HOT Valor (Hostile Operations Team - Book 11) Page 6

  Four tourists stopped and stared as they dropped to the street. Johnny tugged his cap down and gave them a nod.

  Kat smiled. “Practicing for a film.”

  Because two people dropping from a second-floor gallery with backpacks looked like thieves on the run to the ordinary eye. And she’d rather these people didn’t call the police.

  “Oh,” the lady exclaimed, taking the bait. “Is it for that NCIS: New Orleans? I just love that show!”

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s the one,” Kat replied. “We have to learn the moves now so we’ll be ready.”

  “That’s so cool. Can you sign my book?” She held out a touristy book of the city. Her husband—Kat assumed it was her husband—reached for her arm.

  “Now, honey,” he said, looking at them warily. “These people don’t have time to stop what they’re doing.”

  This guy wasn’t buying it. He also didn’t want to get involved. Kat felt a little sorry for his wife after her expression fell.

  “Oh, it’s no problem,” Kat said, reaching for the book.

  Behind her, Johnny growled. “This is no time to fuck around.” He said it low enough so only she could hear. It didn’t stop her though.

  “Takes a second.” She took the pen the woman handed her and scribbled a quick name that was highly unreadable. “Your turn.”

  He looked like he could chew nails for breakfast. But he took the book and dragged the pen across it before giving it back to the woman. “Have a nice day, y’all.” He grabbed Kat’s hand and dragged her down the crumbling sidewalk.

  Johnny scanned the roofs as they hurried along. He put her on the inside, tucking her between him and the buildings. Kat knew it was senseless to argue with him about the macho gesture. It was the way he was wired, even if she could kick ass and take names just as well as he could.

  “What the hell was that about?” he demanded.

  “We looked like thieves,” she said. “The husband was two seconds away from calling the police.”

  He snorted. “Pretty sure they’ve already been called. Sniper rifles aren’t exactly silent.”

  “Maybe. But this city is kind of crazy, and people expect odd noises and strangeness. Besides, we made that lady’s day. What’s wrong with that?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing—except surviving is a little more important than making a stranger’s day.”

  “Being nice never killed anyone.”

  “Bet it did,” he threw back.

  She kept an eye on the thickening crowd as they approached the busier areas of Bourbon Street. There was a band in the street, playing jazz music as people congregated around them. Street performers staked out corners and performed for the coins they hoped people would throw into their cans. Tarot-card readers set up tables in the middle of the street and waited for tourists to succumb to the temptation of a reading in the city of voodoo queen Marie Laveau and vampire novelist Anne Rice. New Orleans was just that kind of place. Spooky. Exotic. Unique. The vibe was one of excess and the notion that anything was possible. Maybe that was why she’d been content to spend time here.

  She’d been thinking about staying. Maybe hanging up her guns and settling down for a while. Except that wasn’t ever really going to happen. It was a nice fantasy, nothing more. People like her didn’t get to settle down. They just moved on to the next assignment.

  Johnny steered them away from Bourbon Street just when it was getting interesting. They headed down Royal for a while. His fingers closed around her upper arm as he steered her into a souvenir shop packed with T-shirts, Mardi Gras beads and masks, and boxes of Café Du Monde beignet mix.

  “What are you doing? We don’t have time for shopping.”

  “Taking care of the situation,” he said very coolly.

  He nodded to the proprietor of the shop who gave him a nod in return. And then he slipped into the stock room, threading between boxes and stacks of colorful shirts before exiting into an alley. A few feet farther on, he entered another building. There was a stairway just inside the door, and he led them up and into what turned out to be a small apartment that looked out onto the madness of Bourbon Street. There was a daiquiri shop across the street—and a bar beneath them if the thumping bass was any indication.

  Kat blinked. The apartment was empty except for a couple of chairs. There was a sleeping bag on the floor against one wall. A galley kitchen sat off to the left and a bathroom to the right. Tall ceilings and plaster walls indicated the apartment was old. “Whose place is this?”

