Limbo Man (12 page)

Govnó!
The
Feds
knew it all. But hadn’t a clue about when and where.

Neither did he. If he’d ever known, the information was gone. At least he’d chosen the right speech pattern. It was a toss-up between Sergei the arms dealer and the real Sergei, so he’d gone with instinct.

And lucked out.

So far, so good. But if he was going to get out of this mountain hideaway and do something about the looming disaster, he was going to have to use Blondie. Who spoke to him almost like an old friend. She wouldn’t like Sergei, the arms dealer, but who was Nick . . . possibly himself? Or some strange version of himself? Time to find out.

“You do not mind being companion to a monster?” he inquired silkily.

She considered his question. Damn, but he still didn’t know her name. Her lips twitched into an enigmatic Mona Lisa smile. “Like the song from
My Fair Lady
, I’ve grown accustomed to your face. When I look at you, I see only my fellow escapee, Nick. As for the inside monster . . . yes, I’ve seen him once or twice, but mostly I’ve seen a man with a problem. Someone hurt in body and mind and needing help. That may be as much the reason they chose a female for your companion, as well as . . . the other thing. Women are caregivers. We have a lot of empathy.”

“About ‘the other thing,’ did we—”

“No!”

“Too bad. Sex was expected, no? Your government chose you for me.”

“Don’t you dare turn into Sergei on me!”

“But I
am
Sergei. You
, however,
may call me Seryozha.”
Idiót!
He’d made an amateur blunder of the most blatant kind. Somehow Blondie had bewitched him, yet he couldn’t remember ever seeing her before waking to find her sleeping on his shoulder aboard the Gulfstream. He was not Sergei. He was someone called Nick. And admitting he might have forgotten having sex with her was about as stupid as a man in his situation could get. Blondie was glaring at him, obviously furious, words pouring over him in a torrent. He’d better pay attention.

“. . . t
housands of lives are at stake, maybe a whole city. So stop playing games and concentrate on the problem, instead of making like some sex maniac without a care in the world.”

Bozhe moi!
Some Homeland Security whore had to point out his duty. He was in even worse shape than he’d thought. He pushed himself up out of the chair and stalked to the window, deliberately turning his back on the siren who was surely hand-picked for his downfall. What now? His head was so messed up he couldn’t be certain of anything except the enormity of the disaster that loomed over them all.
Thousands of live at stake
.
She had that right.

But just because he and Blondie both wanted to keep an antique nuke from killing thousands of innocent civilians didn’t put the two of them on the same side.
Glasnost
and
perestroika
were almost as dead as the old Soviet Union. The chilly tentacles of the Cold War were creeping back, sometimes, as in Georgia, exploding into the heat of invasion.

Losing ten nuclear bombs was a never-ending humiliation. Added to that, the knife-twist of the Americans locating three of them. One more than he had found.

He needed the Americans’ help. Yet his mission was so secret he could never ask for it.

Inwardly, Sergei winced as he considered how well he’d done on his own. Half-killed and thrown into the East River was no part of success. And yet, if he could remember what was said at that meeting . . . or if he ever got to the meeting.

Blondie was standing beside him, blue eyes wide with anxiety, her patrician forehead wrinkled in a frown. His thoughts had wandered off, and it was her job to care, to track any wayward wisps of thought or speculation like a bloodhound on the scent. Or did she have personal concerns about the man she called Nick? What hadn’t she told him about the time they spent in the old house on the island?

“Nick?”

He couldn’t do it alone. He’d already proved that at an almost fatal cost. Maybe Blondie could be persuaded . . .? It wasn’t as if the
re were any handy alternatives.

She had been put into place to acquire the information locked in his head, to secure his cooperation for the Americans. So why couldn’t he turn the scenario around? After all . . . women were such fools.

Sergei smiled and took her arm. “Come. Let us explore our prison.”

