Читать книгу Not-So-Secret Baby - Jo Leigh - Страница 11

Nick struggled to keep the surprise off his face. A kid? It explained so much. She’d wanted to get away from Todd for a long time before she’d actually made a move. Subtle hints, questions. But then, she’d gotten panicked, insistent. She’d come to him that night…

Nick took a deep, slow breath as the realization washed over him. She’d come to him, to his bed, even though it could have gotten them both killed. She’d known then, had to. She was carrying Todd’s child. Damn it, what a fool he’d been. He’d thought…

It didn’t matter. It was his own damn fault that he’d let himself care about her, that he’d put everything in jeopardy. So what if her reasons had been more complicated?

His gaze went to the boy. How had he gotten here? Nick hadn’t heard a word about it. Why not? Why hadn’t Todd filled him in? Sweet had clearly known, but then, Sweet knew everything. Almost everything. He hadn’t known Nick had helped Jenny escape, or Nick would have been a corpse a long time ago.

Where was he, anyway? Todd couldn’t itch without Sweet scratching, and yet, here was this tender reunion scene and Henry Sweet was nowhere to be seen.

This whole situation stunk. And with what was coming down, Nick had better get to the bottom of it damn fast.

“You look like hell.”

Nick shifted his attention to Todd. It was like old times, the way the man looked at Jenny. Todd was made of granite, except when he was around her. Nick had never met anyone who could master his emotions like C. Randall Todd. It was one of the things that made him so dangerous. And yet as he sat there on the edge of his bed, his face showed his lust, his need, his anger. So vividly, Nick had to stop himself from grabbing Jenny and the kid and running like hell.

Had she really come back to this of her own volition? Impossible. Obviously, Todd had found her, found out about his son, and from that moment there wasn’t a force on earth that could have stopped him from getting the boy.

Todd considered himself the ruler of all he surveyed. And what could be more important to a ruler than an heir to the empire?

Jenny stood, holding fiercely to her son. “What I look like is no concern of yours.”

Todd smiled. Nick felt his blood chill. Damn it, what was she thinking? She knew better than to provoke him.

“Get out, Nick. But don’t go far. You’ll be helping Jenny move into her old suite.”

“Yes, sir,” he said. There was nothing else he could say. He glanced at Jenny, but her attention was fully on Todd. It didn’t matter. He had to go. Now. He was in no position to help her. Not today. Not at all.

Jenny was on her own.

SHE HEARD THE DOOR behind her open and close behind Nick. Her bravado faltered, badly. Todd’s gaze was enough to put the fear of the devil in anyone, but she knew, she remembered too intensely, just who she was facing.

“When we met, I thought your impertinence was charming. That was a long time ago.”

“I’m still me, Todd. That’s something you can’t change.”

“No?” He rose. She’d forgotten just how formidable a man he was, as if her memories could only hold so much of him and no more. At six foot two, he was a little shorter than Nick, but his attitude made him seem huge. He’d kept trim, which didn’t surprise her. He had a personal trainer, played tennis and golf, swam daily. He took pride in his body and, just like everything else of his, it had to be a little better, a little stronger. He looked years younger than fifty-eight, something he never tired of hearing.

“No. I wish I could have been more…forthright about leaving, but the fundamental reasons haven’t changed at all. I don’t want to be here, Todd. You can have anyone. Anyone at all.”

“That’s right. I can. And I want you.”

He reached her side and it was all she could do to maintain her ground. She couldn’t give in to her terror. Not that he didn’t already know she was quaking inside. But she didn’t want Patrick to see. He was scared enough as it was.

“Mommy, I want to go home.”

She kissed his pale forehead. “I know, sweetie. Me, too.”

Todd smiled at the boy, showing off his even, white teeth. Perfect. Fake. “You are home. This is your new home, son.”