  Johnny went over to a duffel bag on the floor and started pulling out ammo. “You aren’t the only one with resources,” he said. And then his gaze burned into hers as he stopped loading his magazine and settled that dark stare on her once more. “Or the only one with secrets.”

  Chapter 10

  Her blue eyes clouded for a second, her lashes fluttering. Mendez watched her with interest, wondering what secrets she was thinking about. He didn’t trust her even if she was working for Ian. This woman had an agenda of her own. It might not align with Leonov’s or Turov’s, but he was pretty sure it didn’t align with his either.

  He still couldn’t get over her physical resemblance to Valentina. He didn’t think he ever would. Every time he looked at her, it was like being plowed into by a high-speed train. He was flattened, gutted, gasping for air.

  He shoved those feelings to the bottom of the pile of things he had to think about and stomped on them. He had no time for emotional bullshit. Especially not now when an active fucking sniper had found Ian Black’s safe house and taken a shot at them.

  He took the burner phone from his pocket and dialed. Black answered right away.

  “Your safe house is compromised,” Mendez said. “What kind of shit operation are you running?”

  “Fuck,” Ian replied. “That shouldn’t have happened.”

  “No kidding, Sherlock.”

  “I’ll get you another place—”

  “Taken care of. You just find out who the fuck took a shot at us and how they found out where we were.”

  “You’re a high-value target, Colonel. There are a lot of people looking for you right now. You sure no one followed you?”

  Motherfucker. “I’m sure. If you want anything accomplished out here, you need to keep the heat off.”

  “I’m doing the best I can.”

  “Do better.” Mendez ended the call and shoved the phone in his jeans.

  Kat had dropped her backpack and fished out guns and ammunition. She was currently checking her weapons. She looked up at him, one delicate eyebrow arching. Her beauty was a grenade to his brain. A lightning rod to his cock. He wanted to fuck her and it pissed him off. He’d been with her less than eight hours and he wanted to strip her naked and make her scream his name. Logically, he knew this was about Valentina and not her, but his body wasn’t getting that message.

  He hadn’t had sex in months now, not since he’d broken it off with Sam. He wasn’t the kind of man who could walk into a bar and pick up a woman for a night of casual sex. At his rank and with his job, it wasn’t wise. Foreign governments sent spies for just such operations. Seduce the commanders, get information. Happened all the time, even though it seemed like a plot out of a bad spy movie. He’d seen it more than once. Idiots who should know better had their heads turned by free pussy—and lost their careers over it.

  Therefore, he did not fuck around lightly. Even when the sexual drought took its toll and he was so sick to death of his own hand he couldn’t even work up the enthusiasm to jerk off.

  “Where did you find this place?” Kat asked.

  He dragged his brain back from the brink of a full-blown waking fantasy. He’d been about to undress her and see if she tasted as hot as she looked. See if she had a fucking scar on her left thigh. He still wasn’t convinced she didn’t.

  Safer for her if she didn’t. Safer for him too. Because he’d go fucking ballistic if she had that scar. If she was Valentina instead of an identical twi
n. He couldn’t even imagine what kind of person she’d have to be to lie for twenty-one years. To let him think she was dead and buried.

  “We’re safe here, don’t worry,” he said roughly.

  “That’s what I thought before. Turns out it wasn’t true.”

  “We won’t be here long.”

  She shot him a look. “That’s not the plan—what happened to waiting for the strike team?”

  “I think the plan got blown to hell, don’t you?”

  He went over to the window and scanned the rooftops before peering at the street below. There was nothing unusual out there. He might not know who he was looking for, but he knew what to look for. He’d commanded enough men and women in Spec Ops to know their type. They carried themselves a certain way, surveyed their surroundings with extra attention to detail. He knew because he did it too.

  They were careful. Meticulous. Wary. Even when pretending not to be, they couldn’t quite help it.

