“I’m sorry,” I say, lying back against the pillows as my brief burst of energy wanes. “I wish that were true, but for your uncle, his country always came first. You know that, don’t you?”
Misha’s lips flatten, and he shakes his head again. “No. He said you’re good at twisting things.”
“Misha…”
“It’s Michael.” He folds his arms across his chest. “And I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Okay.” I’m still too sick to argue with a traumatized teenager. “Just tell me one thing… Are they good people, those adoptive parents of yours? Did they treat you well?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Misha nods and sits down in the chair. “They did—they are.” His gaze softens a little. “Mom makes potato pancakes on the weekends, and Dad plays table tennis. He’s really good at it. I used to play with him every evening when I was little.”
Tears of relief fill my eyes at the genuine emotion in his voice. Whatever caused him to end up in UUR, Misha loves his adoptive parents—loves them like I loved our Mom and Dad.
“Do you see them often?” Now that my brother is actually speaking to me, I find myself desperate to hear more about his life. “Since you started training, I mean? Are you staying at the dorms, or do you still live at home? What do your parents think of you doing this?”
Misha blinks at my rapid-fire questions. “I… I see them once a month now,” he answers slowly. “And yes, I’m staying at the dorms. Mom didn’t want that, but Uncle Vasya said it would be best, said it would help me with the transition and everything.”
I nod encouragingly, and he continues after a brief pause. “They’re mostly okay with me joining the agency. I mean, they understand that we serve our country.” His gaze slides away as he fidgets in the chair, and I read between the words.
His parents might’ve understood, but they were less than happy to have their adolescent son recruited to the cause.
“Do you think they’re worried about you?” Ignoring my growing exhaustion, I push myself to an upright sitting position again. “Would they have heard about what happened?”
“They—” His voice cracks as he looks back at me, blinking rapidly. “Yeah, I think they must know by now. Someone would’ve notified Mom about Uncle Vasya.”
“I’m sorry, Michael.” I bite my lip. “I’m really sorry that it happened like that. Believe me, if I could undo it—”
“Don’t.” Misha stands up, his hands clenched. “Don’t pretend.”
“I’m not—”
“That’s enough.” Lucas’s voice is knife sharp as he enters the room, approaching my brother with furious strides. “I told you, you’re not allowed to upset her.” Grabbing Misha by the back of his shirt, he drags him toward the door, growling, “She’s sick. Which part of that don’t you understand?”
“Lucas, stop.” I throw off my blanket, my pulse leaping in sudden fear. “Please, he didn’t do anything.”
Lucas instantly lets go of Misha and crosses the room toward me as I swing my feet to the floor, about to get up despite a wave of dizziness.
“What are you doing?” Glaring at me, he grabs my legs and places them back on the bed, forcing me back into the half-sitting position on the pillows before caging me between his arms. His eyes gleam with fury as he leans in, his face centimeters from mine. “You are to rest, understand?”
“Yes.” I swallow the knot in my throat. “I’m sorry.”
Apparently that satisfies Lucas, because he straightens and turns toward my brother. “Let’s go,” he says, jerking his thumb toward the door, and Misha shoots me an apologetic look before exiting the room ahead of Lucas.
Exhausted, I slide down the pillows and close my eyes.
My brother is all right for now, but this is no place for him. I need to get him back to his parents.
He has to go home.
L
ucas
A
fter I escort
Michael out of the house and hand him over to Diego, I return to the bedroom to find Yulia asleep again. Though the bruises from Kirill’s assault are barely visible now, deep blue shadows lie under her eyes, and her face is pale and thin. She lost weight during the illness, and she once again looks disturbingly fragile, like a glass figurine that could shatter at the slightest touch.
I must be a pervert, because I want her anyway.
Taking a deep breath, I undress and climb into bed beside her. The pillows are all bunched up, so I arrange them more comfortably and lie down, pulling her against me. She’s still wearing the T-shirt, but I don’t mind the barrier between our bodies.
It keeps my lust for Yulia under control, helps me maintain the illusion that I’m a dispassionate caretaker rather than a man who’s had to jerk off twice a day for the past week.
Last night, I didn’t sleep, so I should be out like a light, but I’m wide awake as I feel the heat rising off her skin again. The fucking fever is back. I knew I shouldn’t have listened to Yulia, but I couldn’t resist the plea in her big blue eyes. I still don’t know the full story with her brother—the boy refuses to answer any questions—but I know she loves him.
She ran away to save him from me.
Closing my eyes, I berate myself for the hundredth time for not listening to her. Over the past several days, I’ve had a chance to replay our pre-escape conversations in my mind, and I see that I have no one but myself to blame for the misunderstanding. If I’d let Yulia speak, I would’ve known who Misha was, and I would’ve promised not to harm him.
Even
I
have limits.
Yulia mumbles something in her sleep, burrowing closer to me, and I kiss the delicate shell of her ear, my chest tightening as I feel her burning skin. She’s not nearly as sick as last night, but she’s still far from well.
