Game Over (The Baltimore Banners Book 2) (5 page)

     Bobbi blew out a deep breath and went to do as he had asked, her legs still shaky as she reached down to turn the deadbolt.

     "Holy shit," she muttered as a last light tremor went through her. She leaned her forehead against the door and let out another breath.

     "Holy shit, indeed."

     The voice behind her was cold and abrupt. She whirled around, her hand reaching behind her but coming up empty. Her fists clenched and rage boiled through her as Denny came down the hall from the direction of her bedroom.

     "What the hell are you doing here?" She pushed away from the door and stormed through the house until she reached the kitchen. Her hands shook, both from rage and embarrassment, as she pulled open one of the drawers and dug through it.

     "I could ask you the same thing. You certainly didn't waste any time with the moves."

     "I did not ask for your opinion." Her words were clipped as she closed the first drawer and pulled open a second, still searching. Dammit, where was it?

     "Is this what you're looking for?"

     Bobbi whirled to face him, surprised to see him holding a small handgun out for her. The emotion on his face was quickly masked, but not before she had the chance to see the anger burning in his eyes. He stepped further into the kitchen and placed the gun on the counter, letting her see that he still had the clip in his hand. "Honestly, Bobbi. I don't know why you still have this. You were never comfortable using it. You always let your emotions get in the way."

     Bobbi swallowed her own anger and leaned against the counter, her arms crossed in front of her, trying to stare him down. "What are you doing here?"

     Denny leaned one shoulder against the doorframe, blocking her way out as he watched her with steady eyes. "What have you found out so far?"

     Bobbi studied him closely, but his expression was completely blank, with no tells she could read flickering in his eyes. His previous anger had seemingly disappeared. But she knew him too well, even after all these years, to trust what she saw with her eyes.

     "His lifestyle doesn't come close to matching what he reportedly makes. I need all of his financials, and any background notes on his family. They were conspicuously absent from the first file."

     "Anything else?"

     "Yeah. Don't ever step foot in my house again."

     "I just thought it might be prudent to follow-up personally."

     "We agreed that I'd report the information as I find it."

     "Well, Bobbi, right now it seems that the only information you have to report so far is the size of his dick. That's not exactly what we're looking for here."

     The words were cold and deliberately crude, but she refused to jump on them. She knew him well enough to know he was trying to get a reaction from her. He watched her closely for a few long seconds, then shook his head. "I want you ask him about his agent, find out what you can."

     Bobbi didn't question the change of subject, knowing how Denny's mind worked, knowing that he would share only what he wanted, when he wanted. She studied him for a long minute. "Why?"

     "We think there might be something going on from that angle. There should be more money there, but we can't find it. There's no trace of it anywhere. As his...personal assistant...I want you to access his financials, his schedules and meetings and contacts."

     She ignored his emphasis on 'personal assistant' and asked the first question that came to her. "You have computer access to that now. Why do you need me to look from the inside?"

     "Because nothing irregular shows up."

     "What?" Bobbi shook her head and studied him, trying to see more than what was there, trying to find the secrets he was keeping from her. Because with Denny, there were always secrets. "If nothing irregular shows up, then why the deeper look?"

     "The agent gets a cut. A rather large cut."

     "Which would make it a dishonest business practice, not some nefarious plot for extortion." But even Bobbi knew her words didn't make sense, not when compared to the reality of what she'd seen so far of Nikolai and his lifestyle. Which only proved again that she didn't have all the information she needed. "I want all the reports you have. I can't work half-blind like this."

     Denny watched her, his dark eyes intent, calculating as he studied her. "Fine. Anything else?"

     "Just those reports. And I mean it, Denny. Don't come back here again. And if I learn you're having me monitored, the deal is off. I'll get you the information you need, but in my way."

     "I need it faster than you seem to be willing to work. Do you have a plan in place? Or were you just going to fuck the information out of him?"

     "Get out."

     He must have sensed the underlying threat in her voice, or saw it in her eyes, because he didn't say anything—he just simply turned around and walked out, tossing the clip on the dining room table as he passed. Bobbi didn't move until after she heard the door slam, until after she checked to make sure he was really gone.

