Another volley of gunfire answers him. Tony fires back twice, then ducks as return shots pepper the wall above us. Plaster and wood splinters rain down on our heads. I curse myself for not having a weapon. I’m a Kozlov, damn it. I know better. Alexei will never let me hear the end of this.
The shooting suddenly stops.
Eerie quiet fills the apartment, broken only by our ragged breathing and the sound of sirens in the distance. Tony doesn’t move. His body is still shielding mine, and his gun is trained on the broken windows.
“Are they gone?” I whisper.
“Don’t know. Stay down.”
When his phone rings, he adjusts himself to pull it from his pocket, keeping his gun up and his body between me and the windows.
“We’re here,” he answers without preamble. “Yeah, she’s with me.” He listens for a moment. “Understood.”
He ends the call and finally looks down at me. “Dmitri’s men are in the building. They’re clearing the street. I’ll get your clothes from the bedroom once Boris gives the all-clear.”
“This is humiliating.” My voice shakes with fury, not fear. “I should’ve brought a gun.”
His mouth twitches like he wants to smile. “For the record, I prefer seeing you naked under different circumstances.” He goes serious again as he sweeps the windows again. “Someone knew we were here. Someone’s been watching you.”
The implication settles over me like ice water. “You think they followed us?”
“Or they’ve been watching your apartment, waiting for you to come back. Hard to tell.”
His phone rings again. This time, the conversation is brief, just a few words in Russian from Boris confirming the street is clear, and the shooters are gone.
Tony stands and extends a hand to help me up. I take it, acutely aware that I’m still naked while he’s in jeans with his shirt somewhere in the bedroom.
“Stay here,” he says. “I’ll grab your clothes.”
He disappears down the hall and returns a moment later with my pants, shirt, and bra. My underwear must have been lost somewhere in the chaos because he doesn’t have them.
I dress quickly, my hands shaking now that the adrenaline is starting to fade. Tony pulls his shirt back on and tucks his weapon into his waistband.
He takes my hand, and we head for the door. Boris’ men are waiting in the hallway with their weapons drawn. We take the stairs at a run. More of Dmitri’s men are positioned at each landing, securing our exit. The SUV is waiting at the curb, engine running, and back doors open.
Tony pushes me inside, then follows, and the vehicle is moving before the doors close.
The SUV speeds through Moscow traffic, taking turns at random to ensure we’re not being followed. I watch the city blur past and try not to think about how close we came to dying.
Or how much I wish we’d had five more minutes before the shooting started. The ache between my legs hasn’t faded. Neither has the memory of Tony’s mouth. I press my thighs together and stare out the window, trying to focus on who wants me dead instead of how badly I want to finish what we started.
8
Tony
Five people knew where we were going. Someone put a rifle on her window anyway.
Boris and I sit in his office at the Kozlov compound, reviewing security protocols while Sasha sleeps back at the safehouse. It’s two in the morning, but neither of us is tired. We’re too busy trying to figure out which member of Dmitri’s organization is a traitor.
“Walk me through it again,” Boris prompts in heavily accented English. He prefers Russian, but I need to make sure I understand every detail. “Who knew about the apartment visit?”
“You. Me. Sasha. The two drivers.” I count them off on my fingers. “That’s five people.”
“The drivers have been with us for years. Both vetted by Dmitri.” Boris pulls up personnel files on his computer. “Yuri and Pyotr. Clean records. No suspicious activity. No unexplained income.”
“Years of clean service makes the best mole. Nobody looks twice.”
“True, but they’ve also had no recent contact with outside organizations. No unusual phone calls. No meetings with unknown individuals.”