  But everyone on the street below was there for reasons that had nothing to do with hunting him and Kat. Whoever had shot at them hadn’t found where they’d gone yet.

  He wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking they were safe or that they’d lost the sniper. Mendez had gotten off several rounds, but he didn’t think he’d hit the man. It had definitely been a man. Too big and bulky to be a woman.

  The sniper had ducked for cover when Mendez fired. He’d probably waited a full minute after the shooting stopped to look through the scope again. By then they were climbing down the wrought iron railing and dropping onto the street. It would have taken time for the sniper to disassemble the weapon and go after them. They’d been well away from the scene in the time it took for that to happen.

  “I don’t like operating blind,” Kat said.

  He turned. Her brows dragged downward. She looked as if she might draw her pistol on him in order to get answers. Not that he really thought she would. But she looked pissed enough.

  “Sorry, babe, but we’re both operating pretty blind here.”

  “Don’t call me babe. I am not your babe.”

  “All right. No more babe.” He didn’t typically call women babe—or honey, sugar, or sweetie—because it wasn’t exactly right when you weren’t dating. But this one annoyed him enough that he didn’t much care. It irritated her and that was good enough for him.

  He strolled away from the window and went to sit on one of the chairs. They’d wait until after dark sometime, and then he’d lead them out of the apartment and down to one of the public parking lots where he’d borrow a vehicle. He hated doing it, but there was no other option.

  He considered leaving her behind. She was a liability no matter how pretty she was. Or how intriguing. Besides, he didn’t have time for distractions.

  And yet going it alone wasn’t wise either. Whether he liked it or not, he needed help. She had skills he could exploit—she had combat training and weapons experience, she spoke Russian, and she’d worked for Sergei Turov. She also knew Dmitri Leonov.

  All those things might come in handy—especially where he was going. He hadn’t decided until the safe house was compromised, but now he knew. He was going into the belly of the beast—and her skills were critical to his plan.

  “Why did you leave Russia?” he asked, and her head snapped up, her eyes wide.

  “Because there was nothing for me there.” She sounded bitter. Broken. He refused to feel sympathy.

  “Ian said you’d worked for Sergei Turov.”

  He watched her eyes flatten. Her expression went dead for a moment before color flared to life in her gaze again. “I did.”

  “How did you get from the FSB to the mafia?”

  Her tongue darted out to tease her lips. He tried not to let that affect him.

  “Dmitri. I thought it was an assignment, but it turns out I was wrong. By the time I realized what was going on, it was too late to extract myself. I was in—and Sergei wasn’t letting me out.”

  “And yet here you are.”

  Her gaze dropped. “At a high personal cost, yes. I escaped, but I’m not free. I always have to keep an eye over my shoulder.” She raked a hand through her hair. Her dark hair, not the red mane she should have had. “I changed my hair. My name.”

  Her gaze dropped as her voice tapered off. Almost as if she’d said something she wished she hadn’t.

  He frowned. “You said Ekaterina Rostov was your name. Changing that story now?”

  She tilted her chin up. “I meant that I changed my surname. And I started going by Kat instead of Ekaterina.”

  “What’s the surname?”

  “Kasharin.”

  He studied her. “That hair’s not much of a disguise.”

  “Neither is your beard and ball cap.”

  He snorted. “I just started. You’ve been hiding for how long?”

  “A few years.”

  “Why don’t you want to say how many years?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t like to think of it. I wish I’d left sooner than I did.”

  “And you still won’t tell me.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She made a noise of frustration. “Why do you ask me so many questions? It’s none of your business. Do I ask you questions?” The color in her cheeks flared and her eyes flashed with heat. She was agitated. But why?

  “What would you ask me?”

  She hesitated. “Did you marry anyone after…?”

  Ice formed in his veins. “No, I never married.”

  “Never?”

  “No. There was no one. I asked someone to marry me before I met Valentina. She knew that, by the way. But not after. No one could replace her.”

