Stripped

To Yuriy. Though the dream was different, your lessons taught me how to rise above obstacles and believe in the gold. They will always be part of me. I love you, my friend.

Acknowledgments

To my agent, Jewelann Cone, and my editor, Leis Pederson: this book would not have been possible without either of you. Literally. The both of you made it all come together and gave me a dream come true by opening a door I didn’t even see. I don’t have words to express my gratitude.

To Alexis Walker, who gave me the courage to go where limits didn’t apply, thank you so much.

Alta Durrant, when everyone was buried under deadlines, yourself included, you pushed me to create, to see the story through. Your brainstorming sessions made this work, and your enthusiasm kept me going.

Dyann Love Barr, your belief in me helped me knock down barricades. You’ve been there through the best of times and the worst, and I value your friendship, your support, and your wisdom so very much. Thank you for everything. (And give Dennis a hug!)

Mom, thank you for the time you’ve invested and the sacrifices you’ve made. I love you very much.

Garrett and Pierce, thank you for your patience, your love, and the joy you bring to my life. You make my days brighter and my heart light, even when you’re bathing in the mud.

Matt, you encouraged me from the beginning and remain steadfast. I wouldn’t have embarked on this path without your support.

Jackie Bannon, from writing to nursing crying jags with margaritas, you’ve been there. Thank you so much.

Thank you, Linda Kage, for the time you put forth and the ideas you spurred, as well as your constant support and encouragement.

Cathy Morrison, Judy Ridgely, Goldie Edwards, Alicia Dean, Kimberly, and Diana Coyle, thank you for all the time you’ve dedicated to reading, commenting, and advising, both in this project and a multitude of others. I sincerely appreciate your insight and the time you’ve given me.

Jason, the support you give and the time you invest is priceless. You were willing to learn with me, to ask necessary questions, and whittle away at the Victorian. Thank you for being you, a man I respect, and a hero I admire.

They exist only in shadow. An elite team of deadly operatives created to satisfy increasing international threats. Their world is the dark underground, where sin and pleasure dominate and lies are second nature. To those who cross them, they are professional killers. Within the CIA, they are the rare Black Opals.…

One
MOSCOW, RUSSIA

T

he woman Natalya Trubachev would escort to hell lay beneath a halo of murky light, trembling in fear. Her long blonde hair was clumped in an unruly mass of tangles around her slender shoulders. Her clothes were hardly decent, let alone useful covering against the cold cement floor. She shivered, proving the point.

Natalya shivered with her. This part was the worst. Three years of soothing the women should have made her immune. At one time, she
had
been disconnected from them. But now, each pale face, each quivering lip, curled her stomach and left her questioning things she didn’t dare consider. Things like her purpose. The state of her soul. Like why she’d ever become a Black Opal, an elite, deadly, and highly undocumented CIA operative.

Beyond the reinforced square pane of glass, the blonde shivered again. She tucked her hands between her knees and curled her shoulders.

Natalya braced an open palm on the soundproof door and pushed it open.
Soon you won’t remember.
Well, she’d remember, but she wouldn’t
care
. Not once the barbiturates invaded the woman’s veins and she woke up in Dubai. By then, a prisoner to her tranquilized state, she’d already be dependent on daily heroin injections. She’d agree to anything as long as she got her fix.

Natalya dismissed unwelcome visions of that illicit place of sin and opulence and rolled a syringe against her palm.
She’s just a job.
One step closer.
No different from any other job Natalya had performed in any
other place under any other cover. Problem was, this one Natalya knew well. She knew them all. That’s why she was here. She gained their trust, used it against them, and led them straight to hell.

All for the sake of national security. Only nowadays, it felt more like for the sake of Dmitri Gavrikov’s sick pleasure than any act of protecting the United States. God, she had to get out of here. Had to get this job over with before she lost her mind and her ability to function as a Black Opal. Three years in one place was too long.

At the sound of Natalya’s heels against the hard floor, the blonde turned her head. Hope filled her wide blue eyes. “Natalya?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper.
“Pomogite
mne
.
”

Help me.
Natalya tightened her fingers around the syringe she held. If only she could.

Blocking unwanted emotion, she found a confident smile. She walked with more purpose. Flawless Russian tumbled off her lips along with a light laugh. “Help you, Tatiana? Don’t be silly. There’s not a soul here who’d hurt you.”

Not here. No one would dare mar Tatiana’s porcelain skin with bruises. That would mean delivering damaged goods to Sheikh Amir in Dubai. Natalya refused to think about what would happen to Tatiana there. But the sheikh’s wealthy clients wouldn’t be at all pleased to find their treasures waiting in silk-clad beds and covered with purple welts.

She knelt at Tatiana’s side and helped her upright. “I’m sorry Alexei scared you. Didn’t he tell you I’d be back to keep you company before your big date?”

Tatiana wiped a dust-streaked hand across her cheek as she shook her head. “He said nothing.”

Rolling her eyes, Natalya let out another false laugh. “Men.” She gave Tatiana’s arm a gentle pinch. “Well, he was supposed to. Now I guess we’ll have to get you to a shower before the party starts. You can’t very well dance covered in dirt—even if you are taking off your clothes.” With a conspiratorial wink, she grinned.

A sigh of relief escaped Tatiana’s pale lips, and a hesitant smile drifted over her mouth. “I’m still entertaining the businessmen tonight? I’ll need something to wear.”

“Of course. I’ve got the perfect thing in mind. In a couple hours, they’ll walk out of here with their cocks harder than they’ve ever thought possible and their money stuffed in your thong.”

Tatiana wrinkled her nose with an amused giggle. “It’s how it always is, no? Show a bit of skin, twist your hips just so, and they eat out of your palm.”

Literally, as Natalya had witnessed from behind the stage at Dmitri’s many strip clubs throughout Moscow—where Tatiana and the other women had all come from. They were chosen for their exceptional beauty and their equally exceptional ability to seduce through dance.

She hoisted Tatiana to her feet. “Let’s get you cleaned up. We don’t have much time.”

Tatiana’s grateful gaze found Natalya’s. “Thank you. I was afraid you’d told me stories.”

Guilt punched Natalya in the gut. She forced her smile to widen over a threatening grimace. Following ingrained routine, she wrapped her arms around the woman’s dirty shoulders and gave Tatiana a hug.

As waif-thin arms slipped around Natalya’s waist to return the affectionate gesture, Natalya turned her wrist and pressed the needle into Tatiana’s jugular. As she pushed the barbiturate into her bloodstream, Tatiana jerked back. Cornflower blue eyes filled with shock. Pale pink lips parted with a question that would never escape. Then she slumped forward, her slight weight barely rocking Natalya.

With a heavy sigh, Natalya eased her onto the floor. She dropped the syringe and turned to the door, where Dmitri waited with a proud smile. In his hand, he held a box of chocolate-covered cherries.

Natalya startled. Dmitri wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow night.

He spread his arms in welcome.
“Moya lyubov´.”

My love.

Natalya’s smile brightened as a shadow crossed over her soul, chilling her from the inside out. She hurried across the small space between them, accepted the box of candy, and threw herself into his arms. He clasped her against his hard chest. Broad palms slid up the back of her cashmere sweater. Warm, soft lips found hers, but though the stroke of his tongue was ardent, no heat crept into her veins. It never had. What he was, what he believed in, turned his handsome face and well-maintained body into a cold, lifeless statue. He was every bit as soulless too.