Carefully disentangling myself from her, I go to the bathroom and return with a cool wet towel. When I remove the T-shirt and run the towel over her body, Yulia wakes up, blinking at me with dazed blue eyes, but before I’m done wiping her down, she falls asleep again.
I turn off the light and get in bed beside her again, pulling her into my arms. My body heat is not optimal right now, but I’ve noticed she sleeps better when I’m holding her. She’s less prone to nightmares that way.
Closing my eyes again, I try not to think about the source of her nightmares, but it’s impossible. Yulia’s illness has derailed my normal work routine, but I’ve made sure that the search for Kirill is proceeding uninterrupted. Unfortunately, other than some vague rumors and a few false leads, there’s been nothing in the past few days. It’s like the bastard just vanished. It’s feasible he didn’t survive his wounds, but in that case, we should’ve found a body or heard something about a funeral.
No, my gut instinct tells me Yulia’s former trainer is alive—likely in horrendous pain, but alive. I’ll have to step up my efforts to find him when Yulia is well.
First, though, I need to get her well.
Kissing her temple, I snuggle her closer, ignoring the lust stiffening my cock. With any luck, Yulia’s improved appetite means she’s on the mend, and I will soon have her strong and healthy again.
If not, Goldberg will wish he’d never been born.
T
o my relief
, over the next two days, Yulia’s recovery continues with no further relapses. Her appetite returns with a vengeance, and I find myself scouring the Internet for simple but nutritious recipes. I’m still pretty terrible in the kitchen, but I’ve discovered that with enough focus and concentration, I can make basic dishes by following instructions and watching online videos—something I’ve never been motivated to do before. But with Yulia completely dependent on me, it feels wrong to feed her only sandwiches and cereal.
I want her to eat well so she regains her health.
“What are you doing, man?” Diego asks when he enters my kitchen and sees me chopping up vegetables for stew. “I’ve never seen you cook before.”
“Yeah, well, I’m expanding my skill set,” I say, depositing all the vegetables into a large pot before glancing at my open laptop for the next step in the process. “It’s never to late to learn, right?”
“Uh-huh, sure.” Diego gives me a dubious look. “Why didn’t you just ask Esguerra’s housekeeper to make some extra food for you? She usually doesn’t mind.”
“I’m not Ana’s favorite person right now,” I say, carefully measuring out a teaspoon of salt. “You know, with Rosa and all.”
“Oh, right.” Diego sits down at the table and watches me with evident fascination. “She’s pretty upset about the whole thing, huh?”
“You could say that again.”
Though Nora’s intervention saved Rosa from our interrogation and subsequent punishment, the maid has been under house arrest for the past week while Esguerra is deciding what to do with her. If it weren’t for Nora’s friendship with the girl, it would’ve been easy, but Esguerra doesn’t want to upset his wife by executing her close friend.
Besides, neither one of us is completely certain that Nora told the truth, which means there’s still a chance the maid could’ve been working for someone else.
Now that Yulia is feeling better, I’m going to question her about that—and about everything else.
“So that’s it? You’re a master chef now?” Diego says as I pour the suggested amount of water into the pot and cover it before turning on the stove. “Does that mean Eduardo and I can come over for dinner?”
“Fuck, no. Make your own damned stew.”
Diego bursts out laughing, but quickly sobers up when I turn to face him.
“Enough chitchat,” I say, wiping my hands on a paper towel. “Fill me in on the new trainees and where we are with the recruiting efforts.”
The guard launches into his daily report, and I sit down at the table, keeping an eye on the pot to make sure it doesn’t boil over.
W
hen the stew is done
, I check on Yulia and find her napping in the armchair in the library, dressed in another one of my T-shirts. I brought her here after lunch when she insisted on getting up, claiming she was tired of lying in bed all day. Judging by the book on her lap, she fell asleep while reading.
Frowning, I brush my hand over her forehead to check for fever. To my relief, her skin feels normal to the touch. She’s still not fully recovered, but Goldberg was right not to let me panic.
I glance at the clock.
Four p.m. Plenty of time before dinner.
Making a decision, I quietly exit the room and head outside. I need to do my rounds with the guards and catch up with Esguerra. With any luck, Yulia will nap for the next couple of hours while I do some work, and then we’ll have a nice meal together—our first normal meal since her return.
I can’t fucking wait.
Y
ulia
A
n unnerving sensation
wakes me up. It’s almost like someone’s watching me, or—
Gasping, I sit up in the armchair and gape at the petite, golden-skinned girl standing in the middle of Lucas’s library. She’s wearing a light blue sundress, and her shiny dark hair streams over her slim bare shoulders. I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen her before, though something about her delicate features is familiar.
“Who are you?” I try to keep my voice level—not an easy feat with my heart pounding in my throat. I’m still weak from my illness, and though the doll-like creature in front of me doesn’t seem like much of a threat, I know looks can be deceiving. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m Nora Esguerra,” she says in unaccented American English. Her dark, thickly lashed eyes regard me with cool derision. “You’ve met my husband, Julian.”
I blink. That explains how she got into the house—she must have the same master keys as Rosa—and why she looks familiar. Her picture was in the files Obenko gave me in Moscow.
