CHAPTER 1
Dubai
Kara Lennox
I felt like a lie wrapped in lace.
The bar I was sitting at gleamed with gold. Every inch of it screamed of wealth. I’d been here before, in places like this. They all had that same perfume of ambition and musk, and seriously deep pockets that thought they could buy the world and call it their own.
I sat at the marble gold-lined bar, legs crossed, the hem of my red and black Dolce and Gabbana dress riding up my thigh a little bit. The Louboutins on my feet pinched slightly. My wristlet rested lightly in my lap. It was Louis Vuitton, black, discreet. My entire outfit was a weapon, and I wielded it like one.
The champagne in front of me had gone warm. I wasn’t drinking it. I was too busy watching my target.
His name was Roman Markov.
He sat in a booth across the room surrounded by men who laughed too loudly, their Rolexes glinting conspicuously under the bar lights. Roman didn’t laugh with them. He was the kind of man who let people orbit him, basking in his gravity until they forgot they were only there because he allowed it.
He was a loose cannon, ARCHEON had said.
The file had also used phrases likevolatile charmandunreliable loyalties.
I called him interesting.
I’d been watching him for seven minutes when his eyes finally found mine. They were sardonically amused. Calculating. Not even the slightest bit startled.
Like he’d been watching me watch him the whole time.
I smiled, stood up, and turned toward him. The soft click of my heels against the marble floor sounded like a countdown. Heads turned as I passed, but none of them mattered. They weren’t who I was here for.
He waited until I was close before he spoke, his accent a velvety thread of Moscow. “You’ve been watching me,” he said. “Either you’re a journalist or you’re trouble. From the look of you, I’m thinking trouble.”
I tilted my head, letting a few strands of my dark auburn hair fall against my cheek. “I’m offended,” I murmured. “You left out secret admirer.”
His mouth curved. “Ah. The most dangerous kind of watcher.”
“Only if you’re worth admiring.”
He gestured to the seat across from him, and I slid in. The scent of his cologne—smoky and expensive—wafted through the air between us. He watched me like a man assessing an object he might want to buy, cocking his head as his gaze slid over me.
“You think I am?” he asked.
“I think youwantto be,” I said. “But that’s not the same thing.”
He laughed, the sound quietly genuine. His eyes never left mine. “And what’s your name, pretty philosopher in red?”
“Kara,” I said, sipping the warm champagne at last. “With a K.”
He smiled, the corners of his mouth twitching like he didn’t want them to but couldn’t help it. “Kara-with-a-K,” he repeated. “I am Roman. With an R.” He was showing teeth now. “Now, tell me… Are you here to sell me something, steal from me, or save me from myself?”
I let the glass rest against my lower lip, watching the bubbles climb up to the surface. “Would it ruin the fun if I said yes?”
His brow lifted slightly. That pause—barely half a breath—was enough. I saw it, a crack in his armor, small but there.
Got you.
He lifted his glass in a lazy toast. “To ruin, then.”
“Don’t get sentimental,” I said softly, clinking mine against his. “I didn’t bring flowers.”
