Better now than after they got married, had kids. Narrow escape.
She shoved away from the poolside and launched into another angry lap, arms pinwheeling through the water.
Sparks. That was what Justin said she lacked. Seeing Kaia had made him realize this. Kaia was crackling with sparks. Becca wondered if the head brace would cramp her fiery sexual style. Poor thing. Big shame.
She touched the side, twisted to prepare for another push off—and two huge, strong hands seized her under the armpits and wrenched her up out of the pool. A thick, steely arm locked across her throat. Something hard pressed her temple. A gun. Oh God. A gun.
“Who the fuck are you?” The voice in her ear was a rasp of pure menace.
Chapter
3
Ambush.
First thing Nick had thought when he saw the gorgeous naked chick on the video monitor. Preening and stretching, tossing her hair, showing off her tits for the camera. Diving into the pool like she owned the fucking place. The babe had nerves of steel, he’d give her that much.
He scooted backward, dragging her with him till he hit the glass poolhouse wall. The place made him feel like he was in a fishbowl when the lights were on. All glass, all around, and no cover of any kind.
He braced himself for a volley of bullets to explode out of the darkness, turn all that art deco flash into shrapnel.
Didn’t happen. Not yet. Any second, maybe. Any second.
He took the gun away from the girl’s neck just long enough to hit the switch and kill the underwater lights, plunging them into darkness. Hell. The beeper had jerked him out of a doze, and sleep-addled dumbfuck that he was, he hadn’t put on the infrared goggles before charging out here. It was a sure thing that the guys in the woods had them. If they were out there. The girl wiggled, trying to stand.
Uh-uh. Not in this lifetime. A deft kick that was calculated not to cause pain knocked her bare feet out from under her. He got her off balance so that she dangled helplessly in his grip.
“I—p-p-please—”
“Shut up. Not one word out of you. Got that?”
A shudder racked her body. Her head jerked in assent.
Jesus. How? Who? This op was so fucking secret and mysterious, he didn’t even know a lot of the details himself. Who knew about his cover, other than Tam? Had Ludmilla turned on him?
Maybe one of Zhoglo’s business rivals had an infiltrator. Maybe some foreign police agency had gotten tipped off, and was setting up a cozy welcome for Zhoglo when his boat docked. Nick didn’t blame them, but he stood to get slaughtered from every side. And Zhoglo was supposed to arrive tomorrow—aw, fuck.
He had to stay alive.
He eased the door open, dragging the naked chick out. Her feet scrabbled and her whimpering made it hard to listen for the rest of the team, wherever they were. He got her down the walkway to the house while his brain churned out possible explanations.
One: Naked Chick was an assassin, a black widow fuck-n-kill type. OK, she wasn’t packing anything he could see, but a body like hers was a weapon in itself. Might as well conk most guys over the head with a club as let them ogle tits like that. And of course there were weapons that were easy to hide.
He’d have to take a closer look. The idea sent a surge of interest into his groin. His one-eyed snake didn’t care if the bathing beauty was a icy-hearted killer.
Sometimes he wondered how men lived to adulthood, let alone old age, with that much concentrated stupidity dangling between their legs.
Two: Naked Chick was a distraction to engage his attention while the ambush moved in on him. The come-and-get-me way she’d presented her body for him in the poolhouse was one mother of a distraction. A sexual spell. The way her skin gleamed when he’d dragged her up, the jewel-like reflections on the disturbed water. It was magic.
Yeah. Sudden death could be so magical.
He guided her through the door and into the main house. Nice and easy. He didn’t need to be aggressive. She wasn’t fighting him. In one swift move he cuffed her slender wrists together behind her back, hooking them to the banister of the spiral staircase. He hadn’t lost his touch.
He stepped back, ran his eyes over her body. Wow. Whoever sent her must have a big budget. The girl was fucking amazing. He forced his mouth to close and went back to his situation analysis. Concentrate.
Three: Naked Chick was an expendable sex worker with no clue, and this was a perverse test from the big boss to see how Arkady behaved. Just the kind of game Zhoglo might play with a new guy to get a feel for his weaknesses.
Which would mean he was being watched. All the more reason not to lose his cool. And if he was careful, he might even get the upper hand. Worth trying.
“Who sent you?” he asked softly in Ukrainian.
She blinked, big-eyed. “Huh?”
She sounded American. Not likely, not for a job like this, Nick thought. “Who sent you? Tell me who sent you here,” he asked, in Russian this time.
No response.
He tried again, in Chechenyan, Estonian, Moldovian, Georgian, in case she was a ticking bomb sent by one of Zhoglo’s business rivals. He tried Hungarian and Romanian too, just in case. The big Z might have pissed off Daddy Novak. These psycho dudes were not known for their loyalty when billions of dollars were at stake.
Not so much as a spark of comprehension on her face. Just the appearance of shivering terror. But she was a professional, after all.
They’d picked their bait well, if bait she was. Stop-your-heart pretty, with all those pale, soft curves, huge green eyes. Just how Nick liked them. Not too skinny. Old world, Eastern European type of gorgeous, not a stringy Malibu beach babe.
He especially loved the mouth. The plump, parted, quivering lips made him speculate briefly about what her sexual specialty must be. She must be stellar at giving head.
He felt sort of honored. If he rated a top-of-the-line call girl to lure him to his doom, he must have hit the big-time when he wasn’t paying attention.
He wondered how old she was. He guessed twenty-three, twenty-five, max. Couldn’t have been in her current profession for long. That radiant-innocence vibe couldn’t be faked. Innocence faded real fast.
The visuals were perfect. She was still gleaming with water that trickled from her hair and ran down her body. Drops of water clinging to the dark fuzz between her thighs. Full tits, shown to advantage. Hey, cuffs were fun. Tight nipples. Helpless whimpers.
Nick dragged himself back to reality. Like hell she was helpless. She probably had a coil of wire fastened into her hair to garrotte him the second he turned his back.
“Who are you? And who sent you?” he asked in English.
“I’m, ah, Becca Cattrell,” she quavered, her voice high and thin.
“Becca Cattrell,” he repeated. “Who the fuck is Becca Cattrell?”
She shook her head, eyes wide. “Ah…me?”
“Not funny.” He tipped her chin up. “This isn’t a game. Who sent you?”
“M-m-marla sent me,” she gasped out.
“Yeah? Did she? Who’s Marla?”
“My b-boss,” she stammered out. “At the club.”
So Marla was a madam. OK. That was part of the puzzle, but not the part that interested him. “Why did this Marla send you to me?”
“Look,