taken it as a sweet compliment at the time. Her heart had gone pitty-pat, imagining herself as the devoted political wife on the campaign trail with her handsome husband. Hah. How innocent.
She’d been so ready to move on from her rented apartment in a ramshackle old house. Ready to buy a real home, with a lawn for the kids she hoped to have. A minivan, with space for the car seats. Cargo room for strollers, travel cribs, dirt bikes, skateboards, scooters. Camping equipment for those family vacations. All day shopping trips to Ikea and Costco.
Her daydreams seemed so silly. To think she’d been holding court at their bachelor/bachelorette bash, giggling as she opened up Kama Sutra bath salts and his-n-her bath towels. Prattling like a ninny about the merits of marble countertops versus tile for her dream kitchen. And all the while Justin was giving his college girlfriend Kaia “a ride home.”
Some ride. Tall, sun-browned, sandalwood scented Kaia, with her yellow cornrow braids. Sun tattoos on her shoulders. Funky Nepalese jewelry. Nose and navel piercings.
Ready, willing, and able to perform a blow job on Justin as he drove down a busy city street. In Becca’s own car, no less. As it happened, Justin’s driving had been no match for Kaia’s skill at fellatio. Becca’s car had ended up wrapped around a telephone pole smack in the middle of a bustling shopping district. It was blind luck that he hadn’t killed someone. Or many someones.
Kaia now sported a collar and head brace. And as for Justin, well. A ring of tooth marks on that bastard’s dick was the least that he deserved. Becca could not find it in her heart to feel sorry for him.
It had just been a goodbye, for old times’ sake, Justin had protested, as soon as he was lucid enough to talk. He’d implied that Becca should be grateful he’d gone for oral sex, not vaginal penetration. How noble of him, to sacrifice his own pleasure out of respect for his fiancée. She ought to be overcome with gratitude at his manly restraint.
Um, not.
She’d expressed her feelings forcefully. Justin had gotten angry in his turn. He’d said several ugly things, calculated to make a woman want to huddle alone on a fog-bound island, far from everyone who knew what had happened. Which was to say, the whole world.
Becca stopped at the edge of the pool, hoisted herself partly out and pressed her hot face against her folded arms. Tears welled up and spilled. More fucking tears. She could fill this pool with them.
The scandal was too lurid to keep quiet. Justin’s family was too well known and it was all over the Internet. She’d googled herself and found thousands of mentions. And those reporters, baiting her, trying to get a reaction. Bottom-feeding bastards. The notoriety hurt. A storybook princess with a ring on her finger, she’d been recast in a crass burlesque. And not even a lead role. More like second banana. The reason poor, sex-starved Justin felt compelled to unzip his pants, just to get some blessed relief. The butt of a dumb dirty joke.
No one could talk about it without laughing, but it wasn’t funny. Her ex-fiancé had another girl’s tooth marks on his penis because Becca hadn’t been able to keep him satisfied in bed. Justin said so, when he got over feeling guilty and started getting pissed.
She’d tried, that was for sure. Justin was an attractive guy and a good kisser. But she’d always been sort of awkward and stiff when it came to sex. She’d been so sure it would get better as their intimacy deepened, as their trust grew, when she finally had a chance to relax.
So she wasn’t a red hot orgasmatron. So sue her. She tried to please. She did her best. She tried to be open-minded. Uninhibited. But as Justin had taken pains to point out, trying to be uninhibited was a contradiction in terms. Either you were, or you weren’t. Period.
That struck her as so unfair, that there were things that honest, earnest effort just couldn’t change. Either you turned a guy on, or you didn’t. Either you were sexy and fascinating, or you weren’t. Either you were a wild woman who gave blow jobs in a moving car, or you were the bland, safe type who would make a good politician’s wife.
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