“Nick!” She planted her feet, jerking him to a halt. “We’re having a serious discussion here. You can’t just slither off—”

“I have heard enough to know you must pamper me.” He brushed a kiss over the lines wrinkling her brow. “Kindness is the only magic that will unlock the secrets in my head.” He bent his head still farther, testing her resolve. “You must be nice to me, yes?” His lips brushed hers.

She stomped on his foot and stalked out, slamming the door behind her.

Chapter 9

Pizza. A heavenly smell
. Vee drew a deep breath as she opened the resort’s stainless steel oven to check on broad shelves filled with everybody’s favorite food. She had spent the last few hours reaching a first-name basis with each of the other agents in the safe house, and now she was helping warm the contents of the stacked boxes two of the guards had brought back from the nearest town.

All in all, not a bad feeling for a girl who waked to her own nine mil being waved under her nose less than twenty-four hours ago. Security, food, a new identity. Less than an hour ago Bill Grimes had handed her all the necessary papers for Mark and Kim Wilson of Oklahoma City. Drivers’ licenses, Social Security cards, even a shiny new credit card. Great. She’d just married the Russian mafia.

Vee had managed a hearty thanks, stowing the papers in her shoulder bag along with the bulging envelope of cash she’d been given before their ill-fated drive down Thirty-fourth Street.

Nick was still sulking, and she’d left him to it. Just because Agent Tingley had made it clear that her orders were to do anything necessary to gain the mystery man’s cooperation didn’t mean that—

Yes, it did. He’d made a pass, and she’d stomped on his foot
. Great going, Frost. Your country needs you, and you blew it
.

Too bad. Not even for the good old U S of A was Vee Frost going to be an easy lay. Particularly not in front of eight flint-eyed witnesses. If there was seduction to be done, she would initiate it, thank you very much. And, besides, it was Sergei who tried to kiss her, not Nick. And she didn’t like Sergei.

But I
am
Sergei. You
, however,
may call me Seryozha
. An odd statement, now that she thought about it. Seryozha was the Russian diminutive of Sergei. A nickname used by close friends and family. His mother would have called him Seryozha. His girlfriend, his wife. Did he have a wife? He was certainly old enough to have a wife and a whole slew of children. Not remembering them didn’t mean they didn’t exist.

And wasn’t that enough to make her forget the warming pizza!
Dammit!
Vee grabbed two oven mitts and started flopping the slightly over-browned pizzas back into their cardboard boxes. Rick, the guard who had volunteered to put away the groceries—also bought in town—stacked up three boxes and headed for the dining room. Vee followed with two more.

“Hey, Vee, it’s about time,” called Steve, the guard with a blond brush-cut almost as short as Nick’s fuzz. “Thought you and Rick had decided to keep ’em all to yourselves.”

The men had shoved several square tables into one long communal dining space. As they hurried to find seats, Vee looked for Nick and surprised an odd look flickering across his face. Because she’d deigned to look at him for the first time since the abrupt end to their conversation that afternoon? Or was he as confused as she about the next step in their relationship. Friends? Enemies? Wary partners? Lovers? No description worked. Was she as much a mystery to Nick, Vee wondered, as he was to her?

Nick took a seat at one end of the long table, with Agent Grimes at the other. An interesting placement. Maybe Nick didn’t care to sit next to the
Feds
. As Vee set the pizza boxes down, she noticed the men had carefully left one seat vacant, the one to Nick’s right.

Okay, no need to be subtle. They all knew why she was here.

Right. She was Nick’s personal bodyguard, his minder. Of course she belonged on his right hand.

She was fooling nobody but herself. She was Nick’s assigned companion. Sergei Tokarev’s pacifier, his whore. Facts didn’t matter. Only the thoughts firmly planted in the agents’ heads.
So suck it up, Frost. You accepted this gig
. There had even been moments when she wondered what making love with Nick would be like. And then she’d remember the leering Sergei.
Oh, hell
.

