The Soldier's Seduction. Jane Godman

why. He barely knew her, but he knew he trusted her. She might drive him crazy on a daily basis, but he had never once doubted her integrity. She hadn’t told the truth about who she was when she came to work for him, but she hadn’t lied, either. She had simply hidden her identity. Once she told him Greg was her brother—with genuine love and grief in those amazing eyes—he had known for sure she wasn’t responsible for the deaths. Even so, she still had a lot of explaining to do.

      “If you didn’t kill them, why did you run?”

      “I found their bodies.” There was a haunted look in her eyes. “And, just before I did, I saw a man with a tattoo on the back of his hand leaving the elevator in Greg’s apartment building. It was the same tattoo I’d seen on the hands of the men who killed my parents. The same one that was on the man who broke into my cabin today.” Her voice trembled on something close to a sob. “I panicked and ran.”

      There were other questions battling for supremacy, and, as Steffi’s soothing fingers continued to apply the salve, Bryce struggled to make sense of and prioritize them. Why had she fled? Why had she come to Stillwater? Who were the men who had pursued her—Bryce had heard an accent and a smattering of a language he didn’t know. He had guessed Eastern European and knew now it was Russian—and how had they found her?

      In the end, as Steffi wound the bandage around his waist, he went for the question that seemed the least important, but the one that, for some reason, really mattered. “Should I still call you Steffi?”

      She paused, her hand resting on his abdomen. Her touch sent a shimmer of heat through to his nerve endings. It felt a lot like arousal, but that couldn’t be right. How totally out of place would that be in this situation? And anyway, this was Steffi. He might like sparring with her; she might be the only person who could hold his attention for longer than five minutes these days, but did that mean he felt something for her? And if he did, he should shake that aside fast. His head and his heart were in such an almighty mess that neither of them was in any state to consider sharing their contents with another person.

      In spite of everything, there was a hint of mischief in Steffi’s eyes as she smiled. “My full name is Stefanya. I use Anya as my stage name, but my family—and my friends, the few I have—have always called me Steffi.”

      “Do I qualify as a friend?” He didn’t know why, but it was important to know the answer to that question.

      The smile changed and he got a glimpse of full-on Hollywood charm. It nearly knocked him off his feet. “Engaging in a car chase and shooting the bad guy for me? I think you qualify.”

      Steffi finished winding the bandage around his torso and neatly tied the ends. Bryce shifted from side to side. It wasn’t comfortable, but hopefully it would help him heal. “I’ll get one of Cameron’s T-shirts and then you can tell me the rest of the story.”

      Steffi nodded, her smile vanishing and nervousness taking its place. He turned away, intending to make his way to the bedroom...just as the front door came crashing in.

      * * *

      The three men who burst through the door clearly meant business. Bryce sprang into action, reaching for the gun he had placed on the table. Before his fingers could close over the butt, one of the intruders aimed a kick at his head. Steffi heard the sickening crunch of a boot connecting with Bryce’s skull and watched in horror as her only hope crumpled to the floor.

      “Shall I finish him off?” The man who had kicked him spoke with a pronounced Russian accent as he trained his gun hopefully on Bryce’s unconscious form. Steffi recognized him as the giant, tattooed intruder who had burst into her cabin and been in the process of dragging her down the hall when Bryce had knocked him out. The darkening bruise on his chin confirmed it. Her heart thudded uncomfortably as she waited for a response to his question.

      “No.” The man who answered him had a shaved head and an air of authority. There was barely a trace of an accent when he continued. “The Big Guy doesn’t like it when people he knows nothing about get involved in his business. He’ll want to ask this guy some questions before you get to put a bullet in his brain and throw him in the lake.”

      Even though the future didn’t sound hopeful for Bryce, it was a reprieve. Of sorts. Steffi began to slowly back up toward a side table on which a large piece of rose-colored quartz was the centerpiece. If she could just get her hand around that chunk of mineral...

      The man who was in charge turned his attention to her. Like his companions, he had the tattooed eye on the back of his right hand.

      “You have led us on quite a chase, Stefanya. Yuri has a bullet in his knee courtesy of your friend here. Luckily, he was able to notice you had a flat tire as you drove off. We followed the shredded rubber and the marks your rims made on the asphalt. They led us right here.” He shook his head with mock sadness. “The Big Guy is not happy at the delay.” He signaled to his companions. “Erik, pick up the guy, get him in the car. Sergei, bring Stefanya. Let’s get moving. No more screwups.”

      Erik was the huge man who had kicked Bryce. He tucked his gun into the waistband of his pants. Placing his hands under Bryce’s armpits, he began to drag him across the floor toward the door. Sergei, who until now had remained in the background, made a move toward Steffi. Even as her instincts for self-preservation went into overdrive, her fear for Bryce’s well-being kicked up a notch. She wanted to run to him and check he was okay, to shove the thug who was hauling him aside and cradle his head against her breast. The tender feelings welling up inside her were new, unexpected and highly inconvenient.

      As Sergei reached out a hand to grab her, Steffi ducked under his arm. He called her an unflattering name and moved in closer. Steffi came up to one side of him, grabbed the piece of quartz and swung the heavy object into the side of his head. It made a satisfying crunch as it connected with his temple. He staggered backward from the impact, clutching a hand to his head as blood blossomed between his fingers. It bought Steffi a few precious seconds, but as she darted toward the open glass doors that led to the deck, she heard him coming after her.

      When she reached the deck rail, she turned, taking Sergei by surprise as she gripped the wood with her hands and used it to support her weight. The years of dance training she had engaged in during her time at performing arts school came to her aid and, springing up with the full power of her body behind her, she kicked Sergei in the groin with both feet. He dropped onto the deck like a stone.

      She didn’t have time to waste on feelings of gratification. The leader of the group burst through the door seconds later, gun in hand. There was only one way for Steffi to go. It was a long way down, but the alternative didn’t bear thinking about. Taking a deep breath, she placed both hands on the deck rail and vaulted over, propelling her body outward to avoid the jagged rocks.

      As she landed on the pebbly lakeside beach, her left foot turned at an awkward angle and she gave a sharp cry of mingled pain and dismay. Struggling to her feet, she attempted to break into a run. It was impossible. Sharp, screaming agony shot from her ankle right up through her calf. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. She couldn’t even walk. With a sob of frustration, she sank back down onto the pebbles.

      “Go down there and get her.” There was a note of smug pleasure in the leader’s voice as it drifted down from the deck above her. “And Sergei?”

      “Yes, boss?”

      “Try not to screw up this time.”