To Russia With Love (Countermeasure Series)

Chris Almeida & Cecilia Aubrey

Praise for CHRIS ALMEIDA AND CECILIA AUBREY:

“A riveting, clever spy story full of intrigue, modern-day espionage and a scorching hot romance.”

—
Misty Evans, award-winning author of romantic suspense

“Almeida and Aubrey had me from the first paragraph and I couldn't put it down. Electrifying thriller!”

—
Becky Condit, Mrs Condit and Friends Read Books

“It is beautifully written with the perfect mixture of action and suspense and in the midst of all that there is a beautiful emotional love story entwined.”

—
Rhayne Risque, Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews

“I highly recommend Countermeasure for any fan of a fast paced erotic romance. I know I'm looking forward to checking out the duo's next collaboration!”

—
Silla Beaumont, Just Erotic Romance Reviews

COPYRIGHT

ISBN 978-0-9879217-8-9

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

To Russia with Love © 2012 Chris Almeida & Cecilia Aubrey

Edited by Emmanuelle Hertel

Cover art by Chris Almeida

Electronic book publication July 2012

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the authors.

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the authors’ rights is appreciated.

To Russia with Love
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

TRADEMARK ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The authors acknowledge the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

Star Wars: LucasArts

Rocky and Bullwinkle and Friends: TM & © Ward Prods.

SCOOBY-DOO, THE FLINTSTONES and all related characters and elements: Hanna-Barbera

Get Smart: HBO

Guinness: Diageo Ireland Private Unlimited Company

Marvel Super Hero character names & likenesses: Marvel

Lara Croft: Square Enix Holdings Co., Ltd

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Someone once told us that being a beta reader was an honor, and that if someone was offered that position, they should be thankful for the opportunity.

We see it differently. To have the amazing people we have as our beta readers and critique partners is not only an honor but crucial to
us
.

We thank the following crucial people for the guidance in the development of our craft, for the encouragement to continue spinning our tales, and for the great friendship and laughter we share:

Candy Chapman, Harriet Vallero, Micquleta Williams, Sarah Davis, Heather Von Ohlen, Hope Sloper, Karen Lorio Piper, Sandra Zapp, Lori Freeman, Jennifer Murray Thompson, Maria Mercedes Prieto, Shannon Adamson, Cathy McCarron, Dianne Steverson Vickers, Victoria Iankova, Alan Langford, Anders and Nina Karlsson, Melissa Berlese and the members of the OMB Role Play group.

Thank you for believing we could make it happen a second time.

–George Bernard Shaw

Chicken-scratch

“S
O, HOW IS THE NEW guy doing?” Roy Denner, Chief Financial Officer of Mark Devlin Software, asked Mark Devlin, owner of MDS. They often held their casual meetings over the phone, and that day was no different.

“New guy? Oh…you mean Antonín Mucha? Amazing. He had an impressive resume. Worked with some big names, including Conor Brennan.” Over the line, Roy heard Mark take a sip of his coffee.

“Brennan? Why is the name familiar?”

“Big name in biometrics. He led some major projects in the field.”

“Ah.”

“Mucha helped him with an algorithm for voice recognition some years back.”

“I see.”

“Apparently they were close for a while. Mucha mentioned he had some of Brennan’s notes. I bought them from him. They will be worth a fortune down the road—even though they look like chicken-scratch to me.”

“Why?”

“Don’t you remember? Brennan died in a boating accident some five years back—”

A knock on Mark’s door sounded over the line.

“Hi, Paul. Everything okay?” Roy overheard Mark’s question followed by a pause, then Paul’s muffled reply in the background.

“The decrypter, Mr. Devlin…I don’t know how…the files are gone.” Paul Faber, the lead developer at MDS, was in charge of their main piece of software—which was also one of his projects from inception.

“Mark, what’s going on?” Roy asked over the line.

“Roy. Grab Harold and get over here. My office. We have a situation.” His voice was thick with tension.

Mark hung up and Roy immediately called Harold Preston, MDS’s head of security, and instructed him to meet them at Mark’s office on the double. It was going to be a hell of a day.

*****

George scanned the latest assignments and prioritized their order of attack for the day. It would be handled as soon as he could get a hold of Trevor.