With a magician’s flourish, Vee opened the pizza boxes at her end of the table, and the men dug in. Two guards on patrol outside, so they were eight around the table. Some eyed Vee’s improvised hot sauce with suspicion. Others grabbed the bottle of olive oil mixed with red pepper flakes with enthusiasm. “Did you make this, Vee?” Stan Kessel asked.

“I had plenty of time while they were getting the pizza. That’s how they do it in Europe, and I found I liked it.”

“Not bad.” Stan nodded. “They do this in Russia, Tokarev?”

“In some places.” Sergei regarded the raised eyebrows, the hands arrested in mid-air, with mock surprise. “Gentlemen, I may forget many things, but not how to eat pizza.”

Vee came close to choking on a pepperoni. She coughed, and Nick patted her on the back. His hand glided up to cup the back of her neck. He leaned in. “You did not tell me you could cook. I keep you, I think.”

“Sergei Tokarev speaks with a heavy accent,” Agent Grimes challenged from the opposite end of the table. “So who, or what, does that make you?”

“Sergei must have been a slow learner,” Nick returned easily. “His subconscious was not. The new me does much better.”

Once again, jaws froze in mid-chew, eyes widened as they gaped at him. Vee felt an annoying surge of pride. The blasted man had actually come up with an explanation for his remarkable transformation.

Bill Grimes turned to Vee. “You’re sure this guy is Tokarev?”

“All I know is that Agent Wade Tingley told me he was Tokarev. I didn’t meet him until well after the beating. Tingley showed me a ‘before’ picture, but his face is so battered I can only see a vague resemblance.”

“So you really don’t know?”

“I doubt your bosses would be making such a fuss over him if they weren’t certain. Interpol had his fingerprints on file.”

Agent Grimes gave a curt nod. “Seems damn peculiar,” he muttered. As he reached for another slice of pizza, the other men ducked their heads and returned to what was on their plates.

Bill Grimes’s
cell phone
rang. He snapped to attention. “Yes, sir. I understand. I’ll inform my men.” He looked at Vee. “Agent Tingley is ten minutes out. He’ll be taking over as Agent in Charge.”

Oh, shit!
She’d by-passed the chain of command, and good old Dad had called her on it, putting Tingley back in the loop. A Tingley who was going to be breathing fire.

Vee forced herself to chew and swallow her last bite of pizza, even though it seemed determined to form a lump in her throat. She stood and began to gather up the now-empty pizza boxes. She could use a few moments alone in the kitchen.

Which didn’t happen. Nick followed close behind. “Tell me about Tingley.”

Head drooping, Vee leaned on the stainless steel counter. “He’s Homeland Security. He found me in the FBI’s Sarasota office, recruited me, sent me to New York to be your minder.”

“Gave you the orders to do whatever was necessary to find out what I knew. Lie, cheat, whore?”

“Yes.” She kept her eyes fixed on the vinyl tile floor.

“Tingley was running the show when we made the run to Teterboro?”

“Yes.”

“So you don’t trust him.”

Vee thought about it. “I got the impression he was totally devoted to his job, that protecting the U. S. was his sole life’s work. That he’s a genuine, flag-waving warrior against terrorism. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have taken the job. But that doesn’t mean his office is squeaky clean, that his second-in-command is trustworthy. Or his secretary or his second’s secretary. Or the guy who expected to be promoted and wasn’t. Or the cleaning crew. Or the wife or girlfriend, or even the one-night stand. It might have been your people, but that wasn’t a chance I could take. So I cut Tingley out. Evidently, dear old Dad decided to put him back in. Hopefully, with orders not to tell
anyone
where he was going.”

“What’s he like?”

“A cross between a prize fighter and a pit bull, and he’s going to come in raging. Maybe more like a bull who’s been gored a few times and wants to destroy everything in sight.”

“Not a good time for political in-fighting.”

“Good luck with telling him that.”