Ekaterina Read Free Page A

She’d taken the bait, and now all their hard work, the waiting, the plotting would disintegrate under the scrutiny of Russia’s finest. They would confiscate her belongings, ship her stateside on the next available transport and, with her, his hope of wiggling out from under the general’s thumb. Every time Grazovich set foot on Russian soil, Ilyitch took a quick and painful survey of his rubles, no, dollars, and cursed the balance. He needed Grazovich to be right. Ilyitch didn’t have time, patience, or luck to waste chasing after a fable.
    Especially with the FSB on their trail. Ilyitch noticed Grazovich watching the FSB spectacle. An ugly smear masqueraded as a smile on the smuggler’s face. Again, Ilyitch would have to yank Grazovich out of the hole he’d dug. And then he’d have to baby-sit, hoping the general avoided trouble. . .like seducing, or worse, an American on her first day in town, at least until she helped them unlock the secrets of the monk.
    Ilyitch turned and shoved his fists into his jacket pockets, ruing the day he’d met the general, and every day he’d known him since.

Chapter 2
     
    Ten paces into custody, Kat’s voice caught up to her. The first thing it addressed was the six-foot-two-inch military henchman’s grasp on her arm. “Let me go!”
    Her cry emerged in English—her Russian having deserted her—but to her utter shock, the bully bit out a terse, “No.”
    In English. She stumbled along with him down the cold cement corridor, not sure what emotion won the battle—fear, anger or shock. Her heart drummed a beat of terror against her ribs, her breath snagged somewhere in the land of freedom behind her.
    “In here, please.”
    Again, English. . .and manners? She glowered at the creep, despite the fact her legs had turned numb, and let him muscle her into a room. Barren except for a warped wooden table and two decrepit chairs, the gray tomb reeked of KGB menace. Mr. Militia released her and she stood there, one hand nursing the tenderness in her arm, trying to dredge up a coherent thought.
    “I’m an American. I have rights.” Her voice sounded like it wanted no part of her words, the tone feeble and ready to race for the border.
    He smiled, just enough to annoy her, or perhaps frighten, and motioned to a chair. “Please, sit down.”
    She looked behind her. He’d closed the door. A slit of a window high above her illuminated the dust clinging to the walls and ceiling, but did little to penetrate the cement room’s murky shroud. She steeled herself against an involuntary shudder and wrestled in a deep breath. “Why am I here?”
    “I just want to talk to you. Please sit down.” The officer sat down, folded his large hands on the table, and again smiled.
    She narrowed her eyes. If he was trying the Good Cop/Bad Cop routine, she wasn’t buying. The man might have incredible blue eyes and a bevy of solid power and strength poorly hidden under that ill-fitting gray jacket of his but, under the circumstances, those qualities weren’t at all appealing.
    In fact, right now those blue eyes felt as cold as a Siberian winter as they pinned her down. She rubbed her hands on her arms, and took a calming breath, feeling anger knot her chest. “I’ll stand, thanks.”
    The jerk pursed his lips, so arrogantly calm she wanted to slap him. Except, she wasn’t sure that, in reprisal, he wouldn’t just slap her into handcuffs and ship her off to the nearest gulag.
    Did they still do that?
    Her knees suddenly surrendered, and she reached for the chair. The officer smiled, as if in victory. “You don’t have anything to fear from me, Americanka.”
    Yeah, right. She’d feel safer with a scorpion.
    “You know English,” she said, finally latching onto her Russian. Somehow, speaking in another language felt like a barrier between her and reality.
    One edge of his mouth tweaked, and his eyes held a hint of amusement. “Da.”
    He took off his cap and ran his hand through a swatch of