Meaty shoulders stretched the seams of his shiny black suit to the breaking point and it wasn’t fat. He looked and smelled like hired muscle, or worse.
She also noticed a telltale bulge beneath the jacket. A simple back brace? Or the strap of a shoulder holster? A gun, she thought. Well, he could easily be Miami-Dade PD, a detective friend of the groom’s. Or even paid security for the famous bride. Relax, she told herself. Have fun. This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Right. But she couldn’t see anything.
She was finally forced to crane around him and lean forward to glimpse the wedding party and the minister. “Oh. I beg your pardon,” she said when the big man whirled his head around and glared at her. “Just trying to see. Terribly sorry.”
He grunted unpleasantly. He was rather a thuggish-looking bloke, sallow-faced, big black bushy eyebrows and a low forehead. Not the type of guest one would expect here at all. Unless he was a recording executive, she decided. Yes, that was it, showbiz, or perhaps even a deejay in a South Beach club. Whoever he was, she had an uncomfortable sense about him.
He was off. Maybe even wrong.
But then, she had absolutely no idea, really, whom she should expect at this ceremony and whom she should not. How could she? She was, after all, brand-new to America, too new, she felt, to make snap judgments about its people.
Still.
The waves of energy coming off the man were almost palpably bad. Silent alarms were going off, and she’d learned long ago to trust her gut in situations like this one. But, as a foreigner, she’d never been in a situation like this one. This horrid man could well be perfectly innocent. So what on earth was she to do? The choir was raising the roof. The service was about to begin.
Run?
Of course, she could simply sweep Alexei up into her arms and slip out of the church. Retreat to the security of Hawke’s armored van. Get as far away as quickly as she could.
But what about the bloody wedding ring?
She had agreed to maintain periodic eye contact with her new employer, the very handsome Lord Hawke, tall and slender as a lance in his white suit, now waiting at the altar with the groom for the bride to arrive. She’d promised to let him know with slight nods of her head that little Alexei was behaving himself and that all was well. But what was she supposed to do if all wasn’t well? Scream fire in a crowded church? Only to learn she was the silly woman who’d foolishly ruined her employer’s best friend’s wedding?
Suddenly, coming out of her self-induced daze, she noticed the bride, Fancha. Stunning. Her gleaming dark hair was done up in white ribbons, and she wore an ivory lace dress that fit her perfectly. She had creamy silk slippers, a garland of flowers, and a thin veil trailing down her back. Carrying a spray of baby’s breath, gliding along on the arm of her diminutive father, she passed by and was now nearing the altar. Time for Alexei to march up the aisle with the ring.
Without looking, she reached over to pat him on the head. She got nothing but air.
The little boy had bolted. He was running up the aisle just behind the bride. As soon as he could make his way around her voluminous wedding dress, he made straight for his father and clutched him around the knees. People in the church found this cute.
The man in front of her now kneeled on the bench below and put his hands together in prayer. When he bowed his head, his long hair parted and revealed a portion of a tattoo on the back of his neck. A blue scorpion. It was vaguely familiar. She’d seen it once somewhere. Perhaps on a corpse in the morgue. Yes. The Blue Scorpion. A Russian Mafiya hit squad in East London, that was it.
The tattoo sent a shock wave up her spine.
She was well aware that two Russian assassins had threatened Alexei’s life aboard the Red Arrow train en route to St. Petersburg. Now all her senses had gone on high alert. There was no longer a shred of
She also noticed a telltale bulge beneath the jacket. A simple back brace? Or the strap of a shoulder holster? A gun, she thought. Well, he could easily be Miami-Dade PD, a detective friend of the groom’s. Or even paid security for the famous bride. Relax, she told herself. Have fun. This was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Right. But she couldn’t see anything.
She was finally forced to crane around him and lean forward to glimpse the wedding party and the minister. “Oh. I beg your pardon,” she said when the big man whirled his head around and glared at her. “Just trying to see. Terribly sorry.”
He grunted unpleasantly. He was rather a thuggish-looking bloke, sallow-faced, big black bushy eyebrows and a low forehead. Not the type of guest one would expect here at all. Unless he was a recording executive, she decided. Yes, that was it, showbiz, or perhaps even a deejay in a South Beach club. Whoever he was, she had an uncomfortable sense about him.
He was off. Maybe even wrong.
But then, she had absolutely no idea, really, whom she should expect at this ceremony and whom she should not. How could she? She was, after all, brand-new to America, too new, she felt, to make snap judgments about its people.
Still.
The waves of energy coming off the man were almost palpably bad. Silent alarms were going off, and she’d learned long ago to trust her gut in situations like this one. But, as a foreigner, she’d never been in a situation like this one. This horrid man could well be perfectly innocent. So what on earth was she to do? The choir was raising the roof. The service was about to begin.
Run?
Of course, she could simply sweep Alexei up into her arms and slip out of the church. Retreat to the security of Hawke’s armored van. Get as far away as quickly as she could.
But what about the bloody wedding ring?
She had agreed to maintain periodic eye contact with her new employer, the very handsome Lord Hawke, tall and slender as a lance in his white suit, now waiting at the altar with the groom for the bride to arrive. She’d promised to let him know with slight nods of her head that little Alexei was behaving himself and that all was well. But what was she supposed to do if all wasn’t well? Scream fire in a crowded church? Only to learn she was the silly woman who’d foolishly ruined her employer’s best friend’s wedding?
Suddenly, coming out of her self-induced daze, she noticed the bride, Fancha. Stunning. Her gleaming dark hair was done up in white ribbons, and she wore an ivory lace dress that fit her perfectly. She had creamy silk slippers, a garland of flowers, and a thin veil trailing down her back. Carrying a spray of baby’s breath, gliding along on the arm of her diminutive father, she passed by and was now nearing the altar. Time for Alexei to march up the aisle with the ring.
Without looking, she reached over to pat him on the head. She got nothing but air.
The little boy had bolted. He was running up the aisle just behind the bride. As soon as he could make his way around her voluminous wedding dress, he made straight for his father and clutched him around the knees. People in the church found this cute.
The man in front of her now kneeled on the bench below and put his hands together in prayer. When he bowed his head, his long hair parted and revealed a portion of a tattoo on the back of his neck. A blue scorpion. It was vaguely familiar. She’d seen it once somewhere. Perhaps on a corpse in the morgue. Yes. The Blue Scorpion. A Russian Mafiya hit squad in East London, that was it.
The tattoo sent a shock wave up her spine.
She was well aware that two Russian assassins had threatened Alexei’s life aboard the Red Arrow train en route to St. Petersburg. Now all her senses had gone on high alert. There was no longer a shred of
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