With that in check, he scanned the latest report generated on their little keyword list—something he had been keeping an eye on for his buddy. He had to take a second pass at it to make sure he had gotten it right. When he did, a small smile played on his features.

“Trev’s going to want to hear this one…”

Heaven and Hell

T
HE SOUND OF FLESH POUNDING flesh followed by grunts, curses, and thumps was audible from the front door. Downstairs, in the renovated house that belonged to Trevor and Cassandra Brennan, the air was thick with the pungent smell of sweat and the sounds of struggle. The origin of the noisy fracas was the gym, the largest room in the basement.

Two bodies were involved in a brutal confrontation. Trevor sported several bruises from it while Cassandra fared better. In a blur of movement, the heel of her hand connected with Trevor’s chin and his mouth snapped shut, the resonance of teeth grinding against each other filled the room.

“Fuck!” He tackled her to the ground and slammed his fist into her cheek, snapping her head to the side.

“Oh no, you didn’t!” Cassandra growled savagely as she shoved him off her, rolled to her feet, and landed a direct kick square in the middle of his chest.

Trevor grunted as he fell hard on his back. Cassandra flew at him but, at the last minute, he rolled across the mat, avoiding her tackle only to feel the side of her foot slam into his ribs.

“Holy hell!” he screamed as pain flashed hot through him.

She relentlessly followed with another kick to his stomach. Trevor rolled, cupping his balls to protect the boys from a third, more damaging strike.

“Come on! Is that all you got?” Cassandra taunted as he curled tightly into a fetal position to protect his stomach and assets from further harm, heaving in pain. She straddled his side and pushed him to his back. His painful grimace was proof she’d gotten more than a few good blows in.

“At least you didn’t give up after only a few minutes this time,” she sneered.

“What are you talking about? We’ve been at it for over two hours!” Exhausted and drenched in sweat, Trevor lay on the floor with his arms spread wide.

“Crying ‘Uncle’?” The undercurrent of laughter in her voice was evident.

Trevor pushed up to rest on his elbow. “Can I? I should be on chat with George right now.” He collapsed against the mat again when Cassandra knocked his elbow and shoved him.

Before meeting Trevor, Cassandra had let her own training slide after leaving the CIA, thinking she no longer needed it; but the encounter with Niklas Möeller—a deadly mercenary—in France the previous summer had proven otherwise. A week after moving into the new house, Cassandra had enforced a heavy training schedule to keep them in shape and physically prepared for the unexpected.

During the six months Trevor and George had been working under the Operation Countermeasure cover, they had handled a couple of tough cases for the NSA. One of them had required physical intrusion into a facility—an adventure that had almost cost Trevor dearly. Cassandra had then intensified their workout, putting him through a modified version of Navy Seal training, similar to what her father had imposed when she was younger.

During the renovations, they had converted the basement into a fully equipped gym. Mats covered the floors wall to wall. All types of martial arts equipment filled one corner of the room, while another housed a set of punching bags and free weights. The treadmill, elliptical, and rowing machines lined the back wall.

Their training was not for the faint of heart. Cassandra didn’t hold back. She had been kicking his ass for almost six months now, and although his body was fitter than before and he was larger than she, he still hadn’t come to terms with the idea of hitting her, which always meant he ended up with a larger share of bruises by the end of each session.

“No, sir.” She pinned him and captured his mouth with hers in a deep wet kiss.

“Hmm…I like
this
part of the training. Can we just tackle this part first next time?” Trevor mumbled in her mouth.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“Yes ma’am,” he grinned against her lips before threading his fingers through her hair and thrusting his tongue into her mouth.

*****

Trevor and Cassandra had moved into their new home in Dublin, Ireland, after getting married the previous fall. Trevor, who had lived in Ft. Meade, Maryland, and worked for the NSA before the move, had accepted a consultant position after his resignation had been summarily denied by his superiors. The government organization considered him a huge asset and retained him as a part of their arsenal to intercept and decrypt sensitive data. As a consultant for the NSA, Trevor was given limited access to Echelon computers via a highly secure remote connection.

Trevor’s best friend, George Miller, was his liaison within the NSA walls. In addition, George handled all data intercepts and watched their back like an extra set of eyes and ears.