“He’s not—” Jenny stopped herself. She’d gone over it and over it since the moment Patrick had disappeared. She didn’t dare tell Todd that Patrick wasn’t his. He wouldn’t believe her; he’d insist on proof. Once he discovered that Nick was Patrick’s father, the two of them were dead. What she didn’t know, and didn’t dare find out, is if it would also mean Patrick’s death. Unthinkable, but Todd was just vicious enough to do something that heinous.

“He doesn’t understand,” she said feebly.

“Then we’ll help him understand, won’t we?” Todd declared, reaching out with his long fingers.

She flinched, but he only touched the side of her cheek. She closed her eyes, held Patrick tighter.

“Before you arrived, I explained to Patrick that I’m his father. That we’ll become very good friends. That he’ll have the best of everything from this moment forward. The best tutors, the best toys. And you, Jenny, will pull yourself together.” He looked her up and down, shaking his head as if her jeans were a personal affront.

“You’re back with me now.”

She bit back a smart-ass retort. It wouldn’t help things. God, the helplessness was like drowning. How could she take it? “I didn’t bring any clothes.”

“There are some in your suite, and we’ll get more when the time comes.” A moment passed with his gaze burning into hers. He arched a white brow, waiting.

“Yes, sir,” she said, making sure her voice sounded small, weak.

“Good. Now, go with Nick and get settled. I’ve put the boy next door to you, along with his nanny. I’ll expect you back here in an hour. Alone. We need to set some ground rules.” He smiled at her, but not with the warmth he’d shown Patrick. This was a feral smile, filled with the cruelty she’d learned to dread. “And we have some unfinished business to take care of, yes?”

She bit her lower lip to stop it from trembling as she nodded.

He leaned down and kissed her cheek, his breath a combination of mint and cloves that resurrected more of her past. She’d tried so hard to forget. But some horrors are not forgotten, ever.

He patted Patrick on the head. “Go. You haven’t much time. And, Jenny, I want your hair down.”

She turned, too fast. His hand was jolted from Patrick’s head. She’d pay for that sin, too.

NICK LEANED against the open door of the last suite on the private floor, next to a middle-aged woman he’d just met, waiting for Jenny and Patrick. The woman, Regina Norris, was a professional nanny, British, who, she’d just told him, had once taken care of William and Harry, when the princess had been alive. Of late, she’d overseen the three children of a British Lord, and had come to America after being lured by an unimaginable sum by C. Randall Todd. Nick was faintly surprised. He’d have figured Todd would find someone more malleable for the job of watching his heir. Someone, say, from an old European family, but then again, it was his only son. Never settle for anything but the best, that was Todd’s credo.

She looked like a nice woman. Well-kempt, prim. Sort of a Maggie Smith type. He quelled the urge to tell her to get out before it was too late. Before she made a mistake that could cost her everything. It wasn’t his business.

Unfortunately, Todd had made Jenny Nick’s business once again. He’d had to hide his shock at being assigned to her. It had been a long time since his bodyguard days. But when Nick thought about the other close associates of Todd’s, he couldn’t come up with anyone he’d trust to watch her.

It wasn’t a question of loyalty. No one on the inner circle would dare make an inappropriate move. It was about intelligence. His men weren’t exactly geniuses when it came to thinking on their feet.

Independent thought wasn’t conducive to slavish obedience. Which, Nick had learned early and well, could be faked. But this assignment wasn’t going to work at all. Not just because of their past, which would have been enough, but because of his future. Unfortunately he couldn’t approach Todd about either of his reasons. So he’d have to come up with something else. Something compelling enough to get him back to his old routine without sending up any red flags.

The only thing he could think of was to have Jenny insist that he go. It wasn’t a solution he cared for. He couldn’t tell her what he was doing, that would put her in too much danger. So he’d have to be a schmuck.

Damn. As if things for her weren’t terrible enough. But what was his alternative? Things were coming to a head here and he couldn’t afford to have it all blow up in his face. That would be very, very bad.

Todd’s door opened and Nick pushed off the wall, straightening his cuffs as he watched Jenny walk into the hall. She held her son tight and he watched her soothe the boy, touch him, hug him. He wondered who was more comforted.

