He understood now why a powerful man bitten by love broke the rules. Nyet, he was not weak. He was a realist. Or maybe a better word was a fatalist.

Kisa was his fate.

And he, hers.

Yurii smiled as he thought about their meeting at the Kelt in Bratislava. He could have killed her easily. He could have slit her throat as Nicky had done to the brunette with the big tits. But he had wanted to hear her sultry voice once more, and touch her satin-smooth skin. Smell her sweet scent and taste her perfect lips.

And then he’d seen her finger weighted down by his gift.

He remembered the day he’d given her the ring. Afterward they had made love. The memory aroused him and he laid his hand against his cock and pressed hard as he pulsed to life.

He felt himself stretch as his blood began to hum through his veins. He worked his hand up then down, envisioned Kisa undoing his pants and taking him in her hands. His fingers would get lost in her hair as she knelt to cover him with her mouth.

He groaned, felt himself on the verge of ejaculation. He let it come where he stood on the balcony outside his lavish bedroom overlooking the lagoon.

Confident no eyes were watching him, he succumbed to his fate. The fate of a woman who had tricked him. A woman he should hate.

A woman he still loved.

The phone rang minutes later, and Yurii glanced down to see which button had lit up. It was Nicky, and he hit the intercom.

“What news do you have for me?”

“She flies across the Atlantic. Recovery will require a trip to the U.S.”

“Where exactly?”

“I will have the location very soon.”

“Spasibo, Nicky. You know what to do.”

“Your instructions are clear. Anything for you, Don Petrov.”

Yurii pressed the button to disconnect, then picked up the cigar that smoldered in the ashtray on the balcony ledge. Puffing hard, until the air turned gray and pungent, he stepped back and disappeared inside his bedroom to take a shower.

Chapter 4

“He was supposed to meet us,” Casmir said as she eyed the throngs of people coming and going at New Orleans International Airport. “That would be just like him to be late picking us up.”

“Who, Cassie?”

Casmir caught herself before she said, the asshole. “Pierce Fourtier, Mama. A coworker. He’s taking us to Le Mystère.”

“A coworker? I don’t recognize the name. Have I ever met him?”

No, but once you do you’ll never forget him, Casmir thought.

She spied a gypsy vagrant watching them and immediately she went on red alert. No one was supposed to know their destination but Polax…and Fourtier, of course. No one should be singling them out of the crowd unless…

She couldn’t dismiss Yurii’s last words as she’d skipped away from him at the Kelt four days ago—so the hunt begins. I look forward to it.

She pulled her mother toward the door.

“Where are we going, Cassie?”

“Out, Mama.”

They had already gone to the baggage claim and picked up their luggage. Since then, they had been waiting for Fourtier a long thirty minutes.

Bastard.

Casmir looked over her shoulder and saw the gypsy was still eyeing them. No, he wasn’t only staring, he was moving through the crowd toward them with a confident swagger, his long gray hair defying his age, as well as the fit of his jeans.

He wore a sleazy red satin vest over a black shirt, and he was also sporting a tacky long earring dangling clean to his jaw.

Someone should clue him in on how to dress when you’re over fifty, she thought. Playing Bojangles wasn’t working for him—not at all.

Where the hell was Fourtier?

He probably had stopped off somewhere for a beer.

Casmir ushered her mother out the door and into the busy crowd that waited for taxis. She slipped past the mass of bodies, pulling her luggage behind her. Her mother followed, dragging her Paris tote, her dark glasses still in place hiding her black eye.

Casmir spotted an unmarked taxi parked across the street. The driver was leaning against a silver SUV and smoking a cigarette. None of the tourists had spotted him yet.

She bolted into the street, waving her hand to get the rebel cabby’s attention. He jumped to attention the minute he saw her and hurried to meet them. She thrust her bag at him, and yanked the Paris tote from her mother and heaved that at him as well. Shoving her mother into the backseat, she followed after her and slammed the door shut.

“Are we in a hurry, Cassie?”

“Do you want to stand in the heat, Mama?”