Chapter 3
NIKKO
I knew what I had to do, and I was prepared.
I watched every single goddamn thing Vera Ivanova did over the past few days. I watched her online history and tracked her phone. Listened in on her conversations. Perused her bank account to see where she spent her money. I even know her astrological sign and the way she takes her coffee.
But no amount of sleuthing, spying, or stalking prepared me for meeting her in person.
I knew she was beautiful. She took my breath away the first time I saw her picture. In person…I can hardly look away.
I have to.
Her clothes are suitable for a long flight—black yoga pants that hug every perfect curve and a pale green long-sleeved tee that makes her eyes pop. So unassuming. So completely mesmerizing.
But it’s obvious the second I’m in her presence that there’s more to Vera than meets the eye. Despite her slender, petite frame, there’s a quiet strength in her posture and movements. A decided elegance in the way she holds herself and the way she speaks. She’s grace personified.
From what I’ve read about her, this woman’s fucking brilliant, too, having been accepted into one of the most prestigious grad programs in Europe.
The combination of mischief and challenge, grace and intelligence, would outdo a man with lesser self-control than I have.
But I’ve learned how to govern my emotions.
I have to remain aloof. Detached. I shield myself in public and always have, and for that, I’m grateful because I’ve never needed it more.
Vera gives me a curious look. “Have you ever flown before?” I can’t quite decipher the look she’s giving me, but to keep up the charade, I only shrug.
She and the driver share a look. Good, my plan worked. I managed to communicate to him that I didn’t speak English, and in the short time it took me to load her bags in the car, he must’ve told her.
I watch as she makes a little finger motion like an airplane flying and give her another shrug as if I still have no idea what she’s saying, because her attempts at communicating are sort of cute. I flick my fingers in the air, and she says more clearly and louder this time, “Plane. You?”
I shrug and nod. Yes, I’ve flown before, many times.
I point my finger at her and make a flying motion.
She sits up straighter and shakes her head. “Uh, no. I’ve never been on a plane.”
Shit. Seriously? Her first flight from New York to Moscow will be about ten hours long.
Great. Will she be afraid? Does she know anything about airport protocol? I noticed when she got in the car that her eyes were a bit misty and red-rimmed. Is she afraid of flying, or is there another reason she looks like she was crying?
Doesn’t matter, though. My goal is to infiltrate her family’s security and get to her father. Vera is just a means to an end.
“I brought some books to read,” she says quietly, drumming her fingers on her knees. It’s almost like she’s talking to herself rather than me, which makes sense since she thinks I don’t speak her language. She chooses her words thoughtfully, but I can tell she’s more anxious than she’s letting on.
Body language conveys more than people know. I note the way she doesn’t look at me when she talks. The way her gaze is fixed out the window and her foot taps.
The slight fluttering of her fingertips at her collarbone signifies more than nerves, though.
Has she ever been in close proximity to a man like me before? How sheltered has she been?
She continues, her voice a bit wobbly. “I have some puzzle books. My phone, of course, but my eyes get tired looking at screens after studying, and I’m so over looking at my phone.
I hope there’s WiFi. Maybe I’ll nap, but I don’t like the idea of napping in public because I’ll let my guard down, and I—” She gives me a sidelong glance.
“Huh. I suppose no one will give me a difficult time if I’m sitting anywhere near you. Maybe I will nap.”
I’m glad she doesn’t think I speak English because I would assure her she’d be absolutely fine to sleep next to me. I’d promise her utter safety and protection, but I can’t risk getting too close to her.
“My mother was so overprotective,” she explains. “I’m kind of glad we don’t speak the same language because that means I can say things maybe I normally wouldn’t.”
The driver looks at her in the mirror.
“Maybe he’s lying.”
I stare straight ahead and pretend I didn’t hear a thing. Asshole should mind his own business. I don’t even have the benefit of being able to give him a dirty look, or I could give myself away.
“You think he’s lying?” She gives the driver a quizzical look. “Interesting.”
“I didn’t say he was. Just saying it’s a possibility.”
I pretend I don’t feel the laser-sharp focus of her assessing gaze.
“Well, then,” Vera says, leaning closer to me. She lowers her voice so the driver can’t hear her. “What if I were to say things that would make him blush? If he didn’t speak English, he wouldn’t react, would he?”
What the fuck is she doing?
I give her a dismissive look like she’s an annoying little sister who needs to go away, then pull out my phone and pretend to scroll.
