Chapter 3 #2
“I’m just getting one of those things for the luggage,” she says, pointing about twenty feet away to a stack of trolleys. I scoff and shake my head and get one myself.
“Well, this is gonna be fun,” she mutters under her breath. “An overprotective bodyguard I can’t talk to?”
What kind of bodyguards has she had?
We stalk in tense silence to check-in, where I plunk our bags down beside the kiosk and glare at her.
“Fine!” she snaps. “I won’t pick up the bags, okay?”
Guess I communicated that clearly enough. Good. She’s damn lucky she isn’t mine with an attitude like that.
I shake my head and scan our boarding passes. I notice her stiffen beside me.
“Um. You cannot take that on a plane,” she whispers.
I look up in surprise to see she’s looking at my back. The gun I’m carrying is secured in the waistband of my jeans at the small of my back.
I shrug. She leans in closer to me, laying her hand on my back.
Christ.
My skin heats at how near she is, a flare of warmth from her touch, and the faint, lingering smell of warmed toffee and spice surrounds me. Her mouth gets near to my ear, and she tries again, repeating herself. “You can’t take a gun on a plane.” She presses it into my back to emphasize her point.
Oh yeah? Watch me. I only smile at her and shake my head. It’ll be fine.
At security, I head immediately to the security guard Aleks told me to go to. I’ve been in touch with the Ivanov security team but they’ve given me minimal instructions. Why am I not surprised?
The security guard smiles at me when I turn my arm over and show him the tattoo that marks me as Bratva.
“Hello, sir. This way, please.” Behind closed doors, I discreetly hand him the cash we agreed on, and he swiftly moves us aside and down a VIP aisle to get past security to get to our gate.
“You did not just do that,” she says, shaking her head. “Jesus, I wish you’d speak English. I’d tell you that was, like. . .” Her voice trails off when she realizes I’m not responding. “Hot,” she says to herself. “No, on second thought, I wouldn’t tell you that.”
An interesting observation.
We’re early for our flight but comfortable in a VIP lounge we’ve secured beforehand.
“Okay, so this is nice,” she says as she walks to a snack station with complimentary drinks and snacks. She points to the food and then her belly. “I’m starving. You?”
I have no idea how long it’ll be before we eat again, and I have no intention of sleeping on that plane, so I join her. We feast on sandwiches, chips, and fruit, and when she helps herself to a cookie, I decline.
“Watching those macros, huh? Of course you are. You can’t be built like that and eat carbs all day long.” She sighs. “I, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about macros.”
She isn’t wrong. I don’t eat that shit.
I keep my face deliberately impassive, but she’s quirky and kind of cute, so it’s getting harder to do.
“Macro shmacro,” she says, happily munching on a second cookie. “I’ll happily sleep, seduced into a sugar coma.”
I pretend to busy myself on my phone, but I’m checking the mirroring app on hers.
I have no idea how anyone can function with twenty apps open at a time, but she’s moving from one thing to the next seamlessly – Russian translating app, a website with “must-know Russian phrases,” a little jewel matching game, and an app for reading.
Interesting. I have to work extra hard to school my expression when I see the titles.
I’d call it. . . eclectic and telling. What can you learn by the titles someone reads?
Dominated by the Billionaire Hitman
The Future of Medical Biometrics
Beauty and the Bodyguard
Mastering His Lady
The Newbies Guide to Russian
“Ladies and gentlemen, flight 5834 for Russia is preparing to board in twenty minutes. Please make any necessary last-minute purchases or trips to the restroom. We will begin shortly with priority seating.”
Vera stands and points to a restroom. “I need to use the bathroom before we go, okay?”
When I nod and stand with her, her eyes widen in horror, but I only shake my head and point to the floor outside the restroom. I am not going into the restroom with her.
I will, however, be vigilant to ensure no one’s waiting to hurt her or is ready to rob her and watch every exit and entrance.
I read through the list of profiles of the other passengers, as well as the flight attendants. Nothing seems out of place. Maybe she doesn’t have a target on her back like others do. Maybe Ivanov’s lack of interest in her paid off. Or maybe I just haven’t seen anything yet.
The burner phone in my back pocket vibrates with a text. It belongs to Markov Pashnik, whose body lies, weighted, at the bottom of the East River by now.
Markov was less than inspired when he created his contact list.
Markov
Did you get her
I respond with one word:
yes
Nothing else. Someone’s checking off a box to make sure she’s here but doesn’t give a shit beyond that.
Works for me.