     With a curse she went back into the kitchen and grabbed the pistol off the countertop, then grabbed the clip and walked back to her bedroom, turning off the lights as she went. Rage still burned through her, erasing all traces of the night's earlier passion. Part of her felt violated at Denny's intrusion and accusation. The bastard. What gave him the right...?

     She cursed loudly, furious at him, furious at herself. She should have never agreed to do this, and she should have never let things get started with Nikolai. And she certainly shouldn't have let things go as far as they did once it had started.

     Dammit. She threw back the comforter and tossed some of the excess pillows to the floor before turning off the light, then flopped down on the bed without getting undressed. She kept the gun close by, vowing that if Denny so much as thought of coming back into her house again tonight, she'd prove him wrong by shooting first and worrying about the paperwork later.

     Taking care of that problem was easy. What she didn't know was what she was going to do about Nikolai.

     Because something told her that it wouldn't be as easy to stop him, not after what had started tonight.

     Nikolai stopped at the door to Bobbi's small office and watched her work—something none of his other assistants had ever done. No, their work involved following his every step, watching his every move.

     But Bobbi was different, and he wondered if she was just what she claimed to be—a personal assistant. She sat with her back to him, her head bent over the battered desk, her red-blonde hair hiding her face as she studied the papers in front of her, making notes and muttering to herself. His palms tingled with the need to touch her, to run his hand through the satin strands of her hair, to feel her soft skin against his flesh.

     His cock twitched in his pants, eager for the same thing. It was a condition that had plagued him for the last week, ever since the night at her house. He still wasn't sure why he had stopped, not when her body was eager for him, not when her response to his touches had been so swift and sure.

     Not when his own body ached to be cradled by hers, ached for release in her warm depths.

     No, Nikolai corrected himself. Watching her now, the set of her shoulders so serious—too serious for someone who was merely supposed to be watching him—he realized he
did
know why he had stopped.

     He had stopped because, after all these years, he no longer trusted anyone. Trust was a weapon used against him, something to hold over his head. And just as he no longer trusted anyone, he no longer allowed himself to get close to anyone. Closeness turned into danger, and relationships turned into threats.

     Nikolai had learned those lessons the hard way eight years ago, when his brother was brutally murdered for no other reason than to send a message. It was a message Nikolai had heeded without fail.

     But Bobbi was different. He was very much afraid that he could learn to trust this woman, allow her into his life. That he could dare hope that, maybe, eight years' penance, eight years' payment, would be enough.

     He shook his head at such foolish thoughts. He had just met this woman. It was foolish indeed to be thinking such things about someone he barely knew.

     But wasn't it just as foolish to deny the attraction he was certain flared between them? Surely eight years' penance had allowed him some freedom, if only in this.

     Nikolai continued watching Bobbi, feeling a lost part of himself reawaken. The pulse beat heavy in his throat as blood rushed through his body, reminding him that he was more than a pawn, reminding him that he was alive. What was it about this woman he barely knew that brought these dangerous thoughts to life?

     Dangerous or not, Nikolai knew that he no longer wanted to pretend to live. He no longer wanted to watch, to be a spectator in life. He had learned his lessons well and had lived accordingly for the last eight years, doing everything that was demanded of him.

     As he would continue to do so, simply because he had no choice.

     That didn't mean he couldn't pursue the attraction he felt for this stranger new to his life. That didn't mean he couldn't step outside the rigid constraints that had been imposed upon him all those years ago.

     Nikolai took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his mind made up as he stepped into the room. His steps were quiet, but not so quiet that Bobbi wouldn't hear him approaching. He dropped his hands onto her shoulders, feeling the heat of her skin tingle his palms. It was the first time he had deliberately touched her in a week, and he wasn't surprised when she jumped.

     "You are working too hard,
moj dosadnyj malen'kij bich
."

     Bobbi jumped at the feel of warm hands on her shoulders, at the sound of the voice behind her. She closed the file she had been studying and tucked it into the pile in front of her then whirled in her chair, not surprised to see Nikolai less than a foot away. Standing as close he was, her gaze rested squarely at groin level and she bit back a groan, her mouth suddenly dry. She pushed the chair back a few inches until it hit the desk, and looked up at him.

