Nikolai 2 (Her Russian Protector #6) (25 page)

Satisfied that Boychenko wouldn't damage himself or the brushes, I nodded and invited him closer with a wave of my hand. "You don't mind?"

"No, ma'am." I had asked him a dozen times not to use ma'am with me, but his manners simply wouldn't allow it. There were less than four years between us, but I was his boss's wife and that meant something to him.

"Okay." I handed him the brush I had been rinsing and a piece of newspaper before untying my smock and hanging it on the closest peg. It occurred to me that I hadn't even asked who was at the door. "Who came to see me?"

"The detective," he said glumly. "Your cousin."

Shit
. The thought of Ten and Eric alone together scared me. I practically ran across the house toward the front door where I found the two facing off in the foyer. The way they stood across from each other, glaring viciously with their shoulders squared, reminded me of the fights I had watched at the meatpacking warehouse. It was like watching Sergei facing off with Kelly Connolly all over again.

"Eric!" I said a bit too brightly.

He broke his standoff with Ten to smile at me. "Vivi." Glancing back at my bodyguard, he said, "I'm just waiting for your new gorilla to frisk me for weapons."

"Don't be ridiculous. He's not going to frisk you for a weapon!" Even as I denied that would ever happen in the entryway of my home, I had the distinct feeling Ten had been preparing to do just that.

"It's not his guns that worry me. It's the wires," Ten grumbled in Russian, his voice so low I barely made out the words.

I shot him a pleading look, silently begging him to behave, and turned my attention to Eric. "You should have called me. We could have made plans for dinner."

"I didn't want to give you a chance to blow me off."

I poked his chest. "I wouldn't have done that."

"No, you wouldn't." His gaze slid to Ten as if it to wordlessly say, "But he would."

Opening his arms, Eric beckoned me closer. My cousin, one of Houston's toughest detectives, embraced me warmly and tightly. We hadn't always been close, and we didn't always see eye-to-eye, but we cared about each other. For the longest time, he had been the only blood family connection in my life. Now my father was sort of in the picture again, but it was Eric who had been there for me in the worst and most difficult times.

But he and Nikolai had bad blood between them that went back years and years. Neither had ever told me the source but it wasn't hard to fill in those blanks. Though Nikolai's links to organized crime in Houston had never been proven, Eric wasn't stupid. He knew exactly who yanked the invisible chains attached to every member of the local
bratva
.

"I've missed you, Eric." My words were muffled by his chest. The hard plank of his cleverly concealed bulletproof vest was probably the only thing that kept him from feeling the swell of my pregnant belly. The loose T-shirt with the Eiffel Tower graphic on the front and the too-big plaid shirt with the arms rolled up to my elbows helped.

"I've missed you, too, kiddo." He pressed a quick kiss to my temple. "I'll try harder to keep in touch."

We both knew that he wouldn't but neither of us said a word. My marriage to Nikolai complicated things so badly. Even coming to the house to see me now put him in such an awkward position professionally.

"We should set up a standing lunch date or something," I suggested, hoping that if we were meeting away from the house it wouldn't be such a big deal.

Before Eric could answer, Ten growled at me in Russian. "That's not happening."

Glancing back at him, I frowned and replied in the same language. "Why not?"

"Are you serious?" Ten looked at me as if I might be going soft in the head. "He's a fucking police officer. You're the wife of a boss. Why don't I just paint a big red target on your back, huh? It will make it easier for the cartel snipers to pick you and your cousin off like Coke cans on a fence."

Cartel snipers? Were the problems in Mexico finally crossing the border? Was Houston safe anymore? "Do you always have to be so negative?"

"It's my job to be negative."

"What's wrong now?" Eric warily eyed Ten.

"Nothing," I lied in English and tried to lead him out of the entryway. "Let's go to the kitchen and have some iced tea or lemonade. It's pink. I made it this morning."

