To Russia With Love (Countermeasure Series) (38 page)

The man was a hair short of psychopathic. Trevor’s greatest concern now was for Cassandra. If he didn’t find a way to contact her, she would put the E&E plan in motion, and that would be a total fuckup.

Mikhailov cocked his head and asked, “How long have you been working?”

Surprised, Trevor checked the time. “Give or take, some eight hours.”

Mikhailov raised an eyebrow in Dmitriy’s direction while still addressing Trevor. “I hope you were fed appropriately, your needs taken care of?”

Trevor turned his gaze to Dmitriy’s wide-eyed one. “Yes, he has been extremely generous. My appetite tends to disappear when working. In this case, I was too engrossed in the code, I guess…the hazard of being a geek.”

“Come,” he gestured. “You need to eat good Russian food. Hearty, as they say in the West.”

“But…I just need a sand—” Trevor shut his mouth, catching the subtle warning in Dmitriy’s eyes and rethought his words. “I mean…sure…I am actually hungry.”

Mikhailov smirked and turned for the stairs, expecting him to follow. “Now, Ivanov.”

The underlying threat of “move your ass or else” spurred Trevor to follow him up the stairs and out of the room, with Dmitriy close at his heels.

*****

Cassandra uncurled her body from the computer and stretched the kinks out of her shoulders and back. She was surprised to see that darkness had invaded the room.
Still not a peep.
Slumping in her chair, she rested her head back to wait.

She felt like she was watching Trevor’s teakettle, waiting for it to boil. The more one watched, the longer it took. The same was happening with the audio wave bars on the graphic equalizer. The more she stared at them, the longer the cone of silence continued.

Sighing deeply, Cassandra leaned forward in her chair, resting her head in the crock of her arm on the desk. She closed her eyes and drifted on the edge of exhaustion as she willed the silence away, but silence was a bitch who refused to cooperate. A hiss of static buzzed through the speaker. She lifted her head and stared at the bars, willing them to move. Her heart raced, her throat tightened, and her body grew tense in anticipation.

Her heart skipped a beat when they fluctuated slightly.
Come on, come on. Be him!
Suddenly the sound of door hinges and voices came across the feed, including the voice she had been yearning to hear—Trevor. “I’m still impressed by your thoroughness in locking the lab down, blocking all radio waves.”

Shit! The signal had been blocked!
A small sob escaped her lips. Cassandra was overwhelmed with relief. The knowledge that he was alive and well filled the hole in her heart dug by the silence of the last eight hours. His voice reverberated over the laptop’s speakers, making her warm inside again. She heard chairs scraping along the floors and cutlery sounds amongst lively conversation. It appeared Trevor was Mikhailov’s guest for dinner at the mansion. She was impatient for him to be home, but it seemed that would not be happening for a little bit longer.

*****

Trevor and Dmitriy followed Mikhailov to a big dining room. Trevor hoped his covert message had reached Cassandra and prevented her from deploying the E&E prematurely. Trevor scrubbed his fingers through his hair in frustration. It was inevitable. He would be Mikhailov’s guest of honor for some time.
Cassie isn’t going to like that one bit.

*****

Cassandra’s stomach grumbled; since it appeared the dinner would be a long one, she turned up the volume and went to the kitchen for a bite. She scavenged some lettuce and ham from the fridge, frowning at Trevor’s grocery shopping skills, and pulled a sandwich together. Back at the laptop, she listened while she ate her makeshift dinner and grumbled.
Bugger! He’s probably having a nice hot, hearty Russian meal while I’m stuck here eating this pathetic sandwich.

Half the conversation was impossible to follow. It was in Russian, a language she had yet to master. Every once in a while, questions in English were tossed Trevor’s way. His life in England, did he have a family, all deflected with ease. It was near the end of dinner that a comment had her sitting up in her chair. “Dmitriy will escort you to your room.”
Hell!

*****

After the meal, Dmitriy showed him to the small room, and, with a quick wave, left him to make himself comfortable. As if that was possible. He was in jail, with no defined end to his sentence.

When the door was pulled shut, Trevor tested it: sure enough, it had been locked. He slumped on the bed. Raking his unruly mop of hair with his fingers and inhaling deeply, he tried to center his thoughts. He would find a way to get out of it. For both their sakes.

Trevor hadn’t been able to pass any direct information to Cassandra during dinner. He had to have faith she had heard at least enough of the conversation to grasp the predicament in which he found himself. Now, locked up in his temporary cell, he had time to think and explain. He kicked off his shoes and stripped down to his boxers, carefully folding his clothes and placing them on the chair. Reaching down for the shoe with the transmitter, he set it on the small table next to the bed.

He flopped to his back on the small twin bed, his feet dangling off the end, and crossed his hands behind his head, the tightness in his chest a dull pain he couldn’t ignore. It choked him once, twice. Struggling to keep his voice steady, he began, “I don’t know if you are listening right now,
a ghrá
; if not, at least everything I say is being recorded and you’ll hear it soon enough.”

Cassandra’s heart bottomed out, listening to the mix of anger, fear, and love coloring his deep voice. “I’m listening, babe.” She raged inside that he couldn’t hear her. Almost as if hoping to send any sort of comfort through to him, her fingers traced the jumping bars on the graphic equalizer interface on screen as his voice filled the silence in the room. The cool smoothness of the screen was a harsh reminder that it wasn’t Trevor’s face she touched.

Numbed by the absoluteness of their situation, Cassandra fought back the tears that threatened to choke her. He was alive and well; that was what counted. “Come on, Trevor. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.” Her voice was an echo in the small lonely apartment.

