Читать книгу Hired Husband - Rebecca Brandewyne - Страница 11

Washington, D.C.

“N ow, Duckie,” the low voice on the telephone purred throatily. “I know that with all your connections, you must have a friend or two at the INS. And really, what I’m asking is only a teeny, tiny favor, one that involves no risk at all to you or to anybody at the INS, either, for that matter. After all, who could possibly care whether one lone Russian male has his green card revoked? You can say you got a tip from an anonymous informer, which led you to believe that Dr. Nicolai Valkov is a former KGB agent or is hooked up with the Russian mob in this country or something. Whatever. Just as long as he’s viewed as an undesirable alien and deported. The INS won’t question your word, Duckie…the word of one of the most powerful senators on Capitol Hill. So I know you can do it…that you can get rid of Nick Valkov for me. And of course, it goes without saying that I’d be ever so…grateful to you. So grateful, in fact, that I’d have to make a special trip out to Washington just to see you, Duckie. We’ll have our own private celebration, just the two of us. I’ll bring champagne—and that little black boudoir ensemble of mine you like so much….”

As he leaned back in the big burgundy-leather chair before his massive, antique oak desk, Senator Donald Devane closed his eyes at the images evoked by the husky voice on the other end of the telephone. His breath was harsh and labored. His heart hammered with excitement, and his groin tightened unbearably as he remembered their last “celebration”—and the black outfit. His palm sweated profusely on the receiver as he made a long attempt to clear his throat, choked with anticipation and arousal. At last, he managed to speak.

“I…ah…do, in fact, have a friend or two at the INS. So I don’t see why I couldn’t make those arrangements for you. A casual word dropped here or there. No, that shouldn’t pose any problem whatsoever. Consider Nick Valkov as good as on a plane back to Russia at this very moment.”

“Oh, Duckie, I knew my faith in you wasn’t misplaced. Call me just as soon as you’ve got everything fixed up with the INS, and I’ll be on the next plane out to Washington, I promise. Until then, keep my side of the bed warm and have sweet dreams about me…as I will about you. See you soon, Duckie.” A soft, seductive laugh echoed from the receiver before the line went dead, leaving the dial tone buzzing in the senator’s ear.

After he had got his breathing and heartbeat back under control, Donald Devane punched one of the intercom buttons on his telephone, directing his secretary to put through a call for him to the Immigration and Naturalization Service bureau.

Some minutes later, a computer at the INS began the process that would revoke the green card of one Dr. Nicolai Valkov, currently director of research and development at Fortune Cosmetics—and therefore, unbeknown to him, a spoke in somebody’s wheel.