The Blood Code by Misty Evans Page A

protection from prying eyes, they gave her comfort.
    I’ll just rest for a few minutes. Then I’ll wash my face, take my pill, and put on my pajamas.
    She tugged the documents from her bra. It was too dark in the room to read, but she didn’t need to see the Russian words. She knew what they said and more important she knew what they meant.
    In her tired mind, Ivanov and the man in black morphed into one.
    Closing her eyes and swallowing her tears, she held the names of her parents close to her chest, missing them, and her grandmother, even more than her freedom.

Chapter Eleven
    Anya woke with a start to a hand gripping her shoulder and shaking her hard.
    A woman’s voice, strangely familiar and thickly accented, spoke over her. “Czarevna Anya. Wake up, pazhaloosta .”
    Blinking her eyes open, Anya looked up to see Inga wringing her hands and frowning at her.
    Inga had been assigned to her as an assistant by Ivanov. Bodyguard in sheep’s clothing was more like it. Today the older woman was dressed in a dull brown suit, but her favorite color, yellow, was represented by a scarf. She’d helped Anya unpack when she’d arrived, kept her apprised of Ivanov’s schedule, and been in charge of last night’s entertainment. In some ways, Inga reminded her of Grams. Only Inga didn’t have the same grace or regality.
    Inga appeared to be the helpful personal assistant, but like it or not, Inga was trouble.
    Two feet behind the woman stood Ivanov’s prime minister, Fyodor Andreev. Short and boxy, he reminded Anya of a bulldog. He was also frowning.
    Beda ne prikhodit odna. Trouble never comes alone, Grams would have said.
    “What’s going on?” Anya struggled to sit up. Her head hurt, her eyelids were rough as sandpaper, and she was light-headed. She’d just fallen asleep. How could it be time to wake up already?
    “Breakfast is being served.” Inga’s dark eyes cut to the side, over her shoulder, as if fearing Andreev would yell at them both. “You must get ready, and hurry.”
    Anya was still wearing the blue dress and it was off center, revealing a great deal of her right breast. Reaching up to adjust it, she realized she still had the papers she’d stolen from Ivanov’s desk in her hand. Projecting modesty that wasn’t all faked, she turned her back to Andreev and made a production of correcting the dress’s top. As she did so, she once again slipped the folded documents into her bra. Standing up, she shooed Inga away. “Give me fifteen minutes.” She sent an unwavering look to Andreev. “Alone, please.”
    Inga glanced between Anya and Andreev. The prime minister narrowed his eyes a fraction before nodding once and heading for the outer door. His gaze raked over the out-of-place dresser before he marched out of the bedchamber.
    “Please,” Inga whispered. “Hurry.” She followed on his heels.
    Anya waited until she heard the outer doors close, then she, too, followed and locked them. While it obviously did no good in keeping anyone out if they really wanted in, pretending it did helped her sanity.
    She didn’t have to wonder what to wear to breakfast. Inga had laid out a conservative suit with a white blouse. Anya brought the suit and blouse into the bathroom and went to work on waking up in the shower.
    Her wound was seeping. She cleaned it carefully, wishing again she hadn’t forgotten her kit. Being a walking defect didn’t mean she was helpless when it came to taking care of herself. After cleaning and re-bandaging the wound, she took her birth control pill—at least she hadn’t forgotten those. All she needed was to get her period and not have her pills.
    The irony of the situation hit her all over again. She’d been taking birth control pills for over twelve years—not to prevent pregnancy, but to control the heavy periods her blood disorder produced—and the only man to have ever seen her naked was Ryan. A man she didn’t know, and who didn’t know her.
    She just wished she had her