transmitters. Sometimes her partner proved useful outside of the kitchen. She flashed him a mischievous grin and picked up one of the pens. “Voice activated?”
“You betcha. Scatter some of those around the club. Other Opals are set up to monitor the various channels.”
“Won’t they override with so many?”
“Nope. There’s ten pens. Ten channels. Ten Opals monitoring.”
Holy shit. That was more resources than they’d ever been allotted. The full reality of her situation hit home as she stared at the transmitters. They’d moved beyond the child’s play of Russia. Vegas was life and death. Hers specifically. Kate’s had never been in question. But Natalya stood the very real possibility of never waking to see another morning. And anyone associated with her—like Sergei—stared down a loaded weapon far more deadly than the 9mm on the counter beside the stove.
One wrong move, and they’d cease to exist. As Dmitri disposed of their bodies, the CIA would erase every footstep they’d taken on this earth.
Natalya shivered. For the first time in her life, she considered running. She could hide Kate and Derek in a remote corner of theworld where Dmitri would never find them and give up the lies, the subterfuge.
An unbidden memory of Tatiana crumpled on the cold concrete floor in the confinement room surfaced, and Natalya swallowed hard. If she ran, all the women she’d hurt meant nothing. They’d never find freedom. Never again would they know what it was like to wake each morning with a clear head and spend each night as they chose. They’d never see the families they left behind. Families
she’d
forced them to leave.
No. Running was out of the question. Failure wasn’t an option.
She picked up one of the circular transmitters. “And these?”
“I want you to put one of those on the main bar, one in Moretti’s office, and one backstage.”
A pang of regret pulled at her stomach. Closing her eyes, she set the transmitter back on the bar. If Sergei wanted Brandon’s office monitored, he must suspect him as well. It made sense, as much as she might wish it otherwise. Brandon had access to Kate. By her own words they’d become close. If he coerced her into an after-hours excursion, or offered her a gig at a private club where she’d make three times what one night at Fantasia brought in, she’d never question his motives.
Not wanting to hear Sergei’s response, she quietly asked, “You think he’s Iskatel´?”
Sergei barked a short laugh. “Not a chance in hell.”
His response so stunned her, she could do nothing more than blink. Half of her had wanted to hear Brandon topped the list of Sergei’s suspects. It would make it easier to distance herself from the handsome lieutenant. The other half, however, jumped up and danced at the decisiveness in Sergei’s response. It was that half that left her unable to stutter more than a surprised, “W-Why not?”
“He’s a cop, babe. A dedicated,
honorable
cop.”
“But he fits perfectly.” She couldn’t believe him. If she did, she’d never survive the next encounter with Brandon Moretti. The possibility he might work for Dmitri, no matter how small it might be, wasthe safety net between her and the unexplainable desire that flared between them.
Sergei shook his head. “I did some asking around. He’s got marks on his record. He’s been known to side-step protocol to see an investigation closed. But he’s clean.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.
We’re
clean on paper.”
Swiveling on his stool, Sergei fixed her with a hard look. “His father was Angelo Mancuso, a hit man for the mafia in Kansas City. Angelo didn’t take too kindly to having his wife turn him over to the feds. When she blew her witness protection, Angelo ordered the murder of his family. Moretti lived.” Sergei paused, chewed on the inside of his cheek. With a frown he continued, “He was put on narcotics undercover because he’s too eager to find his
“You betcha. Scatter some of those around the club. Other Opals are set up to monitor the various channels.”
“Won’t they override with so many?”
“Nope. There’s ten pens. Ten channels. Ten Opals monitoring.”
Holy shit. That was more resources than they’d ever been allotted. The full reality of her situation hit home as she stared at the transmitters. They’d moved beyond the child’s play of Russia. Vegas was life and death. Hers specifically. Kate’s had never been in question. But Natalya stood the very real possibility of never waking to see another morning. And anyone associated with her—like Sergei—stared down a loaded weapon far more deadly than the 9mm on the counter beside the stove.
One wrong move, and they’d cease to exist. As Dmitri disposed of their bodies, the CIA would erase every footstep they’d taken on this earth.
Natalya shivered. For the first time in her life, she considered running. She could hide Kate and Derek in a remote corner of theworld where Dmitri would never find them and give up the lies, the subterfuge.
An unbidden memory of Tatiana crumpled on the cold concrete floor in the confinement room surfaced, and Natalya swallowed hard. If she ran, all the women she’d hurt meant nothing. They’d never find freedom. Never again would they know what it was like to wake each morning with a clear head and spend each night as they chose. They’d never see the families they left behind. Families
she’d
forced them to leave.
No. Running was out of the question. Failure wasn’t an option.
She picked up one of the circular transmitters. “And these?”
“I want you to put one of those on the main bar, one in Moretti’s office, and one backstage.”
A pang of regret pulled at her stomach. Closing her eyes, she set the transmitter back on the bar. If Sergei wanted Brandon’s office monitored, he must suspect him as well. It made sense, as much as she might wish it otherwise. Brandon had access to Kate. By her own words they’d become close. If he coerced her into an after-hours excursion, or offered her a gig at a private club where she’d make three times what one night at Fantasia brought in, she’d never question his motives.
Not wanting to hear Sergei’s response, she quietly asked, “You think he’s Iskatel´?”
Sergei barked a short laugh. “Not a chance in hell.”
His response so stunned her, she could do nothing more than blink. Half of her had wanted to hear Brandon topped the list of Sergei’s suspects. It would make it easier to distance herself from the handsome lieutenant. The other half, however, jumped up and danced at the decisiveness in Sergei’s response. It was that half that left her unable to stutter more than a surprised, “W-Why not?”
“He’s a cop, babe. A dedicated,
honorable
cop.”
“But he fits perfectly.” She couldn’t believe him. If she did, she’d never survive the next encounter with Brandon Moretti. The possibility he might work for Dmitri, no matter how small it might be, wasthe safety net between her and the unexplainable desire that flared between them.
Sergei shook his head. “I did some asking around. He’s got marks on his record. He’s been known to side-step protocol to see an investigation closed. But he’s clean.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.
We’re
clean on paper.”
Swiveling on his stool, Sergei fixed her with a hard look. “His father was Angelo Mancuso, a hit man for the mafia in Kansas City. Angelo didn’t take too kindly to having his wife turn him over to the feds. When she blew her witness protection, Angelo ordered the murder of his family. Moretti lived.” Sergei paused, chewed on the inside of his cheek. With a frown he continued, “He was put on narcotics undercover because he’s too eager to find his
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