Jenny had a kid. A son who looked just like her. Would Patrick grow more like Todd as he got older?

Nick still had a hell of a lot to think about, to work out. That he hadn’t known about Patrick or Jenny returning bothered him almost as much as Jenny’s return itself. At least he understood why she hadn’t rushed to tell him about her boy when he’d put her in the limo. She’d known he’d figure out the dates. That she had to have been pregnant when they’d gotten together.

Would it have stopped him from helping her? No. Would it have stopped him from making love to her? He had no idea. And he couldn’t afford to think about it now. His personal life was so far away from a priority, it had its own zip code. He’d given all that up when he’d taken the job with Todd. Nothing mattered but the gig. Not even Jenny.

What did matter was that his place in the organization was still safe. That Todd still trusted him. Henry Sweet didn’t, but then, he never had. Sweet didn’t trust anyone except Todd. Period. It had taken too long, at too great a cost, for Nick to get this far. He couldn’t blow it now.

“There’s my boy,” Mrs. Norris said, stepping out to meet Jenny.

Nick held himself back as Jenny and the nanny met, sized each other up. Jenny held on to Patrick as long as she could, but in the end, she had to let him go. Patrick, of course, didn’t care for that at all, and he let out a wail that was at once piercing and pathetic. Which wasn’t nearly as bad as the sudden silence that descended when the nanny closed the door.

Jenny looked inconsolable. Damn it to hell, he couldn’t have consoled her if he’d wanted to.

“So you’re back to being my watchdog, eh, Nick?”

She’d turned to him slowly, walked away from her son, her ponytail swaying behind her as if her pale green eyes weren’t half-dead with sorrow.

“Looks like it.” He accompanied her back up the long hallway, past Todd’s suite, to the room they both knew well. He opened the door to her suite, pocketing the key before he let her inside. She brushed by him quickly, but he still caught a whiff of her perfume. His body reacted quickly, but he ignored it.

“My God,” she said as she gazed around the room. It was half the size of Todd’s, but that still meant it was enormous. He’d redecorated since she’d gone, taken the once vaguely Persian decor and run with it. Pillows on the floor, silk curtain swathes hanging from the ceiling, great overstuffed chaise longues and ornate tables festooned with antique hookahs and cast-iron figurines. It was beautiful in a way, but so unlike Jenny’s character as to be laughable.

“It looks like something out of Scheherazade’s nightmares.”

Nick smirked. “You managed to come up with enough tales to keep your head on.”

Jenny whirled around, took a step toward him, her eyes fierce, her hands fisted. “What is it with you?” she said in a whisper that carried just to his ears and not the microphones studded throughout the suite. “Why are you being so horrible? It’s not enough I have to put up with him? You used to be human. What happened?”

He froze his expression. “I wised up.”

“You mean, you sold out.”

“I’d sold out long before I met you,” he said in that same strange whisper.

“So why did you help me? Huh? What was in it for you?”

He gave her a smile he’d perfected under Todd’s tutelage, then leaned in so his lips nearly touched the perfect shell of her ear. “I got you in the sack, didn’t I?”

When he leaned back, the fire had left her eyes to be replaced by nothing so much as utter defeat. He hoped… God, he hoped, the fire wasn’t gone forever.

EDWARD POTEREIKO SWORE and stamped his feet to keep his circulation flowing. He glanced at the stainless-steel watch he’d gotten as a retirement gift after twenty-five years in the GRU, and saw that it was two-fifteen.

Late. His contact was late. The breakup of the Soviet Union had, in the former colonel’s opinion, also broken much of the vigor and discipline of the Ukrainian army. Now they were just so many ragtag costumed clowns playing at being soldiers. In his day, Edward would have had a number of them shot. The remainder would damn well have been on time.

He peered across the frozen moonlit fields toward the lights of Kharkiv, trying to ignore the condensation of breath on his glasses. He willed himself to see a figure struggling across the tundra in the rising fog. Still nothing moved.