     He must have just taken a shower, because his hair was slicked back off his face, accentuating his strong facial structure. There was the faintest smell of something spicy, and she knew that it was the combination shampoo and body wash he used because he didn't wear cologne. And she didn't want to dwell on how quickly she had come to know such a small and intimate detail about this man who was still essentially a stranger to her.

     A grin stretched his lips and lit his eyes, and she wondered if he had planned his silent approach.

     A week had passed since that night in her house, and he hadn't referred to it once. And except for accidental brushes against her, or the occasional touch on her arm or shoulder, he hadn't even tried to touch her, hadn't even tried to stage a repeat performance.

     Bobbi pretended it didn't bother her. And really, it shouldn't bother her, because any further contact would only make it harder for her to remain neutral, would make it harder for her to do her job. And she had to remember: she was here to do a job.

     Which was becoming increasingly more difficult to do, because she was coming up completely empty when it came to finding information that would prove he was the victim of extortion. She was beginning to wonder what would happen even if she did find the information Denny needed. It wasn't like Denny could do anything about it without an official complaint. And from what she could see so far, Nikolai didn't seem inclined to complain—about anything.

     She focused her attention back on Nikolai, noticed that he was looking at her expectantly, and realized he had asked her a question. "I'm sorry, what?"

     He shook his head and laughed, a deep throaty chuckle, then reached down and grabbed her hand to pull her from the chair. He pulled a little too hard and she actually bumped into him when she stood, feeling his body hard against hers for a split second before he stepped away and released her hand. Deliberate, or accidental? She couldn't tell.

     "I said you are too preoccupied and jumpy. You are working too hard."

     "I am hardly working too hard." She laughed, a forced sound of frustration. The only thing she had to do was make sure Nikolai showed up where he was scheduled to be, and on time. So far, there had only been the bowling alley event, and one photo session for some team publicity shots. And Nikolai had been cooperative and agreeable for both.

     "Well then," Nikolai grinned. "I will not feel too guilty about giving you more work to do."

     "More work?" Bobbi laughed again. Any 'work' she had been given had been assigned to her by George Toomey...and calling it 'work' was a stretch by any standard. Nikolai had asked her to do exactly nothing.

     "Yes. I would like for you to take me shopping. And then, if you would like, I have another favor to ask of you. But that's for later. So,
moj dosadnyj malen'kij bich
, will you do that for me?"

     "Shopping?" She knew she should ask about the other favor, but she was having enough trouble processing the shopping part. Why would he want her to go shopping with him? And what on earth was he shopping for?

     "Yes. Women like shopping, no? So, you will go with me?"

     She almost asked him if she had a choice but bit the words back. If she did ask—even jokingly—he would tell her that yes, she did, and that would be the end of it. There would be no shopping. Nikolai had absolutely no expectations. He didn't ask anybody to do anything for him, and he didn't demand anything. Bobbi was beginning to wonder why Toomey felt he needed a babysitter at all, because Nikolai was easily the most agreeable person she had ever met. In fact, the only time he had come close to being demanding was last week, when they shared their first and only kiss.

     And yes, it had turned into way more than just a kiss. But his 'demanding' that night had, without a doubt, benefitted her way more than it had him.

     So she shrugged then nodded. Shopping. What could be less harmless? Bobbi grabbed her files and tossed everything into her bag, then let him lead her out of the office and down the hall. They had to pass through the practice area to get outside, and she hesitated at the sight of a group of twenty or so people that had gathered around the edge of the rink. A few players, still in full gear, were standing at the edge of the group, talking and signing autographs.

     As usual, Nikolai didn't hesitate at all, just tugged on her arm and led her toward the group. He pulled away from her as they approached and called out a greeting to a few people who called his name. Nikolai did this after each practice, eagerly greeting the fans; there was nothing out of the ordinary here. Yet Bobbi hesitated again, the hair on the back of her neck prickling in warning.

