“Watch your back, big man. Kolya is spider. And he will catch you in his web if you are not careful.”
* * *
Semyon curlsin the back seat of the SUV with strict instructions to keep his head down and his mouth shut. Wren hunches over her laptop, her fingers flying over the screen. We’re six blocks from Kolya’s mansion, but it’s a straight shot into the square if we need to get to Inara and West quickly.
Inara’s necklace and West’s tie clip both sport small, embedded cameras, and on the tablet mounted to the console, we can see everything they see, split screen.
The driver we hired for a ridiculous sum of money opens the back door of the town car. West gets out first, then turns and offers Inara his hand. She says something to the man in Russian, then leans in to whisper in West’s ear. He looks vaguely uncomfortable. And then I remember it’s his wedding day. Or…should have been.
“Andrian Popov,” West says, his Russian accent passable after an hour of Inara’s coaching. “And Natalya Volkova.” A large, burly man swipes a metal detector up and down over both of them, but a month ago, Cam and Royce built us a short-range signal jammer small enough to fit in an evening bag, and our comms go quiet for a moment until the security guard waves the two of them inside, and Inara deactivates the little device.
The next few minutes pass in a flurry of Russian—Inara making what I hope is convincing small talk with several of Kolya’s staff. Suited servers move through a grand ballroom with silver platters of canapés, and Inara never stops scanning the crowd until West snags two glasses of champagne from a passing girl who can’t be much older than eighteen. They toast, and Inara leans closer.
“Kolya’s in the far corner of the room. Two men by the stage wearing over-the-ear-comms units and packing. The auction is supposed to start in half an hour,” she says quietly.
“Time to see if Popov was telling the truth.” West clears his throat and straightens. “Kolya’s headed right for us.”
* * *
Ryker
At my side, Wren stifles a small sound as Kolya approaches West and Inara.
I reach over and cover her hand with mine. Her fingers are icicles under my palm. “Relax, sweetheart. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
The hitch in her breath worries me, but I have to keep my focus. If I don’t, all my reassurances might fly out the window.
“Nikolay Yegorovich,” West says with a nod, his voice rough and stilted.
“Kolya. Please. May I call you Andrian?” Kolya holds out his hand, and Inara quickly intercepts him.
“Comrade Popov does not like to be touched,Kolya.” Inara’s sharp, authoritative tone demands respect, and she squeezes his hand hard enough Kolya’s eyes widen. “I am his trusted advisor—and bodyguard, Natalya.”
Here we go. He either buys this, or the entire operation is FUBAR.
Kolya’s gaze roves up and down Inara’s body, and I want to drive an ice pick into his pale blue eyes. To her credit, Inara doesn’t look away, a serene smile on her face visible through West’s tie camera.
“Natalya. You are not Russian.”
“IamRussian.” Pulling her shoulders back, she adopts an offended tone. “My grandmother immigrated from Iran when she was twelve. I am as Russian as my employer. Or you.” Slipping into Russian effortlessly, she delivers what I can only assume is an expletive-laced verbal beat down, because Kolya steps back and bows his head.
“My apologies, Natalya. Please, may I offer you something stronger than Champagne?”
“Comrade Popov will take a scotch. Neat. I, however, am working. Will the auction begin soon?”
“In thirty minutes. The women are available ahead of the auction if Comrade Popov would like a private viewing.”
“Da. Spasibo.”
After a suited staff member delivers three fingers of scotch, Kolya—and two of his goons—accompany West and Inara up a set of stairs to the second floor. He slips into Russian, and Inara laughs, West following a split second later. With Cam’s help, Inara and Wren wrote a program to feed the English translation into West’s ear and display it on screen.
“Your employer is a lucky man, Natalya. To have a trusted advisor so beautiful and so well-spoken. I am afraid the women I have to offer today are nowhere near as cultured. They are, however, obedient. And will never be missed.”
“If they were otherwise, Kolya, we would not be interested in them,”Inara says.“My employer has earned his reputation through careful dealings with only the right people. If we suspected any of these women could be traced to him—or you—we would walk away immediately.”
An odd expression flits across Kolya’s face, and my internal radar pings. Something’s off. I tap my ear piece. “Watch your six. He’s up to something.”
Wren’s brows furrow, and in the back seat, Semyon leans forward as Kolya enters a long passcode to unlock the door.