Cursing again, he considered sitting in his four-door Volga sedan with the engine running and the heater blasting, but decided the risk was not worth the comfort. He turned his back to the lights and stuffed a Bogatyri cigarette between his lips, his American lighter shrouded by his greatcoat.

He’d barely puffed the hot ash to incandescent redness when he heard the crunch of boots approaching. He cautiously moved to place the sedan between himself and the sound. A dark silhouette stumbled into view, visible breath rasping in the misty silence, the telltale peak of the Russian army cap obvious against the distant twinkling lights.

As the figure moved closer, Potereiko could see the reason for the shadow’s stumbling gait; the man was carrying a large metal suitcase that hit his leg with every step. “Colonel?” he whispered. “Colonel?”

Potereiko stepped from behind the sedan and puffed on his cigarette before speaking, blowing smoke in a thick cloud that drifted sinuously over his shoulder. “You’re late, Vanko.”

Vanko dropped the suitcase at the rear of the Volga sedan with a sharp crunch that made the other man start involuntarily, although he knew it would take more than that for the case to begin its deadly work. Vanko pulled his gloves off and blew on his bare hands to warm them. “The security guard at the factory demanded extra money, just as I was leaving. He thinks I’m stealing computers.” He laughed, then sniffed at the smoke from Potereiko’s cigarette. “Hey, let me have one of those.”

“You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago,” Potereiko said. “I’ve got to be back at the border before the shift changes at three.” He fished out one of the unfiltered Bogatyris and handed it to Vanko, then lit it for him.

“The guard—”

“Forget the guard.” Potereiko waved his arm dismissively and opened the trunk of the Volga. As the lid opened, a light came on inside. “Let’s see it.”

“Ah, Colonel.”

“I want to make sure it’s what you say, Vanko.”

“Would I try to cheat you?”

“You’re already trying to get a few extra rubles for the greedy guard. Open the case.” Potereiko stood back, hands in his pockets, cigarette dangling from between his lips.

Vanko flipped a pair of latches, not unlike a briefcase, and carefully raised the lid, exposing a neatly machined panel containing an array of readouts and switches, barely visible in the dim trunk light. “You can set a code to open it. Here.” Vanko indicated a spot near one of the latches on the inside of the case.

Edward moved closer and peered in. “Ah, yes. I remember when we were designing these.” He reached out a hand and caressed the panel, almost fondly. “We were going to destroy the Americans.” He closed the case, then the trunk.

“Those were the days, eh, comrade?” Vanko said.

Potereiko puffed on his cigarette, regarded the hot ember, then dropped the butt and ground it out with the sole of his shoe. “There’s much more opportunity now,” he said.

“Speaking of opportunity…” Vanko puffed his own cigarette, hands in his coat pockets, gloves tucked beneath an armpit.

“Of course. The money.”

“I had to give the guard an extra fifty rubles.”

“Let’s see,” Potereiko said as he reached inside his coat. He pulled out a pistol.

Vanko’s eyes widened and he backed up a step, pulling his arms from his pockets, gloves falling to the ground. “What is this?”

“This is a Smith & Wesson .38-caliber Police Special,” Potereiko said calmly. “Made in America. New Jersey, I believe. Nice, is it not?”

“Edward… Colonel… Please.”

“You are a symbol of all that’s gone wrong with the Soviet Union, Vanko. And a petty thinker, to boot.” In one smooth motion former Colonel Edward Potereiko raised the weapon and fired, striking Vanko in the forehead. As the roar of the gun died, his face, only slightly marred by the entry wound, took on a startled look. The cigarette fell from his lips, lodging on his heavy coat before he fell backward.

Potereiko put the gun back inside his coat and checked his watch. He still had fifteen minutes to get back to the border, and it was only six or seven miles. He was, in fact, far more concerned with the nearly six thousand miles he’d have to drive in the next week. He stepped over Vanko’s body.

“Das vadanya, comrade.”