     Nikolai was deep in conversation with a boy about eleven years old. The hero worship was clear in the boy's eyes as he held a jersey toward Nikolai to sign. Even from a few feet away, Bobbi could see that it had Nikolai's name and number on the back.

     Nikolai laughed at something the boy said, a full hearty laugh, then motioned toward her. "Bobbi, do you have a pen? This future hockey player would like for me to sign his jersey."

     Bobbi stepped closer, stopping at Nikolai's side, and reached into her bag for one of the permanent markers she had started carrying for just these occasions. Her head turned as she began pulling out the pen, Nikolai clear in her peripheral vision, when her gaze was distracted by a flash that was there and gone almost before her mind registered it.

     She pretended to stumble into Nikolai, pushing him out of the way as her eyes scanned all around. Ignoring his mutter of surprise and pulling out of his grasp—he had actually grabbed her so she could regain her balance!—she moved so she was standing in front of him.

     Movement at the far end of the rink caught her eye, and she pushed away, muttering an excuse about forgetting something as she quickly made her way to where she had noticed the movement. She reached the spot in a matter of seconds and pushed through the exit door and into the sunny afternoon. The warmth of the late March day swept over her, a striking contrast to the chill of the rink...and to the chill that raced through her.

     Because the flash she had seen had been the pinpoint red light of a laser—the kind of laser used to sight a target before shooting.

     Her hands shaking, her heart pounding as a feeling of utter helplessness swamped her, she looked in all directions, trying to find who had been responsible for the warning. And there was no doubt it had been meant as a warning, because if the person had been intent on shooting, Nikolai would have been dead before she pushed him away.

     Several cars were pulling out of the parking lot, all of them moving at a generally sedate pace. A scattering of people were milling around the front door, but again, nobody was moving in any way to call attention to themselves. Cursing, Bobbi slammed her palm against the metal siding of the rink.

     Dammit! She kicked out with her foot, knowing even as she did that the action was useless. She could go ten rounds with a punching bag and her heart would still be racing in fear, her stomach would still be clenched in panic.

     Because those were the two emotions that had slammed into her as soon as she had seen that pinpoint of light in the middle of Nikolai's chest. Dear God, she could all too easily imagine the spattering of blood, the tearing of flesh and muscle and bone.

     She swallowed hard and bent over at the waist, taking deep breaths to calm down. She had no idea what she looked like, but she knew that Nikolai would be able to tell something was wrong if she didn't calm down. At least outwardly. Inside, she was panicked and pissed.

     Had this been some kind of twisted act on Denny's part? If it was, she was going to have his head on a platter. And if it wasn't...then there was a whole lot of something that hadn't been passed on to her.

     Taking one last deep breath, Bobbi walked back inside and headed toward the group. It was smaller now, but Nikolai was still talking to the same boy as before. He glanced up and gave her a curious look, as if asking if everything was okay.

     She swallowed and pushed the vision of his bloodied body out of her mind, pasted a smile on her face, and nodded. He smiled back, but it wasn't his usual smile, and she knew that he didn't believe her.

     So come up with a quick story, she thought as she made her way over to him. Yeah, no problem with
that
one.

     "See? I told you she would come back," Nikolai was saying to the boy. He turned to her, another smile on his face. "So,
moj dosadnyj malen'kij bich
, my friend here has waited patiently for me to sign his jersey."

     Bobbi almost laughed but swallowed it back at the last minute, certain that it would have sounded like a cackle if it had escaped her lips. She was pushing visions of a dead Nikolai out of her mind, and he was waiting on his marker. With a mumbled apology, she pulled it out of her bag and handed it to him, then stood as close to him as she possibly could without drawing his attention. Her eyes continued to search around them, but there was no one else left...at least no one visible.

     "Thanks Mr. Petrovich! This is so cool!" The boy was overloaded with excitement, and his enthusiasm was obviously shared by Nikolai, who reached out and ruffled the kid's hair. The hero-worship in the boy's eyes jumped to mega-wattage as he skipped away, gushing non-stop as he held out his jersey for his mother to see. Within a minute, they were outside, and the rink was eerily quiet with only Nikolai and her left.