  She swallowed. Hard. “But you have not been… how do you say?” She snapped her fingers. “Celibate. Surely not.”

  “No, I haven’t.” He cocked his head. “That’s a pretty personal question. Why did you ask it?”

  Her gaze dropped. She smoothed the leg of her jeans. They were smudged with dirt after the climb down the wrought iron gallery posts.

  “Valentina loved you. I wanted to know if you’d found anyone else after she was gone. Perhaps you should have.”

  Yeah, maybe he should have. But it wasn’t that easy. He’d watched enough of his operators lose their shit over a woman to know when it was real and when it wasn’t. It was a lucky man who found that kind of love. Maybe once was all you got in this lifetime.

  “Wasn’t in the cards for me.”

  “But your life is not over yet.”

  Not if he could help it. Not if he survived the next few days. “Maybe not, but it’s getting a little late for marriage and babies. I don’t think I’m the kind of guy who’d really excel at it anyway.”

  Her tongue darted over her lips and he stifled a groan. Was it too much to ask that she not look so much like Valentina?

  Apparently it was.

  “At marriage? Or at babies?”

  “Both,” he told her, and meant it. “I thought you said Valentina was having second thoughts about me. Did you make that up?”

  He knew she had. Knew it in his bones. But he wanted to make her confess it anyway.

  She shrugged. “You made me mad.”

  “So no second thoughts?”

  She dropped her gaze as she shook her head. “Not in the least. She loved you.”

  Despair kicked him in the balls. Fucking life. So goddamned unfair sometimes. “Don’t lie to me again, Kat. Not about her. It isn’t right.”

  “I know.” Her voice was soft. “I won’t.”

  But she wouldn’t look at him.

  Chapter 11

  He’d never married. Or had kids. That thought saddened her and made her heart skip wildly at the same time. He could still have kids. There was time, no matter what he said. There wasn’t time for her. She was forty-three. Oh, she knew women got pregnant in their forties—but it wasn’t typical or easy.

  Not that she wanted to get pregnant. She’d been down that road once before. A wave of
despair swelled in her heart. Nothing about her life had turned out the way she’d hoped it would. As an orphan, she’d wanted a big family of her own. She’d thought after a few years in the service, she’d get married and settle down.

  That was before she’d met Dmitri Leonov and learned what it was like to be under his control. She’d realized too late that she wasn’t ever going to have a normal life. Especially not after she’d ended up on Sergei’s payroll.

  “Do you have any kids?” Johnny asked.

  Her belly clawed itself to shreds. “No.” It was the simplest answer, but not quite the truth. She couldn’t speak the truth though. She shoved to her feet and tucked her Glock into the holster at the back of her jeans. “Maybe we should discuss how we’re getting out of here.”

  His expression didn’t change. She could feel his eyes boring into her soul. Searching out her secrets. Her pain. Her loneliness. She almost confessed in that moment. Almost told him who she was and begged him to hold her one more time.

  But then she shook herself. Bad idea, Kat.

  Very bad. He would not understand the deception. He would certainly not forgive her for it. He’d already made her feel small for suggesting she’d had second thoughts about him when she’d still been Valentina. That had been wrong of her, no matter that she’d been angry.

  “We’ll walk out of here sometime tonight,” he said, clearly moving on with the conversation. “One of us will jack a car. We’ll ditch it in a few hours and get another.”

  Standard procedure for escape and evasion. But he’d left a lot out. She tried to get her head in the game. “Where are we heading?”

  “Haven’t decided yet.”

  “That’s not very reassuring. And then there’s the fact I don’t believe you.”

  He was too methodical not to have a plan. He just didn’t want to share it with her.

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “I don’t care if you do or not.”

  “You aren’t going to share your plan with me, are you?”

  “The last time I went along with you and Ian, you nearly got your head blown off. No, I’m not sharing it with you. Yet.”