Also, I’ve seen those dark eyes once before.
“You were looking in the window the first day I was brought here,” I say, tugging Lucas’s T-shirt down to cover more of my thighs. Had I known I’d have visitors, I would’ve put on some real clothes. “With Rosa, right?”
The girl nods. “Yes, we looked in on you.” She doesn’t apologize or explain, just studies me, her eyes slightly narrowed.
“Okay, and you’re here today because…” I let my voice trail off.
“Because I’ve been waiting for a chance to talk to you, and this is the first time Lucas has left the house in several days,” she says, and approaches my armchair.
Feeling uneasy, I stand up. Though my legs still feel like cooked noodles, I’ll be better able to protect myself on my feet—if the need arises.
“What did you want to talk about?” I ask, keeping a careful eye on the girl’s hands. She doesn’t appear armed, but something about her posture tells me she might not need weapons to inflict harm.
She’s had some fighting training, I can tell.
“Rosa,” the girl says. Her small chin lifts as she gives me a hard look. “Specifically, what you’re going to tell Lucas and Julian about her.”
I frown in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“They’re going to want to know how you escaped and who helped you,” Nora says evenly. “And you’re going to say that it was Rosa acting on my instructions. Do you understand?”
“What?” That’s the last thing I expected to hear. “You want me to blame you?”
“I want you to tell the truth,” she says coolly. “And yes, that means telling everyone that Rosa was helping you on my request.”
“She didn’t say anything about it being your request,” I say, my mind racing. It sounds like the maid is in trouble, and Esguerra’s wife is trying to protect her by admitting her own involvement. Except—
“It doesn’t matter what Rosa said or didn’t say.” Nora’s voice tightens. “I’m telling you now that Rosa was acting on my orders, and that’s what you will say when Lucas and Julian ask you about it. Understand?”
“Or what?” I can hear the threat in the girl’s tone, but I want to see how far she’d go. “Or what, Mrs. Esguerra?”
“Or I will personally ensure that Julian flays every bit of flesh from your bones.” She gives me a cool smile. “In fact, I may do it myself.”
I stare at her, trying to recall what I know about the girl. She’s young—a couple of years younger than me, according to Esguerra’s file—and recently married to the arms dealer. Before that, she was supposedly kidnapped by him; there was an FBI investigation that lasted more than a year. But regardless of her background, it’s obvious to me that she’s not all that different from her husband now.
She’s not making an idle threat.
“All right,” I say slowly. “Let’s presume you did suggest to Rosa that she help me. Why? What would’ve been your motivation? Lucas will want to know.”
“He’ll understand my motivation. All you need to do is tell the truth—the full truth, including my involvement.”
My lips twist. “Right. And I assume the full truth doesn’t include your visit to me today.”
“Correct.” Her dark gaze is unblinking. “There’s no reason for Rosa to pay for my actions. I’m sure you agree with that.”
“I do.” If Esguerra’s wife wants her notoriously ruthless husband to think the whole thing was her idea, I have no intention of standing in her way—especially given this little chat. “Now, is that all, or can I help you with something else?”
“That’s all,” she says, then turns and starts walking away. But before I can exhale in relief, she stops in the doorway and looks back at me. “Just one more thing, Yulia…”
I lift my eyebrows, waiting.
“From what Julian’s said, Lucas seems… unusually enamored with you.” Her voice is oddly flat. “It’s fortunate for you, given what’s occurred.”
She’s talking about the plane crash, I realize. Esguerra’s wife would naturally blame me for that. At least I didn’t succeed in seducing her husband; I have a feeling if Nora knew Esguerra was my initial assignment, I might’ve woken up with my throat slit.
“I’m sure you were just doing your job,” she continues in that same flat tone. “Carrying out your superiors’ orders.”
I nod warily. I have no idea what she wants me to say. I didn’t know that my intel would be used to bring down her husband’s plane, but even if I did, I’m not sure that would’ve changed anything. I might’ve tried to get Lucas to stay off that plane, though he had still been a stranger to me at the time, but I wouldn’t have lifted a finger to save Esguerra. I still wouldn’t.
Given everything I know about the man, the world would be better off without him—and so would his wife.
“Good. That’s what Lucas told Julian,” Nora says. “It wasn’t personal, so to speak.”
I nod again, hoping she gets to the point soon. The lingering tiredness from the illness is making my legs tremble, and I’m sweating from the exertion of standing for so long. I don’t want to show vulnerability in front of Esguerra’s wife, though. It would be like baring one’s throat to a small but deadly she-wolf.
“Okay, Yulia…” The she-wolf’s eyes gleam with a peculiar light. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, for your sake, I hope you share Lucas’s feelings. Because if he ever withdraws his protection…” She doesn’t complete her sentence, but I understand her perfectly.
My brother is not the only one who doesn’t belong on this estate.
“Understood,” I manage to say calmly. “Anything else?”
She gives me a tight smile. “No. That’s all. Hope you feel better soon.”
She turns and disappears through the doorway, and I collapse back into the armchair, as exhausted as if I’d just fought a war.