Trevor’s insides constricted, uncertainty filling him. Squeezing his eyes shut, trying his best to keep his voice from faltering, he paused to search for the right words. “I’m sorry,
a bhean
. I never thought our first time away from each other would be under these circumstances. I always pictured you taking off with Jessie for one of those girly spa weekends, leaving me behind to fend from myself. Instead, we are knee-deep in this fucked-up situation.”

Trevor stared blindly at the ceiling. “If you haven’t figured it out by now, I have been sequestered until the development is complete. It was either this or…. Anyway, Mikhailov is one paranoid bastard. Sees betrayal around every corner. So, here I am. Here we are.”

He sighed deeply. “The room I’m working in is insulated. All signals are attenuated and there is no way to transmit from there. That’s why you didn’t hear me today, and why you won’t hear me while I’m down there for the days to come. I’ll find a way to send you little signs of life, to stay in contact. Let you know I am okay. Don’t, I repeat,
don’t
deploy E&E unless I give you our signal. As soon as I figure out how to get the files out of here, I’ll let you know.”

“You have every right to be pissed off right now. But this was the only way. I miss you,
a ghrá
.” He shut his eyes tight at the sudden pang in his chest. “It might be silly for a grown man to be shaken the way I am right now, but I feel lost without you. When did you become such a big part of my life? Probably the same moment I faced your angry stare for the first time. I promise you. I’ll find my way out of here and back to you, Cassandra Brennan.”

He’d hoped the intentional use of their true last name would help convey his innermost feeling. He would finish this job. He would get back to her. How to make that happen was on what he now had to concentrate his energy.

His voice was tender, almost a murmur; it sliced through her like a hot knife. Cassandra’s heart ached and it felt as if a hand had closed around her throat. They were crazy. Just as she held his heart, he owned hers—from the moment she had set eyes on his crooked smile and unruly hair that day in the NSA bullpen.

“I miss you, too,” she said out loud, holding back the tears when he called her by her true last name—one she held dear to her heart.

A thought burst into his head. “Ah hell, Cassie. Does this mean that you’ll be shipping me to that training camp thingy you teased about?” His attempt at humor was short-lived. The day’s developments weighed heavily on him. “Okay. I need to get some shuteye. I’ll catch you tomorrow. Remember. Don’t panic when you don’t hear me during the day. I love you, Cassie girl.”

The cold isolation of the room beat at him. Turning on his side, Trevor stared at the shoe, his lifeline to Cassandra, and yearned for the warmth of his wife’s body, the scent of her skin. Edgy, he searched for a comfortable position on the hard mattress. He had a long and restless night ahead.

*****

At the mention of the boot camp threat, laughter spilled from her lips. Damn. Only he had the power to do that to her. Make her laugh at the worst of times. “I love you too, Trevor.”

Cassandra grabbed her laptop and took it to bed, setting it on his pillow. She stared at the audio receiver software opened on her screen, her lifeline to Trevor. The heat blowing from the laptop’s fan across her cheek was a poor substitute for his touch. Moisture filled her eyes until the pool of tears grew too heavy and trailed down the sides of her cheeks. Her breath came in shallow gasps and a heart-wrenching sob filled the room.

Burying her face in her pillow, Cassandra gave into the tension that had been building all day, letting all her anger, anxiety, and fear soak her pillow. The silence over the connection was a black hole sucking everything that she was into it.

Flopping onto her back, Cassandra stared at the ceiling illuminated by the glow of the laptop. She felt helpless. No backup plans for this one. If push came to shove, she would go in, guns blazing, even it if meant…. She squeezed her eyes shut. No. She was confident Trevor would take care of what he needed and would find a way out.

She drew in a deep, shuddering breath. She didn’t have time to be an emotional wreck. He was taking care of business, and so would she. Hopefully, George and Jessica would have information for her in the morning, including the enhanced images of the man Boris had met with earlier. Trevor was stuck, so she had to sit tight. Be prepared to receive any information when he could get it to her.

Cassandra rolled to her side, pushed the laptop to Trevor’s side of the bed, and pulled his pillow tightly against her, inhaling his musky scent. “No doubt about it Trevor, I’m kicking your ass,” she mumbled against the smooth cotton. Her last waking thought before drifting into a fitful sleep.

Fingers Everywhere

F
YODOR PUSHKIN SAT IN HIS very aristocratic and elegantly decorated home library. The smell of tobacco permeated the air as he took another drag of his cigarette and poured another shot of vodka—Russian Standard, one of the best and most expensive vodkas available in Russia. The walls were covered in family pictures, the shelves lined with the classics—Gogol, Tolstoy, and Dostoyevsky, among many others—neatly organized by literary periods. The library was his oasis of tranquility, where Fyodor came to escape.

Unfortunately, he was there not to be soothed by the familiar environment, but was instead waiting for updates on the people Boris had mentioned during their quick conversation at the restaurant that afternoon. Boris had been quite angry at being forced to a face-to-face meeting, but he hadn’t taken no for an answer. He had wanted to look Boris in the eye when discussing his involvement with Mikhailov.

Boris had again affirmed that he had everything under control and that he would get what he needed from Mikhailov. Furthermore, that he had enlisted some help in the form of two new friends. He stressed that they were
his
people and to be left alone.

Unbeknownst to Boris, the couple had been placed under close watch since the day he had paid them a visit at their little apartment by the Fontanka River. It has been quite useful to also have eyes on Boris, because he was then observed transporting the same man to Mikhailov’s mansion several days later.

During the years that he’d held his position, he had learned that no matter how much you trusted someone, you still had to be cautious about the ones closest to you. Boris had proven to be dedicated and useful. Very useful indeed. But it didn’t mean that Boris wasn’t playing his own game and using their connection to his advantage behind his back.