Eric resisted my attempts to tug him along after me. Toe to toe with Ten, he asked, "Do you have a problem with me having lunch with my cousin? Because if you do, you should take it up with me and stop bullying her."

"You think I'm bullying her?" Frustration deepened Ten's voice. "I'm trying to keep her safe."

"I’m a cop. I don't need a con riding shotgun to a lunch date to keep my cousin safe."

"Ex-con," Ten testily countered. "I did my fucking time."

"Not enough if you ask me," Eric snarled. "I saw the crime scene photos. I know what happened that night you knocked off that convenience store. Six years for that? Four years of probation? A fine? It's a goddamned joke."

Fists clenched, Ten took a menacing step forward. "You don't know shit about what happened that night."

"I know plenty about you, Anton." Eric stepped into Ten and daringly invaded the other man's personal space. After six years on the inside, Ten was understandably peculiar when it came to his personal space. Eric's behavior was a blatant provocation. "I know exactly what sort of fucking lowlife scum Nikolai has hired to guard my cousin."

The scum remark was too much for Ten. He raised a clenched fist, and I reacted without thinking, throwing myself between the two men. "No!"

Eric shoved me out of the way at the last possible moment, and Ten threw his weight to the side, slamming his hand into the entryway lamp instead. Glass and ceramic shards exploded everywhere. Eric pushed me behind him, knocking me into the wall on accident, and jumped on Ten. I lost my balance and crumpled to the floor.

Scrambling backward like a crab, I managed to narrowly escape being kicked by one of them. I couldn't tell who the foot belonged to as I scurried out of the way. The demi-lune table crashed to the floor, taking the photographs and the vase of flowers with it. Water splashed onto the walls. Glass and metal crunched beneath boots.

In a flash of movement, Boychenko suddenly appeared. He hauled me up off the floor and swung me out of the way. He carefully deposited me in the living room before rushing out to break up the fight. The shouting and cursing intensified but the physical blows had stopped.

Hands shaking and legs wobbly, I emerged from the living room to find Eric leaning against the front door. He had a swollen cheek and busted lip and roughly wiped blood off his chin. Ten was slumped against the wall and dabbed at his nose. A red trickle made its way down his neck and stained the collar of his shirt. Boychenko winced and picked a shard of glass from his palm.

Panting and flexing his already swelling hand, Eric shook his head. "I knew this was a bad idea." He turned toward the front door and yanked it open. "When you get rid of the bulldog, call me, Vivian. We need to talk."

"Wait! Eric! Don't—"

The door slammed behind him, rattling the paintings on the walls.

"Fucking dick cop almost broke my nose," Ten huffed.

Infuriated, I spun around and thumped his chest with a closed fist. "I should finish what he started!"

Ten gripped my wrist, not hard enough to bruise or hurt me but with enough force that I didn't dare try to jerk free. "Do. Not. Hit. Me."

"Ten! What the fuck, man?" Boychenko shoved at Ten's shoulder but the larger man didn't even move.

"Let go of me.
Now
." His fingers straightened, and my wrist dropped from his hold. Gritting my teeth, I pointed a finger toward his bruised, bloodied face. "Don't ever touch me like that again. Do you understand?"

Jaw clenched, Ten nodded.

"Get this cleaned up.
Now
." Trembling inside, I left the entryway of the house and stormed toward the sunroom. I could hear Ten and Boy arguing behind me, but I didn't stick around to hear what they were saying. I picked up my cell phone from the table where I had left it in the studio and immediately called Eric.

It went straight to voicemail.

"Eric, I'm so sorry. Please call me back. We can meet wherever you would like. I'm just…I'm sorry. So, so sorry."

After hanging up the phone, I tucked it into the pocket of my jeans. They were my loosest pair but I had been forced to leave them unbuttoned that morning. I had resorted to using one of those wide elastic maternity bands that I had ordered off the internet to cover up my questionable fashion choice.

Running my fingers through my hair, I felt suddenly claustrophobic. I needed some fresh air. I needed to get away from Ten and Boychenko, even if it was only a few steps into the garden. I left the sunroom through the French doors on the side and walked toward the pergola.