“So,” she says in a whisper as she casually picks at her cuticles. “I don’t like to sleep with pajamas on. Just saying.”
Jesus.
I stare at my phone and don’t look at her. I barely move.
“I don’t like the feel of clothes between me and the blankets,” she continues in a whisper. “I wonder if you do.”
When I don’t respond, she heaves a big sigh.
Maybe Vera Ivanova isn’t as innocent as she looks. Appearances can be deceiving.
With a sigh, she talks to the driver again. “I think you’re wrong. I think it’s actually true.” She lowers her voice. “Either that or I don’t have the effect on him I’d hoped for.”
Oh, but she does.
“Alright, bodyguard,” she says again in her plain, straightforward voice. “I’ve told you one of my biggest secrets. Now I’m going to tell you one more because you don’t have a clue what I’m saying.”
I keep my eyes stoically on my phone as I flip through various notifications. I cast a mildly curious glance at her.
“No one knows I read all the Bourne books. And I have a major, huge crush on Jason Bourne.” She leans in. “And you look just like him. Like just. Like. Him.”
Interesting. Jason Bourne was an assassin and she has a major crush on him.
But it’s so tempting to respond. So tempting.
Don’t react. Don’t react.
I slide my phone into my pocket and look straight ahead while Vera pulls out her phone with a sigh. She puts headphones in and mouths something to herself. I could check to see what she’s doing on the screen mirroring app I have, but she’s sitting right next to me. I don’t want to take risks.
My most important job right now is to get her on that plane. Once we’re in the air, the chances of me being discovered lessen.
The second most important job is to engage with the Ivanov Bratva and make them believe I am who I say I am.
I check the driver’s GPS on the dash and see we’re only two minutes out. I need to prepare.
Most people think airports are adventurous, unless they travel a lot for work, in which case they might find them tiresome and tedious.
Some of us, however, know them for what they truly are—dangerous hot zones for criminals, enemies, and anyone you don’t trust. Fugitives escape under false identities, people are robbed and kidnapped.
I trust no one, especially at an airport.
It’s late at night when we pull into the drop-off area.
I haven’t flown with normal civilians in years.
Her father’s an asshole for allowing it.
If my sister Polina went on a trip to Moscow, not only would she have a team of bodyguards with her, they’d be in constant contact with us and she’d fly privately.
I never understood why some Bratva don’t take care of their women.
But that’s none of my business. She’s nothing to me.
I exit the car and go to Vera’s door to open it for her. I may not be her real bodyguard, but I’ll play the part. She’s young and innocent. Beautiful and vulnerable. She needs a bodyguard, and goddamn if I’ll let anyone hurt her.
I won’t think of what I have to do.
When I open the door for her, she looks up at me with her wide, intelligent eyes.
“Spasibo,” she says with a smug little smile. Thank you.
Ah. So that’s what she was doing on her phone. Studying Russian.
I can’t help but smile at her and nod. “Pozhaluysta.”
You’re welcome.
The driver looks at both of us, tapping his steering wheel, but doesn’t make a move to get our bags.
Asshole. I tap the trunk of the car for him to open it so I can get our bags and look in surprise when Vera reaches for one.
I don’t think so. My mother raised me better than that, and I’ll be damned if she carries her bags on my watch.
I give her a silent shake of my head and a stern look. “Nyet.”
When she huffs at me and reaches for the heavy bag to outright defy me, I make my decision. I turn to her and pick her up, hands under her armpits, before I deposit her on the sidewalk. When she flails and lets go of the bag, I take them and point to her little purse. There. You can take that.
“I’m a modern woman, you know,” she says with a little huff, but the slight flush to her cheeks tells me she’s a little flustered by being manhandled. Is she, now?
I’m arranging all our bags on a cart to take them inside when she tries to march away from me. Apparently, her little Russian tutorial failed to teach her the Russian way of telling me to fuck off, which makes it a lot easier for me to ignore her.
Instinctively, I grab the cart handle in my left hand and reach for her with my right. My fingers tighten on her slender arm, not too hard to hurt but enough to stop her.
“Let go of me!”
I don’t bother to try to communicate but snap at her in Russian. “Ne uhodi ot menya v aeroportu!”
Do not walk away from me in an airport.
Jesus, what is she thinking?
Of course she doesn’t understand a word I say, so I only keep my grip on her arm and repeat what I said.