“And Jake...? Take care of yourself. Popov’s no fool. From what it says in his dossier, he’s taken more than a few men out.”
His stomach knotted. “Is there anything else in his file I should know?”
“Only that his son died in an assembly line accident about five years after you left the country. Apparently, the boy was extremely bright, and Popov had big plans for him. After what happened in Rome, the son was removed from school and placed in an auto factory. Popov might feel you’re in some way responsible for his death.”
Jake released a slow breath. “Thanks, Dan.”
“Get some sleep. You need all your wits about you. Besides, I expect the American team to win.”
Jake smiled. After a gruff, “Good night,” he hung up. The phone.
Sliding the booth door open, he moved into the hallway, then found a seat at a small table in a far corner of the bistro. The place smelled faintly of tobacco and perfume. A piano player plunked out some timeless melody Jake vaguely remembered.
Leaning back in his chair, he ordered a cognac, then pulled a thin Cuban cigar Avery Whitfield had given him from his inside coat pocket. Though he’d given up smoking, he allowed himself an occasional lapse. He hoped it would brighten his mood.
But as he inhaled the pungent tobacco and the blue smoke curled around his head, the noise and gaiety swept over him, and his loneliness grew even more intense. He couldn’t help thinking of Maggie, remembering their evenings together. They’d discovered they had dozens of things in common: horses, classical music, love of the opera and ballet, an appreciation he owed his Soviet upbringing.
He’d only known her a couple of weeks and he was falling in love with her. He didn’t want to rush her. He needed to be patient, give her time to get over the guilt she felt for her husband’s death.
They’d been seeing each other steadily for over a month before she admitted Les hadn’t been the world’s greatest husband.
“We didn’t really have what you would call a romantic relationship,” she had said. “My parents introduced us. Les’s father was the senior partner at a prestigious law firm in Tampa. Marrying him just seemed the right thing to do.”
“Were you in love with him?” Jake asked.
“I loved him. He was a good provider and a good father to Sarah. I missed him terribly after he was gone.”
“That isn’t quite the same thing. Your parents wanted you to marry Les, but that’s in the past. The question now is what do you want?”
She smiled wistfully. “Pretty much what every woman wants. Someone who loves me. Someone I can love in return. I’m getting older, but I’d like to have another child.”
Jake had never considered having children, but with Maggie, the notion felt right.
“I want the kind of love that two people share,” she finished. “This time, I won’t settle for less.”
Jake took a sip of his cognac and shoved the painful memories aside. He wondered if Maggie was still with the handsome Dr. Jaffe and his grip on the snifter tightened.
Let Daniel and his men find a way to stop Nikolai Popov,he prayed. And let Maggie Delaine wait for me.
The nightclub echoed to the beat of hard rock music. Clay sat next to Gabriella across from Ellie and Flex. Shep, Prissy, Avery, and Chauncey rounded out the table.
Le Palace was considered very “in” and outrageously chic. Women in leather mini’s, patrons with violet blue-black hair, men bare-chested beneath expensive leather vests. The music was loud, and strobe lights flashed above the dance floor.
“Lots of young pussy,” Avery whispered to Clay. It was just the sort of place his father loved. Clay figured being there made his dad feel younger.
Chauncey seemed enthralled. She simpered over Avery and played with his thigh under the table. They danced again and again, guzzling champagne in between songs. Clay danced with Gabriella and with Prissy. Shep had returned from his sojourn around the bar, looking for fun of a different sort than Clay enjoyed, though his friend had become more selective over years.
The waitress brought a fresh round of drinks, Clay another scotch and soda, Avery and Chauncey more champagne. Flex whispered something in Ellie’s ear, she giggled and flashed him a smile, and they got up to dance.
Clay’s stomach tightened and his ulcer began to gnaw. Ellie had been drinking all evening. It was obviously not a common occurrence, and she was more than a little drunk. Flex seemed delighted. Every time her glass was empty, he refilled it. He’d been nibbling her ear, rubbing her thigh, running his fingers through her hair all evening. It was all Clay could do to keep from pulling him across the table and punching him in the face.
The feeling astonished him. He’d never been jealous a day in his life. He and Flex had sparred off and on over the same women for years. It was a hobby, an amusement, nothing more. Tonight, Clay wasn’t amused.
The beat of the music throbbed low and sensuous. On the dance floor, Flex pulled Ellie close and settled his cheek against hers. Clay’s fury mounted. When had Ellie taken an interest in Flex? Until tonight, Clay had been certain sooner or later she would be his.
“Dance with me, darling,” Gabriella whispered in his ear.
Her throaty voice alone was usually enough to arouse him. Tonight, he couldn’t summon enough interest for a kiss. Clay helped her up and drew her onto the dance floor. Nearly as tall as he, Gabby pressed against him, grinding her hips in a sensual rhythm that finally achieved what usually came easy.