I pull out my own phone while she’s in there and quickly shoot a message to Aleks.
All clear. You see anything?
Aleks
No one suspects a thing. All good here. Markov is gone, and good riddance.
He had few friends. Our plan is working.
Once you’re there, you’re golden. Ivanov is traveling and no one else will know you.
You’ll meet with the Ivanov Bratva but keep it brief.
None of them have met Markov yet but the less contact you have with them the better
Perfect
I slide my phone into my pocket just as she exits and we leave to board.
“I should have had a stiff drink,” she says, her voice shaking. I stare straight ahead and pretend I don’t notice the way her slim shoulders tremble.
Vera takes a step closer to me.
I can tell she’s trying to keep herself calm with deep breaths, as she squares her shoulders and looks straight ahead. We have our carry-on bags with us, but she insisted we take the one that feels like it’s loaded with bricks on board. I carry that one and walk behind her as we board.
I am definitely not used to the size of these seats.
Whoever booked these tickets was only considering her and not a potential add-on.
I hardly fit. Again, I mentally curse her asshole father for shortchanging her.
She should be flying business class, in the lap of luxury, not crammed next to me in coach on a ten-hour flight.
“Wow,” she says in a whisper. “Uh, tight quarters.”
She looks over at me and shakes her head.
“Markov, that can’t be comfortable for you.”
No matter how hard I try, half my body is practically in her seat. I lean back, cross my arms over my chest, and shake my head at her. I have a job, and I’m going to do it.
Once we get to Moscow, I’ll have access to her father’s whereabouts as well as his inner circle of acquaintances. But for now, I have one job to do, and I aim to do it well.
An hour in, and my muscles ache from holding myself away from her. I adjust to no avail, and a toddler sitting in front of us with his mother begins to wail.
I know the feeling, buddy.
“Oh, poor thing,” Vera says. “Probably his ears.”
The mother tries all manner of things with him, but the little guy can’t be soothed. I stifle a grumble. If I have to keep myself stuffed into this little seat and listen to a screaming kid for nine more hours. . .
Vera looks through the hole between the two seats and tickles the little boy’s foot. He stops. I give her a sharp look. It isn’t the safest method, instigating contact with strangers, but she doesn’t seem to give a shit. Excellent.
I sit up straight and try to ignore the little guy who’s now avidly poking little things through the gap between the seats.
“I don’t like flying either,” she whispers to him. “I’m scared. Are you scared?”
He looks through the hole from me to her, then back to me. “Scared,” he whispers. With wide brown eyes and curly blond hair, he looks about my niece Ivy’s age, three or four. The little guy’s cheeks are red from crying. His mother smiles at Vera as she talks to him.
“The man next to me, he’s my friend but he scares me, too. I mean, look at him.”
What’s that supposed to mean?
The boy stares at me, and his lower lip trembles. Shit.
“Oh no!” Vera says, quickly backtracking. “I just meant he looks scary. He’s quite nice! You don’t need to be afraid of him.”
Right, easier said than done.
And how does she know I’m nice?
When he opens his mouth to scream again, I quickly cover my face with my hand. After a few seconds, when I know I have his undivided attention, I peek through my fingers to see him staring. We begin a fast-paced game of peekaboo which has him giggling with laughter.
Finally, the mother gives the little guy a snack, and a few minutes later, he’s half asleep against her shoulder.
Vera smiles but doesn’t say anything.
The longer we fly, the less comfortable this is, though.
Jesus.
This is bullshit. I pull out my phone when she’s busy reading and text Aleks.
We’re in the smallest seats known to man and I’m spilling half into her lap. Help.
It’s the middle of the night, but thankfully, Aleks is usually a light sleeper, and the kids keep him up. He responds quickly.
Aleks
Shit, sorry bro. Let me see what I can do.
Tell them to make it sound like a mistake. I don’t want to make anyone suspicious.
When the flight attendant, a young woman with blonde hair in a tight bun at the back of her head, comes up to us a few minutes later, Vera startles. She’s deep into one of the books she brought in her carry-on.
“Vera Ivanova and Markov Pashnik?” she asks with a smile. “Please come with me.”
Aleks pulled through.
She turns to Vera. “You were meant to have an upgrade to first-class. I’m so sorry for the mix-up.” She says the same to me in Russian.
“Oh, thank God,” Vera says. “You speak Russian and English. Can you translate for us?”
The flight attendant nods. “Of course. First, let’s get you settled in your new seats. Unless it’s an urgent matter?”
Vera shakes her head. “Not at all.”