Ekaterina Read Free Page B

short black hair, cut short on the sides, unruly and curly locked on top. It made the planes of his high cheekbones and angular face seem that much sharper, dangerous. “Would you feel more comfortable speaking in your native tongue?”
    “I’d feel more comfortable on my way to my hotel, thank you,” she snapped in Russian. “What is this about?”
    He shrugged out of his jacket, which looked about two sizes too small, and crossed his arms over his black turtleneck. His bulging muscles made him appear every inch like a Russian mobster, ready to slice out her tongue.
    “Let’s start with your friend, Ivan Grazovich. How do you know him?”
    She frowned, scraped her mind for any remnant of understanding. “Who?”
    His brow pinched, his eyes darkening. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
    Oh, how the latent rebel in her wanted to jump all over that comment. She bit back a reply and shook her head. “I have no idea who you are talking about.”
    He narrowed his eyes. “Why did you come to Russia?”
    Kat exhaled a breath that felt like it started in New York. For the better part of two months, she’d been answering that question from various factions in her life—from her grandfather and her ex-boyfriend to her coworkers at the Heart-to-Heart adoption agency.
    Even now, her answers felt unwieldy, slippery. To track down her identity? To unlock secrets that might account for a lifetime of deception? To unravel the riddle of her foggy ancestry?
    To figure out who she was?
    The answer to that question didn’t seem so difficult at the moment—she could clearly identify herself as an in-over-her-head thirty-year old teetering on the edge of tears, if not hysteria.
    Under different circumstances, she might welcome the opportunity to spill her guts. She wasn’t opposed to the truth, but the bully just might find sadistic pleasure in sending her home if he knew how desperation drove her. “I’m a tourist.”
    “Hmm. . .” he said, his eyes narrowing. She did him the pleasure of raising her chin and meeting his glower. She might possess the courage of a field mouse, but he didn’t have to know it. Her recent escape from Matthew’s hovering had taught her the value of masking her fear.
    “Stay put.” The man rose, stalked toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”
    Oh, joy. Kat folded her hands between her knees as the door clicked shut.
    Now what? She heard nothing but her heart, beating a pathway to her mouth. The smell of her own sweat and the taste of fear repulsed her. Hadn’t she scoffed at her grandfather’s warnings of danger? Told him she could take care of herself? After all, she was the granddaughter of a World War II hero, the recipient of his gusty genes and her mother’s passion for truth.
    C’mon, heritage of courage, kick in. Kat stood, crept toward the door, and tried the handle. Locked.
    She slapped her palm against the metal door, furious, her bravado dropping to her knees. She had the sick feeling that whatever Mr. Military had left to do, it wasn’t going to work nicely into her plans.
    The door opened and Kat jumped, leaving her heart behind.
    Wide, Dark, and Menacing entered the room. Kat shrank back, suddenly giving merit to the Bad Cop routine. This version of Russian militia held her backpack in his meaty grip. Easily six-foot-four, with a black stocking cap, dark glasses, and enough body-builder bulk to match every KGB nightmare, he grabbed her upper arm in his bullish grip and yanked her into the hall.
    Okay, now she was ready to spill her guts. Why had she played games? Where was Good Cop when she needed him? “Where are you taking me?” she asked on a wisp of voice.
    He glowered at her, and she clamped her mouth shut. Her heart in a pile of ash, she followed her arm down the hall, stumbling. Tears blinded her at his burning grip. Cop Number One had been downright gentle in comparison.
    “Where are you taking me?” The words came out again in English, but this time her abductor