"Vivian! How are you?" Judge Walker leaned against the low back fence that allowed entrance to the rear of our property.

Forcing a smile, I crossed the yard to talk with him. "I'm good. How are you?"

"I'm all right." A flicker of sadness darkened his face. "I had Roscoe put to sleep yesterday. I'm still trying to adjust to the quiet house."

"I'm so sorry." I thought of the big, slobbering but sweet dog who was such a familiar sight in our neighborhood. Nikolai and Ten had said the dog was poisoned, but neither had offered any suggestions as to the culprit. It worried me to think some psycho was running around our neighborhood throwing poisoned food over fences. "That must be so difficult for you."

The judge nodded sadly. "It will get better, but for now, the grief is very real." He patted my hand where it rested on the wrought iron scrollwork adorning the gate. "Do you have plans?"

"When?"

"Now."

"Oh. Um…no." I couldn't quite face going back inside the house yet. "Why?"

"Let's have dinner. I know a great little barbecue joint. It's quiet and a good place to relax." He must have known I was wavering on the inside because he added, "It's a favorite hangout for law enforcement and fire and EMS."

In other words, it was safe. The thought of escaping, even for something as simple as smoked brisket smothered in a sweet, spicy sauce and creamy potato salad, was too tempting. Ten would blow a gasket, and Nikolai was definitely going to be annoyed when I finally came back, but I just didn't care. I really didn't. Not anymore.

This week had been absolute hell—the forgotten prenatal appointment, springing Ten on me, finding Nikolai with Tatiana at the hotel and having him lie to me about it to my face, watching Ten and Eric beat the shit out of each other in my entryway—and I couldn't take it anymore. I wanted to run away, even if only for a couple of hours.

"Barbecue sounds like a delicious way to end the day." I unlatched the gate and stepped out of the backyard. "Let's go."

The judge gestured toward his property. "After you…"

Within five minutes, we had left the neighborhood and were on our way. My cell phone started to ring, but I silenced it without even looking at the screen, switched to vibrate and stuffed it back into my pocket.

"Your shadow?"

Did he know that was Ten's nickname or was he just making a joke? "Probably."

"I heard the ruckus earlier. Is everything all right?"

"It was just a disagreement between Eric and Ten that got out of hand."

"Boys will be boys," he sagely replied.

"That may be, but I would rather they not turn my hallway into one of Ivan's sparring cages, you know?"

"I bet." Judge Walker tapped the touchscreen console to switch stations and landed on a classic country one. He turned down the volume. "Do you mind if I swing by and pick up my daughter on our way?"

"Not at all."

"Good." He smiled at me. "Have you ever met Julie?"

"No." I had heard from our neighbors that she was a wild drug addict, but I also knew how our neighbors liked to embellish tales.

"I think you'll like her. I know she'll like you. Julie has always wanted to be an artist."

"Does she paint or draw?"

"She prefers pastels and charcoals," he said. "Her art won awards in high school. I had hoped that she would go to art school, but she met a boy—and—well. You know how that goes."

"Yes," I said quietly. "There are art classes around town that she might enjoy. Hadley's center mainly hosts courses for special needs kids and adults, but they also have some evening classes that are open to anyone. She gets some really great visiting artists. I've enjoyed the workshops I've attended."

"I'll have to pass that along to Julie." He merged onto the loop headed south. "We aren't far from her boyfriend's house. Maybe twenty minutes."

"I'm in no rush." I inhaled a relaxing breath and settled back against the leather seat. We talked about the neighborhood while he drove. It was a nice, quiet conversation that I rather enjoyed.

He turned into an upper middle class neighborhood that had quite a few FOR SALE signs with FORECLOSURE stickers slapped across them. It wasn't an uncommon sight in this type of neighborhood. A few years ago, people had purchased way more house than they could afford on shaky mortgages and this was the result.